#i actually like the made up names in the main series way better than anything in the spin offs

[runa-falls]

scratches and bites - 3

pairing: miguel o'hara x reader

warnings: explicit 18+, use of demeaning names, biting/marking/scratching, use of venom, a small amount of blood, unprotected sex, creampie (whoops), cumplay (whoops 2x), slight size kink (whoops 3x), bondage (0-0), feelings (bleh), needy wittle miguel :P

a/n: uhhh, this may have gotten away from me -- went from 1k to 4k real fast (or slow bc i'm a slow writer hehe)

summary: miguel o'hara is a grumpy man and you make him grumpy. you regularly go against his orders, create chaos, and invite danger. this is what happens when he's had enough.

w/c: 4.2k

series masterlist | main masterlist

----

“Clean-up crew is on the way. You,” He points sharply in your direction, “come with me.” He roughly passes by you, purposely clipping the edge of your shoulder.

You sulk slightly and follow him into the portal, mood effectively ruined. 

Everything worked perfectly in your eyes. You were able to save the family and a few people inside the building. You even had time to pick up a free hotdog.

“It’s on the house for you, Spider-Woman! Thanks for saving the day!”

“Aw, thanks, dude.” 

Of course, before you could take a bite of your well-earned lunch, O’Hara’s hulking figure was standing over you. He’s angry. 

Gwen wisely scurried off before you all got to the portal and Jess had better things to do than deal with whatever was going on between the two of you. So you’re effectively alone now. Great.

“The fuck did you think you were doing out there?” Miguel’s voice booms off the high ceilings of his office as he leads you toward his desk. He has this pretentiously slow platform that he loves to use to look down on people. You feel like a student that got called to the principal's office. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed–or worse, gotten someone else pulled into your fucking mess.” 

You roll your eyes as soon as he passes, “Oh, come on O’Hara, you were about to bail on a car full of people and left a bunch of workers in the crumbling building because nothing is more important than your dumbass box of scraps and wires!”

He turns stiffly, jaw clenching at your words, but his eyes roam to anything else in the room but you. Like always. “You know we’ve been looking for that equipment for months. If we have any chance to hold back this multiverse annihilator even a few days, we’re gonna take it.” Miguel is as curt as ever, stance stiff as he tries to pretend he’s unaffected. Like he’s convincing himself he’s doing the right thing. And what you did was wrong.

“There were four of us out there, Miguel,” His eyes briefly meet yours at the sound of his given name. Something he has rarely heard you say since you’ve been in Nueva York. “The package was barely a struggle for one of us! You’re telling me we needed four hands to locate and retrieve that shit?” You gesture over to the crate resting on his computer platform. 

He sighs like he’s tired of hearing your voice. Tired of being in the same room as you. His hand smooths over his face, “That’s not the point, Kid.” You could feel warmth blooming inside of your chest at his choice of words. It’s demeaning, and he knows it. As much as you hate him right now, you’re also loving this. You’re finally getting the chance to express all the frustration he’s inspired in you. And it’s satisfying to watch him get all wound up because you actually made the right move. He just can’t admit it.“What you did was beyond idiotic. You could’ve–”

“Well, I didn’t. And I’m not a fucking kid.” You spit out the words. His eyes immediately darken as you raise your voice. Bright cherry to rich blood.  

Miguel rolls his shoulders back from annoyance and briefly closes his eyes. Irritated. You seem to always irritate him. His jaw is tight, and right under his full top lip you can almost make out– “What did I say about interrupting me?” He’s seething, head tilted slightly as pushes away from his desk and off the platform to you. 

His deep voice is so low that you swear you can feel it surrounding you, vibrating the warm air that clings to the thin treads of your suit. “You’re so…” His fists clenched tightly and tension rolls off of him, crashing into you like a wave. “Difficult.” You try to stay brave and hold your head up, unwilling to cower under his superficial anger. “So fucking irritating.” 

This is getting nowhere.

“So that’s why you called me in, hm?” Your voice comes out more breathless than you intended, but really, it’s his fault. This whole time he’s been inching closer and closer to you, taking up all your space. “To call me petty names? Tell me all the things that are wrong with me?” You have to crane your neck to maintain eye contact with him, he’s so close. 

“No.” He drawls the word, his voice deep and muffled. Then you realize. His fangs. The stark change of the air in the room was enough to make your breath hitch. You suddenly feel trapped. 

“I brought you here,” There are only a couple of inches separating your chest from touching his and you swear you can feel his body heat radiating off of him, almost simmering under his suit. “To teach you a lesson.” He leans down slightly, closing in the height distance between the two of you. You haven’t been this close to him since that night. 

“W-what kind of lesson?”

“The kind that’ll persuade you to follow the rules.” Your knees nearly buckle as each word is lightly whispered next to your ear. He keeps his hands to himself, but it still feels like he’s wrapping himself around you. “To listen to me. Like a good girl.” Just as your body begins to mirror his and lean into his space, he backs up and strolls back to his desk. 

Your eyes instantly lower and stay locked onto his spotless steel floors as you listen to him slowly walk away. You feel your face heat in embarrassment as you become more self-aware of the way your body reacted to him. He hadn’t even touched you. 

“Come here.” Your head tilts up slightly at the sound of his voice. He’s sitting back on his desk chair, legs spread confident and inviting as he watches you watch him through hungry eyes. He can tell your mind is brimming with overlapping thoughts as you decide whether to listen to him or not. 

Some part of you worries you’re being lured into a trap. That O’Hara, one of the least genuine people you know, is playing with you. But your body doesn’t really seem to care, already moving until your ankles meet the edge of the barely floating platform. The air around you is cool and empty without his presence. Your body craves more of  Miguel’s natural heat.

“...Closer.” You shuffle over until you’re a couple of feet away, fingers twisting together with uncertainty. He’s looking at you, leering at you. Virtually devouring you with that scarlet stare of his. If he wanted, he could reach over and pull you closer, eliminating the space between you, but he decidedly doesn’t, clearly wanting you to come to him. 

“Don’t worry, honey, I don’t bite – oh wait,” He grins at his own joke, fangs proudly poking out from under his plump lips. You don’t realize how hard you're biting your lip until it starts to seriously sting. Your teeth release your aching lip and his gaze follows the action before meeting your eyes. 

“Unless you want me to.” You haven’t uttered a word in a while and you don’t really want to. You’re completely content to continue to soak in the words that slip from his tongue. “Do you?” 

Yes.

“Do I…”

“...want me to bite you.” He openly runs his soft tongue over the contours of his fangs.��

Yes.

“B-bite…?”

“Mhm. Make you all numb and pliant for me?” He finally reaches over and gently tugs you closer by your arm. You let him. “That what you want, hermosa?” Your body slots seamlessly in the space between his thighs. His face cradles perfectly into the crook of your neck. You sigh, subconsciously leaning closer as his tender lips hover sweetly over your covered throat. 

He whispers, barely audible against your skin, “Promise it’ll only hurt for a second.” 

Yes.

“Yes.” 

He doesn’t waste any time. 

A hand drifts up your arm to the flexible collar of your suit. He tugs it down lightly, revealing your bare skin to the cool air. It’s not enough for him. With a hushed tear, he uses a claw to split the fabric down to the top of your shoulder, giving him more access to your body. He pushes your hair back and nudges himself closer to you, nose nestling where your neck meets your shoulder. He breathes you in. “Sweet.” His voice barely carries with how soft he says it.  

The balmy heat of his breath sweeps along the side of your neck before his lips finally connect. His hands trail against your waist, slowly caressing you as he slowly presses kisses into your skin, trailing his lips down until he finds the spot. You tilt your head to the side as you feel the light scratch of his fangs. 

“Hold on to me, baby.” Your gloved hands grip his thick forearms. He bites down. 

It hurts in the beginning like you thought it would. Like he said it would. You try to disguise your wince, but you can’t stop the way your body flinches at the sensation. It’s intense, the sharp pain, and it spreads, traveling down from your neck to your toes. 

And then, something clicks. It vanishes. That ache gets replaced with an endless warmth that relaxes every muscle in your body. Your hands, once clenched around Miguel, begin to loosen so the only thing that’s holding you up is him. 

Everything touching your skin feels amazing. The heat of his hands. The suit that's starting to slowly fall down your shoulder. 

Your eyes glaze over with pleasure as you watch him pull away from your body to look at you. His tongue pokes out, swiping over his bottom lip to collect the mixture of residual venom and your blood. Are you bleeding? You lean closer and your hands reach out for his shoulders. 

“That good, hm?” Even his voice feels good. 

You use his solid form to keep you steady as you boldly crawl onto his lap, “Really, really, good.” He hums and you feel his chest vibrate against yours. His arms easily wrap around your form as he waits patiently for you to get comfortable on top of him.

In this moment you realize how this will change everything. And you’re not talking about the bit.-- Ok, not just the bite. 

It’s seeing him like this that flips your world. Feeling his touch. The gentle way he holds you against him and the patient way he lets your fingers trail down his strong chest until you’ve decided you’ve had enough. He makes you feel special. Wanted. Everything that you’ve craved since you followed him here. The same thing he offered you before taking it away. 

So you’re scared. You don’t know if you could ever let this go because you know you’ll always yearn for moments like this. If he pushes you away again…

The fog in your head dissipates and it’s like you’re waking up. You catch his eye and his brows furrow. He senses something’s wrong. His hand cradles yours and gives you a comforting squeeze. 

“What is it?” 

“Don’t leave me.” 

“What do you mean?” His eyes are sincere as they try to read your crestfallen expression. 

“Just…” You exhale slowly and rest your forehead against his shoulder. “Don’t do this then walk away, Miguel.” Your words hang in the air for a few seconds as he takes them in. 

Great, you ruined the mood. “Look, Miguel, I–” He softly lifts your head and leans in to press his forehead against yours. You’re so close he could probably feel your eyelashes brush against his cheeks. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere.” He draws you in and kisses you deeply, taking your breath away with his tender touch. It feels like a promise like he’s signing the dotted line of your heart. “I’m yours.” It’s whispered against your lips when he pulls back and you can help the grin that sprouts from his words. He matches it. 

“Yeah?”

You’re pulled back in, “Mhm…” Muffled, but absolute. 

Kissing Miguel is exactly how you imagined it to be: addictive. 

Maybe it’s the residual venom left on his tongue, but the way he moves against you, mouth and body, makes your legs tremble. Makes you ache for him.

You melt against him, drunk on his taste and leaning in for more. His hands go from cradling your face and delicately tracing your neck to massaging your thighs, hands practically draping over you with the size difference. 

He delicately licks into your mouth, greedily taking in every aspect of your taste. Your lips vibrate excitingly when his tongue brushes against them, they’re super sensitive from how long he’s been working them. 

You feel him under you, nestled achingly against your ass. He throbs eagerly every time you let out a breathless sigh or a muffled moan. You’re no better. You swear you already have a wet spot ruining your suit from all the times he ‘accidentally’ grips his claws into the curve of your hips.  

You whimper quietly when you feel the sharp point of his fang drags ever so slightly across your bottom lip. As he moves downwards, it delicately tugs at it, briefly revealing the bottom row of your teeth before releasing it. He moves his mouth along the line of your jaw and then focuses on the sensitive bite he left to bloom red and purple on your neck. 

With his hands back on your waist, he starts to lick up the small droplets of blood that were staining trails down your shoulder. It stings wonderfully as he laves against it, cleaning the red off your smooth skin. You can’t help but to cry out as he begins to suck at your sensitive skin, it’s a bit more intense than you were expecting, but it feels really good. He blows cool air on it when he releases your skin, soothing the new mark he’s left on you. 

His mouth is back on yours, letting you taste your own blood as your tongues intermingle with fervor. Fingers tug at the front of your suit to pull you impossibly closer as your teeth nash against one another. You hear a faint rip between you as his grip tightens and pulls at the stretchy material. Your skin quickly reacts as the cool air wraps around you, arms prickling with goosebumps and nipples tightening into hard buds. 

You both pull back and look down at the damage. Your suit is split down the middle of your torso, revealing everything from your heaving chest to your belly button. Your body ignites with heat when you notice how his crimson eyes drink you in. A soft growl vibrates from his chest. 

“Miguel, this is the only suit I have.” 

“My bad.” Zero remorse in his voice. Asshole. 

He abruptly grabs both of your wrists and pulls them behind you with one hand causing you to arch your back, inevitably giving him a better look. “God, you’re sexy.” His other hand slowly molds over your waist and smooths it upwards to grasp your tit with a playful squeeze. Using his gloved thumb, he teases the soft peak of your nipple, flicking it once just to hear you gasp. He does it once more, grinning (with his fangs cutely poking out) when you react the same way.

“Miguel…” You whine out, pouting at his teasing. 

He idly drags his claws down your stomach, enjoying the way your breath hitches when he gets closer to your center. “You always go without a bra under there?”

“It’s a tight suit.”

“It is…” His hand trails down to your inner thigh and you shift slightly, leaning back so he can touch exactly where you need him. He gets the hint and gently cups you over your damp suit. “And here…?”

Your bottom lip tucks into your mouth as you look up at him, nodding softly. “And there.” 

You’re suddenly being carried by Miguel, weight supported by his strong arms. You have to quickly wrap your arms around his neck to keep yourself from falling backward. He hurriedly takes you over to his desk and sets you down at the edge of the waist-level table. 

He is so tall that you struggle a bit to keep your hold around his neck so you settle your hands back on his chest. You push at his firm figure and sit back to fully take him in. “And how about you?”

“Me?”

“Do you wear anything under that unbearably tight suit?”

“I do, actually. Wanna see?” 

You’ve heard the rumors of Miguel’s nano-suit, but you’re still perplexed when he grabs his interdimensional watch from the desk next to you. He clicks a couple of holographic buttons and you watch in awe as his suit seems to dissolve off of him, one particle at a time, like it never existed in the first place. The fading red and navy reveal his perfectly muscled body, somehow making him look even bigger in front of you. 

He did, in fact, have some briefs on under the suit, but it’s what’s under it that catches your attention. Your thighs clench together as you watch him set down the timepiece, his arm unintentionally flexing under the dim lighting.

Miguel returns to you and you spread your legs slightly so he can stand directly in front of you. You slowly reach out to him, palm to the skin, and soak in the natural heat of his body. You can feel his heart beating under his chest, slow and steady. 

“You’re hot.” 

He has that teasing grin back on his face, “Am I?”

“I mean…warm.”

He shrugs, “Us Spiders run hot.”

Miguel moves your hand off of him and sets it on the table before pushing his body closer to you, making your legs push out further. He leans in so close that you have to slowly tilt your body back with him. “Bet you’re warmer.”

 He shifts your body further onto the table and then starts working on the rest of your suit. It tears easily from your body, scraps falling to the floor until you’re fully bare in front of him. You pant as you watch him and feel your center pulse in reaction to his rough handling. “There we are.” His voice is soothing, but his eyes flash dangerously. You arch your back slightly as his claws scrape lightly over your stomach to your most sensitive area. You don’t even have to look down to know you’re dripping, you can feel it all over your inner thighs. 

His fingers glide over your glistening lips, spreading your eager wetness leisurely. His claws are gone. You watch his face as he stares at his actions, his hungry eyes dark with lust. You both groan when one finger dips in, pushing gently against your entrance. You’re practically gushing around him as he starts to move, wet sounds accompanying each thrust. A string of slick follow his hand as he pulls away and it drips carelessly on your flushed thigh. With hooded eyes, Miguel holds up his dripping finger, “Open.” You suck on him enthusiastically, holding his gaze as it’s slipped into your mouth. “Fuck.”

His briefs are shoved down his muscular thighs before you can look down and you’re shoved roughly onto your back. You feel his claws dig into your thighs as he spreads you out for him, pushing them back until they're next to your waist. His warm hardness slides against your weeping pussy, covering him in slick as he prepares himself. 

Your breath hitches as his cock pushes inside of you, nearly stretching you to your limit. You try your best to take deep breaths, but it’s hard when you can literally feel each inch sinking into your body. A throaty groan rumbles in his chest as he feels you involuntarily clench around him, invariably sucking him in further. His eyes are almost glowing with how bright red they are. “Relax for me baby, I’m almost in.” 

Your thighs tremble under his hands as he continues to plunge in deeper, unable to keep up with all the stimulants surrounding you. The feeling of him dragging against your walls is exquisite and you can barely hold yourself back from cumming right there. 

Then he starts moving. 

His hips drag back, pulling almost all the way out before he buries himself back inside of you. Your head tilts back with pleasure and your eyes squeeze shut, you can’t even tell what you’re holding on to. He keeps this slow pace, body nearly engulfing you as he hovers above. A moan follows each thrust as he fucks you into his desk.  

When your eyes are finally able to flutter back open, you meet his stare. You quickly attempt to hide your face with your arm, too embarrassed to hold eye contact with him while he’s using your body like this. He doesn’t like that. 

Your wrists are forced above you and then expertly webbed together to hold them there. His red webs pulse hot around your wrists. Unlike the traditional webs that tend to feel like cool lace, his are warm, like fingers wrapping tightly around your wrists, almost thrumming with soft heat in a way that makes them feel alive. 

You yelp when his hand tugs sharply at the hair at the nape of your neck, forcing your gaze as he moves over you. “Look at me, baby.” You listen. He begins to aim his thrusts upwards into you, nudging against that special spot inside of you. And as hard as you try to keep looking at him, your eyes inevitably roll back as he hits it so precisely. You faintly see stars. 

You cry out as heat blooms your center and your thighs close around his hips, tightening as a spark swarms in your lower belly. “That’s it, baby,” He speeds up, feeling you start to clench around him, “let go.” 

Your vision blurs when your climax blasts through your body. Hot tears spill from the intensity of the feeling, creating hot trails of wetness over your cheeks. “Such a pretty little thing." He wipes them away lovingly. Your body jerks with pleasure and Miguel has to hold your waist down as your back starts to arch off the desk. 

He doesn’t stop. If anything, he starts fucking you harder, letting his body weight hold you in place as he chases his own high. You whine against his neck, skin sticky with sweat, as he roughly ruts into you. “Be mine, baby, and I’ll take care of you forever.” His claws dig into your web-pasted wrists as he works himself into you, post-orgasm slick smothered carelessly over the both of you. “I promise.” He whispers breathlessly next to your ear.

“Please.” The word is nearly stuck in your throat as he continues to take everything your body is willing to give him. He’s basically grinding his cock into you now, wanting you as close as possible for these last moments. You barely hear it but he whimpers against your shoulder as he starts to draw closer to his climax, desperately rutting his hips against you. 

With a choked-out groan, his movements grow sloppy and he thrusts deep inside of you a few more times. You feel the warmth of him as he spills inside of you, filling you up to the brim. He’s panting above you, body weight nearly smothering yours. You love it. 

He slowly pulls out once he’s calmed down, eyes locked onto your leaking center that’s full of a mixture of you and him. His fingers lovingly spread his cum over your pussy and you flinch as he slides against your sensitive clit. You give him a look of disapproval which he ignores as he pushes his mess back inside of you. 

“Will you let me out of these now?” You pull at the webs, still holding your arms above you.

“Hm…I think I’ll keep you there for a little bit longer.”

–

His office is like a bat cave when you’re barely dressed. There’s a slight breeze in the office (you have no clue where it’s coming from) that’s making it particularly drafty. You force Miguel to huddle over you like some oversized puffer jacket as it was his fault the only clothes you came with are lying on the floor in scraps.

“How am I supposed to leave when my suit is in tatters?”

His arms hold you tighter, “You aren’t. You’re staying with me.” 

“Miguel, people are probably looking for us by now.”

“I don’t care.”

“Miguel.”

“Alright, fine. You can borrow one of my nano-suits, but we’re going to my place.” 

“Dude, you’re like 6’3”, how am I supposed to fit into one of those?”

He tsks, “Really? You’re calling me ‘dude’ after all of this?” He grabs his watch again, scrolling through some settings. “It’s nano-tech, sweetheart, it fits what I want it to fit.” He dials the size down, letting you watch as the hologram shrinks to display your general size. “And I’m 6’7.” 

-----

taglist: @deputy-videogamer @syd-vixious @bachirasbasics @danaeaurelia @reuxxi @halparkebitch @kittekat420

[mc-lukanette]

Flip the Transcripts

Marinette sighed, pulling her hair tie free and shaking her head to let her bun go. It was a terrible, exhausting day, and she lingered around the main area of the building to take a breather while people filed out. There was still a faint scent of macarons in the air from all the ones she'd dropped on the floor and a (probably underpaid) worker was busy cleaning them up.

She'd gotten to sit next to Adrien during the movie, but she didn't actually feel accomplished about it. Her mind was still racing with thoughts of why she even bothered. It was high effort for little actual reward, and it felt embarrassing more than anything else.

Why did she do it anyway? There was always a weird correlation with everything going wrong for her on days when akuma happened, even if the akuma didn't directly cause it. Maybe she had a sixth sense for it and it made her stress out more?

So weird, she thought, idly running her fingers through her hair with one hand and dusting off her maid outfit with the other. In retrospect, that too was a weird choice; more "trying to catch the sight of a guy with certain interests" than "dressing for the occasion."

As she was mulling her own choices over to herself, a flash of white from the corner of her vision caught her attention. She looked over, seeing a large stack of papers near the entrance of the building as well as Thomas Astruc turning on the other side of the door to continue down the sidewalk. With a little urgency, she headed over to pick up the papers in both arms, noting that they appeared to be transcripts for something.

Her eyes zeroed in on the name Thomas Astruc and she hurried out, looking the way he'd gone as she called out to him.

Yet, he was nowhere to be found. Puzzled, Marinette looked back down, shuffling through the transcripts mindlessly.

Adrien probably knows him since he was in the movie, she thought. I can ask him to give them back—

She stopped before she'd finished the plan in her head, caught off-guard by how she'd wondered about Adrien so casually without having some crush-induced freak out in public. The day was just getting weirder by the second, and it became even more so when she took a better look at the transcripts in her hand.

It seemed obvious initially that it would've been the transcripts for the movie, or maybe a potential sequel, yet they were for a TV show called Miraculous Ladybug. She'd never heard of such a thing and found it even stranger that Thomas Astruc was listed as a writer, not a director.

Curiosity gnawed at her as she fidgeted with the pages. A little peek wouldn't hurt, right?

—————

Having dismissed Tikki after getting a scolding of looking into things she wasn't supposed to, Marinette dropped the transcripts onto her table and began to sort through them. It was perhaps petty to look into an unreleased series like this, but considering what happened with the movie and all the mutterings she heard from people who "didn't know Ladybug was afraid of cats," she would prefer to get ahead of whatever nonsense was going to be released in the future.

The transcripts were already in order of episode, so she started at the top, flipping the page to start reading.

It all went downhill from there.

It appeared innocent enough at the start, following akuma who already existed whose civilian selves may have given interviews on being akumatized, but the first double take of many began when Marinette saw her own name in the transcript. That may have been fine on its own, yet this Marinette lived where she lived, in a bakery with her parents Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng.

She swallowed, her hands crinkling the paper from their tight grip. Whoever wrote this knew that she had been Ladybug and somehow got down the events of the written days with precise accuracy. Was she being stalked somehow? How did they know all about her, and was this planned to be released to the public?

Despite her stomach churning at the implications, she continued reading.

—————

It was late into the night, Tikki already sound asleep up on Marinette's bed, when Marinette had decided to stop reading for the day. She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhausted yet wide awake at the same time.

Everything in the transcripts lined up with her memories and filled in gaps where she previously had nothing to work with. Written down when she'd transformed, what she'd done, who her friends were and what they did with her, and beyond that were things she'd either suspected or not known at all.

Adrien was Chat Noir, Gabriel was Hawk Moth, and it all made sense when put into a format like this.

