#it's kind of perpetually like this. then when called out on it he pulls out the love-bombing but doesn't address the actual issue.

[outlanderalien]

Not sure if I'm sabotaging my relationship or not but I feel like I'm in the right ? Perhaps ?

[tojipie]

toji x crybaby reader <3

content: hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, smut under the cut !

˚ ✧ ───────────

toji is a flawed man. 

short-tempered, married to his money, slow to show affection. but the one thing he does excel at is comforting you.

he knows you’re a sensitive girl, knows just how easy it is for you to get teary-eyed and red in the face over comments that otherwise seem like nothing to the untrained ear. 

you have a kind heart is all, too giving to a world that only knows how to take. he tells you that every time you break down in his arms, thick hands rubbing circles into the small of your back.

his father would have slapped him across the face for crying. called him soft, whiney like a girl. put him to work for the rest of the day to shape him into a man.

he wasn’t his father though, and you weren’t a zenin.

you were soft in the best way, tender-hearted and too trusting. a daisy among weeds, swaying idly in the too-strong wind. nothing like a zenin, nothing like him. 

he hadn’t the faintest clue what to do the first time he’d seen you get upset, standing there in the kitchen like a fool while you babbled on the phone with his bank.

it was a fraudulent charge, small, maybe only 10 dollars. probably dropped his card while paying for gas again, not the end of the world. the customer service rep assured you that much.

it was the principal, you sobbed. you’d lost his card and hadn’t even noticed. why wasn’t he upset with you?

he doesn’t know why he didn’t just tell you it was okay. that he didn’t have it in him to ever be cross with you, be it a ten-dollar charge or a thousand-dollar charge. 

instead he wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling your body flush with his to press soft kisses to the crown of your head.

you were warm there, warm everywhere really. the thrum of your blood heating your skin from the inside out. toji liked that about you, how you offset the perpetual cold of his much larger hands. 

physical touch was something he knew well. toji wasn’t—still isn’t good with words, opting to stay silent and just hold you while you sniffled into the receiver. he got the message across, he always does.

his methods are unorthodox for that very reason. he doesn’t comfort you with his tone, he does it with his body. whether it be thick arms squeezing you until you get your breathing under control, large hands tracing shapes into your tummy until you stop spluttering, or toned legs splaying wide to let you crawl into his lap, resting on him until your bodies reach the same temperature.

toji fucks you on your good days, likes to tease you, get you squirming. the key difference is that he makes sweet love to you on your bad ones. holding you flush to his chest while he rocks into you under the safety of your shared blankets.

you feel like a furnace under him every time, heat radiating off your body and into the deeper parts of his soul. 

he gets mouthy once the feeling of you wrapped around him flicks that little switch in his brain. turning off the mental barrier between him and his inability to use his words. 

“sweet girl,” is what he calls you, eyes never leaving yours. 

“gotta stay close to me, gotta keep you safe, huh?”

and keep you safe he does, tucking your face into the curve of his neck so you don’t have to look anywhere but him. letting you moan, and pant, and sigh into his skin while he rocks against that special spot situated deep in your core.

he goes harder when you ask him to. not faster, but harder—he knows the difference, letting the resistance in his hips subside so he can sink to the hilt over and over. 

the juxtaposition makes his head spin. how do you manage to sound so sweet while asking for something like that? able to melt his heart even on the brink of orgasm.

you kiss him when he fills you up, letting him sink on top of you with a huff and a shy laugh. he listens as you open up about the good parts of your day, his soft hums of agreement spurring you on.

toji wishes he was taught to articulate himself better. he’s trying, he really is. though the “i love you” he says into your skin seems like his best shot at a start. 

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

You know that feeling when you want to make a good impression and eveything you do feels low-key humiliating

Or when you're just perpetually mortified about every word that leaves your mouth by default regardless of what's happening or who you're talking to like I am—

ANYWAY HERE'S SOME HEADCANONS ABOUT THE BOYS BEING EMBARASSED OR SOMETHING—

Oooh Nooooo

Zoro, Sanji, Shanks, Mihawk, Buggy x Reader

Needless pointless fluff with the tiniest bit of hurt-comfort or something

Live-action or anime/manga canon, either or both

I don't think there are any TWs?

Sorry for wasting all of our time with this silliness

Anyway here's some Nu.

Zoro

He just pushes himself much too hard sometimes.

Sitting down and "taking a nap" after training, when he's clearly well beyond his limit.

Or rather "passing out from utter exhaustion with his swords unsheathed across his lap."

It could have ended a lot worse than a rogue wave washing across the deck and a gash on his arm.

Grumbling about how he's fine and doesn't need any help the whole time you're wrapping bandages around his arm and chiding him.

Going silent and tense for a moment when you wrap him in a tight hug and softly ask him to be more careful.

No, he's not blushing, he's never blushed in his entire life, shut up

Hugging you back? What are you talking about?

Gives a little growl of annoyance, refusing to let you go for longer than he's willing to admit, and will probably say it was for your benefit if anyone asks.

Sanji

The old *whoops* with the pepper shaker.

It had already been a long day, he was just trying to wind down in the kitchen.

Trying to season a very simple, very straightforward sauce.

And the entire lid falls off of the pepper shaker, and into the pot, along with a massive pile of ground black pepper.

And he just lets out a groan of defeat, dropping to his knees and letting his forehead fall against the edge of the stove with a weak little thunk.

But no no no, you're already hurrying over to help scoop out the excess pepper, reassuring him that it'll definitely be fine.

Your rush to assist him is enough to make him smile in itself, to let out a small affectionate chuckle as he watches you grimace at the taste the ruined sauce, before you meet his eye and try to fake a smile.

Decides to repurpose the sauce in question, to get back at the idiots that loosened the pepper shaker lid in the first place.

The two of you are left snickering to yourselves while the rest of the crew fights over the nearest jug of fresh water after tasting it themselves.

Shanks

Man could probably drop a knife and sever three of his toes and still manage to laugh it off, what is "embarrassment...?"

Well, it's a little more subtle.

It's having to relearn how to use both a sword and a pen after losing half of his dominant arm.

It's laughing off how his handwriting looks like a child's now.

It's getting mildly annoyed at trying to button a shirt one-handed and simply tucking it into his belt instead.

It's refusing help with simple tasks that could be made far simpler if the stubborn idiot would just let you help already—

It's hearing him chuckle and agree when you call him a stubborn idiot for refusing any help, settling his hand in your hair and pulling you close.

The whole process is embarrassing in itself, but he's got you, and he's got his crew, and that makes it all so much easier.

Mihawk

What on earth could he possibly have to be embarrassed about?

World's Greatest Swordsman, one of the seven Warlords, with a sense of wit as devastating as his blade.

And yet, despite all his efforts to hide it, he's just a big softie.

As if it wasn't already evident from how he allowed Zoro to live after challenging him and subsequently trained him, with the convenient excuse of wanting a worthy rival.

He's going to glare at you with a sharpness that could slice clean through diamond if you suggest out loud that he did any of it out of kindness, much less fondness.

But he's also going to sigh in an irritable sort of defeat when you kiss his cheek and compliment him for finding such a perfect balance between mercy and murder.

And mumble just as irritably about how you're lucky he finds you endearing enough to keep around, begrudgingly proving your point without even realizing it.

Buggy

Lives in a perpetual state of embarrassment that he tries to mask with haughtiness and aggression.

It mostly revolves around the elephant in the room.

The very red, very round elephant in the room, attached to the very center of his face.

The one he might just slaughter anyone for mentioning in front of him.

Who nose what that could possibly be *wink-wink*nudge-nudge**stupidest-pun*

But the second you plant a kiss there and say how cute it is, in a way that makes it clear you're not condescending or taunting him about it, he's too busy blushing and sputtering over his words to remember what he was supposed to be angry about in the first place.

[dearsnow]

TOO SWEET

- you discover that you mix a little too much sugar into your relationship, and jake seems to believe that he’ll turn everything sour. (jake seresin x fem!reader, angst, jake being an asshole when he thinks he’s making the right decision but what’s new, i had a real fun time writing the description ⚠️ drinking)

PART 2

word count: 785

a/n - angst city is back !! and yes there are parallels bc i’m in a parallel mood so yeah some lines are very very similar to each other. hope you guys enjoy, even though my first hangman-centric fic is a sad one lol. based on “too sweet” by hozier <3

You press your palm to Jake’s face, feeling his stubble rough against your soft skin. “You’re amazing.”

He has a pool stick in his hand, one that he sets down to pull away from your touch. Your face flushes as he takes your hand in his own and places his pool stick in your other, motioning for you to take a shot. “You’re too sweet, darlin’. Let’s prove to Chicken over here that you can be tough, too.”

“Too sweet” is something he’s called you more than once. You suppose it is true, with your gentle and kind demeanor. You just can’t help wanting everyone to be happy.

Jake Seresin is pretty much the opposite of that. He intentionally upsets people with a smile on his face, content in riling them up, and fond of perpetuating rivalries. No one ever understands why you’re attracted to him, especially not the other daggers.

You see the side of him that he rarely ever shows. The one that’s kind and caring, that understands when he goes too far and reels his aggressive personality back to shore. When he kisses you on the cheek or places his hand on the small of your back, you feel it too.

So, when he pulls you to the side of the Hard Deck, you assume he’s just going to give you another drawling compliment and skirt his hand between your shirt and the soft skin of your waist. You certainly don’t expect the words that come out of his mouth next.

“Hun, I think we need to stop seeing each other.”

Your heart stops dead in its tracks. “What?” You borderline squeak. No, this can’t be happening. Everything was so perfect just moments ago, and now the look on his face makes you want to cry. It’s laden with sympathy.

He holds your hands with gentle fingers. “You’re too sweet, baby. I don’t mean it in a bad way, but I mean, you’re way sweeter than I could ever be. You tell Rooster his shirt looks nice when it’s eye-bleeding and you mean it. I love that, I really do, but we don’t fit. We don’t make sense, and I want my relationships to make sense.”

“We do make sense.” You protest. “Opposites attract or something like that. We can make it work.”

“The thing is, we can’t. I’m gonna piss you off eventually, and you’re gonna forgive me, and it’ll just be toxic. I don’t want that for you.”

He lets go of your hands, and as the cool air hits them, they miss his warmth. His green eyes are tinged with something you could associate with sadness, just a hint of aching regret. His mouth twitches a bit, curling into his sun-kissed freckles. They wouldn’t be noticeable if you hadn’t looked at him so closely, if you hadn’t kissed along that same line a few nights ago. “And what about what I want, Jake? I want you. We can have a good relationship, I promise, we’ll find a way.”

“That’s what makes you so special. Your goddamn unwavering hope. I don’t want to crush that, sweet thing, but you have to know that it isn’t always going to work out.” His tone is softer now, but his words hit like the sharp end of a knife. You stare up at him, eyes watering.

“But-“

“It’s a no, baby. Just no.”

He turns, and for the first time, you don’t follow his movements. Your fists close around empty air.

It’s really happening. He’s explained how he doesn’t want you in a million honey-suckled ways, and more than anything, you just want to sink into his arms and cry. But you can’t, and you don’t. You move away, instead, out of the Hard Deck and out of his life, into the cold night air. When you reach your car, all you can do is sob into the shiny metal.

Jake watches you leave. He wants to run after you, to thread his fingers around yours and pull you into a kiss, but he can’t, and he doesn’t. It’s better for you, he tells himself. You sip on wine and fruity drinks while his neat whiskey is sitting on the bar, half-drunk. You deserve someone nicer, kinder, who kisses you goodbye and doesn’t scratch your face with stubble. He sees you lean against your car, forehead pressed to the car door, and he almost folds. He picks up his drink and turns to face Penny, who’s looking at him disapprovingly.

“I’m not good for her.” He tries to explain.

Penny sighs and reaches for the whiskey, topping off his glass. “You aren’t. I just wish you made it your problem instead of hers.”

Taglist: @seitmai

[theysherobinbuckley]

a little something I started but probably won't ever finish - alternate first meeting steddie! post s3, pre s4

(context: in an effort to cheer up his perpetually grumpy new neighbor, Eddie broke out his old skateboard and immediately ate shit for it. Cue Red calling none other than Steve Harrington to solve the problem...)

Red was barely in the door when Harringron turned on him, jaw clenched and fingers twitching. Having those dark eyes focused so entirely on him nearly made Eddie dizzy.

His lips were moving and- oh shit. Eddie was totally supposed to be listening.

"Uh, what?"

"What are you doing hanging around Max?"

Eddie frowned. "We're neighbors?"

"So?"

"So I'm being… neighborly? Is that illegal?"

"Neighborly is getting someone's mail while they're out of town. Not a super senior hanging around with a girl who's not even in high school yet."

"You better be fucking careful what you're accusing me of, Harrington, because to be honest, you don't look any better. Don't think I haven't heard your beemer pull up at all hours of the night. What the fuck is that about, huh? King Steve likes 'em young?"

Eddie's back hit the trailer before the last word even left his mouth. All the breath rushed out of him at once as Harrington pinned him with one arm across his shoulders.

"Don’t fucking say that," he seethed. "She's like my sister. I'm not- I wouldn't hurt her."

Eddie reached up to pat Harrington's arm placatingly, sending him as sweet a smile as he could muster.

"Hey, I believe you, man. I'm a little lost, sure, but I believe you." He sent a look to the trailer to his right. "Now can you let me down before Muriel sends Axel out to break your arm?"

Harrington followed his gaze and, upon seeing Muriel frowning from behind her curtains, dropped Eddie faster than if he'd told him he had the plague.

"We're in my kingdom now, Harrington," he said, grinning and waving in Muriel's direction. "These are my people. We take care of each other here. And Red's one of us, whether you like it or not."

Steve frowned, opened his mouth to respond, maybe even protest, but Eddie cut him off.

"I was just trying to make the kid smile, okay? So I got out my old skateboard, did a few tricks, busted my shit." He held up the ice pack he'd stolen from Red's fridge. "She called you 'cause she said you'd know what to do."

Harrington was quiet. Noticeably, he did not apologize for jostling Eddie's extremely sore wrist, but whatever.

"Did she?"

"Yeah, man, I tried to talk her out of it, but she seemed pretty confident you'd pick up. And here you are, so…"

"No, I mean- did she have fun?"

Eddie shrugged. "I mean, she didn't look as miserable as usual. Laughed a couple times when I fucked up a dismount. What's up with that, by the way? The constant dispair?"

Harrington's whole body tensed, and Eddie was almost scared he was gearing up to punch him just for asking.

"You remember Billy Hargrove?" he replied, his voice tight.

Eddie couldn't help but sneer at the mention of that piece of shit. Wayne had always taught him not to speak ill of the dead, but that didn't mean he couldn't think some choice things about him. Like the fact that he was pretty sure the guy was rotting in hell for all the things he'd said to Jeff in the school halls.

"Unfortunately. What about him?"

"He was Max's older brother. Step-brother."

"That's..."

"Fucked?" Harrington supplied. Eddie nodded. "Yeah. So I just- I need to make sure another Hargrove doesn't come around. Sorry I got all... you know. I've been told I can be kind of intense."

"No shit," Eddie laughed. "No hard feelings, I guess. Since it's in Red's best interest."

"No hard feelings," Harrington echoed. "Thanks for looking out for her."

Then, something Eddie had never even dreamed of: Harrington stuck his hand out, clearly expecting a handshake.

Huh.

It was over in a second, but Eddie's hand burned where Steve's had been.

"No problem. I'm kind of the park babysitter," Eddie replied. "Part of the job description."

Harrington lit up at that.

"I babysit too! Max and a few of her friends. 'S why I'm always around. I'm usually playing chauffeur for one of the other gremlins."

"That makes more sense than you having a torrid love affair with Susan."

"Yeah, she's not really my type," Harrington said with a smirk.

Eddie watched in shock as Harrington's eyes slowly, deliberately dipped up and down his form.

Talk about fucking whiplash. Eddie could still feel Harrington's strong arm against his chest, the brush of Harrington's nose against his own, the heat of Harrington's breath on his face. And now the king was checking him out?

