#like - it doesn't make sense but i get it??

[strwberri-milk]

Hello, how are you doing? May I request the boys accidentally letting a pack of condomes falling out of their pockets or whatever in front of MC (before they had their first time together).

l

Zayne and Xavier are mortified. They don't want you to think that he's just only thinking about having sex with you he's just...optimistic that maybe one day things will get heated enough that you find yourselves in a predicament and he can be aptly prepared. He tucks it back into his pocket and reassures you that he's more than happy to wait for you as long as you need him to wait. It truly doesn't bother him at all and he wants your first time together to be on your terms.

You can't help but find yourself a little flustered that your sweet boyfriend is actually thinking about you like that. You know like, logically that he's into you and he wants to take the next step at some point but seeing those condoms sort of reinforced that thought. The two of you are going to be a little awkward about it just for a bit before things settle again.

Rafayel and Sylus are pretty casual about it. They know you know he's super into you by the way he holds and kisses you and he also knows that he doesn't mind waiting for you. It makes sense that he carries them around in his wallet but also the fact that he does flusters you to no end.

He just laughs at your reaction and kisses you on the forehead, telling you not to worry yourself too much about it. The two of you will take your time and one day eventually have sex but he wants to wait until you want it. You're a bit of a mess afterwards and he loves it, teasing you gently but nothing too embarrassing.

[quicksilversnails]

It's so fun how the Princess and the Dragon acknowledges and plays with game mechanics that are assumed to be non-diegetic, and uses them to add insight to the story/characters.

The title card is a really obvious example, being something that TLQ actually sees and can comment on, and something that the Princess hadn't ever seen. What most would assume is just a framing device for the player is a real element of the world/construct.

I think it emphasizes how the story that the Narrator constructed is only "meant" to be told to TLQ. After all, The Narrator only appears in TLQ's mind, providing elaborate descriptions and attempting to contextualize the events of the game as a heroic task to save the world. Meanwhile the Princess is all alone, with no title cards or exposition, no context for why any of this is happening to her. The story revolves around her, but it doesn't care about her beyond her designated role, as something to be slain and hated. Her perspective is irrelevant to the Narrator's plan, so she doesn't get the fancy presentation or necessary context: she doesn't deserve it.

There's also those long stretches of dialogue where the voices talk to each other in TLQ's mind without progressing the story. They're occasionally acknowledged by the Princess elsewhere (Prisoner, Nightmare) but P&tD makes it very explicit and confirms that time is actively passing during these conversations, with TLQ staring in silence for who knows how long.

(Personally I don't think all of the voice dialogue is necessarily in real time, if only because some Princesses wouldn't have had the patience for it. Like if you had really stood still for that long, the Beast would've definitely eaten you... she's not waiting for you to finish thinking lol)

This one I think is more for humour, but it also draws attention to how much of the inner conversation the Princess is missing in normal chapters, when the voices aren't actively speaking to her through TLQ's body. Where we're having vibrant debates or key information revealed by the Narrator, she just sees a silent, staring figure. Speaking of the Narrator, He's completely absent from the Princess' POV, either because He doesn't want to speak to her or is somehow unable to (He does say in Tower that she's not supposed to be able to interact with Him...) Again, the story was not made to be told to her, so she isn't given His context, and because the player is usually so immersed in TLQ's perspective, they probably wouldn't realize just how much she's missing until they see things from her perspective.

One other example: if you choose to [Say nothing] immediately after you excise yourself, the Princess reacts to it:

I just find this so hilarious tbh, and the fact that she repeats back those exact words implies that she literally senses the text written in brackets. If you do it once you're back in the basement, she says this:

I wonder if it's the same for the Narrator/voices... do they also “feel” your actions while you’re choosing them? Do they hear you say (Lie) before you lie? When Skeptic said "Wink" out loud did he actually choose a dialogue option with [Wink] in brackets?? Ok that last one's a joke but there's lots of potential here

I just think it's cool because the average player wouldn't think twice about any of these things, because they seem like simple stylistic/game design choices. In a game where all player input is through dialogue options, the square brackets are an immediately understandable way to convey action, as opposed to plain text. In a game structured around repeating loops, it makes sense to make those loops distinguishable for players by separating each loop with a title card, and the chapter naming convention works as a nod to the fairytale storybook aesthetics the game draws from.

But by placing you into the Princess's head and acknowledging those design choices as diegetic elements that change depending on your perspective, it forces you to reevaluate your experiences: the things you didn't think were really "part of the game" and the experiences you didn't realize weren't universal. It exposes your hidden privileges, the luxuries and structural supports you have compared to the Princess that you don't even notice because you've never experienced the alternative.

It might make you realize how the way you perceive and conceptualize the world might be very different from how others conceptualize it (Tony's recent ask about the multicoloured glass in HEA could also play into this in a fascinating way, with the mismatch in perception between TLQ and the Narrator's script). It's all just very cool for a game that's based on perception.

It also makes me wonder... what other elements of this game are diegetic that we just haven't paid attention to?

Well, I think that the captions are probably also diegetic. TLQ occasionally refers to the voices by their complete titles despite them not ever referring to each other by those titles, instead opting for descriptors like "jumpy one" or "the worst one" or "rage boy" or "chilly little freak" lol. For a direct comparison, Paranoid exclusively calls Smitten "the lovesick one" or some variant in HEA, but TLQ refers to him by his full name using quotation marks, as if he's quoting something he's read:

The voices don't seem aware that these titles exist, while TLQ does, despite them sharing a mind. Also, when the Princess shares a body/mind with you, she never uses their titles either. In the Spectre/Princess and the Dragon, she calls Hero "the nice one", Cold "the quiet one" or "cold little freak", and the Narrator "the bossy one" or "that murder-happy know-it-all". Spectre describes the voices as shards of broken glass on the floor, so she likely perceives them completely differently to how we/TLQ see them.

Even The Narrator isn't aware of His title. If you call Him that in the mirror conversation, He says "'The Narrator'. I suppose that's my job, isn't it?", reacting to the title as if it's His first time hearing about it. There's also this question from the fourth Shifty encounter:

It seems like the titles are presented specifically for The Long Quiet/decider, and that they somehow reflect how TLQ perceives the voices/Narrator, since TLQ takes credit for "calling him" that. If the captions were specifically shown to TLQ in the same way that the title cards are, it'd explain how he has this information without it ever being verbally told to him, and why the Princess doesn't know their titles even when she's sharing your body.