It didn't appear like someone who knew too much had put pen to paper anymore. Rather, it felt like something written before it even happened: fate sitting behind a desk and planning out what was to be. There were even "episodes" of events that hadn't happened yet that Marinette felt could only be a matter of time.

She raked her fingers through her hair, clutching the strands tight as she tried to make sense of it all. Did it mean that she was just part of some show? Was she a character mindlessly following these scripts? How much was her and how far did her relationships with others go past what was written down for them to have?

Her mind spun, the chair underneath her feeling like it could collapse at any moment. Blood going cold, goosebumps formed along her arms as she looked around to see if she was being watched.

Everything added up and put into perspective things she'd never thought about before. All of the little inconsistencies that she hadn't given a single thought to were now staring at her right in the face, like the very fabric of the universe was broken and everyone went on like nothing was wrong.

And it was Chat Noir who caused Theo's akumatization, but he never told her and she was left in the dark. He'd planned in advance to ditch the search for Andre's ice cream to go set up the "date" with Ladybug that he passed off like it wasn't a big deal.

There was also Alya, who knew very well that she'd been willing to let Kagami be with Adrien when she'd agree to third wheel at the ice skating rink, only to then claim that she was jealous of Lila because of Adrien. Adding to that was Chloe, who Marinette herself was told to "be the bigger person for" and broke the identity rule for just to make her bully of multiple years Queen Bee again, which sounded reasonable at the time but crazy actually reading it.

Finally, there were her failures to get Adrien's attention and the inability to confess to him, whether to be rejected or otherwise, while Chat Noir skated by due to conveniently confessing his crush on Ladybug to Ladybug's civilian self. Why?

Because she was the punchline. She was constantly being set up to fail. The insane scenarios she was always roped into were the forces behind these transcripts twisting themselves into knots to ensure that she would be little more than a joke.

Tears formed in the corner of her eyes. Who could she even trust if everything involving them was made up in such convoluted fashion?

Furiously wiping at the tears, she decided on the only thing she could: she would test the transcripts and go from there. She could go off script, do things it didn't expect, and try to prevent what was predetermined. Clutching the papers to her chest, they were wrinkled with resolve rather than fear this time.

If it wasn't fate that put these in her hands, then maybe she could still do something. With these, she had power, she had control. More importantly, she could have an ally; someone she trusted, but often went ignored by the transcripts and thus was the least affected by them.

Setting the transcripts off to the side, she retrieved her phone and scrolled through her contacts. Most of her friends were dismissed almost immediately, having been around since the start of the series, and she couldn't trust Tikki either. After all, if there was any mouthpiece for the forces behind the transcripts - the "writers," she supposed - it was her.

Her thumb stopped skimming when she saw the black and blue hair: Juleka's brother, Luka, who she'd shared numbers with when she invited him out to the ice rink just in case plans changed. It was a reasonable concern at the time because of how often Adrien had to bail, but of course he was able to show up when it was written that she would make a fool out of herself in front of him, the one consistency throughout the entire series.

But Luka, he'd only been around starting in season 2 of the "show" and appeared prominently in a couple episodes at best. It made even more sense when she thought about that day at the ice rink, the akuma having conveniently started to attack while she was trying to sort out her feelings on him.

The show wanted him there, but didn't want her to think about him.

A burst of confidence snaked its way through her anxiety as she opened their messages to each other. Casting a glance at the transcripts, she thought, I don't have to play your game anymore.

Thus, she typed out a quick message to him.

Hey, are you free in a couple weeks for a meet up? Just the two of us? It's really important.

After hitting 'Send,' she brought the phone up to cover her mouth and attempted to take a steady breath through her nose. Two weeks was plenty of time to test the waters of what she'd seen, and anything else could be planned out after she met with him.

She could handle this. She wasn't the failure she was written as; she didn't have to be.

—————

Marinette had heard before about people so close that they could predict what the other would say. Others could be so in sync that they'd say things at the same time, even without trying.

It was an entirely different matter when she already knew what someone was going to say, not because she was close to them but because she'd read it before.

Three episodes - though it was strange to call them that - happened in the weeks leading up to seeing Luka: Bakerix, Backwarder, and Reflekdoll. The former came first and was the most unnerving of them all, being the one that put the transcripts set in the future to the test.

So long as Marinette followed the transcript, every line went exactly as intended. Her parents and grandmother spoke as if they had read it themselves, like actors in a play they weren't aware they were in. Even when Marinette didn't follow the script, she could feel the words trying to come up through her throat like an itching sensation before a cough.

Or, more accurately, bile building just before throwing up.

Almost unintentionally, she took a passive role by not going to see her grandfather, freshly disillusioned by the events and what they could mean for the people she knew and interacted with. He was, however, still akumatized, though without any action on her part. She didn't ask him why, already having the information she wanted most: that the world still tried to follow the transcript even if she fought it. It was proven further when her family saw the news, somehow recognizing the akuma as their relative, and rushed to see him when he was deakumatized.

They worked everything out from there, which on the surface sounded nice, yet Marinette was disturbed by the idea that it might've only happened because he was written into her future, likely for her own humiliation at some point.

At the very least, the world continued turning whenever she went off script as she'd planned. Her worst case scenario had been that everything would break apart or she would be unable to go against what was written.

She had little choice but to take action the day that Marianne was meant to be akumatized; Adrien was going away for a time and Master Fu had no one else to trust in delivering his letter to her.

According to the transcript, she would be humiliated in front of her friends after mixing up the letters, and Marianne would be akumatized when she too was given the wrong letter. With her thoughts dripping with sarcasm, Marinette supposed that was "her own fault" for expecting a magical yoyo to offer what she'd asked for when she reached inside. She could even imagine Thomas Astruc's face along other, faceless writers, hitting their desks laughing as they wrote down Adrien handing her constipation medicine.

Still, the solution was simple: she confirmed that it was Marianne's letter before handing it over. She could've given Adrien her own love letter as well, but had avoided him as much as possible since finding the transcripts. Her nature of spitting out word salad was there when they did see each other, yet became more manageable the more she refused to engage with him.

Him being Chat Noir made it all a bit easier. While she'd been sympathetic of his woes in being told nothing, the knowledge that he'd kept quiet about the grimoire while complaining to her about secrets and threatened to quit while Paris was underwater was, needless to say, quite the turn off.

Even when they weren't set to follow a plot, he was still as flirtatious as ever despite her rejection of his advances. It made sense as, though she may have hoped otherwise, she couldn't say she was a different person even after reading the transcripts; only one more aware of the world around her.

Juleka getting akumatized into Reflekdoll was something Marinette worked hard to prevent. Whether or not their friendship was "written to be," she still cared about people she felt close to and could relate to Juleka's anxiety.

Alya, of course, tried her hardest to fight back against her efforts to exclude Adrien, all with mixed results. Adrien still came along in the end, but Marinette managed to keep the photoshoot about Juleka, even if that meant ditching the group for a while to hide in the bathroom and talk her down from a potential panic attack.

Juleka taking the full spotlight was something she worked hard for, as not only would she not have wanted to ride off of Adrien's image to give her website any attention, but the idea that he would certainly have overshadowed Juleka in the eyes of the public disgusted her. She didn't need him, no matter how the forces "in charge" tried to convince her otherwise.

All in all, it was crisis successfully averted, and now she'd had multiple separate experiences to come to a few conclusions about the nature of her world.

The first was the obvious: that events were preventable, which was a relief given what she'd read about the season 3 finale. Sometimes things such as akumatization could still happen, but her actions as someone with knowledge of "the future" could reign in the worst of it.

Secondly, those around her could not stray from the transcript unless they were forced to by her or the changes she made, almost falling into loops of trying to make something occur unless they couldn't anymore. It was unnerving, seeing the double-edged sword of the power she held, but it was workable.

Thirdly, and perhaps even more important than the first, was that people could still be people. They acted similarly to what she might expect off script, but not always in a way that was bad. Juleka, for example, didn't blame her for anything that went wrong during the photoshoot as she had - rather nonsensically - in the transcript.

Marinette saw nothing less than her friend. She could still care about people without a nagging voice in her head telling her that it wasn't "real" or that she didn't actually mean anything to anyone. In the ideal scenario that came from everything she'd learned so far, there was a light to be found at the end of the tunnel: either the show's plot would end, or she would change it so drastically that no one could follow it any more.

Thinking back on it all, she let herself feel hope at the memory of Juleka's grateful smile, the light shining off the hair clip Luka had given her in just the right way.

It also gave her an idea.

—————

Marinette sat quietly on her chaise lounge as Luka pulled off his guitar case and settled it to the side of her room, so gently that she couldn't hear the sound of the case against the wall. She'd had two full weeks to process the transcripts and what they meant for her life, but it didn't mean that she wasn't still on edge when she thought about it.

It was one thing to have been given the knowledge herself. She was the one who picked up the transcripts, she chose to sit down and read them, and she continued looking into it even while knowing how stressful it would be.

It was an entirely different matter to inflict that on someone else. A few times, she'd debated with herself on excuses she could've made for their meeting in case she felt like backing out, but dismissed all of them in the end. She wondered how she could tell a person something so profoundly life-altering and how that would affect them emotionally, or if they'd even want to be told.

But how would one gauge that? Marinette could only use herself as a reference, knowing that she, at least, would want to know. The unknowns that revealed themselves to her throughout the experience - the things that were intentionally kept from her, Hawk Moth's identity, the future itself - had been nothing but beneficial to her, despite the horrors that came with them.

She wanted to share that; to know that she wasn't alone. She wanted—

"Marinette?"

She looked up, catching Luka's concern at what must've been a heavy expression on her face. She shook the thoughts away, offering him a gentle smile that she hoped conveyed, 'I'm glad you're here.'

"Juleka had so much fun at the photoshoot," she said, evading the topic of the current atmosphere. "It was sweet of you to put that hair clip on her. I bet it made her feel more confident."

His brows were still furrowed in worry, but he let it be for now and smiled back at her. "Thanks." He gestured at the spot next to her in a silent question and she accepted, shuffling to the side just enough to give him a comfortable amount of room to sit down. His weight sank into the cushion as he wondered aloud, "Did Jule tell you? She doesn't talk about me that much."

He stated it casually, clearly unbothered and of the opinion that Juleka wasn't obligated to talk about him in either a positive nor negative way. Marinette didn't say anything on it, but thought that of course Juleka didn't talk about him much, because how odd would it have been for someone's brother to just appear a whole season later and not be mentioned otherwise? Did he even exist before the day they met?

That was one thing she actively tried not to think about, having been too afraid to look up her grandfather's address before his mention in the transcripts. There was only so much she could take without imagining that Luka only came into existence a while ago.

Despite knowing that his question had, in all likelihood, been rhetorical, she answered it anyway, "...No. I didn't hear it from her."

She'd tried to be careful, giving him enough information to mull over but not anything that appeared outright supernatural. Technically, Juleka could've told Rose, who could've then told her at some point, which would've been far more normal compared to the truth.

But Luka, judging from the way he stared at her, eyes narrowed in contemplation, had caught onto the subtle implications in her tone.

Gripping her capris and taking a deep breath to steady her mind, Marinette pushed herself up to walk over to her computer chair. Nudging it aside with her leg, she turned to him and placed a hand atop the stack of transcripts, explaining, "I found these when I was at an event for the Ladybug movie everyone was talking about. There was a guy - Thomas Astruc - who directed it, but these call him a writer and I couldn't find out anything about it."

It all sounded irrelevant to what they were discussing, but Luka stood and came to stand alongside her, eyeing the stack and waiting for whatever she might say next.

In response, she held out three transcripts: Captain Hardrock, Frozer, and Reflekdoll. "You should read these first, but.... you might not like what you'll see."

It's all the warning she could give him without sounding like she was insane; his last way out before plunging under the depths with her. There would be no going back afterwards.

Luka, though puzzled, reached out for the papers, eyeing her face one last time before taking the transcripts in his hands to look at them properly. His eyes widened at what she imagined what the name of his mom's akuma, but he didn't comment on it as he went about reading.

Marinette stayed quiet the whole time, hands clasped tightly together to keep herself from making any movements. There would be time later for all of her discoveries and personal observations, but for now she let him piece it together himself.

Luka didn't say anything either, so she could only infer how he was feeling based on facial expressions and body language: the twitch of his eyebrows, the way his eyes flicked back up to reread something he found particularly unbelievable, and the sudden exhales he made that would ruffle the paper...

She could imagine that he was having a similar experience to her own, but what she couldn't was how it must've felt to realize the role he played.

Without question, he could've been invited to the photoshoot; he should've been invited and they could’ve easily made the time work out for him. After all, what better way to keep Juleka's anxiety at bay than to have the brother who knew it best along for the ride? She had men's clothes too and he could've easily modeled alongside his sister, the only reason Marinette hadn't invited him at the time being that she feared tampering with the plot with additional variables.

But she knew why it wasn't written into the original, at least. He was second place to someone else, so rarely thought about even with his role of being the "main character's" other crush. In the eyes of the plot, his feelings were written to be discarded, and it didn't matter how sweet he was or how compatible they might've been otherwise.

He would fail no matter what, tripping at the word 'go' without a chance of getting back up. She couldn't fathom why anyone would think to do that: to write a character who only served as a stone to be stepped on in order to get the person he liked with someone else.

She shuddered just thinking about it.

Luka's movements were unsteady - unlike himself - as he tore his gaze away from the transcripts in his hands to the ones on the table, his hip awkwardly bumping against the edge. He set the ones she'd given him aside to start reading from the others, leaning against the table with his back turned to it for support.

Marinette bit her bottom lip, sympathetic. The stack contained a majority of the transcripts she'd picked up and, while he may've intended try to pour through all of them, she did keep a choice few tucked away: specifically, the ones from the future that had him in them. It wasn't that she was ashamed of what she was written to do or wanted to keep him in the dark, but she'd wanted to mull things over herself first.

In more direct terms, her feelings for him. She would never deny that their first meeting had been "staged," written in such a way for them to start crushing on each other. She'd spent the full two weeks questioning her own emotions, sorting through them to see which felt real and which felt manufactured. It wasn't easy, and even now it was hard to gauge exactly what she felt that day.

So on some level, she looked forward to this: seeing Luka in front of her after reading something that treated him as someone to set aside. He still felt real, she'd still been aware of his body heat when they'd sat next to each other, and she couldn't help watching how he tilted his head just slightly when his bangs got in the way of reading a line or two.

She brought her clasped hands to her chest, feeling her own heartbeat. Regardless of the past, she knew the quickened thumping wasn't only from nerves, but what she couldn't know were his feelings.

Withholding those few transcripts for just a little longer played into that.

Marinette noticed the papers quiver in Luka's hands, looking down to see a tight grip that was all too familiar to her. Unable to stand aside any longer, she stepped towards him and unclasped her hands. Her fingers were stiff from gripping herself so tight, but she reached out anyway, delicately sliding her hand over his.

Luka's haunted gaze broke as he made eye contact with her, searching for something she couldn't quite place. Before she could say anything, he moved, both arms going around her and pulling her into a tight squeeze. The air left her lungs in a gasp, and her next breath took in his scent, so very close to her.

"Haaa—" He stopped for a moment, wavering, then tried again. "H-have you been dealing with this all by yourself?"

Her vision started to blur, tears coming to her eyes unbidden. He was the heavier of the two of them and she could feel it in his embrace, but the weight coming off her shoulders made it feel like nothing. She hadn't given a thought to what she may have liked to hear herself after what she'd been through, yet his words struck her in the heart in every right way.

It was an unspoken 'You're not alone anymore.' She hugged him back just as tightly, burying her face into his shoulder as she cherished the moment.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, having little else to say after keeping it a secret for what felt like so long. She might not have needed to apologize for it, but it clearly hurt him to know that she had been hurting.

And now he'd be with her through all of this; he'd shown her as much. Whether that involved helping her figure out what to do about Hawk Moth or how to break away fully from the plot, he'd be there.

That meant there was only one more thing to check.

Slowly, Marinette loosened her grip on the back of his jacket, giving him a sign that he could let go. His hands dropped back down to his sides, one hand still clutching the transcripts he'd been reading, but before he could step away from her, she reached up to take his face in her hands. His mouth dropped open without a sound, the hair in front of his ears tickling her fingers as she slid her palms against his cheeks.

His face was paler than usual from everything that'd been revealed to him, but colored at her featherlight touch. She tried to communicate everything with her eyes, giving him every opportunity to pull away from her.

The plots consistently tried to keep the events in place. Her grandfather still got akumatized, she'd put back and pulled out the wrong letter multiple times before giving up and keeping it between her teeth while she reached inside her yoyo, and Adrien still came along to the photoshoot no matter what she did. She could almost feel the world resisting her at every turn.

It wasn't safe to let her guard down when she knew one of the transcripts were taking place. It was already hard enough trying to make changes while the threat of the "destined" outcomes loomed over her, and there were other outcomes that were clearly avoided, such as her and Chat learning each other's identities.

When she first learned - read - that Adrien was Chat, there were a few days where she struggled to remember it. Maybe it was because of so much information being piled onto her at once, or something was fighting knowledge that she wasn't supposed to have.

And now, right there with her, was someone she wasn't supposed to have.

"Luka," she whispered, then closed her eyes and kissed him.

It was purposeful. It was delightful. It was terrifying. If there were only an external force causing his feelings for her, this is where it would all come undone. She kept her eyes shut tight, trying to feel out any sign that he didn't want this.

Instead, she heard the fluttering of papers, the transcripts falling at her feet as Luka held her again. He returned the kiss just as passionately, the stiffness and nerves from before fading away while he let himself drown in the comfort of the contact.

Faintly, she could recall her first kiss - the one demanded of her if she wanted to take out the akuma - but memories associated with anything written before she'd read the transcripts had slowly drifted to the back of her mind. They detached themselves from all else, as if she'd only experienced them in someone else's body.

Kissing Luka, meanwhile, felt vivid, her body shuddering in a mixture of joy and relief. Even when the kiss broke, he didn't step back from her, pressing their foreheads together. His eyes were half-lidded and appeared almost more blue than usual, a color she was quickly associating with hope.

Both at a loss for words, they accepted it and left talk of the future for the future. As for right then and there, they could write their own story just for themselves.

[beardedjoel]

pretty little wife | meet cute, part 1

joel miller x f!reader one shot collection

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | ✨kofi ✨ summary: 8.3k words; you didn't feel like going out for your friends birthday that night, but it turned out fate had very different plans for you. or a flashback to the night joel and pretty wife met. warnings: 18+ MDNI! no apocalypse au, relationship not established here like the other chapters, unprotected piv, public sex, rough sex, sub/dom relationship, dirty talk, pet names for reader, alcohol consumption a/n: this was getting super long and has been so much fun to write so i'm splitting it into two parts to also show their first date! i'm actually so obsessed with them its getting delusional and not even funny anymore but i digress

You hadn’t particularly wanted to go out tonight, but it was your friend Hanna’s birthday and her soft, doe-like eyes when she’d begged you to come had you giving in quickly. Sure, you had what felt like a million things to study for, homework piling up, but the more you thought about it, the better a night out sounded. 

She’d picked a relatively nondescript dive bar as her venue of choice, saying that it had cheap drinks, and seeing as it was her 21st birthday, she wanted to get drunk for as little money as possible. 

You and about ten other girls file into the bar, immediately having what feels like every set of eyes in the room on you all. You’d bet it’s not every day that an overdressed, loud group of young twenty-something’s walks into this place ready to get plastered. 

You all crowd around a few tables, pushing them together, and Hanna spots a jukebox, excitedly gushing over the way she’s going to put on all of her favorite songs later and dance when she gets drunk enough. 

After your first cocktail, you’re already having so much fun  that you wonder why you even had any doubts about coming out tonight. You laugh hard at something one of your friends, Rachel, says and your face falls immediately as your attention catches on something across the room. Not something, but someone. 

A man, who you’d guess is somewhere in his forties or fifties from the looks of it, is sitting with his own group. Even in the darkened shadows of the room, you’re mesmerized - he has a grumpy smile on his face as he chats with the person next to him. He runs a hand through grown out, dark curls and you can see the top half of his body above the bar top, muscled and broad and so inviting. 

You force yourself to blink, about to look away, when you see his eyes catch on yours. You feel your heart sink, hoping he didn’t catch you staring so intently, but swear he gives you a little wink before turning back to his beer that he’s nursing in one hand. Your insides flutter at the gesture, hoping your delusional self didn’t just imagine him sending that wink your way. 

You feel your stomach twist, and realize that despite how attractive you think he is, you’re typically way too shy to make the first move, so it’s unlikely much will come of this newfound attraction. You couldn’t help but continue to glance at him while you chat with your friends for the next hour, drinking in his mannerisms and ruggedly good looks, wishing you could hear what he was saying across this crowded, noisy room. 

You’d never felt like this before upon simply seeing someone, and it made your brain buzz more than the alcohol was, a steady little humming in the back of your mind. In fact, you hadn’t had more than a cocktail at this point, and were actively trying to blame this crazy feeling you were having on anything other than the handsome stranger you just couldn’t seem to stop staring at. 

You decide maybe another drink would help, so you break off from your friends to go up to the bar and order something.

You’re looking over the list of cocktails on a concerningly sticky laminated menu, scrunching your face up in disgust. You knew this place was divey, but their list of cocktails is downright depressing. Your first one hadn’t been very good, either, so you decide to change directions and order a beer instead. 

You glance around the room as you wait to catch the busy bartender’s attention while they flit around, taking orders and making beverages. Your eyes widen a bit as they land on Handsome Stranger, who is now openly meeting your gaze without shame.

You try to avert your eyes out of pure embarrassment, but you keep yourself staring for a moment too long before nervously chewing your lip and gazing down at the bar, pretending to be overly interested in the menu again. 

When you gather the courage to glance back up at where he was sitting, Handsome Stranger is gone, and you survey the area in a tiny panic, swinging your head to the side only to see him curving around the edge of the bar and walking straight towards you. 

He’s coming over. Oh god. 

He settles himself against the bar right next to you and clears his throat a little, cocking his head.

“Hi, there,” he says, and your jaw nearly drops at the husky, rasping accented voice that drips off his tongue like one of the sweetest sounds your ears have ever heard. You actively fight a shudder that wants to wrack your body, thinking of what that deep rumble would sound like against your neck, your lips, your everywhere.

You give him a nervous chuckle and swallow hard, hoping he doesn’t notice. “Hey,” you reply, wishing you suddenly felt less shy under his dark, brooding gaze. You suddenly are overly aware of how loud the room is, a myriad of classic rock, pop, rap, and everything in between blaring through the speakers from the jukebox the entire night. The realization hits you that you two may have to get closer to hear each other coherently and your stomach twists a little in anticipation. 

“Listen, I don’t usually do-“ he starts, but you can’t catch what he’s saying over the noise, so you scrunch your brows together and cup your ear in his direction. 

“What’s that?” You feel like you practically yell the words to him, your cheeks heating as he starts to lean closer. His face is merely inches from yours now, his mouth angled towards your ear. You get a better look at his face now, his dark, wiry beard with a few graying patches, and some deeper set lines in his face surrounded by speckled, tan skin. He’s rugged and handsome and everything that turns you on personified. It’s actually insane, now that you think about it, to see someone so seemingly perfectly made for you looks-wise, let alone have them interested in talking to you. 

“I said…” the man says, clearing his throat again. “I don’t usually do this kinda thing, but…” he trails off, studying your face for a few moments. You watch on intently, already enraptured by his words, not even able to form a follow up to prompt him to continue speaking. 