"I see. Not into MILFs?"

Eddie was in the middle of making plans to staple his big stupid mouth shut when Harrington laughed.

"I'm more into brunettes."

And boy, didn't that seem pointed.

[harmonictechnicality]

Eddie develops a strange habit after sex. It’s not exactly cute or romantic or nice. Nothing bad either. It’s just… well, Steve isn’t too sure what it is. But every time, it’s the same damn thing.

He collapses onto Steve’s chest and says:

“My boyfriend is a cyborg.”

Usually, Steve is still recovering from the fucking downpour of post-orgasm endorphins. So he doesn’t question it. Hell, he stopped challenging Eddie’s tolerance to geek out months ago. Dude holds fantasy knowledge in his brain better than he holds his liquor.

Which is saying a lot.

Anyways, Steve never has the mental capacity to react or respond. Instead, he runs his fingers through Eddie’s sweat-soaked hair for awhile. Scratches out little patterns on his scalp because it always makes Eddie go limp. Quiet.

Quiet is a rarity for him. And while Steve is totally weak for Eddie’s chattiness, the quiet can be nice too.

The only reason Steve finally decides to ask about it is because Eddie slips up. Says it before they have sex.

Steve is against the bedroom door, his nails dragging down Eddie’s back. God, he loves this kind of kissing. The lung draining kind. The type that’s sort of filthy from all the heat and grinding. 

Eddie hasn’t marked him up this bad since that time someone at work noticed his neck. Asked if Steve was having an allergic reaction during an office-wide meeting.

And this is going to be even worse. Steve can tell by the sounds and the soft pricks of Eddie’s teeth. He can tell by how long Eddie spends over each spot, like the bruising skin needs more attention than the rest of him. Like licking them over will make the colors last longer.

The damage has been done. Really no point in stopping him when it feels so fucking good. Steve forgets to worry about  how mauled he’s gonna look tomorrow because his head is swimming with Eddie’s lips on his neck. His collarbone. His chest.

That’s when it happens. That’s when Eddie’s strange habit makes an early appearance. 

He kisses over the blistery mess he made, practically growls the words out this time: 

“My boyfriend is a cyborg.”

“Okay, time out.” Steve says. Heaves some air back into his lungs. Pulls Eddie’s face up before he can continue making Steve look like goddamn target practice. 

Eddie blinks a few times. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” Gonna have to wear fucking high-collared shirts all week, but whatever.

He’ll bring that up some other time. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Saying what?”

“That… thing.” Steve barely can spit it out.  It’s like his throat is physically rejecting the nerdy shit he’s about to say. “You keep calling me… a cyborg or something.” 

“Oh that.” Eddie sighs. Casually shrugs to one side. “It’s your fault actually.”

“How is it my fault? I don’t even know what fucking language you’re speaking.”

Eddie walks over to the bed, chanting Steve’s name over and over. Definitely not in the way Steve prefers him to chant his name. Very un-sexy chanting.

“Remember that day you asked me to grab your car keys?” He asks, patting the bed for Steve to join him. 

No. “Kinda?”

Steve hesitates before walking over. He didn’t necessarily wanna stop their primal makeout session. But it was bound to lead to the bed at some point, so…

Just not like this. Not talking while fully clothed. Blech.

He sits next to Eddie. Hands awkwardly fidgeting in his lap.

“Well, I couldn’t find them.” Eddie admits. “So I ended up going through your desk drawers.”

Of course he did. Perpetual snooper.

“Ended up finding a binder full of medical records.”

Well shit.

Steve’s throat tightens. Swells around the sudden guilt he feels for keeping this from Eddie. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a metal plate in your head?”

“Dunno. Hardly even remember it.” That’s only partly true. Steve doesn’t remember the surgery or much of the recovery process. He was only a kid when it happened.

But he does remember the hospital smells. He remembers the sounds of his IV bag dripping throughout the night. All the sensory indicators are still fresh in his mind.

“Well, that’s why. You're part-machine.” Eddie points to Steve’s head, expression softening. “And every time we fuck around, I think about your bionic skull. And how glad I am that it keeps your brain from leaking out when I bend you over the way you like it best.”

Steve laughs. The jokes help lighten the mood. Not enough to replace it entirely, but enough for it to be easy to swallow again. 

They’re both quiet as they get ready for bed, folding the covers down. And yeah, sometimes quiet can be nice. Just maybe not right now.

“Hey, Eddie.”

“Yeah?”

Steve stares hard at the pillows. “Are cyborgs like… cool?”

Eddie pauses for a moment, then hops onto the bed. Starts crawling over to Steve with a smug grin. He lifts up to meet Steve’s lips. Kisses him sweeter than normal. Lighter. Starts nodding his head mid-kiss, keeps nodding as he breaks away.

“Yeah, babe. Cyborgs are so fucking cool.”

[suguann]

Hello! My name's Anne | An adult in my mid to late 20's | A hobbyist writer

RULES:

• I write for many fandoms, including Call of Duty, JJK, Shadow and Bone, Star Wars, Game of Thrones, Haikyuu, One Piece, etc.

• This is an 18+ space, and I also write dark content, so please read all content warnings if that makes you uncomfy!

• Don't copy, paste, or translate.

LINKS:

General tag

Writing tag

Fic Recs

MASTERLIST:

JUJUTSU KAISEN

ও GOJO

• Possessive Gojo (18+)

He gives you another once-over, thinking of several ways to describe you, silly not being one of them.

• I Hope You Stay (18+) | Long Fic

He’d asked why your coworkers weren’t waiting outside with you—it's not safe here—at the same time you asked for a kiss. It just sort of slipped out.

• Virgin Gojo (18+)

His last slip of restraint is when he finally looks down to find a wet patch on the front of your panties and how you're starting to form a dark gray spot on his sweats.

• Messy (18+)

You look so small like this—smaller than usual because everything about him is big in comparison—and that stirs something foreign in his gut that he can’t name.

• Three's A Crowd (18+)

“If you ask nicely for what you want, maybe he’ll give it to you,” your husband offers evenly. (Gojo/ Reader/ Nanami)

• Be With Me (18+)

The feeling sneaks up on him without his knowing, a throbbing in his chest that festers and grows over time until he can’t ignore it anymore or contain it in the proverbial cup of his hands no matter how hard he tries.

• Everything Comes Back to You (18+)

"Did you know we'd end up here?"

• Possessive Geto (18+)

• What I Never Told You (18+)

Gojo doesn’t understand that the parents (mostly the moms who try to hide behind their giant sunglasses) at Mio’s soccer games talk, and he chooses today to pull you into his lap.

ও GETO

In times like this, he wishes he had never come up with the rule about keeping your relationship a secret—so nobody thinks I’m picking favorites—regret is a thick pill to swallow.

ও MULTI

• Prettiest Baby (18+)

They can't help it, they're kind of obsessed with you.

• Fuck It, I Want You (18+)

They're so infatuated with you.

CALL OF DUTY

ও GHOST

• Good (18+)

“Just a little more,” a small lie because there’s never just a little more when it comes to you.

• Let Me (18+)

There comes a point where Simon finally admits that he hates your new boyfriend. [Part Two]

• I Left It Wet For You (18+)

Simon doesn’t share, but he makes an exception this time after his best friend’s date is a no-show, and he isn’t heartless enough to let Johnny hang out at the pub alone. [Simon/ Soap/Reader]

• Smitten

He watches you swipe lipstick across your mouth, grinning at your reflection in the mirror atop the dresser, and it's the cutest fucking thing. 

• In Threes (18+)

Your ex-boyfriend makes you think you are the problem. Simon shows you that's not the case.

• New Girl

He has a feeling that the new girl running the front desk at the gym is going to be a problem—a distraction disguised in a gym uniform polo and khaki pants.

• Neighborly (18+)

Simon looks at you with a cocked brow and something akin to amusement as he watches you squirm in his doorway. 

• Abience (18+)

He’ll only realize this after the fact—weeks late, sleepless nights filled with images of daisy-shaped buttons down the front of a summer dress and a smile that nearly knocks him flat off his feet.

ও PRICE

• Redamancy (18+)

You tried not to grow feelings—you really did. Feelings make things complicated, but you can’t help it. John’s just…John.

BALDUR'S GATE

ও ASTARION

• Oh, Darling (18+)

He’s in a perpetually strange mood for the rest of the day, quieter than usual and more sulky, and you have the sneaking suspicion he's upset with you.

[incorrectbatfam]

Types of obnoxious batfam stans

Written by an obnoxious batfam stan

Not really a rant but something I've noticed over the years interacting in different spaces and I've decided to make your problem now.

Please note that I'm not saying there's any "right" way to be a fan because we all suck by virtue of being comic nerds, but there are certain kinds of batfamily fans that stick out to be in particular.

Anywho, here are 12 kinds of annoying batfam stans that you've probably run into and you better get a laugh out of it *points gun to your head*.

1) The Newbies Who Never Heard of Google

There's no shame in being new to something. It's a phase that we're all guaranteed to go through, whether we're 11 or 101. However, in this day and age, so many things can be easily googled that you don't need to shout every question you have into the VVorld VVide VVoid. If you need comic recs or a reading list, google it. If you wanna know a character's origin story, google it. If you need to know the color of Batman's underpants in a particular issue in 1965... well that's probably too specific for Google but Reddit will definitely have an answer.

2) The Middle School Authors

Before the 13-year-olds get up in my notes, I'm not saying everyone that age writes like this. Middle school is a state of mind. These fanfic writers usually stand out in a few ways.

They're oftentimes first-person POV or reader-insert. Give Y/N a break, she's tired.

The grammar is stunningly atrocious. I get if you're inexperienced or if you're writing in a second language, but we are in the prime era of autocorrect. If you need help, it's right there. Also, fuck c*nsoring b*d w*rds and fuck "unalive."

The characters do things that are out-of-character because the author is projecting their own personality. Bruce Wayne is a lot of things but he does not listen to the fucking Mountain Goats.

There's a lack of experience or research when it comes to certain topics. That's not how physics works. He can't walk that injury off. And that's definitely NOT how you do the horizontal hokey pokey.

3) The Neckbeards

Unfortunately, these basement-dwelling mouth-breathers tainted the image of what a comic fan is, though that's been changing recently. Still, we've all seen them. They gatekeep via pop quizzes, 'cause obviously you're not a real fan unless you know what page 10 of Batman #138 smells like. They give unsolicited commentary on people's cosplays, nitpicking the guys and being gross toward women. And heaven forbid the comics add a little diversity.

4) The Moviegoers

Nothing inherently wrong with getting into the fandom via the movies, nor is there anything wrong with sticking to that. I just feel like we're two different species of Galapagos finches, you know?

5) The Christopher Nolans

Separate from casual fans of the Nolan movies. I'm calling them the Christopher Nolans because these people have a tendency to reach for the grimdarkest thing possible. It's like they cannot fathom Batman having any other emotions besides punching and gargoyle brooding.

6) The Canon Purists

Wanna share a fun headcanon? NO, because Stephanie Brown never used cherry lip balm in the comics so therefore that must be the absolute truth. These people are a stickler for comic accuracy to the point where it's like... why bother interacting with the fandom in the first place? The worst part is when they're adamant on following a single continuity and refuse to consider anything else. This is comics we're talking about. Everything either has been or will be canon at some point.

7) The Fanon Worshippers

On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have the people who base their entire perception of the characters on something either they pulled out of their ass or that their mutual with 16 followers came up with, despite evidence directly contradicting it. I love WFA, but I feel like that's partially responsible for further perpetuating certain popular myths. Also, these fans tend to focus solely on the batfam/their ships. It's one thing to have some people in the foreground vs. background, but put some respect to Bart Allen's name you goddamn cheesecakes.

8) The Golden Age Dads

These guys aren't really obnoxious. I actually find it kind of cute how they think Jason Todd is still dead.

9) The Chronically Online

I have a rule of thumb when it comes to discourse: if it's not something I'd hear about at a bar, it's not worth my mental energy. Some people haven't gotten the memo, though.

These are either the well-intentioned but misinformed teenagers or grown-ass adults beefing with children because they don't have a life. They have takes that are oversimplified, rage-inducing, TikTok algorithm attention-grabbers that no one cares about in real life.

Don't get me wrong, we've got a bunch of issues in comics and fandom that are worth discussing. However, there comes a point where you're splitting hairs and need to go the fuck outside. I'm not gonna link the post 'cause I don't wanna call them and their 7 notes out, but the other week I saw someone saying Stephcass was a racist ship because something something colonialism parallel. You gotta be Elastigirl to have that kind of reach.

10) The Corporate Simps

I love comics. I appreciate the writers and artists. However, you will find my carcass in a ditch before you catch me licking the boots of DC/Warner Bros. Basically, these fans, fewer as they are, can't seem to fathom that their favorite franchise can (and does) put out some steaming motherfucking garbage.

11) The Hot Cosplayers

Not actually annoyed, I'm just a little jealous. Stop being hotter than me, please and thank you.

12) The One With A Punchline For Everything

Wait–

[yameoto]

NEW BOT ALERT! — new ex babysitter!sam carpenter bot for uh. health and wealth purposes. the concept was inspired by this excellent oneshot that drives me apeshit wild.

(ex) babysitter!sam headcanons.. because i’m doin those, now. expect a lot more to come.

✗ warnings ; large age gap (sam 26, reader 18-19), nsfw at bottom. dom/sub.

an absolute sucker for you. like when you were little and you wanted something— like an extra helping of dessert or to ditch out on homework: all you had to do was pout and blink up at her with those big, pleading doe eyes and she'd cave immediately. two seconds flat, easy. now? that still hasn't changed. you have her wrapped around your finger with a single look and it drives her crazy.

would spoil you to PIECES. ofc when u she used to babysit you she would pay for everything, but even now that you're a grown adult with an (albeit low-paying) part-time job, she'd find any excuse to spoil you. just.. coming home with random gifts at any point of the week. like it could be 4pm on a thurday afternoon and she could come up behind you like "baby, you know those headphones you really wanted..? well.."

or jst going out shopping with her and you wouldnt even have to ask for her to pay because she'd be striding to the counter with her card out, already.

definitely calling you "princess". i mean, that's what you are, right? you always have been, always will.

makes her knees weak when you call her "sammy" . you'd exclusively call her it when you were a kid and despite all efforts to prevent this, now, still makes her chest collapse when you say it. and when u add the cheeky little conjunction my, in front of it? oh, boy. just know you're getting more than a good night's kiss, tonight.

she loves it when you whine or beg her for anything. like.. loves.

she just likes taking care of you in general, so anytime you go to her for anything it makes her happy which is kind of fucking adorable. but she finds you coming to her for help adorable, too, so.. win-win?

can never stay mad at you. even on days where u make it your life's mission to annoy her (its your job to keep her on her toes!) she legitimately just.. can't — and believe her, she's tried. stuck in a perpetual state of mild exasperation.

veryyy protective nd possessive . but in more subtle manners like very adamantly refusing to let you walk on the side of pavement next to the road. or always having either an arm wound around your waist or your shoulders or interlocking your fingers — anything that keeps you safe and snug by her side. she’s just so used to the feeling of protecting u and she kinda just never wants it to stop.

..nsfw!

uses the fact she used to babysit you for EVIL. in stupid ways like smirking and asking if you want her to "tuck you in" before bed, except she's straddling your chest and gently prising your mouth open with her thumb and 'tucking you in' means 'choking on her cock'.

obsessed with bouncing you on her lap. u guys cld be doing something completely innocent, like watching tv with the whole gang in the room and she'll pull u onto her lap and slowly start to rock you on her thigh, like how u used to when u were a kid. except this time, you're both grown up and her knee's sliding upwards and pressing against your cunt and oh. whispering "shh," in your ear as she continues to grind her knee up your skirt, fucking purring at all the pretty little noises you make.

actively enjoys punishing you when you get too bratty. she finds your whines adorable, of course, but if she's feeling too grouchy she's not above replacing those complaints in your mouth with you know — something more substantial.

adores praising you and calling you endearments during sex. calling you a sweet little thing and whispering soft, reverential promises into your ear as she absolutely ruins you.

cups your jaw and forces you to look at her when you suck her off. utterly obsessed with that wide, glazed-over look in your eyes whenever you're on your knees for her. the way your adorable little puppy eyes go all glassy nd sparkly w tears when she rams her hips forward and makes you sputter. cradling the back of your head and holding you there as she thrusts, cooing sweet nothings while she bruises the back of her your throat.