But besides the captions, I think it could be fun to interpret the game as if most, if not all of its game mechanics exist in-universe. The choice menu, the music, the cursors, the save/load icons, saving/loading in general, the title screen, the Clown Princess living in the walls (game files), you name it. Let’s peel away these game mechanics cell by cell! Let's see what meaning we can find together, let's see what we're made of!

[pedgito]

𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | Joel doesn't have a Mrs. but he does have a sports car.

author's note | @chaotic-mystery made me listen to sports car and i said you know what? yeah. this one's especially feral, sorry in advance.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, no outbreak au, girthy age gap, car talk, sad hot grieving dads gone wild, daddy kink, more specifically daddy issues, mutual mas, no touch rules, cum eating, pure filth

word count — 5k

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

Your tongue rolls over your teeth inside of your mouth as you stare with folded arms, phone clutched tightly in your hand as you wait eagerly for your driver to arrive and get you the hell out of here.

“Stunning,” You offer a forced smile, watching as your date lingered around the old car, pristine and well-cared for, an unattainable feat for such an immature man-child like himself.

It was the last time you were allowing your friends to set you up on a blind date, nearing the point of swearing off dating entirely, knowing that a man who couldn’t even cover half the check wasn’t driving around in a classic Pontiac, let alone affording the upkeep for it.

“Sure you don’t wanna change your mind?” He asks eagerly, the subtle admiration of the car waning as he comes into view, knowing the old beater a few spots down was surely his.

The bells above the convenience store next door jingle as people enter and exit, taking another impatient glance at your phone. You watch as the boy takes a seat against the hood and it makes you cringe internally, swallowing your words as an even deeper voice interjects from behind.

“I’ll give you about three seconds to get your ass of my hood,” The older man threatened, spinning the keys in his palm as he set the six pack of beer on the roof, the younger kid scrambled to his feet instantly, “—is he botherin’ you?”

“Unfortunately,” You mumble as you take another glance at your phone and curse under your breath, watching the unmoving dot on the screen.

“Get outta here, kid,” The mystery man barks, “looks like you already ruined her night and I don’t need some runt like you fuckin’ up my car.”

You both watch as he sulks to his car, just as you suspected, your lips pulling into a thin line to stifle the laugh that built in your chest, feeling lighter for the first time that night.

“Does that happen often?” You ask curiously, watching as he fiddled with his door before the lock popped and the door swung open, the six pack of beer carefully placed in the passenger seat as he rose back up to answer your question, hands curled around the edge of the roof.

“Ever since I fixed her up,” He pauses, recollecting, “probably a once a week ordeal. They’re easy to run off, fortunately. You waitin’ on something?”

“My ride,” You wobble your phone back and forth weakly and Joel squints, shaking his head as he winces at the guttural backfire of the engine in the car behind him, the final memory of your absolutely awful date as he disappears down the road.

“Kid had a car and couldn’t even bother to pick you up or take you home?” He asks curiously, strangely not unsettled by his openness to conversation given his gruff exterior, “Some nerve.”

“It was a blind date,” You shrug, “My friends they—”

“Those ain’t friends,” He interrupts politely, “if they set you up with a guy like that.”

“Well, maybe—” Your words linger, shifting from foot to foot as the conversation dies out and your feet begin to ache, the summer heat making you uncomfortable, the silk fabric of your dress sticking to your skin as you wipe at your damp cheek and push your hair behind your ear.

“Hop in,” He tells you, stooping into his car as he closes the door, his waiting gaze staring up at you through the window, “I can give you a ride.”

“I…don’t know,” You answer uneasily, “I don’t even know you.”

“I’m Joel,” He answers almost immediately, “I’m not a genius but I figure you had a shitty date, no sense in you paying for a ride home if I can offer one. Chivalry ain’t that dead, sweetheart.”

You offer him your name quietly, approaching the car with some hesitation. 

He seemed like an honest enough man, swooping in like a knight in shining armor.

You’ve given worse men a fairer chance—so, fuck it.

–

“My dad had a car like this,” You perk up after a few minutes, the glass bottles clinking against each other from where they sat by your feet, between your legs, “not a ‘67—was a ‘69.”

“You know your shit?” Joel asks curiously, his left hand settled over the top of the steering wheel while his right was settled against the gear shift, “He teach you about ‘em?”

Oddly, conversation with Joel was easy. A similar interest, neither of you with any room to judge one another. Equals.

“I pestered him alot,” You admit, “I was supposed to end up with it but he sold it before he died. God, what I wouldn’t give—”

“She is a beaut,” Joel admits, giving a soft tap to the dashboard, “and a labor of love.”

“She? What’s her name?” You ask knowingly, the slightest hint of a smirk on your face.

He spoke so fondly of the car, as if it breathed life into him. It wasn’t unfamiliar to you.

“Sarah,” He offers up more subdued, but a soft smile graces his face for a brief moment, “s’long story, doesn’t matter.”

“My dad named his Jameson,” You say suddenly in an attempt to add some levity, “funny, since my dad was an alcoholic…”

Okay, maybe not funny, but Joel gives you a pity chuckle anyways. 

Luckily, your nervous admittance is quickly looked over.

“So, where’m I takin’ you?”

You chew at your bottom lip and glance sheepishly at Joel.

“Um…UT?”

“Goddamn, that’s like—”

“An hour away, yeah,” You sigh, “I won’t be upset if you want to stop at the next gas station, I have the money for a ride, it isn’t that big of a—”

“I’m about five minutes up the road,” Joel begins, fingers flexing lazily ahead as they raise from the steering wheel, “I’ve got a spare room, I can take you up there in the morning.”

“You’re a total stranger, you know?”

“There’s a motel just a ways up,” Joel suggested with ease.

Though as you approach it looks bleak, the fluorescent lights blinking overhead and a glaring spot for much more nefarious activity with the perfectly placed strip club across the road, feeling the car pull to a slow stop.

“I…think I’ll take you up on that spare room,” You stutter out.

Joel nods, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he shifts gears and pulls back onto the road. 

The flickering neon lights of the seedy motel fade in the rearview mirror.

“That place ain't fit for anyone, let alone a young lady like yourself."

“I’m not young,” You retort, ‘I’m twenty-three.”

“And I’m as old as this car,” Joel retorts, watching your face scrunch up in thought as you did the mental math in your head before he puts you out of your misery, “I’m fifty-eight, sweetheart.”