“But you’re so damn beautiful I had to say somethin’ to ya before you snuck away,” he says. His voice hits deep in your core now that it’s closer, sending you belly swirling in a sickly addictive feeling, one that you already know will be hard to shake tonight. You blink hard, wondering if he’d managed to speak to the wrong girl, but he’s looking right into your eyes without an ounce of doubt hidden behind those dark irises. 

“I… don’t know about that…” you mumble, but he cocks his head further, brows knitted together. 

“Would never say somethin’ like that if I wasn’t telling the truth,” he replies a bit more seriously. You bite your lip and decide that maybe you do trust him - that this handsome, mystery man really does have eyes for you in a bar full of attractive women. 

“Well, thank you,” you say, puffing your chest up a bit with a smile. “You’re not too bad looking yourself,” you add on, finally feeling a bit of your icy shyness melting away. 

He chuckles lightly, rubbing a nervous hand behind his neck, leaving a red mark in its wake. “Would you have a drink with me?”

You lick your lips and then bite the bottom one, contemplating. You don’t fail to notice Joel’s eyes flick down to that exact spot, then to your throat where you swallow again.

“I’d like that.”

“Somewhere quieter?” he calls out towards your ear, and you nod enthusiastically. He orders you two drinks, shooting an eyebrow up when you request a beer as well, and leads you to a small, cozy booth off to the side where there at the least aren’t speakers directly over your heads. 

“Now,” he rumbles out, folding his hands on top of the table  “What’s a girl like you doin’ here?” he asks as you slide into the seat across from him and settle in. 

You breathe an amused laugh through your nose. “My friends,” you say, motioning with a thumb over your shoulder in their direction, where they’re seemingly still having a great time together, a fit of giggles as they all sip their drinks. “One friend wanted the divey experience tonight for her birthday, I guess. Cheap drinks.”

Handsome Stranger’s eyes flick past you to your friends, and you see a flash of recognition as he processes Hanna’s extremely gaudy 21st birthday sash. You can see the gears turning, see him putting the pieces together as his lips part from the tight line they’d been settled in. 

“Hmm,” he grumbles, eyes back on you and seeming to consider you for a moment, taking in your face and making you feel your body temperature suddenly rising. You want to tug on your collar, do something to alleviate it, but can’t give him the satisfaction. 

“Shit,” you mumble under your breath, breaking completely under his stare. “I- I’ll be twenty two soon, so… I’m not…” you trail off, losing all conviction in whatever message you were trying to convey. Handsome Stranger has been too quiet, too guarded regarding this new information, and you feel your stomach turn nervously. 

“Did I just mess this up?” you blurt out, your face betraying you completely and contorting into a worried expression. He gives you a tired sounding chuckle, running a hand through his beard then back around to his neck. 

“No, darlin’, sorry. I - I don’t have a problem with it. Jus’ needed a second. You look… a bit older, so I was surprised, I guess.”

Your shoulders sag in relief - you hadn’t expected to be so devastated at the prospect of losing your new acquaintance’s attention so quickly, and only because of your age. You’d always been interested in older men, and had even been on a few dates with some, but nobody that pulled you in immediately like the stunningly gorgeous man sitting in front of you now. 

You lower your eyes to your lap, wringing your hands together. “You don’t have to be nice, I understand if you’re not interested. I’ve ended up being too young for a lot of guys I’ve talked to.”

“You’re talkin’ to a lot of guys my age, are you?”

Your eyes shoot back up to him, finding a new confidence that he’s still flirting with you. You shrug casually, fluttering your lashes a bit as you smirk. “Maybe, maybe not.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, frowning. “I gotta say, I don’t think I like that.”

You lean forward on the table, folding your arms in front of you as you rest your forearms down to support yourself. You stare into his dark yet warm eyes and try your best to cock an intimidating eyebrow. 

“And why is that?” you ask, upping your voice an octave, trying to sound more innocent. 

Handsome Stranger takes a deep breath, sighing and mirroring you by leaning himself closer to you. You can inspect him even closer now, smell the beer on him and whatever that musky, manly scent is that he carries with him, something you can already tell will be addictive. 

“‘Cause I want you all to myself.”

You stun at his words a little, knowing that your face is giving it away - your confident, fierce facade fading in an instant. You lick your lips nervously, his dark, desirous tone digging deep inside of you, lodging itself in your core and starting another pooling of arousal between your legs. You finally turn your lips up a little, meeting his gaze with a hard stare again while you put your chin in your hands. 

“You’ve got me right here, don’t you?”

He seems to like that, breaking the intensity between you two with a small laugh, leaning back and taking a long sip of his beer. 

“I’m Joel,” he says, and your smile widens as you consider the name on him, finding it suits him perfectly. It dawns on you that you’d been so absorbed in the conversation you didn’t even realize that you had no clue what his name was, that you may have even been content to fall in love with the man right here tonight and not even know his name. 

You tell him your name in return and it gets a genuine grin out of him, like hearing it for the first time was an answer to a question he’d long been asking himself. 

“You know, I could ask you the same thing - what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?”

“Don’t think I look like the kind of guy who spends his nights in a place like this?”

“I mean… sort of…” you say shyly, trying not to laugh nervously. “You come here a lot?”

Joel seems amused by the way he’s getting you to blush and stutter. “Sometimes, with some crew from work. But that‘s what I'd expect, not… someone like you, honey. Ain’t no place for someone like you.”

“Well,” you twist your lips to the side teasingly. “I’m here, whether you like it or not.”

“Or not?” Joel chuckles incredulously. “Think I made it clear I certainly like it.”

You just give him a smug smile and sip from your drink, trying not to make a sour face in front of Joel, who seems to actually be enjoying his beer quite a bit. You’ve never been a big fan of beer, but it’s at least better than those stomach churning cocktails. 

“So, here with people from work… what do you do?”

“Contracting. Jus’ started my own company, actually. With my brother.” Joel tells you, and you give him an impressed raise of your eyebrows. 

“That’s really cool. Very impressive that you’re the big boss.” You lean in again to show your interest and toss your hair over your shoulder.

Joel’s eyes flash a little darker. “Like hearin’ that name from you,” he chuckles, “Otherwise it’s been a lot of pressure to be the boss, I guess.”

“Is it going well, though?”

Joel nods with a little shrug. “S’okay. Pickin’ up now so we’re doin’ good.” 

You give him an encouraging smile, trying to think of what to say next, feeling like a nervous mess around him, wanting him to think you’re interesting and worth his time, not just some young girl with nothing to offer. 

“Now what about you? Assume you’re in school?” he asks.

You try not to roll your eyes at the sore subject and breathe out a sigh. “Yeah, I am. I just… I’m not really into it.” 

Joel looks on curiously. “Uh-huh. Boring classes?”

“Not even that. I just don’t… like it. I’m so tired of having no clue what I’m doing. I thought about teaching, doing something like that, but I don’t know…” You let out a small sigh. “Sounds entitled or stupid maybe, but I just can’t find my passion there.” You feel your frustration coming out unfairly onto Joel, dropping your hands onto the table with an irritated thud.

“Not at all, sweetheart,” Joel says, laying one of his hands on the table, offering it to you as he slides it over, resting it on top of yours. “Some people ain’t meant for school. I didn’t really have a choice to not go to college, but worked out alright for m’self, right?”

You nod with a thoughtful look, despite barely knowing much of anything about how things worked out for Joel, but you believe him. Or at the least, he sounded happy enough to be owning his own contracting company.

“Thanks,” you say simply, offering him a grateful smile. 

Joel leans forward again on the table, not moving his hand from yours, and you feel hot all over. “‘Course. Now how ‘bout I help you find what you’re passionate about, hm?”

An hour and several more drinks later, you’ve moved over to Joel’s side of the booth at his insistence, where he pulled you nearly onto his lap, your thighs crossed over his as your ass is planted in the booth right next to him. A steady arm of his is wrapped around your back and pulling you close to him, stroking relaxed circles as you two chat. You feel perfectly content, buzzed from the alcohol and comfortable in Joel’s embrace, despite this being the first night you’ve even met him Something about him has put you at ease yet excited you, a consistent skittering of electricity across your skin where it connects to his.

You’ve discovered that you have more in common with a man in his mid forties than you might have thought. But along the way you’ve noted enough differences that you two have to keep the conversation balanced, having different interests and perspectives to add into the mix. Your banter has some kind of alluring pull with Joel, never stopping the beautiful flow of chatter and laughter you’ve found together until he leans in on a quieter moment, kissing your cheek and then moving to your neck. You feel your breath hitch at the warmth of his lips, your body stiffening yet going soft for him, breathing out shakily. 

“Mm,” you whimper quietly, unsure if he can hear it over the noise of the room. 

“Like it when I kiss you here, hm?” he rumbles, moving his lips to your ear where he ghosts his lips over your sensitive earlobe then back down to your neck. 

“Uh-huh,” you manage to say, eyes fluttering as you lean further into him. He keeps kissing every sensitive little bit of skin on your neck, trailing down to your collarbone and inward. “Jesus…” you whimper as he suddenly sucks lightly on your neck, testing you. 

“I gotta mark you, let everyone know…” he murmurs, sucking another spot not even inches away. You squirm, grinding your ass into the seat as you rub your legs together, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Joel. “You’re mine tonight.”

You feel your cunt clench around nothing, squeezing tightly and wishing some part of him was filling that void, letting you squeeze around it while he practically makes you come just by putting his lips to your neck. 

“Mhm… yours…” you mumble, lolling your head back in the throes of your pleasure. 

“Taste so good, sweetheart, bet you’re just as sweet everywhere else, too,” Joel says, his tongue flicking along where he’s just sucked harder, testing the waters.

You can only moan quietly, not even daring to think about the other people in the crowded bar who could be witness to your overly raunchy public display. In fact, you find that you barely care, not with the way Joel’s lips feel like heaven every time they touch you, the way he’s making little satisfied noises next to your ear as your body responds to him.

“Joel…” you moan wantonly, starting to go more limp in his hold as he continues teasing you. He slips a hand between your tightly squeezed together thighs, bringing his palm up to cup the outside of your jeans. You know he must feel how warm and damp you are, even through the few layers there - he’s thoroughly teased you to a point where you’re hurting, your cunt aching and pulsing for him, dripping and soaking your panties.

“Christ…” you hear Joel exhale, his breath catching for a moment in his throat. “Fuckin’ soaked for me. Someone needs to get taken care of, doesn’t she?”

You only nod as he palms you harder while he’s speaking, desperate and unable to even find the words. You’re completely undone, trying to come to terms with the fact that Joel is about to ruin any other man for you in just a few short moments together.

“C’mon, then, let’s go,” Joel announces, patting your thigh, urging you to move. You follow him, beckoning you out of your seat with him, grasping your hand as he leads you to the bathroom. Your skin tingles where he holds your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours, and your palms sweat as heat courses through you, settling and pooling deep between your legs. 

You two burst through the door, saying a silent thank you that it’s just a single person restroom at this bar - no stalls, no other people to shoo out of the way. Joel slams the door behind you with built up aggression and you hear the lock click.

He’s on you before you can even register that it’s happening, pressing himself close and wrapping one of his large palms around the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. He pulls your head towards his eagerly, crashing his lips into you, not giving you an inch of space with the way he’s tugging your head closer. 

You both ravenously clash teeth and tongues and lips until you’re practically breathless. One hand bunches on his shirt, clutching him to you, the other wrapped around his neck, burying itself in the dark hair that curls down. Your bodies draw together over and over, starting a steady grind on each other, barely even registering where one body begins and ends as you both chase pleasure using the other's body. 

You moan quietly when you start to feel him against your steadily aching cunt, his erection warm and pressing against his jeans. Your hands shake a little with excitement as you reach in between your bodies to grab him outside the denim, and he groans into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, finally pulling his lips away from yours. He looks down at your swollen, puffy lips, chin red underneath from his scratchy facial hair. He can’t take his eyes off of yours though, so bright and eager for him as your pupils blow out with desire.

“Don’t usually do this either, get random girls into the bathroom with me, swear,” he adds, and you laugh a little against his lips. 

“I’m hearing a lot of that from you tonight,” you tease. 

“Jus’ the effect a girl like you has on me,” he quips back, and you find your cheeks warming and flushing at his words. Despite having just met him not even a few hours ago, you find that you believe him, that you are someone special to him. This strange connection, this pull you feel towards him has you questioning many things, and especially the fact that you’re fully about to fuck someone in a public restroom - something you’d never have imagined yourself doing. 

Until Joel. 

He seems more in control now, leaning forward to pepper your face with kisses, catching the corners of your mouth and pulling away just before you can meet his lips again. You pout as he does it for the third time, moving his lips right underneath to your chin, soothing the irritated skin there from his beard hairs. He finally gives in, kissing you with an open mouth, lapping his tongue sensually against yours, while his hands slip down your back and to your ass. You nearly melt, the intense softness of the way his mouth is moving on yours is starting to make you dizzy. You lean closer for support and Joel catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger as soon as he pulls away from the kiss.

“Get on your knees f’me, hm?” he says, studying your expression to read your reaction to his request.

You only consider it for a moment, the hardness of the floor on your knees, the dirtiness of it all, but your body and mind both tug at you, your knees feeling a buzzing, like they need to go down and touch this cold, unrelenting floor for him. You’d never considered yourself a very dominant person in your past relationships, but you’d also never had anyone trying to dominate you.

Not like this, at least. Not with the tone he’s using, the way he’s looking at you like he knows you’ll do it for him, like he knows you want to listen to him. To be good for him. 

Your knees bend, settling in front of him as you place your hands on his hips. You lick your lips absentmindedly, thinking about them settling around the cock you can see pressing against his pants. You feel a new flood of arousal at the thought, the way you’d never have considered doing something like this in the bathroom of a bar, but you like this side of you that Joel is bringing out. 

“Fuck. Good girl,” he rasps, and you stop, your lips popping open at his words, like something in your brain suddenly clicked into place at what you heard. 

“Can you s-say it again,” you ask quietly, reaching up slowly to his belt.

“What? Like being called a good girl, do you?” Joel’s smile curls into something sinister, and he tucks his fingers under your chin, making sure you’re looking up at him from where you kneel. “Jus’ happens I like to fuck good girls, so you’re in luck.”

You can only remind yourself to breathe as his words flood you, douse you in complete and utter arousal on every inch of your body, leaving you speechless. Your skin practically tingles as you wait for his next move, hands frozen on his belt.

“I’ll be good for you,” you whimper when he releases your chin, your head falling down a bit with the sudden loss of his support. Your hands get back to work, and Joel watches with satisfaction, a hand coming down to stroke the back of your head. You nearly find yourself purring like a cat, feeling a rumble of satisfaction deep inside of yourself at the gesture.

“Mm,” Joel says, his eyes narrowing down at you. “Much as I want your mouth on me, we’ve got our whole lives for you to suck my cock, pretty girl, and tonight… I need to fuck you. Like nothin’ I’ve ever needed before in my life.” 

Before you can even reply his hands tug you up from the floor and you stumble into his arms, caught by the sheer size and strength of his entire body against you. He swings you as you crash into him, pressing you back against the sink counter. His hands expertly unbutton your black, skintight jeans, unzipping them and starting to shimmy them down over your ass, his lips still attached to yours.

“God damn it, makin’ it hard, ain’t you, with these tight little pants…” he murmurs, moving his full attention to pulling down your jeans, finally getting them to your ankles.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t like my jeans?” you ask innocently as you step out of them, and Joel takes in your black lace panties, wetting his lips at the sight. Joel just growls in response, a resounding yes, bumping you so that your ass hits the counter again.

“Up” A simple command, but you’re too lost in the moment, feeling every inch of his body burning into yours, so you hesitate. “Don’t make me ask again,” he snips, and you feel your insides twist, your cunt clench around nothing inside of your soaked panties at his commandeering tone. You stand on your tip toes and let him help hoist you onto the counter. He steps forward between your legs, his face now level with yours and his hips coming flush with you. 

“Look at that… perfect fit,” he comments with a smirk, looking over the way your bodies are coming together, the way his cock will shortly have the perfect angle to slide into your tight hole. 

You give him a little giggle. “Perfect…” you echo, smiling as you look between your legs and then back up to his face. 

Joel’s thumbs dig under the waistband of your panties, starting to pull them down with the help of you lifting your hips. He holds them up, inspecting the slick, shiny stain you’d left, taking up most of the underwear. He simply shakes his head, fingering the wetness and smirking before balling it up and stuffing it into the back pocket of his jeans. 

Amused, you smile dazedly at him and reach out to grab at his arms, pulling him closer. Your fingers dig into his muscled biceps and you bite your lip at how absolutely fucking hot it feels. 

“Look at that little pussy, doll, so pretty, ain’t it. Gonna be all mine,” Joel says, peering in between your legs as he works on his belt and zipper. When his cock springs free from his jeans you try to hold back your stunned gasp, but Joel notices it, the way your eyes widen as you breathe in sharply. He’s not just big, he’s thick, and while you have some experience, this is certainly new and uncharted territory for you. 

“Hey,” Joel says, pulling you back to reality as he puts both hands on the sides of your face. “I know, but we can go slow if you need. Won’t be upset.”

You’re reeling with so many different thoughts - the rational part of your brain wanting to take Joel up on that offer, but the absolutely batshit crazy for him part of your brain doesn’t care one bit, only wanting him to take you, make you his. 

You slowly shake your head, meeting his stare from under your brows. “Don’t…” You wet your lips, pouting them out for him. “Go slow. Fuck me like you mean it, like I know you want to.”

Joel completely breaks, shaking his head and his expression twists into something completely feral, part of him gone to that other side of him, the one you know that needs you just as badly as you need him. 

“So fuckin’ obedient. Such a good girl.” You clench at his words, finding your body practically has an involuntary response to hearing his praise, drunk on it and desperate for more. He smirks, pressing himself close, both hands snaking around to the globes of your ass as they sit on the counter and squeezing. He delivers a swift slap to one of them before tugging hard, bringing you flush with his cock now resting at your entrance. You moan and gasp with the pain and pleasure of his palm smacking your flesh but give him a needy look as encouragement. 

“Gonna take me like the dirty little slut you are, lettin’ me fuck you in this bathroom,” Joel growls out as he presses forward, the head of his cock bursting into your entrance with one swift push of his hips. You whimper and nod to answer him, completely distracted now. 

You can feel yourself clench all over, just the thickness of his head is overwhelming, but he doesn’t stop, just slides into you inch by inch and you swallow hard and try not to tremble too much. You feel his head kissing deep inside of you, and your mind is swimming, wondering how you’re even taking so much of him right now. 

“Good girl, that’s right, take it so good…” Joel mumbles, his eyes hazy and dreamy as he feels you tighten and contract around him. He gently kneads where he’s holding onto your ass to try to soothe you. 

Your hold on his shoulders reaches a death grip as he starts to move inside of you, slowly at first. You find yourself appreciating that despite telling him to fuck you hard, he’s still being careful at first just in case. You buck your hips forward, pressing him just the tiniest bit deeper. Joel hums a little and chuckles at your insistence. 

“That eager, are you?”

“I told you to fuck me like you want to,” you snip back, rolling your hips into his again.

Joel leans forward to bury his face against your neck, sighing. “Gotta stop sayin’ that, darlin’, makin’ me crazy.” 

His lips flit down to your chest, where your low cut tank top is askew now, tits half falling out. He palms one of them before pulling your shirt down so that they’re both spilling out. 

“Don’t keep these pretty things from me, wanna watch ‘em when I fuck you,” he says, and you smirk, seeing how worked up Joel already is over you. It makes you feel so good, so desired, so unlike any other man you’ve been with before. 

He slides his cock into you a little faster, picking up speed with each thrust until you’re sure you can’t take it anymore. You know your face is contorted into a mixture of pleasure and pain, unsure how your body is even accommodating his girth right now, feeling like you’re being split open, your insides completely full of him. 

“My god, oh my god,” you mumble breathily, your brows knit in a concentrated look, trying to focus on the pleasure rather than the pain. 

“Thas’ it, babydoll, you got this, focus on me,” Joel encourages you, and you try to relax your body, feeling yourself finally adjusting more to his size. “Good girl, take it so good, yeah.”

He looks down to where your bodies meet with a satisfied smile, seeing you stretch over and over as you take his cock repeatedly. He’s starting to hit a heavenly pace now that your body is molding to his, taking him like you were made for it as he starts to jackhammer into you. You moan his name quietly under your breath, holding back as you hear the drone of the muffled music outside the bathroom, reminding you that you’re in a public space.

“Feels good, don’t it?” Joel grunts out as he, “Be a good girl and be loud f’me. I can see you holdin’ back.”

“Feels so good… so big, Joel,” you moan out a little louder,

“Thas’ right, baby, my big cock fits perfectly in this tight little cunt, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, yes,” you nod eagerly, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck, anchoring yourself to him while he pounds into you. You’re deliriously accepting all of it through the pain, the kind that’s nearly addicting because your body knows it’s good. You respond heartily to him, squelching, pornographic sounds reverberating in the bathroom as he pumps his length in and out of you.

“Christ, you’re so fuckin’ eager, so fuckin’ wet… c’mere,” Joel says suddenly, pulling out of you and yanking you by the hips off the counter where you land on shaky feet. He spins you and thrusts you against the counter, fumbling slightly as he grabs at your ass cheeks and spreads them apart. One hand slams onto your back as his cock slides between your legs and splits you open again, the sting of the stretch coming right back to you for a moment as you gasp. He pushes down, laying you flat onto the cold countertop, your bare tits pressed against it. 

“Up a little, let me see those perfect tits, honey,” Joel says, a hand going to your hair to yank on it, making you arch your back enough to get your chest off of the linoleum. “That’s right, there we go, so fuckin’ pretty,” Joel says, keeping his hand buried in your scalp, your locks gripped tightly in his palm to continue keeping you right where he wants you. You feel your tits bouncing like he wanted, your nipples grazing against the countertop each time he thrusts you forward. The sensitive buds send wave after wave of arousal through you each time they contact the cool surface, and as he lifts your hips slightly you nearly choke as he hits something deep and pleasurable inside of you.

“Oh… oh… n-no it’s too much…” you mumble, feeling like your eyes could start to cross every time you feel him pressing near this part of you, so you flutter them shut.

“Uh-uh. Eyes open, wanna see you lookin’ in this mirror at how pretty y’look right now.” Joel yanks tenderly on your hair, not as hard this time, keeping your attention. You pop your eyes open, and look at yourself, heavy lidded, cloudy, hardly recognizing yourself or anything around you. Only able to feel the way Joel is impaling you with the strangest, most intense, pleasurable feeling you’ve ever had inside of yourself.

“Wh- wh- it feels so - o-oh my god, I c-can’t,” you cry out at the tail end of your sentence as Joel jolts his hips harder, flesh slapping against flesh repeatedly.

“S’okay, you’re takin’ it so good, doll, that’s jus’ your g-spot, baby, don’t worry,” Joel says soothingly, switching over to a protective mode for a moment when he can see the worry flash in your eyes.

Your mouth falls open and you let out a languid, fraught moan as he tilts your hips a little more, catching the spot on a new angle. If you were being honest, you’d never stimulated your g-spot before - not by yourself, and certainly not with any other men, and now you were wondering how you’d lived without doing it for so long. It felt like the sweetest build up of pleasure, filling a hole deep inside of yourself with warmth, starting to tingle all the way through your body to the tips of your limbs.

“Fuck… don’t stop, don’t stop, please,” you cry out, feeling your knees shake, supported by Joel as he presses against you and keeps a tight hold on your hips. “I’m - shit - I’m coming, Joel. Harder, please.”

“So,” Joel spits out with a thrust. “Fuckin.” Thrust. “Polite.” Thrust. “Pretty girl.” He ups his pace even more, something you weren’t sure was possible and you’re bouncing forward, the edge of the counter digging into your torso and head nearing the mirror as he gives you his all. 