[theskit]

Stickers AU

Anyone linking here from the previous posts or wanting to use the links on this post to go back/forward to the other parts and not wanting to spoil the surprise stickers, after using the link, click on my blog name to go to the actual post, as direct linking takes away the readmore cut. I'll take this out and fix it if I can find out how. Sorry!

Part 6

《Prev Next》

Danny floated along as he caught his breath. Okay, so jump scaring the Red Hood *might* not have been the best plan he'd ever come up with, but man, was it funny!

It was getting kind of late, though. He should probably start making his way back to the hotel. Any more vigilante pranks would have to wait for another time. Good thing the conference was on a long weekend. He had one more night to try his luck before they left Monday afternoon for the drive back to Amity.

Pulling up the map on his phone, Danny started making his way back. Just over halfway there, he jolted to a stop, catching sight of a rippling back shadow. Batman's distinctive silhouette was marked briefly against a building wall before being almost lost again in the perpetual dimness of the city rooftops at night.

Well, well, well, looks like he might have the chance to bag all the bats and birds of Gotham in one night, leaving tomorrow to hunt down in Bludhaven for Nightwing.

Eeeeexcellent. Danny pulled himself straight in mid-air, steepling his fingers and druming them together in classic Evil Villian style, grinning in a manner that would have shown entirely too many teeth had he been visible.

Now, this would require *true* stealth if he wanted to both get a sticker onto Batman's utility belt, as well as help himself to a batarang or two. Because Ellie was right, there would be no greater souvenir from his time in Gotham than a batarang from *the* Batman himself.

Choosing a sticker and prepping it, Danny sidled up to where Batman was staring down at a building that was probably not as vacant as it looked if it called for that much concentration. All the better for him if Batman was distracted though.

Moving by inches, carefully controlling his breathing so as not to make a sound, Danny made it to Batman's side. Batman was... probably? right handed, most people were, so he was gunna make an educated guess that the sharp throwing objects would be on the left side of the belt.

Getting ready to make the grab and stick, Danny nearly jumped out of his skin as Batman moved his arm and draped his cape over the space where Danny was standing intangibly right next to him, in a gesture that seemed more ingrained habit than conscious thought.

O-KAY! Time to go before Batman had a chance to recognize that there was no one where he very obviously expected someone to be. Robin, maybe?

Thoughts to think another time! Moving with all the speed and precision he could muster while his heart was still attempting to leave the city without him, Danny swiped one hand through a series of belt pouches while the other oh-so-gently tapped a sticker to the front buckle.

Not even stopping to see what it was he'd swiped, Danny made a quick exit, stage left, do not pass go, do not collect $200.

Batman was jolted out of his concentration when he felt a nudge at his belt as his cape settled against his side once more. Whirling to the left, he scanned the rooftop but saw no one.

Which was entirely unexpected as his instincts were *sure* a small presence had been snug up to his side, like a young Dick or Tim when they got tired or a bit overwhelmed while on patrol and wanted to hide in his cape.

But neither Dick nor Tim, or even Damian (though Damian had never actually done so) was small or young enough to have done that in *years*.

A quick inspection found his belt pouches missing a handful of batarangs, some candy he kept on hand to help soothe distressed children, and the extra just-in-case comm unit. As well as the addition of a glowing sticker, much like the one currently decorating the batmobile, somehow placed on the buckle despite him neither seeing or hearing anything.

@mygood-bitch99 @stargazer-luna @easily-broken-by-emotion @dolfay @britcision @cyber-geist @is-this-even-relatable @alcorbearson @fisticuffsatapplebees @thegatorsgoose @my-mom-calls-me-rat @some-rotten-nest @crystalqueertea @meira-3919 @wandererofthestars @seraphinedemort

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR ELEVEN

in which a line is crossed, and a lie is told.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, smut, upside down does not exist, fingering, oral (m receiving, allusions to f receiving), p in v (be like eddie and r! use protection!), use of mean nicknames (slut), ass slapping, hair pulling, minors dni

→ wc: 7.5k+

→ a/n: the smut has arrived! shout out to @abibliophobiaa and @myosotisa my loves for helping me, but also horny hours in general haha. the pep talks were very much needed and very appreciated.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

11:00 ──────ㅇ─────────── 24:00

SIX MONTHS EARLIER

A drink. What you need is a drink. 

The moment Robin and Steve brought up the small get together, you’d agreed instinctually. It had been a long month, hard and full of life throwing unexpected punches your way, and the only way you could think to soothe it was with terrible mixed drinks in your friend’s kitchen. 

First, it had been the tire on your bike popping. Which in itself wasn’t a catastrophe, but you realized very quickly that going out and about around campus was nearly impossible on foot. You’d shown up to most classes late, not adjusting for the fact you were far slower when walking across campus than you were riding. And then it was your classes; the teachers were already upset as it was in your smaller classes regarding your perpetual tardiness, but to top it all off, every assignment seemed to not be enough. No matter what you submitted, what changes you made to essays sent back to you, it was becoming more impossible to maintain a resemblance of a respectable GPA. You’d nearly flunked a test in your humanities class, when you’d asked for a professor to go back a slide for notes they’d glared and refused the reasonable request. When you’d not understood a question on your literature homework and sent an email plenty of days in advance, the teacher only got back to you once the due date had passed. 

And the dates. The terrible, terrible dates of the month. 

There was the first guy, who had been kind enough. A simple meeting over coffee and by the time the lattes were cold, you knew there’d be no second date. That was fine. You could live with that.

The second guy had more potential. A first date in a bar was almost a red flag, but after a fun game of pool, you’d agreed to meet again. The second date was at a restaurant that you learned he’d taken his ex-girlfriend to; actually, you’d learned a bit too much about his ex-girlfriend that night. She was the only thing he could talk about, and when you’d later explained that over text for being your reason against a third date, he’d called you every crude name in the book. 

And the final guy. A guy you’d really liked, that you’d been messaging back and forth since a month before. He was a busy guy, a bartender and full time student, and you understood – you really did. But he was charismatic and lured you in over the phone, and you hadn’t been so giddy for a date in a while. It felt like there were sparks, like he might be the one.

He didn’t show up. Last night, you’d sat like a fool at the restaurant you two agreed upon for two hours before realizing he wasn’t showing. Sipped your way through two ciders, even picked on an appetizer of fries, telling yourself he’d show up. He was just busy. He’d show up. 

He never showed up. He didn’t even text you. The waiter had waived your bill for the night, but his look of pity only made your stomach twist worse. 

Pathetic. You felt pathetic. 

“We’re all getting together at my place tonight,” Steve had whispered to you during class that morning as you two were packing up things as the lecture ended, “Everyone’s just going to hang out, drink, let loose. You should come.” 

And so you came, overly optimistic about the entire idea. You didn’t even think to ask if Eddie was going to be here – even he couldn’t dampen your excitement at a break after the month you’d had, even with his recent mean streak. 

Mean. You’d never thought after that first night you’d be able to describe him that way. Cold, sure. Callous, perhaps. Indifferent, of course. But mean? Mean didn’t seem like something others saw Eddie as genuinely capable of. Steve always ranted about how good of a guy he was, Robin would tell fun stories of nights out with him and how much of a good time he was, Nancy considered the guy her best friend. You knew your new friends, and you didn’t take them as being the type to befriend someone so unkind. 

But you didn’t see the good guy, the fun guy, the best friend. Whenever Eddie Munson was around you, his guard was up and his words were sharp. They cut through your unbridled disappointment with ease, reminding you that you were not his friend. You weren’t even sure if you were an acquaintance. 

And sure, you took it too far at the diner. You could admit that, even before Robin scolded you. But to see him sitting with someone not from your friend group, to see him being so kind and endearing to someone new, had burned you with fury like no other. If he could treat some blonde he’d surely matched with on a dating app so sweetly, why couldn’t he afford you the same warmth? Someone he saw nearly weekly? 

So you went for blood. Except, you were the only one wounded in the end, after the silent treatment you’d had to endure as you watched Eddie clench his jaw and pretend you didn’t exist. 

“What are you drinking tonight?” Steve smiles when you enter his kitchen, brows still furrowed in careful thought over your miserable month, “I’m guessing something strong?” 

“The strongest thing you’ve got, Harrington,” you reply, trying to shake back into excitement. It was going to be fun. You were going to drink with friends, partake in silly conversations no one would remember come morning, and you were going to have fun. 

Steve holds up a bottle of vodka, a name brand you don’t care to acknowledge, along with a 2-liter of Coke, “Think this’ll work?” 

You nod, and he pours. When he hands you the crystal cup reeking of overpoured alcohol, you take a sip and nod. 

Oh, yeah. Two of these and I won’t even remember Mr. Stood-Me-Up. 

“I heard about your date,” Steve means well, but the reminder is the exact opposite of what you want. You’re quick to glare at Robin, who throws her hands up in defense. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you quip, taking a larger second sip. If you weren’t trying to pace yourself, you’d probably chug the entire thing, “Not much to talk about, anyways. Got some free food and alcohol out of it, at least.” 

“That’s good! I bet you dodged a bullet.”

I probably didn’t. “We can only hope.” 

Steve pours himself a drink as well as Robin, and you can hear Nancy and Jonathan already chattering in the living room. No sign of Eddie so far. Maybe he wasn’t coming, and you’d finally caught a break. 

“To forgetting the names of men who suck,” Steve chides as he raises his glass, and Robin mirrors him. You hesitate for a moment, a fraction of a second.

You were starting to believe it wasn’t them, it was you. You were the common denominator of all the terrible dates. Did sparks not fly with the Coffee Boy because you dampened the fuse? Was two-date-chump only talking to you about his exes because you didn’t provide anything interesting enough to take his mind off them? Surely, it had to be your fault that you were stood up the night before. Surely. 

You pull from your pity party, and nimbly raise your glass. The rim hardly brushes that of your friends’ cups, but you all throw back your poisons of choice regardless. They don’t seem to notice the way you’ve begun to float within your head, the way you’re crashing through violent waves of pathetic self-hatred. 

It was you. You’re the problem, and you’re the only one who can solve it. Eventually. 

Robin is dramatically gagging on what you think might be redbull and vodka as Steve silently grimaces at his straight whiskey, clearing his throat before he says, “Okay, I know you don’t want to talk about last night, but Robin mentioned you’ve had a few dates this last month. Anything worth sharing? Any luck?” 

There’s a snappy remark of clearly not on the tip of your tongue when the doorbell rings down the hall, and the three of you all turn your heads as Nancy calls out that she’s got it. 

—

HOUR ELEVEN - 2:00 AM

Once Eddie starts kissing you, he can’t stop. 

It isn’t soft, nor caring – the moment his hands meet the flesh of your hips, it’s bruising. He doesn’t even break for air as he fumbles with the knob blindly, giving a final twist of his keys before the door swings open behind you and the two of you stumble backwards into the sanctuary of his apartment. It’s all teeth, it’s all desperation, it’s the accumulation of a year of snide remarks and low-blow insults all coming to head as he kicks the door shut behind you and spins so that your back meets the wood. 

Your hands are tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck and– oh God, when did you reach up and grab at his hair in the first place? 

He groans at the force of your fist, and it suddenly doesn’t matter. You don’t care how they got there – you only care to keep them there. 

He finally breaks the kiss, spit trailing between your lips as you both gasp out breaths, “You-” he dives back in, capturing your lips between his in a harsh and quick action before another break, “fucking-” another break, another gasp. He remains close enough that each harsh exhale flows right into your mouth, down your throat and into your lungs, “infuriate-” this time, he pauses, not moving back in for another kiss as his forehead is pressed hard against yours, eyes wide open and boring into yours, “me.” 

The venom that laces the words don’t scare you. It’s all verbal aposematism, rehearsed and practiced hatred that bears no weight, not anymore. Not as his hips are digging into yours and another tug of his hair has him putty in your hands. 

You know the dance well. You know the next step. 

“Good.” 

His next kiss is even more vicious, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip and making you whine into him, one hand finally unraveling from his curls to find purchase in fisting the leather of his jacket. There’s a fine line that neither of you are daring to cross, only toeing as teeth and tongues clash. 

This time, when he pulls away, you’re the one chasing after him. You don’t care about breathing; you care about his lips on yours, sucking all the smoke and oxygen from your lungs. 

 He’s the one to finally cross the line. A hand comes up to your throat, not nearly as rough as it should be, as he keeps you in place with the back of your head pressed to his front door. A pleading mewl leaves your lips of its own accord.

 “Oh, sweetheart, don’t be so desperate.”

The line’s been crossed, the chords all snapping between you two. There are no invisible strings tying you to the man before you, the man that has you aching between your trembling thighs and erratic breaths. Only gravity.

“Me? Desperate?” your voice nearly fails you as you lean into his touch surrounding your throat, preening forward so that your lips brush his, “I’m not the one fucking off to porn magazines that look like you, pretty boy.” 

You’re both on the same side of the line now as you watch his eyes darken. It’s a sensitive topic, a bruise you’ve chosen to prod out in the hopes that he’ll break at the same alarming rate as you. 

You need him to fuck you. You need him to use you, to throw any caution or revelations to the wind. You want him to push you so far you can’t remember your own name, let alone all the emotions that travel the channels between you. 

“Think you can do any better than my hand, baby?” he questions as he buries his head into the crook of your shoulder, breath and lips leaving a buzz along the skin he comes in contact with. His fingers tighten ever so slightly, and your head rushes with a weightless bliss. 

Your pulse is against his thumb, drumming beneath the pressure of it as you reply, “Do you think you can do any better than mine?” 

A dozen insinuations layer the words, and he catches every single one. Your lashes flutter into your eyesight, lids growing heavy as he lifts his face from your shoulder and looks at you wickedly, grin spreading treacherously. 

“Are you trying to tell me you touch yourself to me?” he taunts, pressing closer, “You thinkin’ of me at night when you get lonely, all desperate and pathetic, wrapped up in your own sheets? Do you wish it was my fingers, and not yours?” 

Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. “In your dreams, Munson.” 

“Of course,” he chuckles, “I thought that was a given. Don’t tell me you’re so dumb you’ve figured out I get myself off to your lookalikes, but not that I dream about you, sweetheart.” 

The thought of it makes your stomach flutter, your thighs clench. He’s quick to shove his knee between your legs, letting you drop so that your crotch nearly brushes his thigh. But the distance remains and no relief from friction comes, he makes sure of it as his fingers finally lift slightly, letting the blood rush back to your head and into your cheeks. 

“Is that what you were thinking about in the bathroom?” 

His movements finally falter. You almost have the upperhand again, you almost have him back in your palms, back down to your height in cockiness. 

You take his silence in stride, a smirk gracing your own face, “Oh, you were, weren’t you?” you pause, and drop a hand to his torso, nails raking over his shirt and making him suck in a sharp breath, “You thought I wouldn’t hear? You were being so awfully loud, y’know. Surprised you didn’t say my name.”

He breathes back to life, hand unwrapping from your throat to grip your chin, his thumb just barely making contact with your bottom lip as he tugs softly, “You would have fuckin’ liked that, wouldn’t you? As if I didn’t feel you get so hot and bothered by me on the bike,” it’s your turn to freeze, realizing your fears were valid, and he laughs lowly, “Oh, yeah, baby. I felt that. Hard to miss when you were clinging to me like I was your goddamn savior. What were you thinking about, hm? I bet you were thinkin’ about just that – me moaning for you, cumming for you. I bet it drove you fucking crazy, didn’t it?” 