Pushing sixty? Big deal.

You’ve had older professors flirting with you inappropriately on a weekly basis, at least Joel was being polite and kind and not at all as sleazy as most men, at least, not yet.

You stare at him without his knowledge, his eyes focused intently on the road. He’s rugged, facial hair thick and unevenly covering his face, plush lips parting as his tongue swiped along his bottom lip, a permanent scowl on his rather softened expression. 

He’s devastatingly attractive. 

And there’s something about him that comforts you, a remnant of protection despite the unconventional circumstance of finding yourself in a stranger’s care after a terrible date on the way to an unfamiliar place.

Eventually, the car slows, rumbling into a small cul de sac with four other houses surrounding his own, certainly picturesque and not what you would suspect from a man like him. He cuts the engine dead as he pulls into his driveway and wordlessly leans his body over the center console, a hand snaking between your spread legs as he reaches for the six-pack of beer.

“Home sweet home,” He jokes lightly, “C’mon.”

With trepidation and a sudden heat to your face as he peers up at you for a moment while his hand is settled between your thighs, you nod.

Please don’t be a fucking serial killer, you think. 

A silent prayer said to anyone that would listen.

-

He’s a perfect gentleman, fortunately. 

Joel gives you a short tour, displaying the spare room at the end of the hall, an attached bathroom and plenty of escape routes—he seems to sense the unease still as it lingers.

“You said twenty-three, right?” He double checks, “You want a beer? Or water? I got some soda, too.”

“Beer is fine,” You answer with a nod, turning on your heels to follow him back down the hall and toward the kitchen, watching as Joel flicked on the overhead light above the kitchen island and pulled two beers from the cardboard casing.

He pops the caps off with ease before he’s pushing the beer into your hand and taking a sip of his own, leading you toward the dining room as he pulls out a chair for you and him, a comfortable distance as his legs spread out when he sits, the glass resting against his denim covered knee.

“So your daddy, he taught you a lot about cars?”

“How to take care of ‘em,” You explain, “What’s good, what’s shit. I’ve got a soft spot for the classics, you know? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like them fast, too.”

“Smart girl,” Joel notes, but then he lingers for a moment and watches as you sip gingerly at your beer, “I’m curious—and you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but what happened back there? Other than that kid makin’ a complete ass of himself?”

The comment should not make your insides twist the way they do, a faint throb between your legs that you hide with a cough and another long sip, “He’s just…not great. And the gesture was there, he tried paying for the date, but then his card declined and, well…”

“Sounds like a real winner,” He mocks, taking a hefty sip before the liquid is gone, sliding the empty glass along the dinner table.

“He’s not my type, anyways,” You shrug, finishing off your own beer and mirroring his actions, watching as he silently grabbed the bottles and stood up, disposing of them in the nearby trash.

Joel makes an unintelligible noise as he shakes his head, “And what exactly would that be?”

You hum thoughtfully, “A V8 engine for starters, some real hefty horsepower, a nice spacy interior,”

“Damn, just my type,” Joel plays along, “I like that you know your shit—you savin’ up for one?”

A car, he means.

 Given that you were attempting to find a ride home, it seemed like a valid question.

“Trying, sure.” You shrug nonchalantly, “It’s more of a dream anymore, college isn’t exactly the cheapest.”

A beat passes as Joel slips back into his seat and you pull your bare feet up into the chair, curling your arms around your knees loosely before you speak again.

“Serious answer—I don’t date boys my age ever. I was only entertaining it because my friends wouldn’t shut up about it. They’re usually older; thirties, forties. You can judge me—I get it.”

“Ain’t nothing to judge,” Joel shrugs, “You like what you like.”

“And you?”

Joel laughs at that, looking away briefly as you smile, poking his thigh with your foot as he thinks for a moment, eyes dragging toward the floor.

“I’m too old for that shit—ain’t nothing for me.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” You tell him honestly, knowing that most of the girls would be ripping each other’s throats out for a moment with him, the perfect amount of mysterious and dark, a hint of southern gentleman in the way he carries himself, a total fucking smoke show.

You knew just how deadly you’d be vying for a chance with him.

And here he was, like an offering plopped right into your lap.

Besides, you were having a bad night, what else did you have to lose?

“That so?” Joel seemed to be testing the waters too, a playfulness in his eyes that was deeply subdued but there, simmering. He wasn’t going to try anything unless you initiated, lucky for him, you were more than eager by now.

“Oh, I know so,” You nod with confidence, “Nice car—you got that whole dark and mysterious thing going for you and you’re hot, s’not like I’m blind, Joel.”

“Is there somethin’ you’re gettin’ at, sweetheart?” Joel asks curiously.

You shrug, a mischievous grin crossing your face.

You’ve had plenty of one night stands; terrible dates with half-decent sex.

You spent two hours getting ready, another getting to dinner, and you’d be damned to waste such a good opportunity when it presented itself.

“I had a shit night and you’ve already managed to make it better,” You admit, “I’m just sayin’ as a thank you, we could—”

“I’m not askin’ for a thank you, sweetheart,” His voice is immediately softer, alluring.

His brow twitches as you lock eyes, like a moment of consideration crosses his mind, large palms splayed out against even larger thighs, the type that made you curious.

He had the body of a man well-worked; a mix of someone who’s aged with grace and maintained his lifestyle through work, broad shoulders that begged to be explored, stretching as he fidgeted in his chair.

“If I told you I wanted you to fuck me, would you?”

Joel speaks your name aloud and you smile sheepishly, though he knows it was an act, feeling a little braver with a few shots of liquid courage from earlier in the night and a beer to loosen your nerves further.

You were staring at the veins in his hands now, calloused fingers rubbing at a soft, flayed spot in his jeans, right above the knee, tanned skin hiding underneath. 

“It’s not a question of would I, honey. I can’t.”

So, he would.

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“I’m gonna save you the regret—besides, I got a few rules for myself, and if not allowing myself to touch you when we just met is one of ‘em, I think that’s fair.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” You goad, feet dropping slowly to the ground between his widened legs, “Do you want me to touch you? Is that against the rules?”

Joel knows there’s no benefit in lying.

“‘Course I think you’re pretty but you sure got a mouth,” Joel comments, fingers flexing against his thigh as he leans back in his chair, letting out a long breath through his nose as he peers over at you, “I’m willin’ to do a lot more than touch, sweetheart. But, not like this, not tonight.”