You explode, a scream of his name clawing out of your throat when the pressure snaps suddenly, sending you practically convulsing, limbs taut and shaking as you clench in spasms around him.

“Babygirl, she feels so tight, squeezin’ me like that,” Joel murmurs in a wavering voice, continuing his unrelenting pace. He wraps his hands underneath where you lean against the counter, cupping your tits and pulling you up as he leans down to meet your body - flesh against flesh, the sweat forming on your back soaking into his soft flannel shirt. You can feel the damp warmth of the fabric, like he’s been sweating through it this entire time, and it smells earthy and like sex already. You feel your orgasm reach a peak at the thought of leaving your scent on him tonight.

“J-joel, come inside me, fuck,” you cry out, meeting his gaze in the mirror with a heady look. For once, Joel follows a command instead of giving one, grunting with a final push of his hips, shooting his spend deep inside of you. 

“D-dirty little cumslut, wantin’ me to fill you up, make you mine, mmm” Joel says with a groan, his hips bouncing a few more times while he rides down his high. 

You can only nod, feeling fully fucked out and limp while he finishes using your spent cunt. You know it’s risky, that you should have thought more before tossing the idea of a condom aside in your mind, before asking a virtual stranger to pump his seed into you, but you truly don’t care. You only care about Joel, about giving to him what you knew he wanted. He didn’t even have to say it, but the way he fucked you, so rough and unrelenting, he wanted this, wanted to mark you in some way that would stick with you long after he pulls out. He wanted you to go home, find his cum leaking out of you onto your legs for the rest of the evening, be reminded of what he gave to you, how he ruined you.

You both stand in place, breathing heavily until Joel makes the first move, pulling himself out and tucking his cock back into his jeans. You feel raw, achy in the best way, and Joel notices your hesitation to move and wraps an arm around the front of you, bringing his lips to your ear.

“Good girl,” he whispers, biting the lobe and you shudder. “Good fuckin’ girl, y’know that? God…”

“I like being a good girl for you, Joel,” you say lazily, shutting your eyes as you lean back into him.

“Music to my ears, sweetheart. Now let's get you outta here, it’s late and you need some rest.”

Joel leads you out of the bathroom after you both adjust yourselves back to some semblance of normal, a hand on the small of your back as you enter the loud bar, seemingly much less crowded now than when you’d entered the bathroom. 

You see your friends, still grouped together but with a few more young, attractive men in the mix, crowded around a tiny table. Your friend Georgia spots you, waving you over with a slightly tired, exasperated look on her face. She’s the assigned designated driver for the night, and you can see that she’s more than ready to start heading out. You peek at the time on your phone and it’s after one in the morning.

“Come on,” she mouths, beckoning you dramatically and you can see your friends gathering up their things, saying their goodbyes to their new male counterparts.

You turn to Joel with an anxious look, and he grasps one of your hands, squeezing tightly.

“Go on, then,” he says softly, “Don’t keep them waitin’.”

You nod with a disappointed smile, wondering if you should have offered to go home with him instead. But the fact that he didn’t ask has already gotten in your head, so you lean forward to kiss him goodbye instead. He gives you a hungry kiss, one you could easily fall right back into, drag him to the bathroom again and let him do everything he just did all over again. 

He lets you go, nearly pushing you away with a small growl. You hurry over to your friends, who are shoving your purse and jacket back into your arms and ushering you away. You sneak one last glance back at Joel, standing with his hands in his pockets, wondering how your life could ever be the same after tonight.

You’re in a complete panic, only minutes from your house, tears brimming in your eyes.

“Please, Georgia, we have to go back, we have to - I don’t,” you feel around your bag for something that isn’t there, that you know isn’t there. A scrap of paper, a note, anything.

“Babe, you need to calm down and tell me what’s going on,” she replies, cool and collected as usual.

“Th- the guy. The one I was with. I didn’t get his phone number. Fuck, I don’t even know his last name. I -” A small sob escapes you, and you don’t know where all this emotion is coming from all of a sudden. It’s like when you’d been with Joel, you felt so calm, so even, and you hadn’t even had a chance to think about your emotional investment in what happened tonight. 

“Shit. And you think he would have wanted you to have it?” Georgia asks.

You blink, looking over at her, stunned that you hadn’t even thought of whether he wanted to see you again or not. You two hadn’t had a chance to discuss it before you’d been dragged out of the bar, but you’d gotten the sense he was intoxicated by you just as you were him. 

“I - think so? It seemed like maybe he would have. But now I’ll probably -” your voice cracks and shakes a little bit. “Never see him again.”

Georgia squeezes your shoulder softly, rubbing circles on it. “I’m sorry, honey. It’s going to be okay though, alright? You never know, the world has weird ways of working things out sometimes.”

You sigh, knowing the chances of that are slim, seeing as nothing that spectacular has ever happened to you before, and you don’t see why the universe would start now. “What if he’s still there, though? We could go back, please…”

“The bar closed twenty minutes ago, you know he’s not there anymore. I’m sorry,” she replies, giving your shoulder a final squeeze before putting both hands on the steering wheel and pulling up in front of your apartment. The last thing you want is to go up to your cramped space, shared with two roommates, nothing feeling truly yours. You want to scour the streets, walk around Austin until you find Joel again, until you can throw yourself in his arms and know you’re going to see him again and again and again. You can’t believe it took you losing him to realize just how much of a hold he has on you after those few short hours spent together.

You hug Georgia a teary goodbye and trudge up to your apartment, each step feeling heavy and painful, until you reach your bed and lay down, crying until you finally find it in you to get up and get ready for sleep.

You’ll be okay, just like Georgia said. You’re still drunk, and that’s it, that’s why you’re so emotional right now. Tomorrow you’ll just be happy you had incredible sex and can move on with your life. Surely, that’s exactly how it will go.

In the morning, you find the pit in your stomach hasn’t dissipated in the least, flashes of memories from last night torturing you as you try to function the next morning. You could barely sleep last night, the few drinks you had not even able to lull you into any kind of rest. You pace your room, thinking hard with a hot mug of coffee clutched between your hands.

You know now that you have to see him again, talk to him again, even if just to confirm whether or not it’s what he wants to do. Then you could have something definitive - closure, or a new, budding relationship with the man who absolutely fucking ruined you.

You stop dead in your tracks as an idea hits you, one that could potentially lead you back to Joel. Your heart pounds anxiously as you pray that the idea works, that there’s something there, not just delusional, hopeless hoping. You rush over to your phone and quickly dial Georgia’s number.

“Georgia!” you call out a bit too loudly, barely able to hear yourself over the rushing in your ears. “Hey,” you say more timidly.

She groans sleepily on the other end of the line, and it’s not until then that realize you’re up way too early for how late all of you stayed out last night. 

“Shit, s-sorry, I know it’s early, but…”

“What, babe? What could possibly be this important?” she groans into the phone teasingly, and you feel your cheeks heating up in embarrassment and shame that you woke her for something as silly as this, but you’re a woman possessed, on a mission to find Joel.

“I know, I know. I just couldn’t sleep. I feel like… he’s the one, or something. The guy from the bar. The connection was so crazy, and the sex, and I’m rambling now, god, sorry.” You take a breath, steadying your nerves. “My point is, you were sober last night. Joel said he was there with his work crew, so did you see anything? Any shirts or trucks or anything with a logo or a name for a construction type crew? Please,” you say, murmuring the last, begging word more to yourself or whatever higher power is in control of your current predicament.

You can hear the rustling of Georgia’s sheets on the other end and another sleepy sigh. “Let me think on it, okay? When I can wake up some more. I promise I’ll text you about it later.”

You two end the call and you start pacing again, your heart thundering in your chest, knowing every minute is going to be agony waiting to see what Georgia ends up texting you. The day drags on, hour by hour a wasted mess of a day, with your nerves too frayed to concentrate on much of anything - homework, studying, TV - none of it helps to distract you enough.

When your phone pings that afternoon you pounce on it, flopping down onto your bed with shaky hands, opening the notification from Georgia.

Miller Contracting.

Two words and you’re off to google after shooting her a thank you text with as many exclamation marks as you could slam out in the few seconds you wanted to spare before moving on in your search.

You find his business immediately, their shoddy little website that’s clearly was not made by any professional. It kind of makes you chuckle to think of Joel trying to make a website. The page features an uncomfortable looking photo of Joel and another man, who you can only assume is the brother he said he owns the business with. You immediately smile looking into his eyes, his hair looking a little more cropped and coiffed in this photo than it had last night. Underneath it, their phone number is listed, and your eyes widen, mouth going desert dry as you punch it into your phone. 

You hesitate, your finger hovering over the send button, needing to be sure of what you’re even going to say. What if he doesn’t answer, or it’s his brother, or they even have a secretary or something? Your mind spins but you force yourself to dial the call, anyways, driven forward by an unseen force that you’re quietly grateful for as the line trills in your ear.

Ring. Steady breath. Ring. Another. Ring.

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[violetrainbow412-blog]

Day 18: protecting

Masterlist flufftober 🎀

Reblog if you liked it!

“Are you okay with this?” Spencer asked, as he was about to walk through the door into the interrogation room.

You had captured the main suspect in a series of murders and Hotch gave Reid the task of interrogating him, but part of the plan was that after he asked some questions you would accompany him since you fit perfectly into victimology. If the man behind the glass was actually guilty, you were in the presence of a narcissistic and misogynistic criminal of the worst kind, violent enough to murder a woman in a matter of seconds if she didn't show interest, and that's why he wanted to make sure you were comfortable with that part of the plan.

“Yes, Reid. Everything is fine” to be honest, that answer wasn’t what you wanted to give him, but the case had given you so much headache in the last few days that all you wanted was for it to end, and if the only way to do it was to use yourself as bait, you were ready for it.

The man nodded and then opened the door to enter the room. He asked some questions to the detainee, who had asked not to be handcuffed as a condition for answering, and at one point your partner looked into the mirror to give you the signal.

Ted, that was the unsub's name, tensed up when he saw you enter and was quiet for a second, taking in your entire appearance before speaking again. The look completely sickened you, but you had to stop yourself and Spencer pulled out a chair so you could sit.

“This is my partner, Agent Y/L/N.”

"Agent? I thought a cupcake like this would be your secretary,” he whispered, reaching out to take your hand on the table. You were about to remove it when Spencer stepped forward to gently take it and lower it into your lap, removing it from the criminal's reach as he watched him seriously.

“She's here to watch you, nothing more. Let's continue with the questions."

The agent continued talking to get as much information as possible and you remained as composed as possible, avoiding doing anything that would contribute to his fantasy. But every time Ted deigned to answer he did so without taking his eyes off you and Spencer noticed your stiffness as the minutes passed, so he lowered one of his hands to your knee to squeeze it, as if he were trying to tell you silently that he was there for you.

His big, loving hand calmed you just a little, but that was better than nothing. But what little calm you could have was replaced by a bad feeling when you heard that disgusting man's voice.

“Have you seen the photos of those women?”

That was the second time he spoke specifically towards you and it made you look at him, noticing that he had a satisfied face that made you shiver.

“I am asking the questions”

“They were just like you…” he continued, ignoring your partner's words “Poor girls, they look so helpless and bruised. The man who did that to her definitely made them suffer. If I were you, I wouldn't walk around alone.”

“Mr. Sanders, you are here to answer questions, not to chat.”

“It's okay, Reid,” you murmured. The unsub wanted to talk and thanks to the profile you knew that the more involved you got, the more he would say, so you accepted the responsibility of pushing him away so that he would give you a confession: “If I'm honest, I'm not afraid, not of you or anyone. And I don't even believe that you killed those women”

Although Ted appeared calm, the slight movement of his eyebrows made you realize that being questioned by a woman was irritating him, but he wouldn't give in.

“Then why are you questioning me if you're so sure it wasn't me?”

“A simple suspect elimination procedure,” you responded, shrugging your shoulders. “If you're not handcuffed, it's not because you asked for it, but because you're not a danger. You’ve never done anything meaningful with your life, why would this time be any different?”

It was obvious that your words resonated with him and so you looked at Spencer to get his approval of your actions or a sign for you to stop. Luckily, you got the first one.

“And who are you to talk? You're just a little bitch that was sent here as a bad attempt to trick me”

“And even then, you won’t achieve in your life even half of the things that I have done”

“I highly doubt it,” he laughed.

You suddenly remembered an important characteristic that you had included in the profile and you thought that perhaps a woman hurting his ego would be the straw that broke the camel's back and finally spilled his guilt. It could also result in him attacking you, but it would be worth a try.

"Poor thing, who are you trying to fool?” you scoffed, leaning across the table in his direction until you only needed to whisper, “You can't even get a decent erection.”

Although you imagined it, you definitely didn't expect that man to lunge at you and grab your neck tightly in response to your provocation. He was extremely strong and that's why he managed to push you to the wall, where he lifted you a couple of centimeters off the floor while you kicked.

Fortunately he held you for only a few seconds, because right after Spencer had already lunged at him to free you. You never believed that your friend had the strength to push a grown, muscular man against the space next to you on the wall and not only that, but to bring him back to the table to subdue him with his chest against it and his arms in the back. You didn't even know when he had time to draw his revolver, which was already placed firmly against the detainee's temple.

You were struggling to catch your breath, but even with your blurred vision you managed to register your partner's expression. He was brimming with anger, like you had never seen before.

“If you touch her again, I'm going to put a hole in your head, do you understand?”

Amid the commotion you saw the security guards and Agent Morgan quickly enter the room to help restrain Ted, now placing a necessary pair of handcuffs on his wrists.

“You're going to die, whore,” he growled at you, wanting to break free to attack you again. Your friend just roughly pushed him outside, ready to guide him to a cell inside the police station where he would stay until you guys figured something out.

With just two jumps Spencer was already in front of you and you felt that he was shaking when his hands went up to your face to lift it a little so he could check your neck, although you didn't know if he was shaking from anger or fear.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” his tone of voice had softened compared to the tone he had used with Ted and that made you feel a little safer.

“I… I think so.”

“That damn son of a bitch,” you heard him whisper between his teeth, taking the time to check every inch of your skin. Once he was satisfied, he looked you straight in the eyes and realized that you were crying “No, no, pretty…”

You didn't even know why you were shedding tears, it was probably just from the shock of what had just happened, but your friend's hug felt like a wonderful comfort.

“I didn't mean to get in the way of this, I swear.”

“Don’t say that,” he asked in a serious voice, pulling you closer. “Thanks to you we now have a reason to keep him here, and when we have enough evidence, we will give that monster what he deserves and we will lock him up for life. I will take care of it myself if necessary.”

There was a different kind of hatred in his words, something you had rarely seen towards an unsub: it was a personal and strong feeling.

“Thank you for defending me”

"Are you kidding?" he murmured almost offended, while he separated from you to observe you “We are a team and I will never let anyone lay a finger on you, do you understand me? Nobody. Never"

After that he held you against him again and then you could cry freely, sheltered by his warm and wide body. When had he become so strong? You didn't know it, but you were grateful that a man like him was taking care of you.

And as he comforted you, he realized that the promise he had just made to you wasn't empty, like many people make, because Spencer knew that he would be able to face his worst fears if you were in danger. He had done it this time and he would do it as many times as necessary to keep you completely safe.

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14 @spencerslove @vivian-555 @r-3dlips @rhiannonhippiegirl @taygrls @simp4f1 @sdddoobydoobydoo @taintedstranger

[ttulipwritezz]

King Of My Heart (Body And Soul)~ R. Lupin.

Chapter  3 - Helpless 

Ootp! Remus Lupin x Sirius's sister!Reader

Synopsis: When James and Lily died, and your brother was sent to Azkaban, Remus was the only person you had left. Until he left too. What happens when he returns after the events of Sirius's escape, only to find out you have a son? A son that's his.

WC: 2.2 k

Warnings: lots of italics, probably grammatical mistakes, kiss(es), might be ooc idk, child (?), fem reader, italics are flashbacks and thoughts ( idk), love (ew), Sirius is back, mentions of torture, abuse, walburga black, abandonment, fear of feeling helpless, screaming ig, abandonment [ look at series masterlist for all content warnings]

A/n: I am actually so, so proud of this chapter. It's slightly longer than the others and a little more angsty. LOTS of conflicting feelings. Remus is kind of an ass, but no one's perfect :) But I’ll have it be less sad in the next few chapters following ch 4. I think? Thanks for reading and please reblog and/or comment. If you like this :) likes don't do much on tumblr <3

Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist, Navigation

With a furrow of his brows, Remus glanced towards Sirius when the two of you made your way to the dining hall for the order meeting.

If Sirius noticed, he didn’t say anything. Molly ushered the children out of the hall and Kingsley started the meeting.

They began with new information and ended with assigned missions. With your absence from the order for so long, you seemed to be the least informed amongst them all. So far you knew that Kingsley worked for the ministry and was secretly helping lead the order under Dumbledore's guidance.

And that there was an incredibly intelligent woman at the end of the table. Nymphadora Tonks. Don’t call her that though.

The name Tonks was awfully familiar to you. Until it clicked. She was your niece! Your cousin’s daughter.

Oh how she’d grown up. 

Along with this, you got to know about Peter’s betrayal and how he had framed your brother. Peter… You really did treasure his friendship at one point. You grieved him just as you had the others. To know that he was a traitor and sent your brother to Azkaban and was partially responsible for your husband's leaving, left you seething, to say the least.

You wanted to crush that thick skull of his with your bare hands.

 Noticing your discomfort, Sirius put a hand over yours, so as to say…you’re okay.

~

“you’re okay. You’re okay” At this point you weren’t sure whether Sirius’s words were meant to convince you or convince himself. His chest rising and falling rapidly to accommodate his frantic state.

Walburga’s yelling could be heard from the other room.

“YOU DISGRACE! YOU IMBECILE! GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!” Her yelling did little to calm your trembling and even littler to quiet your sobs.

You do not know what began another one of her scoldings, you don’t remember what you’d done to be on its receiving end yet again. All you knew is that Sirius was punished with the cruciatus curse and you were going to be next. Despite his state, all Sirius thought about was you. How his baby sister was hurt, scared and in so much pain.

That night Sirius left, with you, nothing but his wand and jacket hung about his arm as he led a trembling you out of the house and ran.

That night Sirius ran, he ran till his legs burned. His calves ached and his chest heaved. He ran and ran and ran. He ran to the only place he could think of. He ran.

“Don’t you dare come back! You disgrace to the Black Family name!” Walburg’s words were still ringing in his ears by the time he made it to potter manor, and you weren’t in a much better state yourself.

As soon as the door opened to the frantic knocking, it seemed as though all the adrenaline left Sirius's body and he collapsed right into James's arms. You stood there, eyes stinging, heavy with exhaustion. That was when you truly felt helpless.

~

The next morning, you awoke to voices. Not the ones in your head, ones from outside. With little energy you opened up your eyes. The brightness of the morning sun blinded you for a moment, and that suffocating feeling came back.

You sat up so fast that your head started to spin. Your eyes were wide and your breathing erratic. 

As you were ready to look around your surroundings, ready to see exactly where Walburga had put you again, a hand came into your field of vision. A bruised hand, ready to help.

Sirius gently hovered his hands over your cheek, careful as to not touch you. His eyes held the utmost kindness and compassion. He had woken up from one too many nightmares himself.

“Y/n?” His voice was unsure yet it provided you with the comfort you seeked at the moment.

Your shoulders relaxed and you Jumped forward to embrace him. You were safe, you were okay.

Once most of the order members left, You began to count just how many people will be staying at grimmauld place for the time being.

You had a place further away from this merlin forsaken house. That felt like home. This didn't 

You and Regulus had only shown up a couple days ago to tidy up and be prepared. Technically, you owned it, and there was nothing your mother’s portrait that hung in the second floor corridor could do about it. She was dead.

The Weasleys, Harry, Hermione and Sirius were all staying, there was more than enough room for them. What you dreaded was Remus’s presence. 

Gathering up all the courage you could, you decided to talk to Remus. No time like the present! Should be a piece of cake!

Wrong.

Remus avoided you every chance he got. And you can’t blame him. 

Okay...perhaps you were avoiding him a teeny, tiny, itty, bitty bit as well…

Okay! you were avoiding him fully.

But you can’t blame yourself! It’s hard.

What are you supposed to say?

“Oh hey husband who left me to process severe trauma and grief on my own..you have a KID! He’s 13! You know him already! :D ”

Making faces at your inner monologue wasn’t helping though, because you jumped the moment your eyes caught a figure leaning against the doorway, right arm up against the arch as the other finds purchase on his hip.

Remus.

Remus, your husband, was watching you make faces at yourself to talk to yourself for the past..you don’t know how long.

For a moment you just stared at each other, blinking and making no noise.

Then a smile broke out on his face, which subsequently led to one on yours.

He was the first to break the silence.

“So…How are you?” he pursed his lips after he spoke.

Strange, you considered. That’s how he begins a conversation?

Your eyes move across the room, he’s staring straight at you. It feels like he can see right through you. That he can see the gears turning in your head.

“I’ve met Regulus before…At Hogwarts, I mean. I was his DADA professor.” He says after noticing your silence.

Getting a noise of affirmation from you in return encourages his to speak further.

“Who is he? To you? I know the name isn’t exactly new” His head tilted to the side in the way a kicked puppy's would. 

From where you’re standing, in the little light, you can see his adam's apple bobbing up and down as he gulps, nervousness obvious throughout his being.

You don't lead with “he’s your son”. No. You begin short and simple. 

“He’s my son.”

You hope your voice doesn't reflect the fact that a lump has formed in your throat. You hoped your voice wasn't trembling like your hands.

A look washes over Remus's face. One you’d describe as recognition…or perhaps disappointment. In you or himself, that you wouldn't know.

Being from the Black family, you never hid your true thoughts. Feelings? sure, but thoughts? No.

“Disappointed are you? In me or yourself?”

There was a sass to your words you didn't expect. Once again a smile seems to tug at Remus's lips, stretching the scar, you didn't recognise yet, ever so slightly.

“Ever the witty one, my love” his words were airy. More relaxed.

Certainly too relaxed for your taste. There was no way he was so apathetic towards this. Not when it hurts you like a thousand hexes.

“Don't.” 

You don't know what gave you the sudden strength, the sudden courage, to stand your ground. What made you narrow your eyes and cross your arms.

What made you suddenly reject the light atmosphere he had created, while you so clearly longed to be in his arms. Heaving a sigh, you continued.

“You don't get to just come back and call me your love. You can't do that to me. Not again.”

Your voice was but a mere whisper towards the end of your sentance.

Not again. That's what you told yourself when you saw Remus this morning. You weren't going to throw yourself into his arms again. 

But how could you not when his arms just looked so warm and comfortable?

How could you when you’d spent fourteen years without them?

You were hoping he’d pick up the forgiving glint in your eyes and apologise.

His gaze flickered throughout the room. As if somehow that would answer you. First the lamp, in the furthest corner. Then the carpet caught his attention. Then suddenly the marble countertop seemed oh so interesting.

After what felt like hours, but really must've been a minute, he began to break the silence.

“Right…uhh-”

You watched as he paused, a divot appearing in between his brows, scrunching together, as a look of realisation crossed his features.

“-how old is he?”

The words escaped him with urgency, as if knowing this was extremely crucial.

It was, you just didn't know that.

“He’s fourteen- will be this year.”

Your mind was racing with thoughts, surely Remus wouldn't need to ask something so trivial.

It felt as though you could see the gears turning in his mind. He was so deep into thought.

But then his eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened.

“He’s mine.” He wasn't asking though, despite it sounding more like a question than affirmative.

That, you didn't expect.

And now you were the one who’s gaze was skittering across the room in hopes of finding an answer.