“What were you thinking about in the bathroom?” you whisper as his thumb presses harder into your lip, “Show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” 

Your hand finally drops to its destination, cupping him through his sweatpants, wrapping around his girth. 

He’s big. Bigger than you had expected, and he knows you’re shocked by the way you still once more, cocking his head at you with the utmost confidence. 

He’s fucking lucky to be packing. It’d be a shame to be such an asshole and not have the ability to back up all his talk. 

“You want me to be honest right now?” he asks, a thread of seriousness binding his words. You don’t hesitate to nod, even with his grip on your chin, “I was thinking about your mouth. Thinking about those pretty lips wrapped around my cock. I was thinking about you on your knees and those eyes looking up at me, all teary as I fucked your mouth.” 

Your grip on him tightens, and you make the daring move to suck the tip of his thumb into your mouth, making eye contact as your tongue swirls around it. 

“Fuck me,” he groans, throwing his head back, his grip immediately falling slack on your face. You see the opportunity and take it, surging forward to latch your lips onto his exposed neck. You start with light kisses, pressing them in rapid succession down the vein that lays poorly hidden by the stretched skin, pausing once you get closer to where the expanse meets his jaw.

“I’m trying to,” you taunt before sucking hard. 

He moans loudly, echoing off the walls of his apartment, the hand still on your waist turning into an even more impossibly tight grip. The hand that once held your face has come up to tangle in your hair, gripping you by the roots and pulling you away just as the blood vessels on the surface have burst and bloomed in full shades of red and pink. 

Your scalp burns as he pulls you to be face to face with him, eyes hard as you keep your hand on his clothed dick. You can feel him twitch as your palm at him, no longer caring about being desperate. You were desperate. You wanted him to give up the game, set aside the chase, and ruin you. You wanted his neighbors to hear as you chanted his name like a prayer, as every memory of every reason as to why you resented him fled your system with each thrust of his hips that could pin you to the wall. 

“Is that what you want?” he’s no longer teasing you, his tone sounding as if he were asking for permission now rather than taunting you any further, “You want me to ruin you, sweetheart?” 

The chase is nearing its end, and you nearly shatter with anticipation. 

With one last trick up your sleeve, one last attempt to break him, you shrug as if you aren’t flushed and terribly flustered to the point of no return, “I guess. That’s one way to pass the time.” 

When he breaks, it is sudden, and it is unkind. One moment, your break is aching from being pressed against wood, and your core is throbbing as you consider dropping to his thigh to find your own relief. The next, he’s throwing you around carelessly as his mouth slots to yours once more. 

Just as it doesn’t matter how your hands found their way into his hair, it doesn’t matter how he pulls you from the door and navigates you to his couch. Your mind isn’t focused on where your body ends up, it’s focused on the feeling of his lips, chapped and pressing to yours eagerly. It’s focused on the way that the weight of his hands pressed tightly to your lower back feels. It’s focused on the overwhelming spice of his cologne, the smell of the night air still clinging to his cheek, the taste of his salt water as you dive under and let yourself begin to drown. 

He’s consuming you, lungs and all. Limbs and all. Mind and all. 

It’s a bad decision. This is going to be both of your downfalls, and you should stop before it goes too far.

You don’t stop it. Neither does he. All he does is throw you down to sit on his couch as he falls to his knees in front of you, bringing a palm to each knee and spreading your legs as he settles between them.

He’s the prettiest you’ve seen him yet. Even prettier than the first night. His lips are swollen pink, puffy and still lingering with your spit. Your mark on him, the first of many you need to leave, right along with the bruise on his neck. You wonder how hard you’d have to bite to bring blood tonight, you wonder which other spots on his neck would make him melt against you as you explored him fervently and left a whole collection of bruises that spell out your message very clearly – he’s mine for tonight.

His chest heaves as his eyes stare up into yours, hands gripping each of your knees. Even through the cotton, your skin is burning from his touch, your wildfire still thriving as you navigate this ocean he’s thrown the two of you into. A man-made river, more like it. It was made by his hand, it was created treacherously and with purpose against you, and yet you’re still here wading in it, also by his hand. 

“Tell me to stop,” he begs, unexpected as his hands squeeze you, his eyes zeroing in on his palms as they travel up to your thighs, pulling you closer and making your back slide down the cushion from the position you’re seated in, “Tell me you hate me.” 

For a second, you almost tell him you can’t. You can’t tell him to stop. Not as your leg lifts and his shoulder fits perfectly into the ditch of your knee, not as his hands creep further up to the band of the borrowed sweatpants. And once his fingers curl into the waist, knuckles pressing to your soft skin, you know you won’t. 

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, making his eyes shoot up to meet yours again, “I hate you, but don’t you fucking dare stop.” 

Quickly, at an almost impossible rate of speed, he yanks the sweats down off of you. They’re tossed behind him into a pile on his living room floor, uncared for and quickly forgotten. 

Once your skin is exposed to him, he’s planting messy kisses linearly up your shin, over your inner knee, until he reaches your thighs. Marks are left in his wake, shades of deep maroon fading lilac as he nips and sucks against them just as you had to his neck. 

“Show me yours,” he mumbles into your skin, fingertips pressing indents as he openly mouths over the hickies left behind. 

“What?”

“I showed you mine, now show me yours,” he insists with wild eyes, hair hardly contained by the bun that once contained the curls, “When you touch yourself, what do you think about?” 

“You,” you sigh out as he presses another kiss to you, even higher up now, growing dangerously close to your cunt. 

“What about me?” he pushes, staring up as he removes contact, “Use your words, baby.” 

“I-” you can’t think clearly, mind muddled with smoke and the image of him there before you, on his knees, “I think about your fingers instead of mine. How thick they are, how they’d feel.” 

His smile shows little satiation, “Go on.”

You’re so focused on getting the words out, you nearly don’t notice a hand loosening its grip on your thigh, inching up to your panties, playing with the lace edges. 

“I think about how deep you’d go, how you’d curl your fingers just- fuck,” you cut off with a gasp when his fingers slide beneath cotton, brushing over your wet folds. 

“Just fuck?” he mimics, pouting slightly, “Afraid I’ve never heard that one before. Might need you to demonstrate for me. How do I curl my fingers just fuck?” 

“Fuck you,” you whine, writhing beneath his touch as your ankles lock behind his head. 

“I’m trying to,” he pitches his voice to mock your own, and you regret ever saying the words to him. He clicks his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head, “God, you want me to fuck you so bad, it’s making you stupid.” 

His fingers stop teasing you as he finds your entrance, circling only the tip of his pointer finger to gather the slickness. Your hips buck, the desperation clawing its way through your entire body now, leaving ash and destruction in its path before Eddie brings an arm across your waist to hold you down to the couch firmly. 

“Beg for it,” he commands, voice shooting straight into your chest, “Be a good girl and say please, yeah?” 

His finger still circles your entrance, teasing but never quite pressing in, leaving you a whimpering mess. You begin to wonder if there will be any sign of how hard his forearm is pinned against you. 

A battle of both your prides. He can feel you burning up now, he sees the flames dancing and he’s willing to play with them rather than give in to you. 

You have to bite your lip to avoid letting the please on the tip of your tongue slip out for him. You’re still fighting him, still defying him. 

“I have been far nicer to you than you deserve,” he continues his taunts, a grin growing when he catches the way you’re physically holding back, “We both know it, so just say it. Say the word, and I’ll keep playing nice.” 

His finger breeches your entrance slightly, and you gasp, head thrown back immediately, “When have you ever been nice?” 

He tsks, removing the tip of his finger, letting it glide up between your folds before it stops just short of your clit, “Oh, I’m always nice. You just never seem to notice.” 

You think about it again. All the acts of kindness that went under the radar, all the times you’d buried in an effort to continue to harbor detestation for the man before you. He’s right – he probably doesn’t realize it, but he’s far more correct than you’d give him credit for at this moment. 

“Please fuck me,” you whisper to the ceiling, before swallowing hard and leaning your chin back down, looking him in his eyes as you decide to give him more than he asked for, “Please ruin me.” 

You’ve watched a mirage of emotions flush across his face on every possible occasion. Anger, distaste, aggression, laughter, annoyance. But you’ve never seen want quite like this grace his features. 

“Gladly.” 

His fingertip circles your clit, once, twice, three times, applying the perfect amount of pressure to have you crying out before he’s removing his forearm and nearly tearing your underwear to move it to the side and thrusting two fingers into your desperate cunt immediately. 

You sob out and nearly double over, the sting and stretch making you keen as he wastes no time. You’ve said the magic word, you’ve played his game, and now, he’s returning the favor. 

He’s playing nice. And, God, is nice quite the word to describe what he’s doing to you as he pumps his fingers into you, thrusting them in as deep as his knuckles allow before he curls them and brushes the spot that could make you scream with the right skill set.

He has the skill set. He notes your clenching on his fingers, and he curls again, with more intent this time. 

Maybe the thin walls only apply to the inside of his apartment, if you’re lucky. 

“Is this what you want?” he questions, leaning in so close to you that you feel his breath wash over you, “Is this what you meant by ruining you?” 

You nod, finding it becoming increasingly harder to speak as you gasp, “Y- Oh, fuck. Yes. Ple- fuck. Please.” 

He pauses, and you nearly scream out in frustration and protest before he rips your underwear off of you, dragging it down your legs and forcing your ankle to unlock from behind his head as he fights with the flimsy piece of cotton. You expect him to throw it, to let it join the sweats, but instead, he brings them to his face. He’s wolfish as he looks up at you, taking a deep breath in with the cotton pressed to his nose, not saying a word but watching you clench around nothing as he finally tosses the panties over his shoulder.

You see them catch on the coffee table, nowhere near the sweats. 

“Smell so sweet, baby,” he coos, bringing his fingers back to you, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips, “I might just have to tast-” 

A phone ringing cuts him off. The trill cuts through the silence, piercing both your ears, making you look at each other in fright. 

“Don’t answer it,” the words burst out before you think them over. You don’t care about your friends right now. You don’t care about the bet.

You care about his fingers back inside you, curling and hitting that spot you’ve spent endless nights fighting to find without success. You care about getting his clothes off of him, of your eyes tracing over his skin and the ink you’ve yet to see. You care about his cock, springing to attention, before he’s sheathing it inside of you and bringing you both to utter bliss. 

A phone call is at the bottom of your priorities right now. You just don’t care. 

“It’s your phone,” he counters, glancing behind the two of you to where your phone is buried in the heap of black clothing, “I’m not answering it. But…”

“I’m not answering it, either.” 

“If we don’t answer-”

“Eddie, I could fucking care less,” you sit up roughly, leaning in as close as you can in the compromising position, “We’re not answering it.”

The phone continues to ring, and he looks between you and it in clear confusion, “They’ll just keep calling-”

“Let them,” you insist, “If you don’t get your dick in me within the next minute, I’ll call this entire thing off,” you add on the last part as you reach out and your legs fall off his shoulders, hands replacing where your knees once rested as you bring his lips into yours. 

Teeth, tongue, salt water, ash. It drowns out the final few rings as you continue to tug on Eddie feverishly, forcing him to rise from his position on the ground and kneel on the edge of the couch, a hand balancing him upright by gripping the back of the couch. Your kiss is all the convincing he needs. 

“Fuck, fine, fine, I-” he cuts off, removing himself from you long enough to shrug off his leather jacket, to reach up and grab the collar of his shirt, yanking it over his head. The bun has officially unraveled to completion, curls flowing down over his collarbones and shoulders. You can’t keep your hands off him, fingertips immediately pressing into the exposed skin, “Just give me a second.” 

He stands, and you whine, making him snicker as he kicks off the grey sweatpants.

“So impatient,” he teases, and you watch his face light up in delight as you can only bite your tongue in response. There’s something more there, something to be considered later. Later, when you aren’t aching for him. Later, when the moment of desperation has passed, when his waves retreat from your shores and you find yourself capable of breathing fresh air once more. 

Later is not now.

The moment he’s down to just his boxers, you’re done waiting, doing as he had for you and dropping your knees to the carpet below. 

“Hey, what are you doin-” he’s interrupted by you leaning forward, looking up at him intently as you kiss the tip of his dick through his boxers. Your lips come in contact with the wet spot clearly forming, and you can see the shiver roll down his spine, “Oh, fuck. What the Hell happened to me… me getting… me getting my dick in you…” He’s trailing off, unable to focus as your fingers slip beneath the waistband and tug down, his dick slapping against his exposed stomach.

“It still counts if you fuck my mouth,” is all you say as his boxers pool at his ankles, and you don’t even wait for him to step out of them. 

Your phone is ringing again. You can feel the vibrations through the floor as you wrap a hand around his base, as you lean forward and place a proper kiss to his leaking tip, swirling your tongue in the precum. 

This time, the two of you don’t argue about answering it. It’s hard to as your mouth is full of him, and his is full of curses.

“Jesus Christ, I- Fuck, right there,” he’s gasping as you wrap your lips around the tip fully, just as you’d done with his thumb, sucking gently and making his hand fly down to rest on the back of your head.

You bob down a few times, hollowing your cheeks and taking him deeper and deeper until your nose presses into the coarse hairs resting at the base. You pause, letting your nose press into him as you breathe deeply, feeling him hit the back of your throat. Your eyes water, just as he described, and you take pride in the way he can’t even look at you now. 

You pull back, letting him drop from your mouth, smiling widely, “Better than your hand, right?” 

“Fuck off,” his hand rest at the back of your head grips the hair there, tangling up as he shoots you a glare. 

“Say it’s better than your hand, and I’ll fuck you off,” you press, letting a hand travel to fondle his balls, pinching the skin delicately, watching his reaction roll through him like waves.

“I- Fucking obviously,” he hisses as you smile, leaning down and pressing kisses along the shaft, “God, of course your mouth is better than my fucking hand. Of course it fucking is.”

“It better be,” you goad before taking him back into your mouth. This time, you suck harder, and his grip on your hair is painful once more. 

“Shit.” 

He’s at a loss for words, devolving into guttural groans and babbling moans as you quicken your pace, determined now.

You wanted to ruin him. After a year of his bullshit, after suffering through every fight and every argument, every passive glare and every turbulent comment, you want to make them man standing over you crumble to pieces. 

Except he wasn’t just crumbling, he was shattering. Splintering apart as his hips started to thrust to meet your mouth, as you choked around him and refused to let up, resorting to stuttering inhales through your nose as you pressed your face back to his pubes, swallowing accidentally and making him nearly scream. 

“Shit. Shit- stop. I’m going to f-fucking cum, stop,” he’s pulling you off of him suddenly, gasping for breath, not letting you refuse and push him over the edge. 

You’re smug as you lean onto your heels, wiping your mouth clean of the spit that strings from your bottom lip to his red tip with the back of your hand. 

“I think I win,” you state plainly, as if you weren’t currently taking heaving breaths, desperate to catch your breath and have his hands back on you. 

“Win? Wh- It’s not a fucking competition,” he scowls, raking a hand down over his face, chest flush.

“It is, and I fucking won.”

“Yeah? You think you won, baby?”He recovers quickly, you’ll give him that. He goes from a complete mess to a force to be reckoned with in an absolute instant, stepping out of his boxers and kicking them from his warpath before he reaches down to tug you to your feet, “In that case, if this is a competition, I think I deserve a second chance.”

You open your mouth to be a smart ass, to say something cruel or something mean, but he steps back before you have the chance. 

The look of want has turned stormy, confident and eliciting. A hurricane beckoning to you as he snaps his fingers. 

“Take your fucking shirt off, and get on the couch, all fours.” 

“I-”

“Now.” 

There’s no more fires, no more oceans, and no more petty arguments left in you. You listen to him. 

You throw off the sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, as he goes to one of the tables beside the couch and opens a drawer roughly. 

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, unhooking your bra as well, fully naked and aware that his eyes weren’t on you yet, “You just keep fucking condoms in your living room?” 

“Who said I was looking for fucking condoms?”

“Oh, my bad. I just assumed. Should have known you were getting me naked just to go searching for fucking Narnia in your drawers.” 