“I’m not drunk,” You defend, “C’mon, Joel. I got all dressed up tonight and I’m askin’,”

Half a second short of begging.

“Sweetheart,” He warns, “M’not gonna,”

“Then touch yourself,” You encourage, “let me watch.”

“Now, what makes you think—”

Your straps droop down your shoulders, one adjustment short of your breasts spilling out of your dress as your head nods toward his subtle adjustment between his legs, pulling slightly at the denim suffocating his growing erection.

He’s got a beautiful girl presenting herself to him, one more no away from dropping to her knees to wallow, lips parted as you breathed out softly, thighs separating so far that Joel catches the quickest glimpse of your thin panties, nearly see-through with how wet you were, your hands squeezing at the fabric near the end of your dress like a nervous tic.

Joel wasn’t blind either.

“You were going to do it after I went to sleep, weren’t you?

“You’re stubborn as hell, girl—”

“I bet it’s big,” You throw from left-field, a smirk growing on your face, “I love sucking cock, Joel. It’s my favorite thing—s’not a rule break, right? If I touch you and you keep your hands to yourself? Do you want me on my knees? Wanna see what I look like with your cock in my mouth?”

His jaw clenches, watching the muscle strain underneath his skin as he clears his throat.

“Don’t be shy—”

“I”m not shy.”

Then?

Your eyebrows raise in question, your dress pulling slowly up your thighs, legs widening with the movement before Joel finally relents, the deafening sound of his zipper pulling a soft giggle from your chest as you wiggle with excitement.

Joel's hand hesitates for a moment before he reaches into his pants, shoving them far enough down his thighs, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly pulls out his hardening cock, watching him swell in the loose grip of his palm. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of it—thick and veiny, an easy seven inches, a heavy set of balls to match as his fingers roll along the tight skin and up, his fingers drifting featherlight over his cock.

“This what you wanted?” Joel asks, low and throaty, a strain to his tone.

You nod eagerly, bottom lip pulling between your teeth as your hands settle beside you, gripping the chair so hard it creaks, legs spread wide instinctually, making room for him despite his distance, your dress slipping far enough down your chest that your breasts were on display.

Soft peaks, nipples hardened in the cool air, your chest rising with slow breaths as you arch yourself forward slightly, his hand keeping a slow, teasing pace as his thumb drags over the thick head and against the slit.

Your eyes flicker between Joel’s face and his tight grip around his cock, watching as he strokes himself with slow intent, belt jingling with the movement as he pushes his shirt up with the other hand, his own eyes trading between different parts of your body.

He’d suckle at your skin if he could, trail his tongue from mouth to cunt, have you a shaking, sobbing mess if he allowed himself the luxury, but he was a man wallowing in his own self-made torture and the energy in the air was palpable, thick with tension.

“Closer,” He groans out lowly, nodding his head in a jerky motion as his free hand beckons you near, “Spread your legs, sweetheart—lemme see you.”

You give him far more than he asks, standing slowly before you’re hooking your fingers in the fabric at your hips and pulling down, letting the damp fabric drop to your feet before you’re leaning down to pick it up, tossing your panties into Joel’s lap before you return to your seat.

One foot propped against the chair, your dress bunches at your hips, giving him a perfect view of your glistening cunt as you spread your fingers through your folds, a teasing touch.

Blindly, Joel grabs at the fabric and wraps it around his cock, like a vice, he squeezes tight.

Joel's eyes darken, pupils dilating as he takes in the sight before him. His grip tightens around your panties, the damp fabric adding a new, chest-tightening sensation as he strokes himself harder. A low groan escapes his lips, his gaze fixed on your fingers as they tease through your slick folds.

“You too scared to fuck a college girl?” You tease him, “‘Is that what you’re worried about?”

“Smart ass mouth, girl,” He gripes, “S’like your daddy never taught you any manners.”

“Oh, ‘cause I’m sure you could’ve,” You reply flippantly, gasping as your finger catches along your fluttering hole, a groan rumbling deep in Joel’s chest as he jerks his cock.

“I ain’t your daddy,” He reminds you.

You shake your head nonchalantly, “No you’re not. Could–could be, though. “What do you want? For me to pout and call you daddy?”

“Careful,” he warns, his voice rough with desire, “That’s a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

You hum at the words, a faint flutter in your chest.

If you stopped to think about what was happening you would psych yourself out completely, so you lean back further, arching yourself forward as you slide two fingers inside yourself. "I don’t mind playing," you moan, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before locking back onto Joel’s.

Joel's breath catches in his throat, his hand faltering for a moment as he watches you sink your fingers deeper into your wet cunt, the soft squelch paired with your innocent sounds.

He scowls as he squeezes his shaft, “Christ, girl,” He grunts, “Tryin’ to kill me, aren’t you?”

You shake your head impishly, “Temptin’ you,” You admit, “Is it working?”

“You know damn well,” Joel says tensely, forcing the words through his teeth as his fingers slide up and squeeze at the head of his cock, precum slick against his fingers as he uses it to add to the friction, his eyes roaming hungrily over your body, “fuckin’ look at you, so goddamn eager.”

“That right, daddy?” You ask breathily, giggling with the word as Joel looks like he could explode, his other hand cupping his balls to keep him busy, knowing if he lingered with his thoughts for too long he’d fuck you into the chair without an ire of hesitation, his eyes close as his head leans back.

“Is that what you need? Someone carin’ for you?” He asks, “Is that why you’re actin’ out?”

The way his hand moves against his cock is mesmerizing, the flex of his wrist as he jerks his cock in a practiced manner, something he undoubtedly does weekly, squeezing his sack gently in his hand as his chest rumbles quietly.

“Eyes up, sweetheart,” He chastises, “I’m askin’ you a question, answer it.”

You nod weakly, a frown forming on your face as you whimper, the softest graze of your fingertip over your clit as your body spasms, gasping at the feeling.

“Words, ‘hon,” He encourages, his own voice wavering slightly.

“Y—yes,” You answer quickly.

Joel chuckles deeply, “S’good. Good girl, sweetheart. You wanna spread those legs for daddy then?” 

Obediently, they do, presenting your glistening cunt to him as you fingers slip out, wet with slick and Joel licks at his bottom lip, mouth watering at the sight.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” He murmurs endearingly, a slight smirk stretching across his face at the sight, “—won’t even touch you and you’re mess, been like that since you got in my car, huh?”

You nod weakly, sighing as your fingers circle lazily over your clit.