He knows. He knows. Oh Merlin he knows!

“He’s mine.”

Remus repeats, his voice comes out choked. As if he was ready to cry any moment.

Hearing a sniffle, you looked up to see Remus bringing his hand up to his face, which was rather red, and covering his eyes much like a little kid would.

You felt horrible, how could you hide this from him.

No. You did the right thing. He didn't want you. He wouldn't want Regulus either. He left! Awful. Awful! Bad!

“I have a son?”

You could definitely hear the tears in his voice, his light, choked up sobs echoed through the room. 

Hey, that's how you reacted when you found out too. 

You felt the sudden need to apologise. You shouldn't have to.

“Yes.” 

You settled on that. Yes. That's all he needed to know.

A flurry of questions bombarded his mind.

“Why didn't you tell me?” 

He looked angry. Why was he angry? He has no right to be angry.

You were furious.

“Why do you think Remus? Why do you think I hid him from you? Are you that daft!?”

 An incredulous chuckle accompanied your words. You were seething. And you weren't done, so you continued.

“You left me! James and Lily died! My brother was sent to Azkaban. And you left!”

Your volume was rising by the second. You're certain a little more and the whole house would hear it.

Maybe also hear the sound of your heart breaking along with.

You felt ridiculous. How is he angry at this? He has no right.

“If you’d told me I would have stayed! How long had you known!?”

If you told him.

He wouldn't have stayed for you. He would have stayed for the kid.

Not for you.

“Two weeks before-”

You managed to get out before he interrupted you.

“And you didn't think to tell me!?”

Why did he have to say it like that? Like he hated you?

It hurt.

“I tried.” 

Your chest felt heavy as you uttered those words. It felt like a wound had reopened.

Once again you were meek. You felt like a child being reprimanded by their parent. You've had a fair share of that already. You didn't need more.

You felt...helpless.

This was your husband. He wasn't supposed to be angry at you.

Suddenly all the feelings you’d been shoving down came right up.

“No Remus. You have no right! You cannot come back after years and pretend that we are fine! I did the right thing Remus. And I will not have you make me believe otherwise.”

You felt ridiculous. Yet again, he has made you feel small. That didn't happen before. 

Remus, your remus always made you feel loved. And seen.

This isn't your Remus.

“I don't know who you are. I know I did the right thing. I know…”

Right?

You shook your head as you spoke those words, you seemed to close in on yourself. Backing away until you couldn't. You can't do this right now.

His words seemed so collected when he replied. As much as they could, when he had been sobbing a moment ago. They still held anger in them.

“But I am his father.”

A gasp echoes through the empty corridor.

Not yours…

Regulus's.

"He is my father?”

Series Taglist (open):@twilightlover2007 @idli-dosa @lovesanimals0000 @deathbyramennoodle-s @deadgirlsrunning @lovelyypythoness @corvinalitbitina @joeytribbiani18 @mayusaatma @csifandom General Taglist (open): @desikudisworld @iamgayforyourmom1510

Please Reblog if you liked this~

[overkeehl]

I remember reading something about Ohba choosing the nonsensical names so as not to inadvertently have a real person’s name written in the death note which is kind of a nice touch, considering the in-world implications. I always chalked up Light and Misa’s names to main character syndrome which is pretty par for the course anime-wise; the task force all have pretty normal sounding names (maybe the kanji used are unusual? no idea, I’m just going by the romanized translation) I also think a lot of the English names were also just never written with an English translation in mind (Ill Rat as a name for the mole is only an easter egg if it’s not in English lol.) Chapters were written on an insane weekly basis so i imagine they were just churning stuff out.without thoughts of translation potentials. if you gotta fill up that death note with names in a language you don’t speak and neither have the time nor the desire to research/care, theyre gonna get weird pretty quick!

quick thought before i log out: death note english names are meant to be nonsensical (raye penbar, rester, mail jeevas etc) because the japanese counterparts are as well (amane misa, yagami light are not real japanese names). all names in death note are made up in an alternate universe where names are fundamentally different because names play such a big role in the world itself

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

One in Eleven Million (final chapter)

damian wayne x reader x jon kent

(A/N): And we have reached the end! Thank you to everyone who has been following this story and I hope the ending was worth the wait. I also wrote at least some of this and the last chapter while delayed at a train station/on the train so any offhand references I make to either of those things are because of the haha.

And happy new year!

Series masterlist can be found here.

warnings: anxiety, train stations, small amount of cursing

wc: ~1400

~~

Jon blinked awake to Damian tapping him on the shoulder. 

“Huh?” 

“We’re almost there,” he said, nodding out the window. Outside, the scenery had changed from the green of Pennsylvania to the cloudy skyscraper city of Gotham. “Alfred’s meeting us at the station. I’ve already asked and he’ll drive them home if they’re comfortable.” 

Jon looked over at you. He couldn’t remember if you or he had fallen asleep first, but he felt privileged that you did at all. Sure, some of it might have been the exhaustion of the last day, but he had a feeling you wouldn’t have fallen asleep if you didn’t trust them to be there and wake you up. Based on your complaints about the station there, there was no way you wanted to end up in Newark. Or New York. 

Jon shook you gently. You opened your eyes, confused, then sat quickly upright. 

“Shit, I fell asleep? I didn’t mean to.”

“If it’s any consolation, so did I,” Jon shrugged. 

“I didn’t mean to miss the last hour,” you argued. 

“Last hour of what?” Damian stood up in the aisle, pulling Jon’s carry-on out from where he’d tucked it in. Jon grabbed his backpack then helped you pull your suitcase upright. 

“Of—thanks Jon—of time left with you guys.” You winced. Maybe that was too honest. Tugging your backpack over your shoulders, you followed Jon towards the exit at the end of the car. Damian stopped at the car door. You braced yourself with your suitcase to avoid toppling over as the train shuddered on the tracks. It really did feel like the plane turbulence from earlier. 

“This stop, Gotham Station,” the loudspeaker declared. One thing airplanes have going for them, you thought, better sound systems. The train’s announcements were barely audible. “Doors will open on the right side of the train. Please watch your step.” Anything further was indecipherable under the burbling of the speaker. 

“Wait, why did you say the last hour?” Jon asked as the three of you took the escalator up to the station's main area. 

“I have no idea how to contact you after this.” You pulled your suitcase over the lip of the escalator with a tug and continued on. Despite the amount of public transportation you’ve taken, Damian seemed to know the station better than you. You followed him as he weaved through the groups of people sprinkled around the area, Jon right behind. 

Damian stopped just outside a side entrance, and you moved around to his other side to avoid blocking the door. Jon followed. 

“We do all have phone numbers,” Damian suggested pulling out his phone. You assumed he was texting whoever was picking up him and Jon. 

“Oh, duh!” 

Jon’s excitement made you smile. The thought had crossed your mind earlier, but you’d dismissed it as a non-starter. You felt a little silly for that now. 

Jon’s phone was already open to a new contact sheet when he handed it to you. You weren’t sure if you’d ever actually given them your last name or if they remembered ever seeing it on your train ticket or boarding pass, but there was bound to be someone between Gotham and Metropolis that shared your first name, so you added it in anyway. Jon took it back from you and started typing. 

Your phone buzzed straightaway. You pulled it out of your pocket, smiling. 

“hi :)” the first message read. It was sent to you and a third number. Then “it’s jon”

“Huh,” you mused, reading it. “I’ve never seen anyone spell it like that before. That’s cool.”

You unlocked your phone, opened it to the group chat, and held it out to Damian. 

“Would you mind? So I don’t misspell your name?”

Damian muttered an assent and took it from you. He returned it with both contacts filled out. 

“Oh, great, thanks.” You chuckled at Jon’s contact. The name, instead of the Jon offered by the initial text, had been filled out as “Jonathan Kent.” Damian’s name, you were proud to say, was spelled the way you imagined it was. The last name was a funny coincidence, you thought, considering he lived in Gotham. 

“Wayne?” You asked, about to make a teasing joke. 

“Like Bruce Wayne, yes.” Damian said, carefully watching your reaction. 

“Like ‘Wayne Enterprises’ Wayne?” He nodded. “Holy shit. Wow, okay, I didn’t expect that. Wow.” You couldn’t read the expression on his face. Some part of you wondered if he was waiting for you to make a comment about his money or his father. 

“Why did you take the train with me?” You asked instead. The concrete was rough beneath your shoes, a noticeable contrast from the smoothness of airport flooring. “You could have easily had someone pick you up. Pick both of you up. So why–?” 

“Because we wanted to,” Jon answered simply. 

“I am not in the habit of making,” Damian hesitated, “friends and then leaving them behind.” 

“Yeah,” Your heart thudded loudly in your chest. “I’m glad we agree on that.” 

An unfamiliar black car pulled up beside you. You took a couple steps back. It was nice, but anything unfamiliar, nice or not, wasn’t worth the risk. 

Damian, on the other hand, moved in closer. He opened the passenger door and said something to the driver then turned back towards you. 

“Do you want us to drop you off at home?”

You hesitated for a moment. Jon was looking hopefully at you. Damian’s “friends” echoed in your head. 

“Yeah,” you agreed. “That would be great.” 

Jon’s face split into a grin. The corner of Damian’s lips quirked up. There was some warm feeling in your chest at the fact that you caught it. You smiled back. 

Alfred Pennyworth, as you learned his name was, stopped the car right outside of your building less than thirty minutes later. 

“I’ll get your suitcase,” Jon offered, hopping out of the car as you collected the rest of your things. 

“Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth.” 

“You are very welcome,” he answered. 

You shut the door behind you, now face to face with Jon. 

“Is a hug okay?” You asked him. “I’m not sure if that’s a thing you do but-“

Jon gives good hugs, you decided immediately. You could feel the weight and warmth of his arms where they circled your shoulders. 

“I’ll text you, okay?” He let go, hands moving to shove in his pockets. “I’ll take a picture of Metropolis when I get home and send it.” 

You smiled at him; there was something concrete to look forward to. Damian came around the back of the car. 

“You’re not a hug person, right?” You asked him. He shrugged. 

“Only for certain people.” 

You nodded, oddly disappointed. Damian opened his arms. 

“Are you sure?” You asked him. He nodded and you let him set the pace, tightening your grip only when he did. Damian was a good hugger too, you realized. You wondered if the older brother you heard of hours ago on the plane and Jon both had something to do with that. 

“You guys know where I live now,” you adjusted your backpack over your shoulder and pulled up the handle on your suitcase. “So come visit sometime, okay?” Your gaze wandered over to Jon. “Well if you’re in town, I guess. Metropolis isn’t exactly walking distance.” 

Jon chuckled. 

“I’m here pretty often.”

Damian scoffed a quiet laugh. 

“We will. And keep in touch.”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “You guys too.”

You gave a final wave before heading into your building. A cloud of melancholy followed you inside. You ignored it, pulling dirty clothes from your suitcase to toss in the hamper before heading to take a shower. 

Hair dripping but finally clean, you flopped onto your bed, reaching for your phone. Three messages were waiting for you. You answered the one from your parent, asking if you’d gotten home safe. The second was an email. You’d deal with that later, after you got some sleep. The third was a picture from Damian. 

He didn’t even make it through my shower, the attached message read. On your screen, Jon was lying on a couch underneath Damian’s large dog. He was fast asleep. 

You laughed and replied, then set your phone down. A nap would definitely throw off your sleep schedule, you knew, but Gotham was nocturnal anyway. You slept the afternoon away.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── PURSUIT // PROLOGUE

Series Synopsis: When your cousin goes missing right before he can challenge the Champion of your region, you must embark on a journey of your own in the hopes that one day, you might finally find him — wherever he may be.

Chapter Synopsis: Your cousin, Shoei, sets out on his journey, leaving you behind with a final gift as a farewell.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Nagi x Reader, Barou & Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2.5k

Content Warnings: pokémon au except i make the world emo and infest it with blue lockers, angst, character death, familial bonds, found families, male-female FRIENDSHIPS, a slow burn so insane the main love interest isn’t even in a solid amount of chapters, it’s my world i do what i want which means liberties are taken, near death experiences, this story is long bro literally everything happens in it the amount of arcs i have planned is insane, original characters because reader will NOT be the only girl i refuse to write in conditions like that, this is being written as if gen vi is the last generation to come out because i cba to catch up on new pokémon lore

A/N: this is SUCH a niche crossover i’m actually crying but ykw at least it’s different from the typical aus LMAOOO anyways um please be sure to read the warnings and if you enjoy this then like…reblog or comment or send me an ask or smth HAHA (only if you want though i can’t control you)

tag list (send an ask to be added): @sharkissm

The last time you saw Shoei Barou, he was pressing a Pokéball in your hand. His backpack was slung over his shoulder, his typical scowl on his face, and his Houndour sat at his feet, wagging its tail at you. The surface of the Pokéball was glimmering, ruby on top and a pearly white on the bottom, and because you could not bear to look at him, you trained your gaze on the watery sunrise it reflected.

“She’s yours,” he said. “I registered her under your name.”

“Guess that makes me a trainer, too,” you said.

“Don’t start on your journey for a while,” he said. “Or else you’ll catch up to me. Wait until I’m good enough that I’m someone you want to chase after, and begin then.”

He was embarking on his journey later than usual, but you had no doubt that he’d quickly surpass those with five or even ten years of experience on him. Shoei was like that, and so was his Houndour. What they lacked in battle prowess, they made up for with dogged tenacity, and it was impossible to imagine either of the two struggling for any amount of time.

“I won’t,” you said.

“Good,” he said. “Look, she’ll probably be better off if you just leave her in her Pokéball until you start training seriously, so don’t worry about that.”

“Won’t she get bored?” you said. He shook his head.

“Being in the Pokéball is a kind of stasis for them. She’ll know the time has passed, but it won’t be the same as if she were actually living it. It’s better that way, trust me. She’s the destructive type, and I won’t be around to help you if she acts up,” he said.

“Ah,” you said. “I see. I’ll do as you recommend, then.”

He reached out and placed a hand atop your head. You swallowed, staring at the dirt path beneath your feet, the worn toes of your old sneakers, the frayed cuffs of your too-short jeans — anything but him. You couldn’t bear it if it was him.

“You’ll be okay,” he said. “Y/N.”

“Yes,” you sniffed, though you had sworn to him so many times that you wouldn’t cry.

“You’ll be okay,” he repeated. “I promise.”

“Yes,” you said again. His hand balled into a fist, and then he knocked it lightly against your brow. Unlike you, he was smiling, and you did your best to quell the trembling of your lower lip when you made eye contact with him.

“Hey, kid,” he said. “Enough with the bawling, okay? How am I supposed to call you my cousin when you’re like this? We can’t be related if you get so upset about every little thing. That’s not how it works.”

“I can’t help it,” you said, and then he sighed, hugging you tightly. His Houndour barked, rubbing his head against your calf, which was the only method the small Pokémon had of comforting you. “I can’t help it, I know I should be happy but—”

“Be happy,” he commanded you, letting you go and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Y/N L/N. Be happy. I’m going to be Champion one day, and that’s nothing to be sad about.”

“Will you come back home once you are?” you said.

“No,” he said. “No, of course not. I’ll be busy with the duties of the role. Have you seen how many television appearances Mr. Mikage does? But I’ll bring you there with me, you and your parents and mine, and all of us can live there together. Is that enough of a consolation?”

“Okay,” you said, even though it really wasn’t. But it’d be a cruelty to stop Barou, akin to clipping the wings of a Pidgeot and telling it to fly. He was as restless as his Houndour, who even now sat and stared out at the horizon instead of the home it was leaving behind. The both of them were turbulent, impossible to cage, and if one tried to hold them back, then they were little more than a brazen fool.

“I’ll see you later, Y/N,” he said. “Try not to be to sad without me, alright?”

The Pokéball was cold and heavy in your hands as you watched him and Houndour walk off. Neither of them turned back, not for a moment, and then they were over the crest of the shallow hill in the road which led to the nearby cliffs, disappearing from your line of sight for good.

“Y/N!” It was the same boy again. He had been bothering you since you both had entered secondary school, mostly because that was around the time that Shoei had begun his league challenge. Of course, he had obtained all of the gym badges in quick succession, but conferences were only held every four years, and so he had had to wait until the next one before he could attempt to storm through it and reach the Elite Four, hence the delayed interest in his talent.

“Hello,” you said. He had never bothered introducing himself to you, and you were at the point now where it would be awkward for you to ask, so you generally pretended like you recognized him and hoped your conversations never grew to be too long.

“Did you hear the news? I mean, he’s your cousin, so of course you did, but still, still, can you believe it?” he said.

“What are you talking about?” you said.

“Barou!” he said. At the mention of Shoei, your Pokéball grew warm against your hip, and your left hand instinctively flew to the thin chain around your neck. “He’s actually done it — he beat Noel Noa!”

“Noel Noa…the last Elite Four member, right?” you said. The boy nodded at you. He was grinning as hard as if it were his own cousin who had mastered the league, or indeed as if he were the victor, but the truth was that besides you, there were very few in the entire city who could claim to know Shoei, so his pride was unwarranted.

“Yup! No one’s ever beaten him but Mr. Mikage,” he said.

“Well, Mr. Mikage is the champion,” you said. “So what’s next? Does he battle Mr. Mikage?”

“Pretty much,” the boy said. “Although he’s allowed to take his time in between and train his team. The conference win and Elite Four victories are only prerequisites, but it’s not like you have to do it all at once. In fact, hardly anyone ever does. Your team needs to rest in between battles, and besides, challenges to the Champion position are so rare that they need time to set it all up.”

“What do you mean, ‘set it all up?’” you said, sitting down at your desk at the back of the classroom. The boy didn’t usually sit with you, but today he was too excited, so he collapsed rather awkwardly in the chair at your side, leaning over with his elbows digging into his thighs.

“Didn’t you know? All Champion matches are televised!” he said. “The entire region will be able to see him battling. He’s amazing, you know.”

“Of course he is,” you said matter-of-factly. “That’s good that it’ll be filmed. It’s impossible to get tickets unless you’re a league official or have more money than you know what to do with.”

The boy coughed, his face turning red. Your eyes flicked to his belt, which was conspicuously devoid of any Pokéballs, just like the rest of your classmates, and then you curled inwards when you once again recalled that amongst your peers, it was only you who required the league-issued stipend for trainers to afford your tuition.

“Anyways,” he said, pursing his lips — a reminder to you that he had sat in the stands of the last league conference and was in fact one of those such types that you had been referring to earlier, “I’ve heard they’re thinking of moving towards broadcasting the entire conference andany Elite Four challenges instead of just the Champion matches.”

“Really?” you said, eager to change the subject. He nodded.

“Yup, it’s the case. The TV studios and news stations have been pushing for it. As long as they can throw in some advertisements and sponsorships between the battles themselves, their profits will shoot up like crazy,” he said.

“Well, that makes sense,” you said. “Why hadn’t they implemented it earlier?”

“They’ve been trying, but supposedly, there’s been a lot of pushback from some of the league officials. They think they’ll lose money if people can just watch battles online, since there’ll be less of an incentive to buy tickets to watch them in person,” he said.

“Ah. So what changed their minds? Aren’t the league officials notoriously stubborn?” you said. He snorted.

“That’s what my dad says. He’d rather deal with a Slaking than any of them,” he said. You couldn’t quite remember what his father did for a living, but if you had to guess, it was something financial-related, given the boy’s unnatural interest in the field. “Apparently, they tried it out in Johto to great effect, so they plan to give it a go here in Kalos as well.”

“Interesting,” you said. “I guess it doesn’t mean much to me now, since Shoei’s already through, but I’m sure it’ll be helpful to someone or another in the future.”

“Maybe we’ll see you onscreen next, eh, Miss Trainer?” he said. You rolled your eyes at the nickname; coming from him, it wasn’t so horrible, but it wasn’t always like that. Most of the time, you hated when the others brought up your trainer status, because it only set you further and further apart from the rest.

Of course, almost everyone had a Pokémon or two as a companion or to make the activities of their daily living that much easier, but there was a difference between a Pokémon owner and a Pokémon trainer. Trainers were the ones who were registered with the government, who were sent a monthly stipend by the league to pay for their and their Pokemon’s upkeep, and who made a career out of the sport. At least, that was what they were supposed to be, but nowadays, genuine trainers were few and far between; more often than not, those with the distinction were like you, with a single Pokémon that had never known the heat of battle and a desperate need for the extra income that their status, passive though it might’ve been, brought them.

The school-issued Gogoat that was designated to escort you home trotted along beside you, its tail bouncing with the gaiety of its pace, its ears perked against the wind as you went along. You sometimes wondered if the Pokémon you supposedly owned was anything like that, but based on Shoei’s description, you had mostly decided it wasn’t.

“Thanks for taking me back, Gogoat,” you said, patting it on the forehead when you reached your doorstep. It bleated at you, nuzzling you happily and then bounding away. You watched it go with a smile, incredibly fond of it though you knew it wasn’t actually yours — just a vehicle assigned to you because the school knew that most of its students weren’t proper trainers. The institute didn’t want to be held liable in case there was some kind of an attack, so the Gogoats had been trained to accompany students to and from their classes as well as to protect them as best as they could.

Supposedly it was a common practice, one that had been invented in Aquacorde Town, but there they used Arcanines instead of Gogoats, so privately you thought that those of you in Coumarine City got the better deal.

“Mother?” you said, peering into the kitchen, smiling when you saw her there, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. “I’m home.”

“Y/N!” she said. “How was school today?”

“It was fine,” you said, self-consciously drumming your nails against your Pokéball. “This guy told me that Shoei’s going to challenge the Champion soon. Mr. Mikage. They’re going to film it and everything. We should ask Uncle and Auntie if they want to come over and watch with us.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” she said. Shoei’s father, your uncle, was her brother, and they had remained so close throughout their adulthood that it felt at times like Shoei was less your cousin and more a genuine brother of your own who occasionally slept in another house. “Imagine if he can become Champion!”

“He will,” you said, unclipping your Pokéball from your belt and setting it on the table, where your mother’s Espurr was sleeping. At the movement, she sat up, giving the unassuming ball a disgusted look and climbing to the top of a shelf where she could continue to nap. “All everyone talks about is how strong he is. There’s no way he’s losing, especially if he beat Noel Noa.”

“It’ll be great for the family,” she said.

“Yes,” you said. “And for him.”

“Do you know when the match is scheduled for?” she said. You shook your head.

“No, I don’t. The guy said people usually take a break in between defeating the Elite Four and challenging the Champion, so that their teams can rest and all. I’m sure it’ll be announced well in advance, though. It’s not everyday that somebody fights Mr. Mikage himself,” you said.

“That’s true,” she said. “In the meantime, how’s this for dinner?”

“Looks good,” you said, though it was out of distraction, not approval. Your mind was racing as you tried to picture how the battle between Shoei and the Champion might go. Would he look different? Of course, he would have to, it had been a while since you had seen him last, and it might be a while more until you saw him next, depending on how long he took to put in the formal request to battle. Two weeks, or maybe even three.

Yet weeks turned into months, which turned into years, and still he did not appear to face Mr. Mikage. Eventually the excitement faded into a distant memory, and soon, if his name was brought up at all, it was as nothing but the Never-Champion, the one who was too frightened to fight against the undefeated head of the league and the Mikage Corporation alike.

At first you weren’t worried, but as time stretched on, you resorted to begging the police, the local Gym Leader, anyone who would listen, just for a chance at finding him. Yet one by one, they each refused. After all, what could be done? He was a top trainer, they worked in mysterious ways, everyone knew that. Any day now, he would reappear and that long-awaited battle between himself and the Champion might finally happen. Nothing about the situation was abnormal in the slightest. Maybe the cowardice was a bit uncharacteristic, but otherwise? There wasn’t any cause for stress.