You were wrong. He was looking at you, and you’re only made aware by the sharp slap across your bare ass at the comment. It makes you spin quickly, looking at him and his set jaw. 

“Couch. All fours. Now.” 

“You’re such a sore loser,” you snark, taking a few steps back, trying to ignore the way the sting on your backside has your clit throbbing. 

“You have no idea, baby,” he says without a hint of joking, looking back down into the drawer and continuing to dig as you turn away from him again. 

Despite feeling exposed, you do as you’re told – you get onto the couch on all fours as he requested, knees digging into a surprisingly soft cushion that surely hadn’t felt that way earlier in the night when you’d attempted to sleep on the piece of furniture. You don’t dare to glance back at him over your shoulder when the drawer finally slams shut, hearing his heavy breathing as he returns to you being enough to force you to shut your eyes and take in a sharp gasp. 

“Still feeling like a winner?” his voice winds around you, nearly choking you as you feel a feathering fingertip trail across your lower back. 

“Always,” you lie breathily, voice betraying you as it shakes. 

You feel the couch dip from behind you, legs spreading as Eddie fits himself between your calves, one hand latching onto your hip.

“God, I can’t wait to fuck the brat out of you.” 

Without warning, he’s lining himself up with your entrance and pushing in, taking all the breath from your lungs as you collapse down onto your elbows and your cheek brushes the cushion of the couch. 

It burns, his cock forcing you to stretch and accommodate you, filling you at an unbelievable rate. 

You knew he was fucking big, but you hadn’t considered the consequences until this moment, as he truly feels as if he’s just begun his ruining of you. 

“Fu-” the curse is lost in your throat, a small gasp as you press yourself down even further into the couch, mind swimming. 

“Oh, no,” he tuts, sounding completely unaffected until he leans down over you as he bottoms out. When he gets closer, you catch it – the hitch in his breath, the way he pauses before he can speak, “That won’t do, sweetheart.”

He brings a hand back to your throat, just as he had when you two first entered the apartment, when the fight for dominance first began. It’s more from the pressure of his forearm across your chest, but the pressure is still applied on both sides as he guides you to straighten up your body against him, making him hit new angles that have you hissing out. 

“I said on all fours, not just waving your ass in the air like some slut,” you clench around him at his words, and he chuckles breathlessly, “You like that, don’t you? You like being my fucking slut.” 

You can only moan in response as he slowly pulls back his hips, feeling every inch of him beginning to retreat from you at an agonizing pace. 

“You’re pitiful,” he groans into your ear, pressing his thumb further against your throat, cutting off the circulation for only a moment. Just long enough to send a rush to your head, “You say you hate me, say you can’t fucking stand me, but get cock drunk just from me putting it in. I’m only getting started and you’re speechless.” 

You can only continue your pathetic whimpers, reaching back to grasp onto him before he tuts once more. 

“Pathetic, baby.” 

He slams back in, letting you drop forward. This time, you keep yourself up on your hands, letting out more small gasps, all of the noises getting half stuck on your tongue. 

“But you’re winning, right?” he taunts, accentuating each word with a thrust as he begins to pick up his pace, “You’re the winner here, right?” 

You don’t answer him, nearly drooling when he reaches forward and grabs up your hair, curling it around his wrist carefully before he pulls. It hurts, it makes you clench down on him, it has you babbling out nonsense you’re completely unaware of. 

Each time he snaps his hips forward, his skin collides with yours, ricocheting off the walls around the two of you.  Your arms shake, but you stay steady, refusing to collapse beneath him and the euphoria that scathes you. 

He pulls your hair harder this time, making you arch your back into him, “Tell me you hate me.” 

You cry out, feeling him hit even deeper as his free hand forces your hips to meet every thrust. 

“Say it, baby. Tell me just how much you hate me,” he huffs out, clearly barrelling as quickly to his own release as you are, “Say you hate my guts,” another sharp thrust, and his balls slap against you, catching your clit and making your knees shake, “Say you can’t stand me. Go ahead, baby, say it.” 

“I hate you,” you weakly respond, eyes tearing up as you feel your gut twist. Your fire, your blooms, his ocean. He’s making good on his promise – he’s ruining you, and you’re reveling in the wake of it all. Embers char you from the inside out, and your brain fogs over in pleasure. 

“Say it like you mean it.”

“I m-mean it,” you gasp when he reaches around, chest pressing to your back, finger hovering over your clit, “Fuck, right there, please. I mean it. Please, please-”

“Say it again, like you really mean it this time, and I’ll let you cum.” 

He stills, deep inside you, waiting with bated breath as his chin ghosts over the back of your shoulder. You stare straight ahead. If you glance down, you’d find your hands turned to fists, his ring still glittering on your finger. 

He’s destroyed you. To unimaginable levels. You can’t comply with his request, not without becoming a liar, because it occurs to you that the man currently wrecking you is not a man you’re capable of hating. You hated the situation the two of you were in, you hated the year wasted, you hated the looming pressure of your friends awaiting a return call, you hated the words exchanged between the two of you with the intention of cutting deep. You hated many things surrounding him, but you didn’t hate him. 

At Eddie’s core, he is still the man you first met. He’s finally drowned you, dragged you to the bottom of his ocean, and you can see that now. The man that first reeled you in at the bar never left, simply shrank away, hid himself away from you for some unknown reason that you hate. The man that dazzled you, enticed you, provided you with the opportunity of safety still exists. 

“I hate you,” you grit out, fisting at the cover of the cushions, your entire body on edge. From him, from revelations, from a build of hate that had been misdirected for far too long. 

“Good,” he gasps out, mouth falling open and against your skin, teeth grazing you, “Then this changes nothing.” 

You don’t have time to ponder, or wonder why he didn’t mention the feeling being mutual. Once the words leave both of you, his finger connects with your clit, working an expert pattern that has you preening as his vigorous thrusting returns. It’s harsher than before, pain and pleasure blurring together as your scalp aches, your vines tighten, and your flames erupt. 

Your vision whites out, and you don’t hear your screams of relief as much as you feel them. Your throat is hoarse, tears leak from the corners of your eyes, and the tension vanishes from your muscles.

Your arms collapse finally, and you don’t fight the way your cheek presses against rough fabric as his hips begin to stutter, his own ecstasy flooding over him before he’s crashing with you.  

The two of you stay that way for a second, skin on skin, words lingering in the air, threatening to vanish. You don’t care – you match your breathing to his as he doesn’t pull out immediately. 

A vibrating comes from the floor amongst the shared bliss, both of you too fucked out to move to go answer the phone. The money doesn’t matter anymore, not to you. 

Everything aches. You come to realize just how rough the two of you had treated each other, pains ringing out from your throat, from your ass, from your abused cunt. Your knees are surely marked from the couch and floor alike, your scalp is screaming in relief without Eddie’s grip against it. 

You don’t regret it. You don’t regret any of it, except a singular lie.

I hate you. 

What a brilliant, foolish, laughable, bullshit attempt at a lie.

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[upsidedownwithsteve]

dad!Eddie Munson x fem!reader

kidfic from the simmer verse 🍳 inspired by this ask/tiktok

When your daughter turned six, you and Eddie moved out of your apartment and into a home fit for a family. One with a big bay window and a huge garden, an oak tree out the back for Eddie to hang a swing from.

It came with a wrap around porch and the kitchen of Eddie’s dreams and Maeve got to pick the colour for her new bedroom, a mustard yellow that made her room feeling like an eternal summer. She was her daddy’s girl, a princess.

And then she turned twelve.

Eddie was in the kitchen when Maeve appeared, already so much taller than Eddie liked, her hair the same colour as yours but as curly as her fathers. She was just as pouty now, preteen hormones making her perpetually moody, sulking in corners and stealing away to her bedroom with Basil.

Now? Now she seemed to be on a mission.

“Dad?”

Eddie looked up from the cook book he was reading, tired eyed after an early morning meeting at the restaurant. They were making a new menu and Eddie had been worn thin, working too late and coming home to make you taste test all his new ideas. You never complained.

“Yeah, squish?”

“I’m hungry,” Maeve announced, sliding herself onto one of the barstools at the large island. Copper pots hung on a rack from the ceiling, casting bronze coloured reflections off of the girls cheeks. She still had freckles from the summer, a scratch on her chin from where uncle Argyle had tried to teach her how to skateboard. “Can you make me something?”

“Yeah, babe, sure,” Eddie wandered over to the fridge and he pulled out some containers. He wiggled one enticingly. “I made some mac ‘n’ cheese last night, you want me to hear some up?”

Maeve wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like mac ‘n’ cheese.”

Eddie’s face fell and his frown matched his daughters perfectly. If you’d been home from work, you would’ve laughed and called her his comeuppance.

“Well, you liked it fine last week.”

The twelve year old just shrugged, her legs swinging from her stool. “Well, I don’t anymore,” she replied with just as much indignation as her dad. “Can I get some pizza pockets?”

Now Eddie really did huff. The only reason the box of pastry abominations were in his freezer to begin with is because you’d done the last grocery shop. He narrowed his eyes at Maeve but moved to the freezer door when she giggled.

“We need to teach you some taste, kid,” Eddie tried to act stern. “How many you want? You starvin’?”

Maeve leaned onto her elbows and let her hands squish her cheeks. Her nails were black and glittery, painted carefully by you a few nights before and she’d proudly shown her dad her colour choice when he came home from work. “I don’t know, just two.”

“You don’t know?” Eddie questioned and he peered over his shoulder, the over door open. “You said you were hungry, babe. This is a meal for a hamster.”

Basil appeared at the mention of rodents, the black cat slinking into the kitchen to wind around Eddie’s ankles.

“I’ll have some chips too.” Maeve announced. “And some sliced apple, but only like, four slices, okay?”

Eddie blinked. “Four?”

“Yes, please.”

Well, at least she had manners. Eddie grumbled under his breath but did as told, shoving in the pizza horror before washing off an apple under the tap. He cut it as his girl watched, chomping every other slice until only four remained.

The timer on the oven had five minutes left. “Anything else, princess?”

Maeve seemed to ponder this question before she nodded, her little face as serious as could be. “Some grapes too, but just ten. And if there’s some baby bells left, I’ll have one. Oh, and seven gummy worms.”

Eddie’s lips were parted, his brows raised as he stared across the counter at his daughter. He didn’t know whether to laugh or call you and ask if this was some kind of prank he didn’t know about.

“What?”

Maeve blinked. “What?”

So Eddie huffed again and got out a plate, murmuring nonsense to himself as he gathered Maeve’s order, glaring playfully at her as he counted out exactly ten grapes. She grinned as she leaned over, laughing mischievously as she plucked one from the plate.

And when Eddie gasped, all theatrical, Maeve pointed to her plate and told him quite plainly around a mouthful of fruit, “dad, I said ten.”

Eventually, the timer beeped and two pizza pockets with oozing fake cheese were added to the plate. Eddie slid it over with a flourish, cackling when Maeve took offence to one gummy worm touching the pizza sauce that had leaked out. So he snatched it and shoved it into his mouth biting off the side with the sauce before dropping it back onto her plate.

“Dad! Ew!” Maeve gasped, throughly insulted but she slunk off her stool and Eddie flicked her on the as she passed, grinning when she scurried back to her room with Basil at her feet.

[angelispunk222]

it’s nice to have a friend!

joel miller x sweet girl y/n ୨ৎ

warning - fluff!!! super cute!!

-

joel miller wasn’t much of a talker. his rugged exterior and tough demeanor often kept people at bay. but for some reason, Y/N was different. she was a ray of sunshine in a world that seemed perpetually overcast, her laughter like the tinkling of wind chimes on a breezy day. joel found himself drawn to her warmth, despite his efforts to keep his distance.

It was late afternoon when Joel pulled up to Y/N’s house, his truck rumbling softly as the countryside wind started to pick up. she’d called him earlier, her voice trembling with the weight of stress and worry. he didn’t need to ask twice before offering to take her on a drive—anything to see her smile again.

Y/N climbed into the passenger seat, immediately giving joel a gentle kiss. her eyes red-rimmed but brightening at the sight of him. “hey, joel!” she greeted, her voice soft yet hopeful.

“hey, darlin’,” Joel replied, his voice rough but tender. “figured we could use a little escape, huh sweet pea?”

she nodded, a small blushing smile playing on her lips “yeah, that sounds perfect.” she holds back a giggle of excitement

as they drove out of the city, the scenery transformed from concrete and steel to rolling hills and open fields. joel glanced over at Y/N occasionally, her face relaxed as she took in the view. The song playing on the radio was soft, almost as if it was serenading their journey.

“so, what’s been on your mind hun?” Joel asked, his tone gentle and warm.

y/n sighed, resting her head against the window. “just…everything. work’s been tough, and I feel like I’m constantly running on empty. I needed this, Joel. I needed to just…breathe..it’s tough when i’m alone, ya know? mind constantly fills up with all these thoughts..and.”

Joel reached over, his hand finding hers and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m here for you, Y/N. always. just call me over whenever you want sweet pea. you know i could be a grump sometimes,huh? but i can still take care of ya. isn’t that right?”

She looked at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “thank you, joel. you don’t know how much that means to me.” she almost breaks down into a sob because of how gentle joel is being with her..knowing no one else could ever treat her with such kindness.

joel pulled over at a scenic overlook, noticing you being in the midst of your breakdown, he put the car in park and pulled you into his lap. as he wraps his arms around you he whispers “it’s okay sweet girl.. just don’t cry for me hun, okay?everything will be just fine sweet thang’ i swear to you..no doubt about it.”

she nods her head, wiping the tears away from her eyes and softly kisses joel. “i love you joel, please never go away..promise?” joel looks up at the girl with the vulnerable sweet eyes and just smiles at her exclaiming “of course my love, i love you”

“c’mon, let’s stretch our legs,” he suggested, his voice softer than usual. joel placed the girl on the passenger seat. shutting his door, and running to the other side to open it for y/n before she beats him to it.

y/n followed him to the edge of the overlook, the gentle breeze tugging at her hair. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and letting the stress of the past weeks melt away.

“It’s beautiful here,” she murmured.

joel nodded, his eyes not on the view but on her. “yeah, it is.”

she turned to him, a playful smile on her lips. “you’re not even looking at the view, joel.”

he chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. “i am. just’ a different one i suppose’ huh?”

y/n blushed, the warmth in her cheeks spreading to her heart. she reached up, cupping his face in her hands. “you’re a good man, joel miller.”

he leaned into her touch, his eyes closing briefly. “only because of you, y/n.”

they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, as the sun dipped below the horizon. In that moment, all the stress and worries of the world seemed to vanish, replaced by the simple, profound joy of being together.

as they made their way back to the truck, Y/N slipped her hand into Joel’s, their fingers intertwining. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. they didn’t need words to express what they felt. Sometimes, it was just nice to have a friend—and in each other, they’d found so much more.

the end!

tell me what you think as always ;)

[mcdonaldsplayground]

| best friend's brother |

aged up ao’nung x f!reader

summary: ao'nung has always just been your best friend's annoying older brother. at least that's what you tell yourself. but lately he's been moody and far more interested in your love life than he should be. when you discover that he's been playing a role in your failed courtships, you decide to confront him about it.

includes: fluff, swearing, teasing, possessiveness, ao'nung being oblivious🙄

word count: 6.5k

a/n: i am so sorry it took me foreverrrr to write this😵‍💫 it's not great, but it's all i got right now. i have a break from school coming up so hopefully i can catch up on some other fics i've been working on but we will see whether or not i can get over this serious writer's block🥲

“Reya! Reya!” You called, waving your arms erratically as you jogged over, a wide grin decorating your face. Your best friend was standing ankle-deep in the water along with a few of your other friends and the Sully kids. They turned in attention as you splashed toward them, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“[Y/N]! What is it?” Tsireya asked, a matching grin spreading on her face when she noticed your excitement. “Just give me a second, Lo’ak.” She briefly turned her attention back to the Omaticaya boy, indicating that she would return to their conversation later. He flushed slightly, nodding before you grabbed Tsireya’s hand and pulled her to the side. Everyone appeared to go back to their conversation, though you suspected they were going to listen in anyway. You didn’t seem to care.