“Taste ‘em,” He encourages, “clean ‘em up.”

Your fingers, he means.

Like some magnetic pull, you find your fingers pressing against your tongue without thinking and the tangy sweetness melts against your tongue, his breath shuddering as you licked your fingers clean, cunt pulsing with need, silently pleading for Joel.

His eyes narrow, darkening with lust as his hand speeds up around his cock, obscene sounds matching his heady words, neck straining as he grunts, “That’s it, sweetheart. Listenin’ to your daddy—M’fuck—fuckin’ close.”

Through your bleary haze, you nod with the same sentiment, speaking softly, “Metoometoo—”

His movements are more fumbling, quick and furious jerks of his cock that still at the head as he squeezes, his face scrunching up in a mix of frustration and desperation, trying harder than he’s ever had to not shoot his load too soon.

“Yeah? Show me,” He encourages, goading as his unoccupied hand twists into his shirt and hastily pulls it up and over his head, “Spread your legs for me, baby.”

They spread impossibly wider, your hand reaching behind your head to grip onto the chair as your ass slips near the edge, circling your fingers over your clit without much precision, knowing that one more word from his mouth and you’d be drooling all over the seat.

“So fuckin’ desperate, look at you,” He demeans, “Poor little girl with daddy issues, huh?”

You moan shakily, avoidant of his obviously goading question, eyes fluttering closed as your orgasm crept in slow, mumbling out the words without even thinking, “Please—please can I—daddy, can I—”

“S’alright, we’ll fix that,” Joel comments softly, his voice a low growl, “Go on, sweetheart, come for me.”

The feeling is instant, his permission all you need to melt over the edge, legs shaking through the mind-numbing sensation your climax brings, chest tightening as you gasp, fingers working frantically over your clit as Joel’s name slips from your mouth.

Distantly, you hear him groan, his orgasm overtaking him at the sight of you writhing in your chair, spilling over his tight fist as thick, milky ropes of cum spread across his chest and down the underside of his cock, his eyes falling shut. 

As your breathing slows, your thighs pull together, shrinking impossibly small into the chair in a sudden overwhelming feeling of shame. Shame that you had shared an intimate moment like this with a man you barely knew all because you had a terrible night and shame over how easily he had made you come, like it was natural.

Despite the obvious, Joel doesn’t miss a beat.

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face and he beckons you forward. Finally.

“On your knees, sweetheart,” He instructs as your body moves without much protest, sliding to the floor as your dress pools at your hips, not amiss to the way Joel’s eyes follow the subtle bounce of your breasts as you move between his spread legs, his erection flagging but your tongue peeks out eagerly, licking at the head of his cock as your hands curls around his calves for support, “S’not—hey,” He hisses, “you were listenin’ so good until now.”

He’s salty and sweet, a taste so inviting that you needed more. It made your mouth water, tongue swiping against your bottom lip as your eyes fell on the opaque liquid covering his stomach.

Unfortunately, he still wouldn’t touch you.

He runs a hand through his hair while the other rests against the table, balled into a fist as you shake your head shyly, removing your hands from his legs.

“Sor—sorry,” You stutter, uncertainty evident in your voice.

Joel’s eyebrows raise, an unspoken bond quickly forming between you both.

“Try again.

“M’sorry, daddy—what can—,” You gulp audibly, fidgeting nervously with the silk fabric at your waist, “how can I make it up to you?”

Joel glances down at his stomach, still covered in cum as he breathes, watching the liquid drop down his skin and to his softening cock, still intimidatingly large even as it rests against his thigh, “Why don’t you clean me up? Can you do that?”

You nod eagerly, darting forward immediately as your tongue glided along his skin, into the small patch of hair above his groin and to his belly button, hearing Joel groan as the chair creaks with his shifting weight, struggling against his own forced restraint as you lick the cooled cum off his skin, eyes flicking up to look at him, dangerously innocent.

A facade, he knows. But, he’s in fucking trouble.

“That’s it,” Joel coos, “Clean me up good, baby.”

You giggle softly, dragging the tip of your tongue along the last bit of his cum before you drag up the center, barely reaching his face before you pull away, a soft huff of breath hitting you in the face as Joel shakes his head and chuckles, looking away from you briefly.

“Still not gonna touch me?” You tease him, quietly pulling your dress back up your body and over your shoulders, fingers adjusting the strap as he turns back to look at you.

“I’m tryin’ to be respectful here, sweetheart. And you’re makin’ it damn near impossible.”

Your brow furrows in a mix of confusion and amusement, “Respectful? You call that respectful, Joel? Oh—” You clear your throat and pull your bottom lip between your teeth, batting your lashes, “M’sorry, I mean, daddy.”

“Careful,” Joel warns, “You still have an hour in the car with me in the morning.”

You nod, slowly rising to your feet as you adjust your dress down your body, smoothing it out over your curves as your hands rest naturally behind your back, loosely as they curl together.

“Mmm, no,” You retort, a playful glint in your eyes, “I think you should be worried about me.”

“Is that right, sweetheart?” He mocks, hardly believing your faux confidence against him.

“Or, you could just let me drive?” You attempt playfully, a full belly chuckle erupting from Joel.

“I mean,” Joel shrugs, his voice trailing.

Breaking his rule for a moment, the hand ruffling through his hair trails toward your thigh, curling around the bare skin for a brief moment, sliding up until his fingers grazed against the curve of your ass and your bare pussy underneath, your panties resting near his fist on the table, a keepsake.

“Gotta reward my good girl, don’t I?”

[dilf-docs]

Hand To Heart (I'm Gonna Stay Faithful)

bfd!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: a pregnancy scare makes you realize just how deep you are in this.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., pregnancy scare, fingering (WE GET IT U LIKE IT), bit of praise kink, humilliation kink, breeding kink (they're stupid and insane acc), dacryphilia, sex thru the looking glass (there's a mirror in reader's dorm), ANGST in capital, they're starting to catch the feels™ ur honor, hurt/comfort, plot thiccens, this people are clearly NOT in a good headspace btw idk we listen read and don't judge.

word count: 4,757 words

side note: everyone calling this joel nasty but thirsting after him too? was going to hold a trial over my citizens but yk... what the hell, sure! i too want nasty bfd!joel to ruin me: he can be my baby daddy who doesn't pay for child support of our 4 kids and we'd make way to bed for our 5th LET'S GO also spam time! but i also happen to write in wattpad, and got a pedro pascal social media fic going on :) it's on spanish tho, but if u speak the language and would like to tune in, u can read it here

part: prev | masterlist | next

It's a regular Tuesday when his phone rings at ten in the morning.