And so, for that reason, nobody but you ever thought of actually looking for him — they never even knew that they had to.

[germhammy]

“Friday Lunch in the Quad”

Xavier: what the hell are you eating, Wednesday? That looks gross

Wednesday: Egg salad sandwich with cheese puffs and a birch beer soda. Enid made it.

Xavier: I hate egg salad

Wednesday: how fortunate for you Enid did not make any for you. And I like egg salad

Enid: why are you here? I am enjoying lunch with my girlfriend

Xavier: savor these last moments of Wednesday as your girlfriend, Enid. After my date tomorrow? She will be mine.

Enid: you seem confident

Xavier: I am. -turning to Wednesday- You haven’t been looking at my texts. So I am here to inform you of details for tomorrow. Meet me by the shuttle pick up at 11am. We shall take the shuttle into Jericho grab a snack. And then I whisk you away on our date

Wednesday: did you check the weather report?

Xavier: ha ha. Very funny.

Enid: why do you constantly feel the need to come over and talk to Wednesday? She is my roommate and my girlfriend and even I do not approach her to talk to her as much as you do

Xavier: because my father says communication is the key to a lasting and meaningful relationship

Wednesday: and your father obviously is an all powerful and knowledgeable psychic who knows everything about me

Xavier: he does know about your family, Wednesday. My godmother was a good friend of your grandmother

Wednesday: that does not mean he or you knows anything about my family. Granny does not live with us. She only visited during my upbringing

Xavier: I still know you better than Enid!

Enid: oh yeah? What’s Wednesday’s favorite color?

Xavier: black obviously

Wednesday: correct. Too easy, Enid.

Enid: I know. Starting off easy. What’s Wednesday’s favorite flower?

Xavier: roses

Enid: black dahlias

Wednesday: Enid is correct

Enid: what’s the name of Wednesday’s favorite relative? And what is their relation?

Xavier: Morticia, her mother

Enid: Fester. Her Uncle

Wednesday: Enid is correct

Xavier: oh come on!!

Enid: name one of the Addams family pets

Xavier: Cleopatra

Enid: Kitty Kat

Wednesday: my mother would be insulted as would Cleopatra that you referred to her as a pet. She is a plant and more like my mother’s child in her eyes. Kitty Kat is correct

Xavier: these aren’t fair questions!

Wednesday: why are they not? If you know me so well? Enid. Please continue. I wish to know how observant you are

Enid: what kind of typewriter does Wednesday use?

Xavier: it’s just a cobbled together piece of shit. I’m surprised it even works.

Enid: wow, Xavier. Way to insult a writer and her preferred means of creativity. Wednesday uses a 1941 Juwel Model 3

Wednesday: I am impressed, Enid.

Xavier: you are just saying Enid is right to make me look bad!

Wednesday: are you accusing me of lying?

Xavier: I would never!

Wednesday: then Enid is correct about my typewriter. And it is insulting that you call my beloved typewriter a cobbled together piece of shit

Enid: Wednesday has written 4 novels. Unless you completed one during break?

Wednesday: I did start writing a new novel. I had to pause in order to do editing and consulting.

Enid: what genre does Wednesday write and what is the name of her main protagonist?

Xavier: horror obviously. And she’s never shared her work with anyone so how do we know if it’s even good! Or what the main character’s name is.

Enid: mystery horror actually. Her protagonist is ‘Viper de La Meurte’ And as for knowing? If you are so incredibly knowledgeable about Wednesday? The news broke today officially actually. Netflix is making a horror series. One of Wednesday’s stories is being used for an episode! They also mention her soon to be published horror mystery novel featuring Viper de La Muerte, teenage detective

Wednesday: oh? The official announcement was made today?

Enid: about the series itself. No details

Wednesday: Ah. They have begun casting my episode.

Xavier: no way! You’ve written a Netflix series? What is it called?

Wednesday: not a series. Do you even listen? One of my stories is being adapted as an episode. The series is called “Tales from the other sides” The first season will consist of 10 episodes. My episode is currently in casting. It will air as episode 9 or 10

Enid: can we return to our lunch? You will have all day with Wednesday tomorrow

Wednesday: indeed. And why do you need me to be ready at eleven? I thought this was a dinner date? Not a day trip

Xavier: I am taking you out to dinner. To some place special! So dress nicely. Not your usual frumpy outfits, okay?

Wednesday said nothing. Xavier walked away.

Enid: wow. Walking away with the double insult, one probably unintended

Wednesday: double?

Enid: calling your outfits ‘frumpy’ for one. Not knowing your mother’s name is Frump so insulting her as well. I love your mother’s style, by the way.

Wednesday: I just do not understand why he thinks he is so smooth. Are you going to all right hanging with Lucas and his friends?

Enid: yeah. Jonah and Carter are okay when it’s just me. Werewolves are cool I guess. They get uneasy when I’m with Ajax. Having snakes for hair that can turn you to stone is creepy. I’ll probably hang out at Pilgrim World until the game starts

[shhh-secret-time]

hello ^^, i saw your secret soulmate au about craig, i don't have the words to explain how much i giggled, twirled my hair and everything XD! well, when you have the time, could you do a craig x clyde x reader smut? of course, if you feel comfortable with it! reader can be female or gn. it's practically normal smut but just craig fucking the reader from behind and clyde from the front, so that's it! tysm for reading, i love your writing too! <33 -✨️ Anon (I'm still new to tumblr so i might get confused on some things sometimes!)

Completely understandable, I too am confused with how tumblr works and I've been on this godless site since fucking Dash Con. I'm glad you liked the way I wrote those dorks! And thank you for fueling my Clyde agenda!

Warning: NSFW, Strong-Language, Dirty Talk, Slight Sub/Dom dynamics, blow jobs, orgasm denial, threesome

Pairing: Clyde x Fem!Reader x Craig

The sweet air of the votives swirls around the empty church. Empty except for the dim orange and red light that illuminates the book in the man's hand.

A woman at his feet, clothed in fine silks. A mix of reds and whites that twine together. Beautiful patterns of stars flow across the dress.

She dips her head in prayer alongside the man. The father of the church glides his fingers across her cheek as her mouth closes. Reciting scriptures of one's devotion for an unseen God. Everything in that moment was peaceful.

The warmth in the Father's eyes doesn't go unnoticed, the greens darken with a desire that he knows better than to have. It's difficult to hide the growing ache in his pants. More so when the woman's lips curl into a mischief smile, the warm glow of the candles makes them shine with an otherworldly glow. She looks up at him and her eyes fall deep into those pools of lust. Her hands break apart from that folded prayer and onto his black dress pants. They card up further against his thighs where they settle and clutch the material.

"Father, bless me...", a whisper that makes the Father groan.

Temptation never looked so sweet. This woman made his chest pound. Unholy thoughts flood his mind and go straight to his-

You let out a loud groan. Your forehead drops and hits the table beside your keyboard. The forgotten mug with now cold tea rattles.

Writer’s block, the very bane of any author’s existence. It's been haunting you for weeks now, making it impossible to get anything done. You've been stuck on this part of your romance novel the entire time. A part you were so excited to get to!

The buildup was perfect! You had calculated, plotted, and carefully crafted a budding romance between a witch and a holy man. A forbidden romance that took place within the walls of the church, the furthest outside the walls it went were the gardens that surrounded the area. The two fell in love after he saved her from the townsfolk claiming sanctuary.

Inspiration struck you like lightning after you fell in love with your partners. After publishing a sci-fi series, that honestly changed the name of how science fiction would be written forever, you met two fans at a book signing event. You had made a surprise appearance at a local library in some little town called South Park. Coming from the big city yourself, it was a huge surprise that anyone in the little town would actually be a fan of yours.

Apparently, you had quite a few. A man with bright red hair who had a black-haired man following alongside him. Both gushed about how the story inspired some kind of board game they played with their friends. A sweet blond woman who had the cutest southern accent you've ever heard. She gave you a piece of fan mail that had the most adorable sticker on it. Another black-haired man who dressed as Spock for some reason. He went on for a solid thirty minutes about a fanfic he wrote regarding the main character of your book and Star Trek's very own Captain Kirk.

Finally came the oddest duo you had ever met. The two were like day and night, a cat and a dog, fire and ice; the whole nine yards. A bright smile with baby brown eyes on one, and an ice-cold deadpan look with amber eyes to match on the other. At first you thought the brown-haired one was your fan and the man with the blue hat was just along for the ride.

"Haha! No way! I'm not into that..." He paused as if to stop himself from saying something he shouldn't, "...kinda stuff."

"That kind of stuff?" You repeat back at him, raising a brow.

"He means reading. He doesn't know how." The other spoke putting a hand on top of his head. With a little push he forced the brown-haired man's head down.

You giggled at that. The protests coming from the poor man was comical. You almost felt sorry for him, watching him struggle to move the taller man's hand off.

"Then I take it I'm signing this book out to you?" With a click of your pen, you look up at him.

The NASA jacket on the bright blue sleeves of his jacket should have given it away honestly. There's was a small tinge of a blush on his tan cheeks, almost hidden under the skin tone but you were able to make it out under the light. He looked away for a moment before nodding at you.

"Yeah."

"Name?"

"His name is Craig! He's a huge fan of yours by the way! So, if you could write something sweet for him that'd be awesome!" His friend chirped at you as he broke free from Craig's grip.

Craig's face twisted, those piercing eyes of his narrowed down. Before he could reach and grab him, the brown-haired man slid behind your chair. Putting his hand on your chair, he bent down to your level and tapped the blank white page.

"As you can see my big guy has a baaaaaad case of resting bitch face."

"Clyde..." the warning that slipped out of Craig's mouth made a shiver roll down your spine. It was even directed at you, and you felt threatened.

"So, you gotta imagine my surprise when he came home smiling! I was shocked! He didn't even smile when we started going out!" Clyde ignored him, an attest to his bravery. Or foolishness. Either way he continued, leaning down next to your ear. "Your book made him so happy, so it makes me happy. Think you could do that for me? Because he'll never ask you to do it for him."

You look up at him for a while, not even bothered that he had gotten closer to your face as he spoke. The browns in his eyes flickered with mischief but there were layers of love behind them. Chocolate that seemed to melt into tiny hearts when he spoke about Craig. It was honestly sweet, even if he was trying to tease his partner.

"How can I say no to that? I'd love to." You smiled at him and began writing on the empty page.

Yeah, who would have thought that fate would tie you to those two like that. Falling in love with Craig and Clyde was nothing like what they wrote in books or movies. It was a tornado of events that landed you in the eye of it all.

Despite their polar opposite personalities and looks, the two worked off each other well. Then when you got thrown in the middle, you filled in a little spot they desperately needed.

Clyde was social enough for the three of you. He was the one who reminded you and Craig that you needed to get out of the house. When you lock yourself away in your office, he would drag you out with a fun date idea. Movie nights, football games, arcade dates, and his favorite late-night walks. Doing the same to Craig who always seemed buried in work.

Craig gave off such scary dog privilege that you and Clyde never felt threatened. You could take those late-night walks with Clyde because you knew nothing would touch you with Craig following close behind.

That was nice sure, but under that scary looking shell was a soft teddy bear of a man. While he wasn't vocal with affection like Clyde, he was observant. Craig remembered everything, everything about you and Clyde's interests. If he saw something you mentioned in passing it was yours. Clyde needed new shoelaces because the ones on his favorite pair of red shoes were tearing? There was a new pack waiting for him on the table. You complained about the shift key on your keyboard sticking too much? An adorable keyboard that looked like a typewriter was found on your desk the next morning.

Then there was you. You have no idea how these two survived this long without you. Truth be told they don't either. Craig and Clyde couldn't cook to save their lives. Their diet consisted of diner food and Chinese takeout. While their house was clean enough, laundry was never put away or folded. Clyde was horrible at putting his dirty laundry in the bin and Craig was too tired most nights to even make it to bed. The final straw was when you took a shower, and their only soap was 3 in 1.

Absolutely not.

So, when you moved in things changed. When Craig was at work, you would take Clyde grocery shopping. Slowly you started him on simple dishes, working with him until he was comfortable in the kitchen. What was surprising was that he took to it quickly. He was a natural and before you knew it, he was cooking things you had never heard of. He had gone as far as looking up Peruvian dishes, practicing with spices and techniques that had your mouth watering. When you asked how he learned to do all of this, he gave you the biggest grin and told you it was YouTube.

When Craig came home that night to Chupe de Camarones it was the closest to crying you've ever seen from him.

Clyde really stepped up after that, feeling a sense of pride in taking care of you two. Seeing as you worked just as hard as Craig did. Clyde proclaimed something about being more than happy to be a malewife.

In return Craig started taking better care of himself, actually starting to care about his health. He stopped staying up so late and made use of the giant bed. Clean sheets and blankets that felt good on his skin. Even better that you and Clyde would be in it waiting for him. Clyde long passed out on your chest, a bit of drool sliding down the side of his face and onto your shirt. Not that you seemed to care as you just continued to read next to the little bedside lamp. Only pausing when you felt Craig's presence in the doorway.

Craig's smiles were rare, little treats from the universe to you. Ones like these where he smiles with love in his eyes. Where he kicks off his shoes and strips down to his boxers, crawling into bed next to you. Arms wrapping around Clyde and with a hand settling on your hips. A silent squeeze lets you know it's time to put the book down and join him.

How can you say no to a smile like that?

Of course, not every day was perfect. Your relationship took time to hash out. It was different being with two individuals at the same time, but you made it work. The three of you were committed to one another.

Now if only you could commit to this fucking scene.

Your head’s little meet and greet with the table must have been louder than you thought because whatever Clyde was yelling about in the living room stopped. It was one of the rare weekends where Craig was home and off work. Choosing to spend it watching some show with Clyde, listening to the man ramble on about something.

So wrapped up in your thoughts, you let out a scream when you finally lift your head and Clyde is right there beside you. His body bent over just like the day you met him. With his hand on the back of your chair and his face next to yours. Except instead of using, you as a shield from Craig, he's reading your computer screen.

While he doesn't understand what it takes to be an author, he sees the effect it has on you. Days like this where you take on the posture of a shrimp, forgetting to come out to eat.

His lips start pursed, but as he continues to scan over the screen they break out into a smirk. He covers his mouth in a fake surprise, a gasp with widened eyes.

"Babe! This is...scandalous! Spicy, naughty even! What are you doing writing something like this?" His dramatic act continues, forming some feign surprise.

"What are you doing using words with more than one syllable?" You shoot back with a little smirk.

It takes everything in your power not to laugh at the actual pout on his face. Try as you might, the giggles escape your lips, and it makes him smirk. He leans down and nuzzles his nose into your cheek.

"Maybe you're starting to rub off on me babe! I'm getting smarterer with you around!" You know he said that word wrong on purpose, just to get under your skin.

But he kisses you quiet before you can say anything. Holds your face in his hands so you can't pull away. You can taste the cherry chapstick on his lips, and the growing smile along with it.

"So, what's got you bashing your head into your desk baby? Craig and I heard a thump and got worried." He moves the kisses towards your forehead.

"Was it that loud?"

"Heard it over the tv." Craig's voice almost makes you leap out of your skin.

You bite your lip, looking down at the keyboard with a distant stare. The faded green and blue, spots where your fingers had smudged away the paint from typing so much.

"I'm just having trouble with this scene. I've been stuck on it for weeks now." You exhale softly.

Craig raises a brow and leans down on the other side of you. Both Clyde and Craig bent over to take a look at your screen. You're not sure why the fact both men reading your unfinished work makes you feel nervous, but it does. Or maybe it's the fact this is your first time writing a spicy scene like this.

"It's good. Never would have thought you'd go the Priest kink route." Craig says it so matter of fact, there's never hesitation in his voice. You can count on one hand the number of times you've seen him flustered, and even then, his tone is flat.

"I-I’m not into it! I just- you guys are only reading a snippet of my book! There's been a romance blossoming between the two the whole time!" You try to defend yourself, but it only makes Clyde's lips tug into a smirk.

The temptation to tease you was too great, it was being handed to him on a silver platter. Clyde leans up and walks next to Craig, leaning into his chest. The man wraps his arms around himself and lets out a dramatic sigh.

"A forbidden love! A tale as old as time! But what I wanna know babe-" Clyde stops and lets the tension build. It makes you glare at him as you turn in your office chair. "-is why the witch's descriptions are reaaaally close to mine."

"That's a woman Clyde! She's got short brown hair because it was cut off when she was running from the townsfolk! Brown eyes are common and beautiful! There's not enough representation for them!"

"Aaaaaand her dimples?" He points to his, the little spots in his cheeks that sink in when he smiles. "Plus, my eyes are totally beautiful."

"It's not you!"

"Oh, and the Father isn't Craig. Tan skin, black hair? You gave the Father green eyes but other than that, it fits Craig to a T." Craig actually nods along with what Clyde is saying. He's got his eyes closed as if this is some kind of philosophical debate.

"Are you serious right now Clyde?! This is why you two aren't allowed in my study!" Your face was burning now, hot and flushed from his teasing.

"What did I do?" Craig breaks the little fight with a simple question.

"Nodding your head along! You know what he's doing and you're encouraging it!"

"So, you took inspiration from your partners in your romance story. It's cute." He responds with a shrug. He looks down at Clyde who's still smugly leaning against his chest.

Your mouth falls open, you go to respond but nothing makes its way out. Your brows furrow. Arms crossed under your chest in a pout.

Had you unintentionally based your characters off your partners? Is that why the romance novel was easy to write up until this point?

Whatever the case may be here, you didn't like being called out. So, you do what you always do when they get like this, you turn in your chair and ignore them.

Usually this works, let's them know that you're not in the mood for their games. That you'd rather be left alone than entertain another minute of their shenanigans. But this time Clyde wasn't going to let you go. He grabs the back of your seat and wheels you back towards him and Craig.

"Baaaaabe don't pout. Look I'm sorry~." No, he's not. "But hey I've got an idea."

You let out a little huff, enough to where he knows you're not actually mad at him. If you were you would have picked your chair up and walked it back to your desk. Instead, you sit there and wait for him to continue.

"You're stuck on that scene, but I think you need a break. Sitting here and bashing your head against the table isn't going to fix that. Soooo..." He trails off, moving to stand in front of you.

His fingers glide across the side of your face, cupping your cheek so gently. Clyde guides your face up to look at him, behind that cocky smile of his he's got such love for you in his eyes. The way his thumb brushes across your cheek, making your heart flutter so slightly.

"What do you say Craig and I help you out a little babe?" Clyde guides your face up towards him. He presses his thumb against your lips just as his voice dips into that playful whisper.

You raise a brow at him in response. It's not until Craig puts his hand on your shoulders, that you piece together this wasn't just his idea. Thumbs pressed into your muscles working out the knots and tension. For such a hard worker, somehow Craig's hands always stay so soft. The worn-out oversized t-shirt you stole does little against his hands. The material is thin from how often it's been washed and worn.

His hands pull a soft moan from you, it feels too good to keep yourself silent. Clyde pushes his thumb past your lips and into your mouth, the digit presses down on your soft pink tongue. He all but purrs when watches you wrap your lips around it.

"See...let's work out some of that tension. We'll make you feel real good and give you a little inspiration." Clyde hums as he pulls his thumb out, smearing the saliva across your lips.

When he doesn't continue, you realize he's waiting for your confirmation. Waiting for you to agree to their little plan. But that doesn't stop Craig from bending down and placing a kiss on your cheek. He trails the kisses down to your jawline, using his nose to nudge your head to the side. Lulling your head to the side, you gave into the feeling. Craig's lips move to capture the exposed skin. You can feel just how eager he is from the way the kisses turn to nips then to full on bites. His teeth sinking into the soft parts of your flesh pulling another sharp gasp from you.

"Come on honey. Let us take care of you." After he's done leaving small love bites on your neck, Craig moves to your ear nipping the shell.

"Y-yeah that sounds...that sounds good." You move your hands up towards Craig, running your fingers through his hair. One of the rare moments he's not sporting his blue hat. "I could use a little break..."

"That's our girl." Clyde's praise goes straight to your core. He lifts you up from your office chair, hands cupping the back of your thighs for support. They give your thighs a little squeeze, digging his fingertips into your flesh.

Craig moves out of his way and goes to push your office chair back towards your desk. Clyde chuckles softly seeing the confused look on your face. Instead of protesting you wrap your arms around the brunette lazily throwing your arms around his neck.

"We're supposed to be relaxing, we're gonna get nice and comfy on the couch." He drops you down on the couch, making you bounce a bit. He laughs when you let out a gasp of surprise.

"You ass." Your grumbles fall on deaf ears. Clyde just runs his fingers through your hair and gives it a harsh tug. It makes you cry out, craning your neck up towards him.

"Sweetheart, that's not very nice. You're being a brat right now." He tuts, feigning disappointment.

"You dropped me on the-" You suck in another cry when he tugs your head to the side, that firm grip on your roots sending a shiver down your spine.

"Hm? You were saying something? I did what?"

Clyde's smug little smirk made your blood boil. But his fingers in your hair felt too good to protest further. Especially when he switched between tugging and massaging his fingertips into your scalp. You watched his eyes flicker from yours to behind you. Before you could turn around to get a glimpse of what he was staring at, Craig's hands slid down your back.

Gently, much more than Clyde, he pushes you down towards Clyde. His other hand comes down to grab your ankle, pulling your leg back towards him. Once your knee is tucked against the couch, he does the same to the other leg.

If your face wasn't burning up before it certainly is now. Just as you go to hold yourself up with your hands, Clyde removes his hand from your hair and takes you by the wrist. Guiding you up towards him, he places them on the hems of his sweatpants. The grey university sweatpants do little to hide his hardening cock, you watch it twitch against the fabric.

"This is about where you left off right? She was about to take the Father's cock out of his pants?" Clyde says watching as you slowly pull his sweatpants down. He lets out a low chuckle that turns into a moan when you slip your fingers around his cock. "That's it, now keep your eyes on me baby."

There's a moment of hesitation as you bring the tip closer to your mouth. The bright red tip glides across your plump lips begging for you to open. His hand returns to your hair, smoothing down your locks from his earlier manhandling.

The gentle touch makes you look up towards him, just like he requested. There really was something so intimate about those chocolate brown eyes of his. Past that smirk and layers of darkened lust, there was devotion. The feeling of your hands on him alone made him weak in the knees. You put that to the test, pressing just a little kiss on the tip. Dabbing your tongue against his leaking member. Just from that alone he's letting out the prettiest moans.

"Sh-shit, c’mon don't tease me." That cocky attitude of his melts. You almost laugh at how easy it is to break him down. He was puddy in your hands.

With a little hum you move your hand up and down his shaft, creating enough friction to make him buck his hips towards you. He nudges his cock further into your mouth, pushing past your lips. The underside of his cock glides down against your tongue, smearing the pre-cum along with it.

So caught up in your little game, you almost forgot about Craig behind you. Almost. It's hard to forget him when he's got his hands all over you. Large palms cupping any exposed skin. Craig takes his time exploring every curve he can get ahold of. His nose nuzzled into the back of your head. His breath tickling the shell of your ear. Just the sight of your mouth around Clyde's member alone is enough to make him growl.

Neither men are patient when it comes to you. Craig shoves whatever is left of your pajamas down and off you, he doesn't bother with your shirt as it'll pull you away from your lover. Instead, he decides it'll make the perfect handle. He bunches it up until it collects at the collar. His hands grip the shirt and tug it backwards, making your hips rock back into him.

Somewhere along the way he stripped away his pants. The barrier between the both of you was the thin material of your underwear and his dark blue boxers. While Craig wasn't as vocal as Clyde was, with his teasing and little whimpers, he could be just as unfair if not more.