“Reya!” You squealed, almost unable to get the news out, just smiling and giggling while Tsireya laughed. “You’ll never guess what just happened!”

“Tell me already!” She pleaded, grasping your shoulders as if to ground you.

“Atey’ete just asked me to go out riding with him tomorrow!” It came out in one big breath, your enthusiasm obvious in your tone.

“Oh! That’s great news!” She gasped, bouncing a little. She knew how much this meant to you, considering your history. He was the first guy who’d ever actually approached you with anything more than the intention of friendship, and it felt like your heart was going to explode. While many Metkayina males had shown initial interest in the past, they always seemed to move on quickly, some going as far as to completely avoid you afterward.

“Yes! I can’t believe it!” You laughed, doing a silly little dance that made you and Tsireya burst out laughing. However, the reality of the situation had begun to sink in. Your smile faltered. “I’m kind of nervous, Reya.” You bit your lip, suddenly thinking about how inexperienced you were in this area. Tsireya put her hand on your arm.

“What for?” Her eyes were reassuring, and you softened a little. “It’s obvious that he likes you, [Y/N]. He’s been staring at you with hearts for eyes for weeks now!”

“No way!” You let out a breathy laugh, blushing deeply.

“I agree. There’s no way that’s true.” Tsireya’s older brother, Ao’nung, suddenly inserted himself in your conversation, moving to stand closer to you with that perpetual smirk of his. “Atey’ete is a warrior. He’s looking for a potential mate, not a stupid fling.” His words made your heart sink in your chest, your excitement ebbing away.

“Ao’nung!” Tsireya chastised, glaring daggers at the boy. “Just because you haven’t found a mate yet doesn’t mean you need to take out your frustration on [Y/N]!” She hissed. Though it was brief, you could have sworn you saw a pointed look pass between the siblings, indicating Tsireya’s words were about more than just Ao’nung teasing you. You shrugged it off as something that didn’t involve you.

“Just saying.” Ao’nung shrugged, putting his hands up in surrender; ever the cool and unbothered warrior. Eywa forbid anyone see him display an emotion other than that smooth self-confidence. It made you roll your eyes, but you were used to it. Growing up as Tsireya’s best friend just happened to come with the added factor of dealing with her brother. As a kid, he had simply been an annoyance, someone who found joy in pestering you and his sister. But growing up, and specifically completing his Iknimaya, had changed him. It was like he stopped having a personality in favour of being what you and Tsireya secretly called 'King Ao’nung' because everyone seemed to fall at the feet of the future Olo’eyktan despite his bad attitude.

“Why don’t you just go stare at your muscles in the reflection of the water?” You quipped, trying your best to seem nonchalant about the conversation. You liked how much it seemed to get under his skin when you acted like you didn’t care.

“Whatever.” He scoffed, turning to stalk back over to Rotxo and Lo’ak. You sighed, turning your gaze back to your friend. “King Ao’nung strikes again.” The two of you burst out laughing for a second time, and it was easy to feel at least a little better.

“Why don’t we go back to my marui?” Tsireya suggested. “Dinner will be soon anyway, and we can talk more about your date without my pest of a brother interrupting.” She said the last part loudly, shooting a hard look over her shoulder at the tall Metkayina. He just narrowed his eyes, holding his stare even as the two of you began to walk away. You could feel his eyes practically boring through your back. It made your stomach flip.

“What’s his problem?” You muttered when you were out of ear shot, briefly looking back once more to try and decipher why on earth Ao’nung still looked so agitated. Beside you, Tsireya nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. She only did that when she had a secret, which intrigued you.

“He’s just grouchy because he hasn’t found a mate yet and our parents keep asking about it. I think it’s stressing him out.” She explained. You frowned, eyebrows furrowing.

“Fine, but he could seriously have anyone he wants. Even without his status in the clan, pretty much everyone is drooling over him. It’s gross.” You said, making a face. For some reason a knot formed in your stomach when you thought about the way some girls fawned over him. You quickly tried to forget about the feeling.

“Yes… But my parents keep suggesting potential mates and trying to set things up for him, which he doesn’t like. He has someone in mind already, but he’s convinced she doesn’t like him.” She confessed, looking around as if someone might be listening. Your face felt hot suddenly, but you didn’t understand why.

“Who is it?”

“I promised I wouldn’t tell.”

“Oh come on, Reya! It’s not like I have anyone else to tell anyway! I’ll keep my mouth shut, I promise.” You pleaded, feeling an involuntary urge to get the information out of her.

“I’m sorry- I can’t say. It’s a really sore subject for him and he’d kill me if anyone else knew.” Your best friend looked genuinely apologetic, and your heart sunk. It wasn’t like her to keep anything from you- even big secrets- but you decided not to pry. The thought of Ao’nung finding out and getting mad at Tsireya was not something you wanted to be the cause of. Still, you found yourself aching to know who he had his eye on. In all the time you had been around him, he’d never shown much romantic interest in anyone, so the mystery seemed impossible to even attempt to figure out.

“So… Atey’ete, huh?” Tsireya changed the subject, nudging you with an elbow and a small grin. You allowed yourself to fall into the easy conversation concerning your crush, hoping it would help you stop thinking about your best friend’s stupid older brother.

The next day seemed to drag on forever as your long-awaited date with Atey'ete approached. The two of you had agreed to meet on the beach a little bit before sunset, and though it was nearly dinner time, it felt like you still had years to wait.

"Ugh." You huffed quietly, fingers becoming tangled in one of the fishing nets you were helping Tsireya mend. You normally weren't too bad at weaving, but your nerves were getting the better of you. Tsireya giggled.

"Why don't we leave this for tomorrow and go get some dinner?" She suggested, offering you a sympathetic smile, though laughter danced in her eyes. You smiled back in spite of yourself, allowing a small laugh to escape your lips.

"Yes please." You wasted no time in dropping the half-fixed net and hastily cleaning up the area. Nothing was going to take your nervousness away, but Ronal's cooking had a particularly good effect on you even at the worst of times. You could have sworn you ate with Tsireya's family more often than your own.

As the two of you approached Tsireya's marui, you noticed Ao'nung leaning with his back against the outside wall, arms crossed and sporting his usual impassive expression. If you didn't know any better, you might have thought he was on the lookout for you and his sister.

"You know your friends aren't around, right? You can drop the whole 'I'm better than everyone else' act." You said, wanting to distract yourself from your flip-flopping stomach. Over the years you had learned that the best form of amusement came from riling Ao'nung up. When his ears flicked back in annoyance, you bit back a satisfied smirk. However, he was able to ignore the dig.

"Didn't think you'd be here tonight. Aren't you going to be late for a really lame date?" He asked coolly. Now it was your turn to be annoyed.

"Aren't you going to be late finding someone to be your mate? Oh wait..." You trailed off, pleased with such a quick and biting comeback. Something dark passed over his face before he narrowed his eyes.

"Very funny. Are you just bitter because he bailed on you?"

"We're not even doing anything until later, so keep dreaming." That was the best you could come up with as a slight inner panic seized you, amplifying your worry that Atey'ete would indeed bail on your date later. Similar occurrences in the past were enough reason to validate that, and Ao'nung knew it. In fact, most people seemed to know of your inability to be first choice. It stung, but you hurriedly swallowed the hurt, practiced in not thinking about it for too long.

"Grow up, brother." Tsireya finally said, shaking her head at him as you followed her past him and inside the marui. You heard him scoff behind you as he also ducked inside, the three of you taking your typical places among Ronal and Tonowari so you could eat together.

"What are the three of you bickering about this time?" Tonowari asked, an easy smile on his face.

Ao'nung was quick to answer. "I was just advising [Y/N] not to waste her time courting unworthy men." You and Tsireya rolled your eyes, holding in laughter. Ao'nung had a habit of talking himself up, especially to his father, and this time was no different. You didn't know how it was even possible to twist his snarky quips into something so dignified, but he always managed.

"Oh? And who is this unworthy man you are courting, [Y/N]?" Ronal gave you a knowing look, seeing through at least some of her son's thinly veiled attempt at saving face. You blushed deeply.

"Well, first, we definitely aren't courting," You started. "Atey'ete and I are just going out riding later."

"Oh! He's such a handsome boy!" Ronal exclaimed, nodding in approval.

"And an excellent young warrior." Tonowari chimed in, winking at you. You flushed again, fidgeting nervously with your fingers. Ronal continued to go on about your date, telling a story about some errand he had helped her with once, but it became difficult to pay her your full attention when you noticed the sour look that had settled on Ao'nung's face. In a matter of seconds, his self-assuredness had been replaced by intense irritation, his narrowed eyes downcast while he uncharacteristically picked over his food. You'd never seen him look so angry, and found yourself confused at how the topic of conversation had such an effect on him.

"Son?" Tonowari broke both of you out of your separate stupors, waiting patiently for Ao'nung to answer the clearly unheard question. The younger male carefully schooled his expression into something at least sort of neutral looking.

"Huh?"

"I was asking why you don't think Atey'ete would make a suitable mate for [Y/N]?"

Ao'nung suddenly choked on the bite of food he had just placed in his mouth, coughing as his eyed widened in shock. You were also rather shocked at Tonowari's question, though you hid it much better.

"M-mate?" Ao'nung finally managed, no longer coughing but still wearing the same stunned expression. "Don't you think it's a bit soon to be thinking about that? I mean, they probably haven't even talked to each other more than once!" His tone was laced with discontent.

"Well, you all are getting to an age where finding a mate is a priority. Even the beginnings of a courtship are to be taken seriously, Ao'nung." Ronal said patiently, though you could tell there was a double-meaning behind it, a bit more pressure to place on the shoulders of the eventual clan leader. You didn't think it was possible, but he looked even more annoyed than before.

"I know that. I was just saying I don't think they would be a good match." He grumbled. "I'm finished." He excused himself and quickly stood up before stalking outside. There was a tense moment of silence before Ronal spoke up.

"Please excuse him, [Y/N]. He has been having a hard time lately."

"Of course." You said politely, dipping your head down in understanding, though you were secretly perplexed and somewhat irked by his moodiness. You spent the rest of dinner no longer plagued by nervousness concerning Atey'ete, but rather entirely consumed by puzzling over Ao'nung and his strange behaviour.

After dinner you received a brief pep talk from Tsireya and an encouraging hug from Ronal before you set off to meet with Atey'ete. However, you couldn't seem to shake the conversation that had come up earlier. Ao'nung's childishness was confounding, certainly, but as you rapidly approached the date you’d once been over the moon excited about, you couldn't help but think of what Ronal and Tonowari had said about courting. They claimed that at your age it was serious- like had the potential to become mates serious- and that scared you more than you would like to admit. You'd spent so long being rejected by your male peers that when Atey'ete had approached you with interest, his ultimate intention never even crossed your mind. Why shouldn't I still be excited? You thought, trying to think of any logical reason as to why you were suddenly doubting this. Atey'ete was kind and thoughtful, funny and handsome; not to mention a well-respected member of the clan. If he was interested in you, why would you jeopardize it without reason?

As you waged your internal war, you grew increasingly annoyed, particularly at the fact that you kept picturing Ao'nung's face in the middle of it all. The way his lips curled into a frown at dinner. The spark of fire behind his eyes when the two of you had been trading insults beforehand. You wanted to bash a rock into your head to stop thinking about him. It wasn't even relevant to your current predicament! Ao'nung just had an infuriating ability to take up residence on your mind. So you decided to stop thinking entirely, becoming laser-focused on getting to the meeting place and not letting your mind wander anymore.

At first you were able to tell yourself that you were just early. The sky had only just become tinted an orangey pink when you arrived on the smooth stretch of white sand, finding a stray rock to sit and wait on. You had agreed to meet around sunset. It wasn't like it was an exact time.

When that excuse became irrelevant, you came up with the idea that Atey'ete was just running a little late. The sun was sinking closer and closer to the horizon line, the sky beginning to twist into hues of purple and darker blue. He led a busy life. He'd probably been caught up hunting later than usual.

But when the stars finally blinked into existence and the last sliver of light disappeared under the gentle ocean waves, you began to cry. It wasn't voluntary, and you tried to stop, but your efforts were in vain and you eventually allowed yourself to just stare at the waves lapping on the sand as hot tears trailed silently down your cheeks.

What was it about you that was so undesirable? And why did guys feel the need not only to reject you, but to rub salt in the wound by giving you hope in the first place? Whatever string that was holding you together seemed to fall away, your heart bleeding out of your chest onto your hands and legs and into the sand. You felt massacred in all but physical body, and you vowed that this would be your last heartbreak. Even spending the rest of your days alone seemed a better fate than this.

"I told you he was going to bail." You jumped at the suddenness of the low voice behind you, but instantly clocked who it was. Hostility and rage bubbled underneath your skin as you whipped your head around, baring your teeth in a silent hiss.

"Fuck off, Ao'nung!" You barked, not missing the brief worry that crossed his features as he assessed your condition. "You're the last person I want to talk to right now!"

"Really? I thought Atey'ete would be up higher on that list." He quirked an eyebrow.

"Don't be all King Ao'nung right now. I'm not in the mood for that version of you." You snipped, staring hard at him. He knew of the nickname you and Tsireya had for him, but he seemed surprised to hear you say it directly to him. It was usually a funny little joke, but all you wanted to do was direct your hurt onto someone else, and he happened to be the perfect target.

"Alright," His expression softened into something you hadn't seen in a long time. Something like pity. Maybe even something like empathy. "I'll be nice Ao'nung, then." He tentatively sat down beside you, his leg just barely touching yours. You tried to ignore the buzzing feeling that ignited in your stomach at the near contact.

"I didn't know nice Ao'nung still existed." You scoffed, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them, resting your chin on top of them as you fixed your gaze on the dark ocean in front of you. He was still staring at you.

"Nobody wants a soft clan leader, [Y/N]."

"Being nice and being soft are two different things."

"Maybe."

"Do you really think that people won't respect you if you drop the walls you've built around yourself?"

"You don't know what it's like."

"No, I don't. But I do know what it's like to look up to you. To watch as you try to live up to your birthright." Your eyes flicked back to meet his, surprised by the vulnerability etched on his face. You hadn't realized how much you missed the boy you once knew. "I know it's not easy to be under so much pressure, but you don't have to change yourself to fit into some mold of the perfect little prince." You held each other's gaze in silence for a short time before a smile crept onto Ao'nung's lips.

"When did you become so wise?" He asked, nudging you gently.

"I've always been wise, skxawng. You just never cared to notice." You teased, still unsmiling but feeling slightly better. Something about this real version of him set you at ease. Something about him made you feel good, even if you wouldn’t admit it.

"I notice more about you than you think..." He mumbled, the words barely audible to you. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, sure that you heard him wrong.

"What?"

"I asked how long you've looked up to me for." He lied, trying to divert the conversation back a bit, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks. You studied him with narrowed eyes for a few seconds before deciding to let it go. You were actually kind of enjoying the deep conversation.

"Since always, I guess." You shrugged. "You may have been Tsireya's annoying older brother, but you also used to be thoughtful. And funny."

"I'm not funny anymore?"

"Don't push it." You said, eliciting a deep chuckle from Ao'nung. You smiled a bit in spite of yourself. "I just mean that you weren't going to become the Olo'eyktan one day just because of who your parents are. I always thought you were meant to be a great leader. Because of who you are. Because you care about everyone way more than you let on."

"Don't push it." He mimicked, this time making both of you laugh.

"Just stop being such a jerk, alright? Then maybe it won't be so hard to find a girl to like you." You grinned at him, ignoring the dull ache in your chest that your words incited. Ao'nung, however, quickly dropped his smile and fixed his gaze to the ground. It only lasted a few seconds before he changed the subject, but you felt stupid for calling him a jerk.

"Are you okay?" He asked, catching you off guard. You'd become so wrapped up in the current conversation that you forgot what originally brought you there in the first place.