"Dad"

Joel gets up from his desk in a brash move, immediately picking up his daughter's worried tone. Tommy bursts inside, telling him to calm down, but all Joel can hear is the anxious beat in his chest.

"What's it, babygirl? You okay?" his throat tightens. "Talk to me"

There's silence before she answers, as if she's unsure to continue.

"It's not me" he feels his muscles relaxing, but then Sarah drops the bomb. "It's y/n"

Joel's heart beats with a different type of worry.

"What's wrong with her?" voice firm but emotionless.

It's almost summer again, and he's still seeing you. In a way, you had carved a space for yourself in his cold heart, so naturally, fear settles in. He'd never admit this things out loud, though.

"I don't know, dad" his daughter starts to rush the words out, panic evident on her voice. "She has locked herself in the bathroom and won't stop crying. I-I didn't know who else to call"

"Don't worry" but it sounds like he's trying to convince himself. "M' comin'. S'anyone else in there?"

There's a pause on the line before she answers.

"No"

He thinks of you. He'd seen you cry before, of course, but it'd been over silly childish stuff, like getting sent to bed early or not getting what you wanted for Christmas.

He thinks of you. Images of your pretty face, etched in pain, make his stomach drop. It isn't fair: your face was one destined to be happy for eternity, your smile so contagious Joel would sometimes find himself surrendering to your juvenile joy, his crow feet a little more notorious since you entered his life and carved your space on it by force; a light in the dark.

He just couldn't bear to see a mirror of his dullness on your face. It wasn't right.

"Stay put. I'll be there"

He tries not to think about your eyes drained of life. He tries not to think he's the cause. And then, he hangs.

As soon as Joel enters your dorm, your perfume is up his nostrils, providing him with a sense of relief he didn't know he needed. It was comforting and familiar, words that used to be hollow now carrying a knowing feeling that stung right on his chest.

"Dad" Sarah calls out, going for a hug. Joel embraces his daughter tightly while caressing her hair. "I'm so glad that you're here. I didn't know what to do"

"Breath in, babygirl. S'alright" he looks at your door, closed. Broken sobs can be heard, and his wounded heart feels like a heavy burden on his chest.

"My class starts in ten" Sarah speaks against the fabric of his flannel, "but I just couldn't leave her like this"

His daughter has a good heart. At least one of them did, anyway.

"Go to your class" he's commanding before he can fully process what he said.

Sarah breaks the hug, looking at him with a look he can't quite place.

"What? But, dad-" she tries to protest, concerned for your wellbeing.

"I'll take care of it. Always do, haven't I?" he sees her hesitation, and afraid of where her doubts would take her, Joel adds a small joke in there. "Y'know those classes ain't free, kid. Go ahead"

"Okay" she gives up. "Just... tell me if anything happens, yes?"

"F'course. Trust me"

"I trust you"

He still remembers when Sarah's kindergarten teacher handed him that drawing: Joel was wearing a cape, and she said his little girl had told everyone in class his dad was a superhero because there was nothing he couldn't do. That same admiration and faith is there in her eyes, even as the small naive kid slips from his fingers and turns into the woman that stands before him. He's not the devil, but the worst father in the world, and that is pretty much the same to him.

When Sarah is out of your dorm, he's trapped inside the small room with your heavy crying on the other side of the door. He looks at the small place, thinking about all the times he's sneaked inside during the night, hiding like a criminal as you wait for him behind the door full of scrapped stickers, ready to capture his lips with an eagerness that gnaws his chest.

Now it's just him and your sobs, his terrified reflection displayed in the mirror in front of your bed, mockingly staring back.

What are you doing? it questions, and Joel, always ready to answer, has suddenly lost the ability to speak.

Forcing himself out of such a pitiful state, he approaches the door, knocking softly.

"Sarah" your hoarse voice speaks up, and just then, he realizes how much he loves hearing your voice, no matter how it sounds. "Don't you have classes to go to? Leave me, please. I promise I'm good, I-"

Joel hears your distress, so he interrupts what looks like the start of a nervous rambling wreck. Huh, doesn't he know you so well?

"Sarah's gone" a beat, "It's me, Joel"

As if you wouldn't recognize that deep voice even if you were deaf.

There's silence before the door flings open, surprising Joel, who takes a step back, barely noticeable to the rest, but obvious to you, who has spent hours admiring him and all his small movements, he who you could draw by memory and built in your head as real as he who was standing before you, his eyes circling with a whirlwind of emotions you can't quite place, yet make your heart race.

Joel takes in the sight of you, deciding it's unfair how good you look, despite your disheveled hair, run mascara and red-rimmed eyes: you are still the prettiest sight he's ever seen, and now he doesn't know what scares him the most.

"You're wearing my shirt" he says out loud his latest discovery. It's all he manages to say: not an are you okay? nor an what's wrong?

No, Joel just happens to be very stupid(ly in love).

"Sarah didn't see me" you hug the fabric that makes your frame look smaller, or maybe it's your tired composture that makes it seem that way, avoiding Joel from enjoying the way his shirt looks on you. "If that's what you wanted to know. Been inside there for hours, already was when she came by"

The fact that you rather explain and assure him of his supposed possible worries instead of sharing your own, makes his stomach tie on a knot. Were you too kind or perhaps selfless? Maybe just stupid(ly in love).

Joel grunts, and you're not sure if it's his way of dissmissing your comment (maybe he thinks you're lying), chastising you in a shallow manner or the fact that you're poorly trying to avoid the elephant in the room. Maybe he thinks you're still a foolish careless child who can't comprehend the weight of whatever it is you're doing by being with your bestfriend's dad behind everyone's back.

"Tell me" he gets closer to you, fingers on your cheeks, but they don't dig the skin, instead, his roughness hiding a surprising tenderness to them. "What happened, y/n?"

The rawness in his voice takes you by surprise. Joel Miller, who seemed a man impossible to waver, now stood before you, wrapped in a gloom that left you at loss for words, something akin to hope planting it's seed on your heart.

"Tell me" he demands, yet his pupils move as unsteady as your heart. There's no power for command in his voice, only what you could allude to helplessness.

Was it because you were putting up walls like he did?

Was it because the consequences of being with you are starting to dawn upon him?