Grinding against your cunt slowly, grabbing and groping at your ass the entire time. He digs his nails into your skin, leaving little crescent moons. Craig rewards good behavior not with sweet words, but by giving you what you so desperately want.

He waits until you've got all of Clyde's cock in your mouth before he finally shoves your underwear down. It makes it to your knees before he just decides to leave them there. Too many times he got impatient and just ripped them off, and too many times you scolded him for it.

The hand in your hair pulls you back from his cock. Clyde moves your head back just enough to where only the tip remains, then slowly he brings you back down. Pushing you all the way down his length until your nose hits his stomach. You watch as his muscles flex under his skin like he's trying to resist letting his head lull back. He needs so badly to keep his eyes on yours, loving the attention you're giving him.

"Your mouth feels so good." He whines when he reaches the back of your throat. You gag around him, and it pulls another whimper from him.

Your hand slides down his thighs, using it to hold you up. The other hand is still being held by Clyde's grip. His hand wrapped around your wrist, holding it up near his shoulder. Craig waits until Clyde rocks you back again, using the momentum to slip inside your wet folds. A pleased hum rumbles from his chest. You can feel it from how he's pressing his entire body against yours.

Just as slowly as Clyde moves your head, Craig pushes further into your cunt. The two find a slow and steady rhythm with one another. When Craig snaps his hips against you, it pushes Clyde's cock further down your throat. Your moans vibrating around him causing him to moan loudly in return. Clyde's whimpers and whines get louder when you dig your nails into his thighs. In return the grip on your hair is tightened. Creating this delicious cycle of pleasure.

"Baby, please. I wanna fuck your throat. You gonna let me? I need it so bad, please." Clyde's begging spurs something in you. Gives you the feeling of control even if you’re physically stuck between the two. From the beads of sweat that trail down his body and the way his body is shaking, you know he's at his limit.

You're able to pull back just enough, his cock springs up with a little bounce. Craig slows down just enough to let you talk, but you can tell he's not happy about it. The way his grip on your shirt tightens, you're sure he'll rip it soon.

"If I snap my fingers, you stop, okay?" You say giving him the okay. He caresses your face and presses a kiss onto your face, letting you know he understands the boundaries you've set.

At first, he's careful when he pushes his cock back into your mouth. You reward him with a swirl of your tongue, rubbing against the veins that are popping out.

"He's so needy." Craig huffs as he leans back up. The assault on your neck stops, but he's left it covered in bright red and purple marks. No amount of makeup will cover up what he's done.

You don't need to see him to know that he's smirking at it. Taking pride in the fact that he's marked you up. Or the pride making Clyde blush from his comment.  Craig's hips snap back into you, the force much sharper than his previous lazy thrusts. They're calculated, each time he pushes deep inside you he hits that spot that has you seeing stars. Clyde's hips take up the same pace, shoving his cock into the back of your throat.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes, trickling down your cheeks. Moans turn to muffled cries, yet everything feels too good to stop. They're rough paced fucking brings your mind to a haze. All you can focus on is feeling good and making them feel good.

Craig's close, you can tell from the way he starts to lose rhythm. He's having a harder time controlling those grunts and growls. A hard time not leaving bruises on your skin from how rough he's holding onto you. He's long since let your shirt go, instead grabbing onto the back of the couch. But he waits until he feels that familiar clench around his cock. The way your walls clamp down around him as you cum. The only warning being the high-pitched muffled moan that gets swallowed by Clyde.

His hips slam into you one more time before he pulls out. Grabbing the base of his cock, he shoots that hot thick load onto your back. Heavy amounts of cum drip down your spine making you whine and shiver. Clyde can't take his eyes off the way his partner paints your backside. It makes a trail of drool slip down his chin.

The poor man can't do it anymore, he can't stop his eyes from rolling up to the back of his head. Not when your moans vibrate up him and your throat tightens from choking on him. He needs this release.

"I'm gonna cum baby. Please, let me cum. Let me cum in your mouth." Clyde all but cries in between panting. His begging dissolves into your name and the word please over and over again.

His flickering eyes catch yours again. It's when you give him a little wink and a hum, his cock violently twitches and cum spills from his tip. His cum is sweeter than normal, it makes it easier to swallow.

Slowly he pulls out of your mouth with one final whimper. It isn't until Craig swipes his thumb over his cheek that you realize he had tears streaming down them. Clyde presses his cheek into Craig's hand and lets out a pleased sigh. Once he knows Clyde is okay, Craig stands up and goes to get a towel to help clean your back. He does the same to your face, swiping away the left-over tears.

"Feeling better?" Clyde asks as he helps pull your underwear up. "Nice and relaxed?"

You nod and rest your head against his chest. "You've got good ideas sometimes."

"I've got wrinkles on my brain." He smirks to himself, taking your little praise miles.

Craig comes back after tossing the towel in the dirty laundry with a large blanket. He throws it over both of you before climbing in next to you. He lays his head down on Clyde's and grabs the tv remote.

"Kitchen Nightmare or Hell’s Kitchen?"

"Kitchen Nightmares! I need some petty British accents after my orgasm denial!"

You scrunch up your nose at Clyde’s comment. Almost wanting to pull back. "Smooth brain behavior."

"Smooth brain behavior." Craig chimes in.

The three of you relax into the couch, almost ready for the group nap that comes with the afterglow of love making. That is until inspiration strikes you again. Your eyes light up and you go to wiggle out of their hold. But Craig's arms are faster, they keep you firm against his chest. Clyde's hands come down a moment later, cupping your hips.

"Nope. You're staying right here."

"Guys! No! I just figured out how I'm gonna get that chapter finished! You gotta let me go! I gotta do it!" Your pleads are wasted, like they're not even heard.

"No. You're warm and I'm tired."

"That's not my fault or my problem."

"I'm making it your problem. Sit still."

"You know Tucker bear isn't going to let go. You're fighting a losing battle babe." Craig at least has the decency to let Clyde finish before pinching him. You know Clyde's nickname for him makes him grumpy. His little yelp makes you giggle.

"Fine....at least until you fall asleep."

"Look if you think you can get out of his hold, then be my guest. You earned it at that point." Clyde's smirk returns. He throws his leg over yours and tucks it in between Craig's knees.

"Fuck you." Your eyes narrow up at him. He's not as slick as he thinks he is, trying to cage you in with a sleepy Craig.

"Again? So soon. You're insatiable babe. Let us recover first." Clyde presses a kiss into the top of your head, pulling back before you can headbutt him.

His hand guides your head back down onto his chest and he just chuckles. It doesn't take long before Craig is passed out with his head nuzzled into the curve of your waist. Holding you like a teddy bear against his chest. Clyde's smile grows when he sees you trying to fight off sleep. But it eventually takes you and you lose the battle. He turns the tv down just a bit, deciding to join the both of you.

That chapter can wait another day.

[mikeellee]

You know? I think the whole "All Might is Midoriya father figure" is almost entirely made up by the fandom rather than what the actual story tell us, and that is speaking of the main manga or what Horikoshi writes himself not spinoff and derived canon media.

Because is there a single time in which All Might and Deku show the kind of intimacy and love a father should have for his son and vice versa?

I can't think of something like that outside maybe the dark deku arc when A.M gives him the bento boxes, and even that count as the bare minumum considering most people are obssesed with the idea of A.M being a father figure.

Also they really don't interact that much (or at all) outside anything related to OFA or hero stuff. At least to me they should have some kind of casual interaction as Izuku and Yagi rather than just A.M and Deku.

Combine all this with the fact Midoriya never in the whole series express any feeling about the lack of a father figure in his life and how awkward A.M is for interact with him, it's difficult to take seriously the idea of "Dad Might".

Hi @nyc3

You hit the nail here, have you noticed how regardless of the story the fans will designated characters to be the mom or dad of the group? And it's sad people create this fanon where AM is big dad for Izu when...in canon...if we haven't got his thoughts we wouldn't even believe he likes Izu.

I do think thanks to what canon shows...Izu got the quirk by a mix of AM being too stubborn (and stupid, sorry am fans this man IS stupid) and nighteye's creepiness. There's nothing that justify why give a quirk to Izu...and I say this as someone who likes Izu and hate the bashing he gets.

Izu has no real relationship, none whatsover and we aren't meant to see that nor really care. His pain is a gag.

The whole AM and Gran relationship is a gag and it hurts the characters. "What you mean?" Think this way, am has a big quirk ans gave to this QUIRKLESS boy who has no support and his quirk HURT him majorly ...am knows someone else who can help Izu...his response? Be silent until Izu has no internship offer and then you mentioned your mentor...you mention your mentor as this cruel monster who will torture you for lols.

Gran torino is not like that (not saying he is perfect, but we didn't see anything that would justify AM be afraid of him. "Could have change" possible, but this also make AM look bad, Gran changed and is willing to help Izu...what has AM done?)

We also don't know how Gran trainer AM, keep in mind how the man was also sent to the US.

Am has little relationship, he has one with Naomasa but it's funny as he suggested Izu to be a cop and sort, unitentally, talk trash about the job. Which makes me wonder if AM sees Naomasa's job as less....maybe not intentionally.

Izu knows nothing about the man. He knows his name thanks to Gran....keep in mind he was trained with AM to gain muscles for 10 months! (I have issues with that training montage. I can now say how it represent how Izu will be treated in this story. He cleans a beach, no one gives a fuck- he see fans being all over am and no one cares about the teen cleaning the beach- and gets no reward...the whole "heroes don't do things to get reward IS bull and rich coming from a man that is mega famous and rich as AM)

At times, I get the am bashing (but loathe as they chose to make Aizawa or afo better. Like AM is just an idiot...Aizawa and Afo are malicious)

I find sad bc Izu really has no one. His mother is.....Inko. His father is dead and Mia for all we know, friends? Hahahahajahahahaaha not in canon. shig? Never even attempt to know smth about Izu...

Hori shows to you...Izu is a loser, later makes him saying that. And we aren't meant to conclude Hori hates his own mc ? (Don't worry, hori hates Shig too)

[drachonia]

𝐛 𝐚 𝐜 𝐤 𝐭 𝐨 𝐛 𝐥 𝐚 𝐜 𝐤 .

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: randomly thought up a little bit of an alternate ending awhile back, actually got to writing it finally today. not sure if i'll continue and turn it into a full series or not.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: themes of reincarnation and modern setting included. descriptions of gore, major character death, angst and general dark themes. OC name used instead of general MC. spoilers for William’s main route.

Every step that echoed in William’s ears as he made his way to what may as well have been the gallows. He stepped into the dark halls in the Tower of London, faced with dozens of sets of eyes that bore him a falsified sense of ill will.

He knew the hatred was only as deeply rooted as a dull blade was leveled toward him, aiming directly for the space between his ribs. Strangely, the monarch felt a sense of unease as the sharp metal dug into his skin. Though, the sense of unease faded with each breath, an odd hope blooming along with the red that dripped to the floor.

That day in Crown’s headquarters, the heavy wooden door did not open a second time until the breaking of the next dawn, when all was too late.

The scuffing of sturdy shoes echoed on the pavement near Trafalgar Square. Ink-black curls bounced among the crowd as a young woman weaved her way through, huffing in annoyance, hand gripping an envelope, “Goodness knows why the professor wanted me to deliver her letters, I suppose anything to help her this semester…” Elisabeth murmured, brows scrunched as crimson eyes narrowed beneath long lashes. A strong gust pushed through the calm autumn air, causing the lightweight paper to lift like a feather, only to twirl about and land at a dark alleyway’s entrance. The student’s steps faltered for a moment, her brows creasing slightly as she trotted over, picking up the envelope as she cast a bewildered glance down the unfamiliar location that she felt a sort of camaraderie to.

Only when she left to deliver the slightly dirtied envelope did a pair of fine leather shoes step from the alleyway, almost like a ghost.

“Alright, last stop.” Elisabeth breathed a sigh, “Then I can meet up with Allie and Jack and we can all have some of the pie dad sent.” She breathed as she scuffed her mary-janes at the brick road. This letter, she remembered, was specifically mentioned by her professor as one of utmost importance and caution. The young lady thought back on her mentor’s words:

“He’s a distasteful ol’ man, so keep your wits about you when you drop the letter by. Give it to ‘im in person, but leave immediately.”

She sighed out, fingers tightening their grip on the letter slightly as she trotted up to the door, about to knock before noticing that the door was the slightest bit ajar. And against her better judgement, like a girl lured by the promise of adventure, Elisabeth gently pressed it open. The scent of copper hit her nose like a rousing slap to the cheek.

A dizziness filled her head as she looked at yet another strange, yet familiar scene, a dead man’s body — one she could only assume was the intended recipient of the letter she possessed.

“Well, this is a bit troublesome…” a man who couldn’t have been much older than herself frowned, arms crossing as he pushed

“A friend of yours?” A soft but jovial voice reached her ears, she noticed she had been frozen to the spot with a strange sense of deja-vu. Head aching incessantly as it pressed to the front of her skull, claws digging in.

A man with light brown hair stepped in front of the body, blocking her view as he stared down at her, “Look, we’re just here rehearsin’ for a little play at that little theatre not far off from here, nothin’ to see here.” Elisabeth almost found the false smile he put on…comforting and friendly.

“You’re lying.” The words poured out of her mouth instantly, like she’d been bound to a script herself. She had wanted to go home, to go eat a warm dinner with her brother and sister but—

A disappointed sigh reached her ears as she sensed someone behind her, looking over her shoulder to see a young man dressed head to toe with clothes almost as black as his hair. Another joined him, noticeably shorter in stature, but twice as intimidating. He grumbled under his breath, lighting a cigarette with a few curses as he glared past her.

In contrast to the rest of the curious group that surrounded the corpse, one more man stepped in front of her, the brunette from before giving him plenty room. Elisabeth glanced up once more, taking note of the silvery-white hair and carmine eyes. Her breath caught in her throat as his eyes seemed to narrow almost affectionately at her, as if out of instinct.

“It seems that we’ll be bringing her with us.” His eyes never once parted from hers, red-painted fingers brushed her own as he took her hand, Elisabeth’s vision starting to blur and darken the deeper she looked. Those eyes seemed to whisper only one thing, wide with an ever-present, intense heat.

Found you, my sweet robin.

lace headers by saradika.

[bloodyshadow1]

somethings that could have made the Apology Tour better in my opinion under the cut. I liked the episode, but I thought some things were clunky or underused. The point was good, but somethings bogged it down to me and some changes might have helped.

get rid of Dennis at the party, I think him being there undermines the whole purpose of the party. The people there are supposed to be Blitz's exes who are hurt by the way he treated them, Dennis was a rando he made out with at a party not someone he hurt. Blitz was an asshole to him sure, but he doesn't qualify as someone Blitz hurt really.

More blood moon than Apology Tour, but instead of having Stolas leave before/in the middle of Blitz' apology, have Blitz start to apologize but quickly turn it around or stop because he couldn't. This episode frames how Blitz never gave a real apology, Stolas even says that, but then he leaves in the middle of Blitz trying to give one, which isn't fair. If that was the point against Stolas than I would understand but it feels weird when the episode doesn't seem to be making that point and agrees with him. Blitz starting to apologize and being unable to being the final straw for Stolas to leave would be a better set up for the episode than him leaving while Blitz is trying to say he's sorry. I don't think the apology would have saved their relationship, but it would have framed Apology Tour better.

Make it more balanced on who is at fault because Blitz and Stolas are both at fault. I think Blitz is more to blame, like 65% to Stolas' 35% but both are to blame for their relationship (or lack thereof) falling apart. I'm mostly fine with it since Blitz is the main character, the show is going to deal wiht his issues first. I think/hope Stolas will have an episode in the future where he is forced to confront the fact that he was also unfair to Blitz. For whatever he says now, he did look down on Blitz and disrespect him, playfully perhaps but he didn't treat him like an equal, but like a plaything. He would have known about the assassin if he paid attention to his wife talking to him at the dinner table, Blitz might have come if Stolas sounded serious on the phone instead of lackadaisical. He is to blame for their relationship being what it is too and the show should acknowledge that.

give the exes names and maybe even explain how blitz hurt them. I can understand the points the episode was trying to make, but by only having the people we already know and Dennis being the ones with names and the ones we know the story of, it kind of hurts the premise. Having one or two of the exes have a song about how shitty Blitz was to them when they thought they were together and Verosika naming them when they did would help to make the exes feel more like characters than concept art. Because I like the imp ex dressed up like Beetlejuice or the two women Exes who are more into each other than hating Blitz, but they're just background characters not actual characters. Adding names to even a few of them would make them feel more than just numbers that Blitz slept with and hurt.

Blitz throughout the series is fine with having sex and flirting with anyone he finds attractive. I could see him hurting a lot of people for a number of reasons, especially the ones he actually liked because he got scared and sabotages the relationship. But I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't think I believe he was in a relationship with these people enough to hurt all of them. some of them sure, but I don't know I get that Blitz is desperate for love, but I don't know all these people should be considered exes. I think it would have been interesting if there were some who were one night stands or quick fucks who dont' like the guy but come for the party and those who are genuinely hurt from something Blitz did.

I would take out the second blitz/Stolas conversation. I don't think it really added anything except pain to the story, which is understandable, but we already know the characters are hurt. Instead I would have Verosika in Blitz's position, letting Stolas have someone in his corner to talk to. I love Verosika this episode, not just because I'm a dumb lesbian, but because she feels like Fitz in the ep we see him after Ozzie's, more of a character than someone who hates Blitz. I think she was underutilized and would have been sweet for her to be the one to get Stolas to open up, drunk or not. I think she would have better in writing and for Stolas for him to have someone to talk to not at, like he did to Blitz in the episode. I think her shooting down his desire to be loved like in a romcom would be better for him to hear than Blitz. Blitz could even be eavesdropping on them and being hurt by what he hears. I think if Verosika gave Stolas good advice that wasn't just drink or fuck yourself numb, but encourage him to have fun and explore something that he likes, even if it's just dancing with the handsome incubus that he dances and kisses later.

I dont' know, probably just bullshit, but I wanted to get this out because I did enjoy the episode, but the tag is full of people either hating it or loving it and my mind doesn't work like that. I like a lot of things, but I don't think there's anything perfect, I just know how it would have made the episode better for me personally. I'll also admit I'm not super into the Blitzo/Stolas ship, I get it but I think it's better for them to spend some time apart presonally so others might disagree.

[little-mouse-adventures]

A Timeline of Events in the Artemis Fowl Series

If anyone's interested, I did do an actual analysis for where I pulled some of these dates from. But because I cannot type succinctly to save my life, it's 5,000 words long, so that's below the cut. I also put the timeline there again, but in three separate images, so hopefully they load well enough to be fully legible if the above isn't.

A thousand thanks to @sadbitchapologist and @zahnie for their help and advice with this, despite neither of them having any more than the barest interest in the series and therefore having no clue what I was on about. Thanks also to @orangerosebush for fielding completely out-of-the-blue questions about the French school system, so I didn't have to attempt to navigate web search results to figure out what mandatory gym classes were like for the sole purpose of plotting Luc's birthday on here.

An Analysis of the Timelines in the Artemis Fowl Series

A Brief Introduction

The Artemis Fowl series is made up of eight books covering a range of years and events. I wanted to see how accurate the timelines present in the books were, as well as try and plot out some other details implied in the novels but not explicitly stated, to have a better understanding of the overall world-building. To that end, I went through the series and made the above timeline. I colour-coded it based on the relevance of the specific items to certain categories, namely Humans, Fairies, Villains, and the Series itself. This does mean that some things could have fit into multiple categories. For instance, you will see some items involving Opal categorized as Fairy-Specific (such as her college years, as those are fairly neutral to the main plot or her villainy), Villain-Specific (such as her setting up her emergency fund, as that is mostly related to her schemes as opposed to relevant to her existence as a fairy, or part of the main plot of the series), and Plot-Specific (such as her opening the Berserker Gate, the primary plot point for the final book).

Before we really delve into things though, we should establish the baseline assumptions I was working with. Firstly, I am only using the original series. I have not used anything written in The Fowl Twins trilogy, given that those books seem to ret-con a considerable amount of the original information, and that is far too many headaches to give myself. Any supplemental series information, such as the short stories found in The Artemis Fowl Files, or anything from interviews is also not included. The premise here is: using just the original books, what is the event timeline of the world? The second thing we need to establish is that I am using the North American releases of the novels. I did make notes on where each bit of information comes from, but there isn’t really a citation style for this kind of thing, so I’m not sure how relevant that is. The third assumption is that the first book takes place the year it was originally published. According to my copy, the original publication was 2001, with the first American paperback edition coming out in 2002, and the first mass market paperback being released in 2003. This means our starting point is in 2001.

For sake of clarity, this analysis will start with setting the dates of the books and continue on from there.

The Basics of The Books

With that out of the way, let’s talk about the first book, Artemis Fowl (AF). It is actually not until the very end of the book that we get a solid answer for when it takes place. It’s only in the last few pages of the novel that Angeline Fowl leaves her attic room after all the plot points are tied up and announces that it is Christmas Day. This might be cause for concern – Angeline had not previously been established as a particularly reliable narrator – but given that we are asked to believe that Holly’s ‘feel better’ mood booster worked, and that neither Butler nor Artemis balk at or question the pronouncement that is Christmas Day, we’ll accept that it’s true and move on. This means that, with Butler’s earlier announcement that he was stuck doing four months of stakeout, we can say with a fair amount of certainty that Artemis obtained and translated the Fairy Book in September 2001, and managed to capture a fairy in December of the same year.

Moving on to Artemis Fowl: The Arctic Incident (TAI), we are given a decent chunk of information, albeit spread out a bit. The first is the announcement that the ransom drop for Artemis Fowl I is to be held on the fourteenth. The fourteenth of what, you might ask? Well, we are told that Artemis is currently thirteen years old. Clearly, things are past September 1, 2002 (we know Artemis’s birthday is September 1 based on information in both the fifth and seventh books). We are also told that Luc Carrere has been trading with the goblins for six months, starting in July. That puts us in either December or January, but we can narrow it down further since Artemis gives us another helpful clue. He mentions they are not expecting to see the dawn while attempting to rescue his father in the Arctic. There are only a few latitudes on Earth where polar night (of any type) occurs, and at Murmansk, polar twilight occurs between December 10 – January 2. Combining all of this, we learn that TAI takes place December 14, 2002, give or take a few days to either side.

This can be corroborated by information in Book 3, Artemis Fowl: The Eternity Code (TEC). After Holly heals Artemis Senior, we are told that it takes over two months for him to wake up. Since we are specifically told two months, as opposed to two and a half or three, we can conclude that the events of TEC take place in March 2003. Mulch gives us some information that confirms this. He was living in LA “less than four months ago,” and since he was conscripted to help with the events of TAI in December, a March plotline fits the bill. We are given further confirmation as well: Spiro mentions that Artemis will be fourteen in six months. A specific date for Artemis & Co.’s attack on Spiro’s Needle can be pulled from the throw-away line that Pex and Chips are “burying” Mulch on the full moon. A quick web search tells us that the full moon in March of 2003 takes place on March 14, and the rest of the events in the novel take place roughly two days to either side of that.

In Artemis Fowl: The Opal Deception (TOD), the fourth book in the series, we are given several very clear indications of when the events take place. Firstly, Artemis is contemplating that at fourteen years and three months old, he is the youngest person to successfully obtain The Fairy Thief. Based on previously noted details that his birthday is in September, the events of TOD must take place in December of 2003. Additionally, we are told that things are the middle of winter and Opal has been in a coma for eleven months and counting as of the end of TAI, another December plot.