"Oh- a-about the whole date thing?" You let out a breathy laugh, disappointed to be returning to such a sore subject. Thankfully it didn't hurt quite so bad anymore, though. "Yeah, no, definitely! I didn't actually care too much anyway so... It's, um, it's whatever." You internally cringed at your attempt to sound nonchalant. Ao'nung clearly wasn't buying it, but he didn't seem to want to push it.

"He's a douche anyway." Ao'nung said. "Trust me, you don't want to be going out with him."

"I guess..." You trailed off, biting your lip as you felt a sudden boldness take hold of you. You knew he was just trying to make you feel better, but you couldn't hold back on what you were truly wanting to know. "Look, you're a guy, do you know what's wrong with me?"

"What?"

"I mean, there has to be something seriously off-putting or undesirable about me. We both know this isn't the first time I've been stood up. I just want to know what it is about me." The words came out rushed as your grew embarrassed about voicing your deepest insecurities, and to Ao'nung, nonetheless. He looked a little pale as he stared at you, searching your eyes.

"You think there's something wrong with you?" He breathed, sounding more like he was asking a rhetorical question than a real one. He seemed to be rapidly working something out in his head.

"Well, yeah. I know I'm not exactly the prettiest or the most talented woman in the clan, but after a while you get the impression that something's off when everyone else is getting into successful relationships but you. Guys barely even look at me anymore." You admitted, still regretting the conversation topic but pushing through anyway.

"Oh, shit." Ao'nung whispered under his breath, suddenly standing. You couldn't read his expression anymore as it became more complex, not to mention confusing. You knew it was an awkward thing to talk about, but this reaction seemed a little extreme.

"Where are you going?" You called after him as he began to rush away in the direction of his marui, appalled that he was leaving so abruptly. His answer was too quick and quiet for you to make out, so you just sat in stunned silence for a moment, watching as he eventually disappeared from sight. "Okay. Nice chat." You said, pressing your lips together, unsure of what to do next. And for the umpteenth time that day, you found yourself focused on thoughts of your best friend's brother, trying to fit another seemingly impossible piece of the Ao'nung puzzle together.

“[Y/N]!” Tsireya called upon catching sight of you. She quickly apologized to the group of friends she’d been standing with and took off toward you, catching up easily. You were on your way to mend some more fishing nets, and you didn’t slow down even as she fell into step with you. “Hey! Where have you been this morning? I couldn’t find you and I was about to force Lo’ak to start helping me search!” She laughed. Her easy joyfulness was infectious, but you had to settle for a small smile as the best you could do in response. You were still trying to work out your complex web of feelings from the night before, something you’d spent all morning avoiding everyone to do. You wanted to talk to her about it, but it felt impossible to lay out clearly.

“Sorry, Reya,” You apologized, offering her a sincere look. “I just needed some time on my own to think.”

“Oh… Things didn’t go as planned last night then?” She asked gently. You sighed, shaking your head before a breathy laugh escaped your lips.

“Definitely not. Unless you count being stood up again as a plan. Which I guess maybe I should have. It happens enough.”

“[Y/N]…”

“It’s okay, really, I’m used to it. Besides, your brother of all people came to the rescue.”

“W-what? Ao’nung was there?”

“Yes. I have no clue what he was doing out there, but we ended up talking for a while.” You explained, carefully examining her reaction. While she looked mostly surprised, there was something different, like worry, behind her eyes.

“What did you talk about?” Her response felt strangely eager, like she was looking for you to say something specific.

“Mostly him, actually. I finally had the guts to tell him off for acting like a jerk sometimes.” You started, briefly chuckling at the memory. “But then it got really weird. He was trying to make me feel better about Atey’ete, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking him what’s wrong with me… Y’know, because he’s a guy and I thought maybe he would know.”

“And? What did he say?”

“Nothing, really. He got really pale and started acting like he was in trouble or something. Just got up and left. Like I said, weird.”

“Oh.” Was all she said, her brows furrowed as if deep in thought.

“Yeah. And do you know what’s really crazy?” You went on, unable to stop yourself from expressing the thoughts you’d been obsessing over all morning. “What’s insane is that I got stood up again and all I’ve been thinking about since is your stupid brother, just trying to figure him out. And even worse? When I do think about Atey’ete, I feel... relieved,” You were full-on ranting now as Tsireya watched with wide eyes. “I’ve been trying all morning to understand it, but I’m just relieved that Atey’ete didn’t show up. And I haven’t been letting myself even consider it, but I think- I think it might be because of Ao’nung.” You finally said, almost shocked that you admitted it out loud. The two of you stopped walking as a charged silence filled the air.

“Ao’nung likes you too!” Tsireya suddenly blurted before quickly slapping her hand over her mouth in horror of the admittance. You froze, eyebrows shooting skyward as you felt the world around you come to a slow halt. The only thing you could manage to process was the slow blinking eyes of your best friend as she searched your face. “I shouldn’t have said that but it just came out.”

“What are you talking about?” You whispered in disbelief. She stared at you for a few more second before sighing, resigning herself to an explanation.

“I think it’s time you know, anyway.” She started. “Ao’nung’s the one who scares off any guy who shows interest in you. He used to claim it was because they weren’t good enough for you, but I finally got him to admit otherwise a few months ago. He likes you, [Y/N]. A lot. But he’s so dumb and won’t believe me when I tell him that you like him back-”

“Woah. I don’t think I would say that.” You interrupted, though a bloom of heat rushed to your face at the accusation. Tsireya just gave you a look, quirking one eyebrow.

“You may be able to hide it from yourself, but you can’t hide it from me.” She stated. “I hear the way you talk about him when you’re not on your guard. And I definitely don’t miss the way you stare at him when you think he’s not looking.”

The realization felt like a blow to the chest. She was right, after all. You had once acknowledged your crush on the boy before pushing it far down out of sight when you thought he could never see you that way. You figured you would always just be Tsireya’s annoying best friend in his eyes.

“Even if I do,” You reluctantly admitted. “That’s still crazy. He’s been scaring guys away instead of just asking me out?” You were just now processing the whole story, going back through every heartbreak and every time you thought something was wrong with you with the new knowledge that Ao’nung was behind it.

“Yeah, I know. I kept trying to tell him how badly it was going to blow up in his face, but he’s so stubborn.”

“Since when?” You changed the course of the conversation out of the blue, but Tsireya was quick to follow along with what you were asking.

“Since he completed his Iknimaya. But he’s been in love with you since we were kids, [Y/N]. He’s absolutely terrible at expressing it, clearly, but it’s true. I don’t think he’s ever even considered anyone else.”

Again, her words landed like a punch to the gut, though it mildly annoyed you that the feeling was less painful and more relieving, your stomach doing excited little flips at the thought of Ao’nung seeing you the same way you saw him. You had to work to reign in the giddiness racing through you. Ao’nung still had to face the consequences of being a total moron, after all.

“I’m going to talk to him.” You decided, looking to Tsireya to agree. She nodded her head.

"Good. I think he's just getting ready to go out hunting, so you'd better hurry." She gently pushed you in the direction of the reef. As you started to jog away she called, "Don't let him off easy, okay?" And a laugh escaped your lips.

"I definitely won't!" You assured her, though you knew it was going to be difficult considering the giddy excitement coursing through your veins.

Luckily, he was still on shore when the reef came into your view, looking to be repairing one of the fishing spears before he set off with the other hunters. You slowed to a walk as you approached, and he only looked up when you were mere feet away from where he sat in the sand. Your shadow fell over him and your crossed your arms as he looked up and met your eyes, doing your best to look at least a little mad.

"[Y/N], what are you-"

"Why did you scare Atey'ete into ditching me?" You questioned calmly, narrowing your eyes and shoving down a smirk as panic took over his features. The hunters who were in the vicinity went silent, turning their attention to you and Ao'nung. "Actually, I'd also like to know why you've done that to every guy whose ever been interested in me."

"W-what- How did you..." He trailed off, trying desperately to find the right words as he squirmed under your gaze. "Did Tsireya tell you that?" He seemed to finally come to his senses, looking around at all the amused eyes fixed on him. He quickly stood up and grabbed your hand, tugging you to a spot out of view of the others. The contact between your hands was like a spark of electricity, briefly making you forget why you were supposed to be mad at him. The momentary amnesia doubled when he stepped closer to you, staring urgently into your eyes.

"How did you find out?" He asked, bringing you back to reality as he let go of your hand. You shivered at the loss of contact.

"Doesn't matter. Just tell me why." You said quietly, not missing the way his expression shifted into one of chagrin. It almost made you laugh to see him looking so uncharacteristically sheepish, but you maintained your composure.

"I don't know." Was all he said, unable to meet your eyes anymore, kicking at the sand beneath his feet like a child. Your jaw tightened at his lame response. Now you really were annoyed with him.

"Okay, fine." You scoffed, turning to go. You weren't expecting him to be so guarded, and it hurt to know that he wasn't willing to admit his feelings for you even when you were so blatantly offering him the chance.

"Wait!" You felt his fingers wrap around your wrist, igniting that familiar spark of electricity again as he pulled you back before you could get too far. You turned to face him again, letting your disappointment show on your face. "I'm sorry," He sighed, shaking his head as if figuring out what to say next.

"Just forget about it, okay? You're clearly still too busy being King Ao'nung to take me seriously." You wanted to run away and hide for the rest of the day. Maybe the rest of your life. Tsireya seemed to have overstated his feelings for you, and it was hurting more with every passing second. The only thing still keeping you there was Ao'nung's gentle grip on your arm.

"I do take you seriously. And I want to talk to you- I just never know what to say."

"Well you could start with a genuine apology."

"I'm sorry," He stepped slightly closer, forcing you to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. Your heart sped up. "I really am. And I know you have no reason to believe me because I've been acting like a jerk lately. And you have no reason to forgive me, either. It was really fucked up of me to do that- to threaten guys who were interested in you. I was always so jealous at how easily they got you to like them, and I wished you would look at me the way you looked at them, even just for a second. But I didn't want to hurt you, [Y/N]. I swear," A pained expression took over his face, and he shifted his grip on your hand so that your fingers were laced together. Warmth bled through his touch and set you at ease. "Last night was the first time I realized how badly it was affecting you. I always assumed you didn't care that much because you never showed it, but I realize now that was a stupid assumption. I was selfish, and I'm really, really sorry."

You stared into his blown pupils, not saying anything for a while as you processed his words. Since your original plan had been derailed, you had to work out what to do next.

"I wasn't mad when I got here." You said, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Ao'nung furrowed his eyebrows. "I mean, I was a little bit. I wasn't about to let you off for basically making me think I was unlovable for a while there." You smiled wider as Ao'nung cringed slightly. "But I wasn't mad because I was actually just relieved. Because for some Eywa forsaken reason I have this insane crush on you that I've been trying to get over for years, and even though I would never admit it, every time I got stood up I felt relieved that I wouldn't have to settle for someone I could never love." His eyes widened at your confession, and you wondered if he could hear how loudly your heart was beating.

"Oh Eywa, [Y/N], I'm so sorry that I made you think-"

"Are you seriously not taking your chance right now? I'm starting to doubt how much Tsireya told me you liked me..." You said, holding in a laugh as his eyes widened yet again. For a future Olo'eyktan, he was really dumb sometimes.

But all it took was that push from you and he was kissing you. Softly, at first, almost like he felt you were going to break, but when you fell into his body and wrapped your arms around his neck, he became more desperate, tugging gently at your bottom lip. His warm hands rested on your waist, pulling you flush against him. It could have been seconds or days before you pulled apart, panting and grinning like fools.

"Tsireya didn't exaggerate," He started, resting his forehead against yours as his thumbs caressed your sides. "I like you so, so much. I just never thought you'd feel the same. I always figured you just saw me as your best friend's older brother." He admitted and you chuckled.

"I thought you just saw me as your sister's best friend." This time the both of you laughed softly before he placed a quick kiss against your lips again.

"I see you." He whispered, and suddenly the world around you diminished, leaving only Ao'nung in front of you. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears and feel the slightly quickened heartbeat inside his chest, the points of contact between you like pieces of a puzzle fitting perfectly together.

"I see you." You finally said back, completely enraptured by the way he was staring at you, like you were the only person in the entire universe in that moment. You stood like that together for who knows how long, occasionally exchanging sweet kisses and blushing grins.

Finally, you decided to say something, "So how many guys did you have to threaten to stay away from me? Was it like, just a few, or are we talking about more of a whole line up?"

"Oh, please." He grinned, shaking his head as the two of you laughed.

"I'm just trying to make up for some lost self-esteem over the years, okay?" You chuckled, offering him a mischievous look.

"Alright, I get it. I probably deserve the guilt trip." He smiled, holding his hands up. "But I don't think you have anything to worry about when it comes to guys wanting you." He admitted, looking slightly annoyed at the thought. You gasped dramatically.

"So it was a whole line up! You must have been busy keeping them all away from me." You said proudly, earning an eye roll from him.

"Don't let it go to your head. Besides, it doesn't matter anyway."

"And why's that?"

"Because now you're mine." He hummed, suddenly using his loose grip on your waist to pull you closer and place his lips on yours once again. You smiled into the kiss. Maybe all that rejection was worth it after all.

[billlydear]

Touch starved Billy Hargrove ✨a concept✨

HC - TOUCH STARVED BILLY HARGROVE

W.C 1680 - INBOX (please request !) - CREDIT TO GIF OWNER

mmm not touch starved billy, love starved billy. he gets plenty of skin-on-skin. a backhand or a shove from his dad, a quick fuck in the backseat of his car, hell, why do you think he takes his shirt off to play basketball, a contact sport? he wants to feel touch, he's just never been given a kind one.

and that's where you come in :) from the very first date you're already shyly reaching for his hand, slipping your fingers between his over the vinyl table of the small diner you're eating at

you watch carefully for his reaction, and he's not really able to hide his shock, he kind of goes stiff. so you're worried you've overstepped, and you start to draw back with an awkward apology, but just before you can pull your hand away completely, he tightens his grip, and squeezes your hand, holding it in place.

“Don’t apologize.” Normally that would be said in a teasing, lighthearted tone. But instead his face is strangely intense, eyes shining under the low lights of the diner.

then it escalates from hand holding to a hug. He drops you off at your front step, and instead of just staying in the car, he walks you up. It’s a pretty cliched first kiss scene, you tell him you had a good time and he agrees with a dazzling smile. There’s a slow, heart-racing lean-in, hitched breath and an eager shine in your eyes, and then he kisses you so soft, you’re not even sure he’s there. He’s not really about special first kisses, preferring to tongue a girl behind the gym. But when your hand comes up to press gently, softly against his cheek, he knows he’s addicted to kindness, soaking it up like a sponge and letting the excess compel him to hold your waist.

he’s not handsy like he normally would be, he keeps his hands firmly planted there while you kiss. It’s soft, slow, sweet, and it feels like waking from a daydream as his pretty blue eyes flutter open to stare into yours.

“Goodnight, Billy.” You whisper, and he’s a goner.

there’s tenderness in your voice, your touch, your gaze, and he lays awake that night thinking about it. It warms him up, knowing that you’d treated him like you care. Maybe you do, maybe you dont, but the feeling is intoxicating, and he doesn’t feel as perpetually angry at the world that night

max notices a change after that. Neil shouts at him, tells him he’s good for nothing, weak, disappointing, and instead of slamming his door and blasting music, probably kicking the bed frame, he offers her a ride to the arcade.

"What?" / "A ride, dipshit, I'm going out and I'll drop you on the way."

and the most insane part, he doesn't even bitch at her in the car. she sits silently and so does he, and when she gets out, he says he'll get her at 8. no threats, no name-calling, just 'i'll pick you up at 8'.

when she gets in the car at 8:10, she's absolutely certain she'll be griped at for being late. but he backs out of the spot, and even asks her about the slap bracelet she'd won inside.

"You get that in there?'"/ "Yeah. I had enough tickets so..." / "What?"

She squints hard at his face while they're stopped at a light, and his own face scrunches in displeasure, "What is it?"