Whatever it is, you don't like it.

"What's wrong?" he's pushing for an answer softly, such a contrasting image to that of him in bed. "Please, talk to me"

Please.

The words slip past his trembling lips, defenses crumbling.

Joel Miller hasn't pleaded since Sarah's mother packed her bags and walked out of their shared home. He promised himself he would never be vulnerable again, never at the feet of a loved one, beggin to be seen.

To be heard. To not be hurt. To be loved.

But here you were, red eyes blown wide at a confession spoken through other words.

Please.

Your chest feels heavy, breath constricted.

"Joel..." you utter his name like a prayer. As something to believe in; something to hold.

He rushes to your side, strong arms caging around you as your labored cries fill the tiny room.

"S'alright" he whispers against your ear, burying his face on your shaking shoulder. "M' right'ere, doll"

Your hold turns more desperate, practically clinging as if your life depended on it.

"Take your time, y/n" your name so soft, you feel like crying more. "I ain't goin' anywhere"

"Promise me" you whimper, holding tightly.

"I won't go" he assures. There it is, the same unwavering strength you know. It's for you, he thinks.

"Joel" you call out again, tone terrified. "I think I'm pregnant"

It takes him at least a minute to speak. Even to breathe.

"...What?"

He feels your erratic pulse against his chest.

"Joel. Look at me"

He doesn't feel your heartbeat anymore. Just then he realizes he's backed down, embrace letting go of yours. Joel takes in your eyes, shimmering with new tears and fears.

"Joel?"

"I'm here" his voice sounds like it belongs to someone else, and the reminder like it's for himself.

"I know" your small voice speaks up, "but, just- please, look at me"

Joel holds your gaze, and it's like your air supply as been cut.

You don't want this.

"Are you sure?" Joel asks cautiously, as if you were a small animal he's afraid to scare.

"No" you breath in. "I bought the test, but I couldn't take it... I was, for the very first time in my life, scared. But there's always a first, isn't it? That's when Sarah found me"

There's always a first. You weren't afraid when he pounced you next to his sleeping daughter, neither when you didn't stop coming and he let you in everytime, and absolutely not when he obscenely ate you out while Sarah was on the phone. No, you were brave―brave enough to stand defiant when his conflicting gaze pierced through you, daring you to be the first to leave this mess and forget about him. But you were brave because you stayed, despite it all.

That had to mean something, right?

"You said you wouldn't leave me" it comes out in a shaky breath; a threat. Your voice seethes with a quiet rage. "You promised, Joel"

Like the word promise was a dagger twisting on his insides, not a sacred oath.

So he forces himself to be that hero Sarah still thinks he is. After all, he promised her he's going to solve this, didn't he?

"I did" he runs a hand through his hair. "Got the test with you?" You slowly nod. "Take it, then. I'll wait here"

You don't move from your spot, chest still moving uneven under your labored breaths.

"When you come out, I'll promise I'll still be here"

He can't promise you more. The world? It's what you deserve but not what he can give; Joel can only give so much.

"Okay" your tone is clipped, and that's all you say before entering the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

The room feels smaller than it is, the small plastic stick feeling heavier in your fingers than it actually is. You hear the clock's tick, Joel's frantic pace and your own irrational beat. It feels like a bomb: ready to explode and destroy everything within it's range.

Time drags like a cigarette, walls closing over your shaking pale frame. Your phone has a timer going on, yet for some reason, it feels an end to your beginning. You hug your body, wishing it was Joel's arms doing so.

But you saw it: fear, hesitation. It was on his eyes, auburn cracking like wood under fire. He was weak, and so were you. All of this... it starts to loose it's meaning. What started as a summer fling now falls upon you like a second skin you can't quite wash off, and it's suffocating as much as the enclosed space where a stupid line could change the rest of your life forever.

Joel outside isn't doing much better. He's aware his walking probably set you on edge, so now he's sat at the small bed that dips under his weight. He takes one deep breath, two―then looses count.

How could he be so careless? For a brief moment, why did he let himself believe it could be?

For God's sake: you were his daughter's friend. He had seen you and Sarah play on his house, laughing on his porch, gossiping on her bedroom. Growing up.

He wanted you, a desire so consuming it sometimes kept him up at night, thoughts confusing with something else. Probably fear, probably acceptance.

Joel is aware you changed his life. You, with your wild spirit and obnoxious laugh. You whom he couldn't tear his gaze away when standing in the same room, a magnetic force making the world around you drawn to you and that dangerous allure you had that made it impossible to resist you. To forget you. To leave without you.

He feels dirty. A monster. A wolf with an insatiable hunger, sinking his canine teeth on your soft flesh. He'd drink your blood, to always keep a part of you with him; to be one. Like a lamb sent to the slaughter: but you wanted it. You had placed your head inside his jaw; trusting. As if knowing he could devour you, yet he'd never hurt you. Daring, almost.

Show me you can love me. Take a bite. Take me as yours. Mark me. Ruin me for anyone else. My blood, it belongs to you. This isn't a sacrifice―this is love.

When you exit the bathroom, hand holding the pregnancy test, it's all clear to him.

For a moment even, Joel forgets there's a world outside and sees a small baby: they have your smile, your eyes―and nothing of him, because you're the sun of his moon, the light of his darkness, and that baby is a mirror of you and your beauty. You and your warmth, devoid of his cold and far from where his filth can taint it. They have to look like you, because you are the most beautiful person in the world, and suddenly, the idea one more of you is possible, makes it feel like just you isn't enough.

"It's negative"

For the second time in the day, Joel is rendered speechless. His gaze is trained on the floor, lost in thought. Besides his lack of an answer, whatever he's thinking makes you nervous.

"Joel, are you okay?" you call out.

He swallows the lump on his throat, pose akward before he moves next to your bed.

"M' fine, baby. C'mere" he sits over it again, motioning with his hand the empty spot next to him. Joel's embrace is warm, like it shields you from the cold harsh truth.

"Are you upset?" you ask over the comfortable silence, the underlying tension stretching like a rubber band.

"No" his answer comes quick, "but I won't lie to ya', doll. Thought for a sec and ol' man like me could give a pretty girl like yourself a baby as beautiful as their mamma"

A treacherous pink dusts your cheeks. Had you lost all your common sense? Seconds ago, your life hung by a fragile thread, and now all your body can think is to go for the same risk again. Fuck it.