Artemis Fowl: The Lost Colony (TLC) requires the most math and interpretation so far to figure out when it takes place. We know Artemis is still fourteen, so the main events clearly happen sometime between January 2004 and September 2004. Beyond that, we are using a fair amount of context clues. Artemis and Butler have evidently been traveling for four months looking for demons, so we are dealing with events in at least May. But that still leaves us several summertime months to work with, so to establish a timeline here, we will need to look forward a bit. In the sixth book, Artemis Fowl: The Time Paradox (TTP), it’s noted that Artemis is not yet fifteen, and has, on multiple occasions, spent the full moon in the study. Ergo, he’s spent at least a few months back from Hybras. If he has been back for two months and not yet turned fifteen, he would have had to have returned by July at the latest, and since he returns almost three years later than he leaves, we are looking at him returning in either May or June. This would have him disappearing to Hybras – and by extension, dealing with the earlier events in the book – in June, July, or August. After his conversation with Minerva, he notes to Butler that they “are planning a June wedding,” which wouldn’t make sense to say if they were currently in the month of June. From all of this, we can extrapolate that the first three-quarters of TLC take place in late July or early August 2004, with the triumphant return of our intrepid heroes occurring in June 2007.

As previously stated, TTP mentions that Artemis is still not fifteen, but is nearly there. He has also been home again for at least two months. This would put the events of the sixth book in August 2007. At least, the events set in the current time period. TTP does bring back time travel, and with it some problems. We are told that Artemis and Holly jump back nearly eight years to Artemis being ten and trying to fund searches for his missing father. This would put the events of the past in early 2000. However, other details presented regarding Artemis Senior’s disappearance, which we will discuss later, make that impossible. Artemis also admits, in TEC, that he was eleven when his father disappeared, not ten. If we take a bit of creative license with our interpretations and base the time-jump to the past on other presented information as opposed to the dates given in TTP, we can say that Holly and Artemis instead return to early 2001. This lines up with further details, such as the sinking of the Fowl Star (as calculated a few paragraphs down in this analysis) occurring in December of 2000, and the textual confirmation in TTP that it’s barely two months past that sinking when Artemis brokers the deal(s) regarding the silky sifaka lemur. Since, at the end of the day, the time jump impacts very little in the grand scheme of things, and the year 2001 actually fits in better with other textual evidence and events, that’s what I’m going with for this timeline.

The seventh book, Artemis Fowl: The Atlantis Complex (TAC) gives us a very helpful base point! It takes place on Artemis’s fifteenth birthday, September 1. From our previous results on setting dates for book events, that would be September 1, 2007. The sections in which Butler and Juliet are fighting mesmerized wrestling fans and meeting up with Mulch are noted in the novel as happening “the day before,” which would fall on August 31, 2007.

Artemis Fowl: The Last Guardian (TLG), the eighth and final book in the series, creates some problems. If we assume that Artemis starts receiving treatment for his Atlantis Complex immediately after diagnosis in TAC¸ that would put him receiving treatment in September 2007. We are told he is certified as cured after six months. Yet we are also told that the rest of the events of the book take place in the week or so leading up to the Christmas holidays. Everything so far has said that the Artemis Fowl series follows the current calendar, in which case there is no way that six months can fit between September 1, 2007 and December 25, 2007. However, the only reference to Christmas is in two lines noting that the Fowl parents were planning on holidaying with their children on a foreign beach. If we simply say that six months have passed, and they are instead planning on spending the Irish school system’s spring holidays in the French Riviera, everything else lines up much better. So that’s what I’ve done. This would also put the resurrection of Artemis, after the events of the book and a further six months have passed, at roughly September of 2008. There is a pleasing symmetry to Artemis being born and then re-born in September, though if you want to get really technical and say the events of TLG take place during the 2008 March full moon as Opal claims (as noted in another web search as March 28), a six-month wait time for the clone to grow would put the resurrection in October. Still, there is something to be said for having a boy’s ghost haunting a clone of himself close to All Hallows. Since it’s the last plot point of the series, you can choose which you’d like; it doesn’t have to lead to anything else after it.

Let’s Talk Timelines: The Beginning of the Line to The End of The 19th Century

Now that we have our baseline book time periods established, we can get into the math used to determine some of the events in the timeline above. Several events are easy; we are given specific dates for them. Turnball Root meets Leonor in 1938, Juliet wins the Miss Sugar Beet Fair beauty contest in 1999. Other things are based on some basic math, such as Artemis claiming his parents got married fourteen years prior to AF¸ putting that event in 1987.

The majority of the items on the above timeline, however, do take some mathematics, extrapolation, and interpretation to plot out. To try and keep everything organized, we’ll start at the far left of the timeline, and work our way forwards, looking at events oldest-to-newest to explain why they are where they are on the graph. I won’t be getting too in-depth on everything in the graph, since I’m not sure how relevant the notes on the very minor side characters such as Carla Frazetti are, but I’ll at least try to touch on some of the more relevant points.

To start with, the Battle of Taillte was noted in the 2000’s as being ten thousand years ago, putting that at 8000 BCE. Similarly, the last dome breach at Atlantis was apparently eight thousand years ago in the 2000’s, so that would be 6000 BCE. Troll sideshows were legal in the early middle ages, which implies they were not legal after that. A quick web search says the early middle ages ended around 1000. The first crusades were in 1096-1099, and as those crusades are the start point of the Butler-Fowl working relationship, a point for noting that comes next on the graph.

From there, we get into more modern – relatively speaking – events. Briar Cudgeon and Julius Root are noted as attending the LEP Academy together and being raised in the same tunnel, as well as having about 600 years of history together. If one assumes “being raised in the same tunnel” is similar to the human equivalent of “growing up in the same neighbourhood,” we can assume the two were born roughly 600 years ago, in the 1400’s. Vinyaya is portrayed as being of a similar age to Root, so her birth can also be put in the same general era. We are also told that Fowl Manor was originally a castle built in the fifteenth century, that in the early 2000’s the theories of timeline corruption were first introduced over five centuries ago, and that cloning has been banned for over five hundred years, so those three events are also tossed into the 1400’s.

Julius Root is noted as doing his LEP basic training 500 years ago in Ireland, so that would have to be in the 1500’s. He would have attended the Academy before then, putting that in the mid-to-late 1400’s. As previously stated, he was in the Academy with Cudgeon. Opal also met Cudgeon in college, and competed with Foaly for science prizes there, so they were all in school at the same time.

Mulch now enters the picture. We aren’t ever given a specific age range for him, but we are told about his career. He has, apparently, spent three centuries in and out of prison after a couple centuries of success as a thief. This would make him at least five hundred years old. There is a brief mention that he tried the athletic route at college before becoming a thief, so he would have to be an adult at that point, putting his age at roughly 550 years during the events of the series.

We then enter a period filled in from one-off lines throughout the series, presumably added to give some depth to the world. Things about the wine cellar at Fowl Manor being a seventeenth century addition, Captain Eusebius Fowl and his crew dying in the eighteenth century, and Mulch first faking his own death over two hundred years ago.

Time Marches On: The 20th Century

There is nothing of much relevance to linger on between the 1550’s and the 20th century, so we’ll jump ahead to the 1900’s, when we have Holly Short’s birthday. She is in her eighties during TLC, and her father died “over twenty years ago” when she was “barely sixty” as of TAI. Based on that, she would have been in her early eighties in 2002, putting her birthday sometime in the 1920’s. What a doll.

A few more birthdays now appear, and we’ll ignore, for the most part, some of the irrelevant ones. I don’t think we are at all concerned with Gaspard Paradizo’s birthday, or Mikhael Vassikin. We are, however, rather more interested in Jon Spiro, Domovoi Butler, and Artemis Fowl I.

Jon Spiro enters the series in TEC, as a middle-aged American. A quick search on the Internet says that middle age is generally noted as being between the ages of 40 to 60. We are told that Spiro has worked in three main industries over the past two and a half decades. Additionally, we are told that law enforcement has been “trying to put [him] away for thirty years.” If we assume he entered the working world at twenty, spent five years developing his professional self, and then started going down a path of questionable legality to get the police after him, that would put him at fifty-five in 2003, and born in the late 1940’s.

It was a bit easier to determine Domovoi Butler’s age, and we can get more specific with his actual birthday. We are told that he is forty at the start of TEC, and he is still forty during TOD. From that, we can assume his birthday is not between March – December, which means it has to be between January – March. Now, we can just leave things there, but contextually, Butler says in late March 2003 that “a lot of people know [him] as a forty-year old man.” Since I doubt he’s the kind of person who introduces himself by announcing that his birthday was last week, we can assume that his birthday is not in March. Since about half the books in the series take place in December, and there is never any mention of Butler’s birthday coming up soon, we can likely assume it isn’t in January. We can therefore conclude Butler was born in February, 40 years before 2003, which puts his birth year in 1963.

We then have Artemis Fowl I. This one took the most extrapolation to determine. We know he has run an ethical empire for a few years as of 2007, which coincides with his return to his family after being kidnapped by the Mafia. He apparently ran a successful criminal empire for two decades before that, though, so in 2007 he has been working for at least 25 years. Based on the interactions he had with his own son, I’ve assumed he was also taught to take over the family business from a young age. If he started working at his age of majority at 18 (as possible in the 1980’s in Ireland, based on a web search), we can assume he was born in roughly the mid 60’s.

Billy Kong, born Jonah Lee, is one to touch on. He plays a large role in TLC, during which we are given possibly the most backstory of any villain in the series. He was evidently born in the early 1970’s, and was eight years old in the early 1980’s. Mathematically, that can only lend itself to so many birth years, so it’s easy enough to put his birthdate somewhere in 1973, and his brother’s death date in 1981.

While we’re here, let’s talk about the 1980’s. A lot of things happen in the 80’s, so we’ll be here for a few paragraphs. Butler would have graduated Madam Ko’s Academy in the early ‘80s, Artemis I would have started working in his family’s business and stolen some warrior mummies (of note, the theft is only noted as being in Artemis Sr.’s “gangster days,” but if you are a young, rich criminal, you’d likely commit a wild theft in your early years as opposed to your thirties, which is why this is put in here). Additionally, in the mid 1980’s, Holly graduates the LEP Academy and her mother dies, as noted in TTP when she is contemplating missing three years of her friends lives.

Butler would have started his five-year stint in Russia with an espionage unit in the mid-to-late 80’s, and become a big brother in 1985. Juliet is noted at being four years older than Artemis in AF in 2001, and he is twelve then, making her sixteen at the time. We can extrapolate the month from TEC, wherein she is apparently eighteen when she is called regarding her brother’s apparent death. At the time, we are told what gifts she received for her birthday, implying it was fairly recent. Additionally, Artemis was only thirteen at that time, which would make Juliet five years older than Artemis. If, however, we trust that acolytes at Madam Ko’s start their training on their tenth birthday and get one chance to graduate per year, it would make sense for that one chance to be on their birthday, or within a day or two to allow for as much training time as possible. Since Juliet was in the midst of this one graduation evaluation when she gets the phone call and joins the crew for the March heist at Spiro’s Needle, she’d have to be born in March. (We can also corroborate this with some details from AF: if AF  takes place in mid-September, that would be just after Artemis’s birthday, which puts the 4-year age difference back into play.)

Spelltropy begins for the People in 1987, if it appeared 20 years ago from 2007. Artemis I and Angeline Fowl would get married in 1987. They would have their first child, Artemis Fowl II, in 1989, as calculated by Artemis being twelve during the initial siege of the Manor in December 2001. Artemis II’s grandfather was noted as having been dead for over ten years at that point, and it was mentioned in TEC that Angeline married her husband before he really took over the family business, so those events would likely happen when Artemis was but a baby in 1990.

The ‘90s are a period where a lot of things are happening, but few are particularly important. Spelltropy has a cure found, Minerva Paradizo is born, Juliet begins her bodyguard training and her brother refuses to let her shave her hair. These, and other events in the 90’s, are mostly calculated by math along the lines of “Event A happened X number of years ago,” but since the 90’s was mostly a time of worldbuilding events rather than plot events, we’ll just skim over the specific details.

‘You Are Here’: The 21st Century, and Where The Storytelling Begins

Welcome to the 2000’s! The kick-off point of not only the 2000’s, but also the entire series, is the sinking of the Fowl Star. We aren’t given a specific date for this, but we are given enough information to extrapolate the date. Specifically, in September 2001, in AF, we are told Fowl Sr. has been missing for almost a year. In TAI, in December, we are told he has been missing for almost two years. That does have the potential to have the ship go down in either December or January, so we need to use a bit more details from TAI to make a final determination. Mikhael Vassikin and Kamar were told to dump Fowl’s body in the Kola if he didn’t wake up in “another year,” so they’ve been looking after him for one at that point. Fowl Sr. wakes up two weeks before the deadline, and as noted earlier, the ransom drop for him takes place December 14, after he has been awake for perhaps a week. From that, we can tell that the deadline for “another year” was mid to late December, putting the initial sinking of the Fowl Star in late 2000.

The analysis gets a bit confusing at this point, because 2001 is when future Artemis and Holly join the party via time travel, as well as having their regular selves in the timestream. Essentially, we’ve established the timeline for the events of TTP above, so we know the whole lemur fiasco takes place in March 2001. Artemis wakes up at the end of that book thinking about fairies, which ties in rather neatly to him then dragging Butler across three continents for six false alarms (with an assumed approximate 3 weeks between each jaunt) before striking metaphorical gold in Ho Chi Minh City in September. During their time-traveling, Holly also gets a chance to talk to Root, who wonders why she isn’t in Hamburg, which was noted in AF as Holly’s first major failure as a Recon officer and was nearly preceding the events of AF. The time-traveling would also mean that Opal would have had to harvest her DNA for future diabolical plans before March 2001, when her younger self travels to the future. Since it takes up to two years to grow a clone to adulthood, and her clone has to be ready in September 2003, we are a few months off in the time requirements, but really, for a practice that’s been outlawed for 500 years, I can offer a bit of leeway.

We are now well and truly in the thick of the main events of the series. Most of this will be tied into the initial assessments we made way at the beginning of this essay, where we established when each book occurs. Because of this, we aren’t going to spend time on anything plot-related. However, a brief note on Turnball Root and Artemis’s Atlantis Complex is likely in order. Artemis was, as previously stated, dealing with his return from Hybras and the after-effects of stealing magic during July and August of 2007. His Atlantis Complex, and Turnball Root’s plan to escape the Deeps prison, are in full swing in September of that year. We have a brief note in TAC during the evacuation of Atlantis, that Turnball had, a month before, spied on Artemis and noted his Atlantis Complex developing. Therefore, Artemis’s Complex likely came into play in late July or early August 2007. This is close enough to Artemis’s magic theft to make sense for the deterioration of his mental health, and enough time for Butler to have started to notice something was wrong, as he did. We can therefore assume that Atlantis Complex, at least in the case of magic-stealing humans who have a propensity for time travel and getting involved in supremely complicated and improbable plots, develops relatively quickly.

This leaves just one major discussion point from the last few books: the age of Artemis’s twin brothers, Beckett and Myles. The twins are first introduced at the very end of TLC. They are written as being two during the events of TTP, three during the events of TAC, and four during the events of TLG. Regardless of the time-traveling shenanigans of their elder brother, it is impossible for the twins to age two years in the eight months between Artemis’s return from Hybras in June 2007 and the finale of the series in March of 2008, so we need to look at what makes sense.

Myles has already potty-trained himself, and done so at fourteen months, so they must be at least that old. Their other behaviours would make sense for them to be two in TTP. Diapers are still a part of their lives, and their language and vocabulary fit what a two-year-old would have, at least in Beckett’s case. Since Artemis was surprised by their existence, it doesn’t seem likely that  Angeline would have known she was pregnant, or at least not have told Artemis yet, when he went to Limbo. Ergo, they can’t be any older than two, since (one would hope) Artemis would have noticed his mother’s pregnancy if the twins were any older.

Additionally, in TLG, we know Artemis gave his brother a birthday present, so he had to have been around during the twin’s birthday at least once. With this fact, the twins cannot be born between March – June, which just leaves the question of when are the twins born?

 The most logical answer is February 2005. If Angeline was early on in her pregnancy, say six weeks (which is when most women start noticing symptoms), when Artemis disappeared in July 2004, she wouldn’t necessarily have told him yet. Then, if we assume that since most twin births occur around the 35-week mark, that would math out to having the twins be born in February of 2005. Fast forward, and they would turn one in February 2006, and two in February 2007, which puts them at the correct age for the events of TTP. [One could argue, of course, that a twin pregnancy in an older woman (unfortunately, there is nothing in the series to indicate Angeline’s age) and in a woman already dealing with significant stress could result in a very premature birth, thereby voiding any of this math and leaving the whole question of the twin’s birthday unanswered. However, since I’d rather not subject the Fowl parents to the strife and misery of having one son missing and presumed dead, and their younger children in the NICU with a low survival rate, I’m working with the assumption that the pregnancy was a healthy and normal one.]

The brief comment from Juliet in TAC about the twins being three can be passed off by them being a little over two-and-a-half and Juliet not being around as she is touring in Mexico. By the time TLG takes place, in March of 2008, the twins would have had their third birthday, allowing for Artemis to give Myles his chair as a birthday present, Beckett to be old enough to no longer need diapers, and the behaviours to act more like children than infants. While this doesn’t quite allow for the repeated textual confirmations in TLG that the twins are four, we’ll go with what mathematically makes sense.

That brings us to the end of the timeline! Not everything is touched on in the timeline, and not everything in the books is plotted (we are never given enough context to know Foaly’s or Opal’s birthdates, for instance). But the main events of the Artemis Fowl series are all analyzed, mathematically or logically or textually corroborated, and plotted out, for use or ignoring as personal preference dictates.

[infinity-or-oblivion]

so my loa batkids au has gained a little traction and i’ve hit a bit of a wall when it comes to writing new stuff so here’s an infodump to hopefully kill my writers block xoxoxo

first of all, jason. my forever number one blorbo. there’s a bit of a role reversal here because compared to all the rest of them, jason arguably had it the easiest. like we’re not going to compare traumas but an argument could be made. i honestly don’t remember if i mentioned it at all in the actual series yet, but the story i have for jason is that his childhood with willis and catherine was about the same as canon/commonly accepted fanon, meaning he was homeless around nine years old. however, instead of living on the streets for years, it was only a few months tops before meeting bruce.

and bruce! this is very fun to me, but basically i was thinking that if he didn’t raise dick, then why couldn’t this version of bruce be younger? so bruce becomes batman in his early twenties, which is also around the time that he visits the league of assassins for training and damian is conceived. (for a little more about that, here) and bruce is roughly 25 when he finds a tiny 9-10 year old jason trying to steal his tires. just imagine that it’s so fucking adorable and heartbreaking ANYWAYS bruce, despite being overall a disaster, doesn’t let a malnourished 10 year old out to fight crime right away, so there’s a couple years between when jason first meets bruce and when he becomes a child soldier yayyyy!!!! but legit, it makes a lot of difference to jason, because you know how canon!jason has some self-esteem issues (for lack of a better term) around bruce not really loving him/seeing him as a son because bruce started training him as robin (and as dick’s replacement) immediately after adopting him- you know that whole thing? yeah well here, despite jason actually offering to help bruce as a vigilante, this bruce is like hell nah you’re literally ten years old and the size of a six year old no way, and those few years in between really stick in jason’s mind as solid proof that bruce really does love him, not for what use he can provide, but simply as a son. also being the only child definitely helps with that

(that little detail of jason and bruce’s relationship is slightly inspired by minimum height requirement, which is absolute batfam gold btw)

okay so. slight pet peeve of mine is in aus where dick isn’t the first robin, the legacy is still called robin for whatever reason (lookin at you reverse robins aus) because!!!!! how dare you erase mary and john grayson’s importance!!!!! (look there’s more nuance to it than that i know but. to put it simply it feels like flying graysons erasure to me) so in this au, jason can’t possibly be called robin. the real robin has been missing for roughly seven years at this point

and listen. i tried to be creative and come up with something cool and original for jason’s vigilante name i really did, but apparently i used all of my naming talent on nighthawk (fucking love that name for dick it’s so fantastic) so we just have bluejay. womp womp

also! on my list of things to expand on: main timeline stephanie!!! i’ve had an absolute blast making myself cry while writing every heart sings a song, incomplete and those who wish to sing always find a song, but spoiler steph will always be my babygirl. and duke!!!! i have not written barely anything for duke in this universe but believe me i have some Thoughts. perhaps even Ideas. basically a lot of steph&duke and steph&babs and steph&duke&babs because i love my little underrated trio

also just more babs in general, because like. i’ve had so many tiny little snippets of cass and babs and their sweet little relationship just sitting in my notes for literal years now that i really just need to organize and expand into their own fic. and yet. i have not done that. but rest assured cass&babs are very very important to me

such is the curse of female fanfic writers: always destined to fixate more on the male poor little meow meows than the female bad bitches. seriously what the fuck is up with that guys i don’t get it why does this happen

[the-path-to-redemption]

Hey sorry I saw some of your rwby critical posts and thought you'd be a good person to ask this

I'm currently getting into rwby again (after first having watched it at... 14 or sth) and am rewatching the series from the start

I have good memories of it, especially considering girlpower and the like and it seemed to be echoed by the fandom

But now I stumbled across a few critical posts so I'm wondering what I can... Actually except from the show?

Because so far I've mostly been like 'Yay girlpower, interesting lore and somewhen a canon wlw ship!' but uhhh critical posts make me rethink that stance haha

I'm especially kinda worried about Ruby? Because she's pretty much my favourite character and I've read that apparently the team is gonna be pretty shitty towards her in future seasons?

So I'd kinda just like to ask you whether you'd still recommend continue watching the show and if you could maybe give me a warning on what to expect?

Oh my God, I'm so sorry for leaving this in the box for so long, anon.

I think if you are going to continue watching RWBY, please be extremely cautious with your expectations. You might find things in it likable in comparison to my experience, but objectively the series to me is one that is chocked full of negative decisions in regards to both its characters and world building.

Focusing on Ruby herself, she will have MUCH LESS proper development on screen that's actually satisfactory. In terms of characterization, she is the weakest out of all main characters because there is no thoughts or prioritization to her presence in the narrative at all. Ruby feels more like an object to drive the narrative forward instead of its protagonist for a very, very long time. And any development she has either feel lackluster or just straight up meaningless in my opinion. I have mixed feelings about the poor girl, and not in a good way.

As for the girl power aspect of the show, I'd argue that it's extremely shallow. Yes, the girls are doing things, but they're not actually changing anything in the world of Remnant for the better. Hell, many times they are made to be complete assholes to others or incompetent fools who needs someone else to step in to save them, most of them the saviors being men.

That's not a bad thing by itself, but for a show advertising itself as girl power, the girls are often backseating for other characters, namely Jaune. Hell, Oscar, a new character, became more important than Ruby the moment he was introduced despite being treated as a meat bag for most of his screen time.

Point is, you can find actual girl power shows in your 90s-2000s cartoon that actually delivers its promises than RWBY.

And for the WLW....yeah, it's bait. I don't doubt that many liked it and feel represented by it, I'm happy for them. But I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't baiting for people to continue to watch RWBY. It's very shallow, filled with stiff and unbelievable chemistry between the romantic partners, and it didn't even build up properly.

Holy shit, the main WLW ship I'd argue does more HARM to its characters than helping them, because one of the two people in that pair went from being passionate and headstrong to a fucking sniveling coward. What the fuck?? Is this the lesson the audience supposed to learn?? Being with your soul mate turns you into a wet fucking blanket of a person instead of them continue to push you to be more passionate about the important things in your life??? Huh???

So, unfortunately anon, expect EVERYTHING you're nervous about to come true. But again, it's all my opinion. You might find the show enjoyable, and I'm happy for you. But keep your guard up and expectations low is my best advice.