"Are you wearing chapstick?"

The light turns green, and he punches it hard, only remembering to slow down as he pulls his lips between his teeth to lick them. she doesn't ask again, but she spots a tube of it on the ground, strawberry flavored, and definitely not hers.

billy had taken you to the drive-in, and apparently it had fallen out of your pocket when you'd leaned over the center to kiss him. he brought it back to you the next day, knocking at your door and greeting your mother who surprisingly loved him. he wasn't really sure how to react to that, because no girl's mother has ever liked him before, but he's welcomed in and finds you in your room, folding laundry.

he spends the entire day with you, a saturday, just being with you. you teach him how to fold laundry your way, and he definitely teases you about the bras and underwear he finds. in retaliation you whack him with a pillow, and he pretends to be greatly injured after the attack, sprawled out over your bed with his tongue out in a cartoonish display of death

you straddle his waist, peering down at his minutely-fluttering eyelashes. you take his face in your hands, gently, sweetly, and turn it to face you, watching as his pretty blue eyes make a reappearance. he's staring at you, and he looks almost nervous, but he could easily push you off it he wanted to, and he doesn't, so you take that as a good sign.

you trace his features, fingers grazing over the tip of his nose and down through the crease of his chin, just below his lips. then beneath his eyes, along his cheekbones, and smoothing over his forehead. he watches you breathlessly the entire time, a thin layer of tears glossing over his eyes.

when you notice them you stop, nervous that you'd upset him. you ask him what's wrong, hovering over his face only inches away

"I love you." He murmurs, reaching up to cup your cheek.

it's breathless, it's passionate, and it's.. a little early. but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel it. he's just quicker to figure out when he loves someone 'cause he doesn't very often, so it's a new feeling that sticks out to him.

now that he's said it for the first time, watch out.

he's gonna say it 24/7, any opportunity. you hand him a chip? he leans over to bite it out of your hand and goes 'I love you'. he hands you a chip? when you reach for it he'll hold it out of your reach, wait 'till you look at him like wtf? and then say 'love you' with that shit-eating grin of his

he clings to you. his hand is always somewhere on your body, whether it be prying at your own and pulling it into his lap or laying around your shoulders, pressing your sides together

play. with. his. hair. seriously, scratch your nails through his hair, he'll purr like a kitten. brush it out right before his shower, give him a little head massage, that way you can mess up the curls and he'll just reform 'em. comb through it, braid it, put serums and products in it, anything as long as you're touching his scalp

i think he'd really appreciate forehead/cheek/nose kisses, of course he appreciates them on the lips too but it's different, casually intimate and sweet. he's addicted to kissing your cheek, he'll be walking beside you in the mall and yank you closer by where his arm is laid around your hip just to press his lips to your cheek

he kisses your forehead in bed, tugs you into his chest and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. he might not even lean back up, he might just fall asleep with his face pressed to yours

he's.. obsessed with kissing. like, your lips are constantly swollen. of course he's game for a good steamy makeout session but mostly it's just lazy, slow, soft, sweet kisses, just laying together and swapping spit and touching each other, your leg thrown over his, your foreheads bumping together, his hand on your stomach

speaking of, he'll sleep with his hand under your shirt most nights, either flat and warm against your back or your stomach. and if you ever sneak your hand up his shirt to scratch up his back, he shivers. fully body shivers.

he loves loves loves it when you hold him in your sleep, sometimes he stays awake while you drift off just to watch you get comfy and unconsciously snuggle into his warmth. The first time you do it is while you’re watching a movie on your couch and he misses the last half of the film because he’s just watching you sleep peacefully all snuggled into him

he’s not only grateful that you’re his safe space, but he’s amazed that he seems to be your own. he’s never had a safe space before, even when his mama was around Neil was too. so being with someone he loves without any fear or anxiety is very meaningful to him. It means that when you pass out on his shoulder at the drive-in or let him cart you around to parties just as long as he keeps his arm around you the entire time, he recognizes that you feel safe with him, and that means more to him than he’ll ever be able to express

it’s why he takes such good care of you, he doesn’t ever want to let you down or be someone who fails you. the movie’s too loud and you’re starting to wake? he doesn’t need to see the end of it, the two mcs probably get together. he’ll just drive quietly and slowly back home and let you snooze in the parking lot. party getting too wild? he’ll take you out into the backyard and sit on the porch swing with you, smoke a cig and blow it away from you, let your head fall onto his shoulder with his arm around your waist.

your touch grounds him. he feels safe, secure, loved, supported, happy, and content all at once when he’s touching you, even if he’s just knocking his foot into yours from under the lunch table.

Billy may get touched a lot, but not loved, so when you come into his life, a beacon of all things sweet, he’s going to bask in it, soaking up your love like a big sappy sponge and letting it heal his wounds

[bonefall]

Is Sandgorse still abusive in BB? If so does he still save Sparrow? Idk I think it'd be a neat thing for Talltail to brood on and move past once realizing the truth. Like just because your abuser did a "Good Thing tm" doesn't mean you have to forgive them or that all of a sudden it excuses their past a tion towards you.

Or did you remove this plot beat entirely? If so I don't blame you :P

Weird that Tumblr search isn't giving me all the stuff I tagged :/ hopefully after finals are done I can compile a 1st draft/The Story So Far for the rework of Tallstar’s Revenge

It's now called TALLSTAR’S COLLAPSE. It is actually a story I am rewriting with tragedy in mind. It's about Talltail fleeing WindClan with his starcrossed lover, Sparrow, only to eventually be drawn back to it where he becomes a perpetuator of all the things that made him leave.

To answer your question; Yes, and. Sandgorse is abusive and there's a LOT of nuance to this situation. I'm not sure if he still saves "Sparrow" though because I have waaaay more of a point in mind with Tallstar’s tumultuous relationship to him.

Summary of changes,

Tallstar's Collapse

Sparrow is the Clanmew name Jake takes when his group interacts with WindClan. His first language is actually a dialect of Townmew!

(Also Firestar has no known father in BB)

His group is nomadic. They go from place to place trading goods. I need a name for both them and their cultural "cluster" but in my head, Jake's family is the Algernauts because Algernon is the current leader

It's important the Algernauts are extremely endearing because leaving them is VERY painful

(and something i want to frame as the wrong choice for tallstar, emotionally)

WindClan is in a very sensitive period of its history. Before Tallstar was born, Heatherstar began the Mothermouth Moorland War, to take a very large parcel of land from ShadowClan. A good 1/5th of it.

Naturally this is a huge project and incredibly ambitious. Sacrifices Must Be Made

The sacrifice she has chosen to make is the death of tunneling. Because she's smothering it.

Tunneling is PEACEFUL, defensive at best. You can't dig them in a floodplain, they would be useless for holding the Mothermouth Moorland territory

Tallkit is born into a terrible position. Son of the head tunneler, mother in a terrible depression, and Heatherstar trying to pry a wedge between the "future" and the "past"

Im also planning to change his name. He was born Slowworm-Kit, which has a connotation of cleverness in Clanmew. To bully him, Shrewpaw calls him Wormtail, because Slowworms drop their tails if pulled. It means "you will get trapped in a cave-in, and when they pull your tail, it'll fall off"

But it doesn't translate well into English... so I'm not sure what his Heatherstar-given warrior name would be. Wormwing or Wormleap maybe, like he "defied fate" to become a wonderful moor-runner...

Or maybe the prefix is Drop? Droptail as the mean bully name and Dropflight as the warrior name...

Anyway, when he returns, Heatherstar welcomes back the extra claws and honors the lesson he learned with "Talltale." In Clanmew this is "Story-travelled," his leader name meaning "Tale-star."

Anyway. Back to the cat drama

Talltail (name pending) is in a tight spot. I kind of want to show everyone being a victim except Heatherstar herself, who has all the power in this situation.

Not that it excuses anyone

Sandgorse is watching something he loves dying, an ancient tradition passed down for generations. He is trying to force his son into a position he shouldn't HAVE to occupy, but his child is the one thing he might have any control over

(Until Tall breaks it ofc)

Tallpaw was just a kid. He needed to take out his bullying and the stress on something, and that was usually his mother and the concept of tunneling

Palebird has been completely neglected by her mate as he focuses on the person he WANTS his kid to be. She NAMED a Fading Kit, a serious social taboo, and even the support of the nursery and Woolytail can't pull her out before Tall's kithood is over

Heatherstar is using Tallpaw as a political pawn and Tallpaw is too young and hurt to realize it. He was given to her sister, Dawnstripe, and endlessly praised for his skill and talent in a time where he NEEDED positive feedback

Which is making his relationships with his parents worse

All the while, there's VIOLENCE. Regular raids and counterstrikes. Cats die and get injured, and it only escalates as Tall gets older and Cedarstar is reaching the end of his lives, hoping to end the conflict before then

And in all this chaos and uncertainty, there comes Sparrow.

Just a trader and an honored guest, there's been lots of these nomadic visitors since the time of Windstar herself, but they've become quite rare.

When Sandgorse dies suddenly in that collapse (TITLE DROP) Talltail has the push he finally needs. It's too much. He can't process this

Sparrow begs him to leave with them, they don't even need to confront anyone, just come!

IF IT SUCKS HIT DA BRICKS

I have tons of really nice little things planned for this part of the story. It's several chapters of Talltail being free.

He engages in the funeral rites of Wee Hen, asking if he may sit vigil for her. His new family is honored to allow it, Reena even tries to do it too and falls asleep

(Little sister energy)

They meet all sorts of people and go to many places. Talltail learns that the world is vast, and there's an endless amount of knowledge out here.

It all starts crashing down when him and Jake find a litter of abandoned kittens, and become parents.

They're a few moons old.. around the same age as his halfsibs back home.

It starts bringing back memories. He wonders how they're doing. If they made a nice grave for Sandgorse...

The sudden longing for his own mother strikes him like lightning.

For the first time in eons, he feels GUILT over leaving. He thought it was over-- he's living his own life now!

But what if they're hurt? What if there was a battle and he couldn't help? What if his mentor died and he didn't even know?

What kind of a horrible son doesn't even say goodbye?

The problems that made him leave seem so small now, and the homesickness is like acid leaking from his stomach, dissolving his guts and leaving him hollow

He's raising kits who will never know what it means to earn a title, or have a permanent home, or--

(Any of the other things he should have learned don't have meaning outside of clan culture. Things they wouldn't miss.)

He cherishes the memories he makes here, raising children with his mate, but something turns inside of Talltail. Like the groaning ache of a hundred stones on top of a decaying mineshaft

The REAL collapse is this. An existential crisis Talltail can't escape from.

And eventually, it comes tumbling down with one last, horrible nightmare.

In his dream, he came home only to find the sandy camp abandoned, the dens decrepit, full of musty scent and cobwebs.

Sandgorse was there. And they talked.

His dad was gruff as always, disappointed. But he didn't say anything the real Sandgorse would say.

The nightmare said, "You really did turn out like me. We both left your mother when she needed us. Turned our backs on our leader. And now we're both dead to WindClan."

Tall wakes up crying. Jake is there to comfort him, but the conversation they have is sad.

Jake tries to tell him that's all not true, and even if it WAS his dad, his dad sucked and would only say that to hurt him!

But... Tall can't believe it. Jake's right but also wrong. He IS all those horrible things.

And...... how can jake ever Understand? He does not know the Bonds of a Clan cat

(thought terminating cliche. Outsiders Cant Understand Our Bonds.)

He stays a few more days, but that nightmare was the end. And everyone sees the change.

The kits are apprentice-aged. He stayed until they would be old enough to keep up with the Algernauts.

And he says goodbye. He won't ever leave without saying goodbye ever again.

Jake says it doesn't have to be goodbye, he'll always love him, and they can visit! They can see each other again!

And Tall says yes. That this isn't the end. It's... see you later, my love.

(...but they both know how violent it's getting between Wind and Shadow. It isn't safe to visit.)

It is the end. But neither can admit it.

But after Tall is a fair distance away, one of his kits tackles him.

POSSIBLY Post-Tallstar's Collapse

Not sure if I'd put these in a novella or still make it part of it, but these are all directly related to the fallout of Tallstar's Collapse

Most likely is that there would be overlap between this and Brokenstar's Cataclysm, so the same events would be seen in different perspectives.

The kit's name is Fly. Tall has to wait for him to catch his breath and stop crying before they can talk.

Fly already lost parents before. He says he knows he can't make his dads stay together, "But PLEASE, papa, let me choose where I go this time!"

How could he say no? How could he send his son away after a plea like that?

He told him it would be hard. That he would be trained. That there would be dangerous fights.

Fly didn't care, he said he could be strong. He could do anything he needed to.

So... Tall took him to WindClan, where he became Flypaw. He became the warrior he promised he would be.

And Tall didn't notice how much the kid was changing until it was too late. Flytail took to it as if he was Clanborn-- but had to work twice as hard, fight thrice as viciously.

Though Talltail was graced with an Honor Title and open arms, he'd adopted his greatest rival.

Fly and Tall started competing for deputyship as soon as they finished training apprentices; Heatherstar had a fondness for the two of them.

In the end, Talltail won the spot by springing into action and saving Heatherstar's young nephew, a little golden tabby, from an adder.

Flytail continued as one of the more aggressive warriors in the Clan, surviving increasingly violent and bitter battles, until it came to a head in Heatherstar's Last Stand.

Her final battle as an old leader was a gruesome, definitive curbstomp in the last strategic point ShadowClan held above Carrionplace.

One of the losses was Lizardstripe-- neck snapped in Flytail's jaws.

Runningnose, and by extension, the oak-tree to his long-shadow, Brokentail, remembered this. Especially when Runningnose's father Mudfoot collapsed later that year.

As Talltail took leadership from the dying Heatherstar, a familiar regretful guilt wormed into his belly.

His son Flytail stood with a bloody mouth, eyes wet with sorrow, looking down at the leader Talltail once loved almost as much. Appreciating her sacrifice.

(secretly he didnt choose Deadfoot as his deputy just for his honor title or the battle move he invented... he chose him because there was a shocked, sorrowful look in his eyes at the fallen shadowclan cat. Sympathy seems more honorable in this moment.)

Tallstar is a wise leader... but his fatal flaw is naivety. How could he think he'd bring his son into WindClan, and not see the boy grow into a ferocious Warrior?

And naivety is what he displayed when he offered Raggedstar a peace deal. WindClan would keep the land, but they would pay a small tax of rabbits over the winter.

It was unprecedented. It was merciful. It was stupid.

When the winter was over, what would stop them from pushing further south?

Would they trade back the frogs and the flax, come summer?

On the blood and bones of so many warriors? As if giving up was ever an option?

Brokentail killed his father to prevent him from taking the deal, and reawakened Ripplestar's War Tactics.

BURN the peat. KILL the prey. OFFENSE is defense. A dead warrior is 10 less claws. A dead apprentice is 1 less warrior.

Stolen kittens are 1 more warrior on your own side.

Tallstar paid the ultimate price for letting Flytail follow him home that day. On the night of the massacre, Flytail went down fighting alongside a mate and a daughter. Dogpiled by Tangleburr and her squadron in revenge for Lizardstripe and Mudfoot.

Tallstar's granddaughter Stoneclaw, made a warrior and sitting for her vigil on that night, was the sole survivor of the little family.

The event stopped her from speaking again, like she's still sitting vigil.

Tallstar is a character who almost broke free of the control of the Clans. For a brief moment of his life, he was free.

He thought maybe he could change things a little, protect his Clanmates from the battles by being part of them, have the Mothermouth Moorland and protect the peace at the same time. But you CAN'T.

You can't fix broken systems without fundamentally changing them. He thought he could be a nice warlord and that would work on the Clan whose territory he had inherited. Power acts through people just as much as they act through power.

And that's Tallstar. He who travels the world, yet is never able to go far enough. Always falling just a little short of the point, believing that love and mercy is enough while blissfully ignorant of the pressures of pride and power.

Into this role, as a successor to this leader, Onestar is unwillingly thrust.