"Did you? I thought you were too busy freaking out"

Joel lets out a nervous laugh. "M' a busy man, doll. Learned how to do two things at once"

A fire settles in your stomach when his touch lingers over your soft flat belly, longing.

"Hmm, I see" your fingers move from his hold to his collarbone, as they play with the buttons he hasn't wore.

"Y/n" he warns. You stop for a moment, not because you're unsure, but because when you look up, his eyes don't shine with that glint of danger and hunger that gives you the thrills. Instead, they look at you with a fondness he doesn't seem to even realize―the one that gives you the hope of it all.

"I want this" you speak up, voice confident.

"I don't think that's a good idea, doll. What'ya need is-"

"You" your face gets close to his, cutting his words and breath. Joel's adam's apple bobs, your throbbing pussy going through a Pavlovian response, such action an indicator he's surrendered to you, mouth watering at just the thought. "You said you could do two things at the same time, right? The comfort me in the only way you know"

There's hesitation on his eyes, and while you think it's because he's still hung up on the idea this isn't what you need, Joel's mind is stuck in the fact you think he can just warm your bed but no your heart. It's stupid, indeed. It can't affect him that much. Ashamed, he cuts the space hanging between your lips and traps them in a heated kiss.

"Hmh, Joel" your voice barely audible as Joel's fingers grip on your hair, his sleazy tongue sliding it's way into your mouth until you can feel it in your teeth. "Please..."

He chuckles at your neediness. "Please, what?"

"Please" you whimper, feeling your back heat with droplets of sweat under Joel's shirt, the sticky feeling akin to that starting to pool in between your thighs. "Please, make me feel good"

Joel smiles adoringly, moving your body until your legs are up his shoulders. Sure, his knees covered by his dirty worn-out jeans are ruining your fresh laundry, and his joints may crack here and there, but you don't pay mind to this little things: all you care is how he's kissing your bare thighs, his salt and pepper stubble tickling skin that feels more sensitive than ever; burning almost.

"Gon' touch 'tis pretty pussy 'til you forget y'r name, doll" he breathes out. "Will ya' let me?"

You nod eagerly as he helps you get out of your panties, throwing them somewhere around the room. You smack his arm playfully at his rough manners, but then he's pressing his lips with wet ticklish kisses on your legs and laughter bubbles at the tingles it's causing.

"S-stop, Joel!" you beg, legs shaking. Your giggles are contagious, and soon the foreign feeling lifts the corners of his scowl into a smile, a concept becoming more familiar with time.

"I ain't stopping" his fingers then graze your clit, tauntingly. You whine, as Joel doesn't let up on your clit, his calloused digits coated in your arousal. "'Tis what you asked for, baby. So 'm gonna make you feel good. So good until you can't speak nothin' that ain't my name"

The threat feels like a delicious promise, so you tell him you'll behave.

"I wanna try somethin', doll. Wait" you whine at the loss of his fingers inside of you, and then he's moving your body until he's against the wall and you're on the border of the bed. With your eyes, you follow his line of view. "So needy, ain't ya'? Cockhungry slut. Jus' scared the shit out of me and now you want me inside?" he tsks. "Sick fella"

"Joel..." you breath out, desire pooling into your orbs.

"Wanna see you, doll" you see your reflection in the mirror as Joel lowers his head to whisper on your ear, eliciting goosebumps on your skin. "Want you to see yourself, too. How you'll be beggin' for me"

His middle and ring finger dip between your folds as he continues the minstrations, fingers pumping in and out as they graze your moist cunt. They start to go in circles, and even if it's not exactly next to your bed, you can see the mirror begin to fog, whines condensed in the heavy air.

His shirt clings uncomfortably to your body, but you don't care. In a way, he feels even closer to you, as if he was an extension of yourself.

Joel's body radiates heat on it's own, making the room's temperature skyrocket.

You lean your head back onto the mattress, moaning.

"Need ya' to use that pretty mouth of y'rs, doll. Say it" his fingers linger on the dip of your hips, waiting for an answer with a smirk and daring manner. "Say what ya' want; that's if you can"

It takes you a while to speak up, the slippery sound of Joel's coated fingers the only sound to be heard on your dorm.

"I... I need" you whine through labored pants, "I need you, Joel"

I need you, Joel. It's in the heat of the moment, really, yet on that very instant, he makes a silent vow that hangs unspoken in the air.

"Good girl" he bites your earlobe, making a chill run down your spine.

His fingers fuck into you just how you like it: swirling to explore your inner tight walls.

"Fuck. Love how your pussy takes me, doll. 'S mine, isn't it? Say it, say who this pussy belongs to. Who's the only man allowed to have it"

You close your eyes, but the answer comes clear. "You, Joel. Just you"

You whine, feeling him go harder in a new-found confidence. Your nails dig on his biceps, but he doesn't flich, still busy burying his fingers inside your clit as his mouth continues spilling filthy shit you barely can comprehend, mind starting to go numb.

Normally, Joel would make you cum on his fingers, always making sure to lick it after, claiming it was bad manners to leave to waste. But today, the clock ticking in your wall, he knows he must hurry.

"Eager, eh?" you taunt back, seeing how quickly he's pulling down his underwear, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance.

Your dripping cunt welcomes his cock, tip teasing your entrance.

"Don't" he seethes.

"Don't?" you laugh. "Don't what, laugh?"

His fingers grab your jaw tightly, forcing you to look behind you.

"Don't stop lookin', doll"

Joel slips the tip of his cock into you, his hands grabbing your waist to steady you. He looks at you through the mirror, seeing your dazed eyes, waiting as you bite your lip.

"That's it, good girl" he praises, purring against your ear. You see his face go down and lick the side of your neck before sinking his teeth in it. "Gonna reward you for'at"

Your mouth falls agape when he fully pushes his cock inside of you, burying himself to the limit in the first thrust. You moan, stretch wet pussy trying to adjust to his girth. He groans, his hips moving back and forth with yours, to meet his thrusts.

"R-right there" you whimper, feeling eyes starting to water. It had been a long day, and with his cock buried deep inside you, you can't think of anything else: just him―like this, for the rest of your life; you don't need more. "Fuck, don't stop"

His thumb rubs across your cheekbone, capturing a tear that had slipped past your foggy mind in a brittle moment of vulnerability, brown eyes flickering with something else. It could be.

We could be.

"Fuck, you cryin' over this cock, doll? What'a fuckin' slut" he laughs incredulously, but there's a hidden fondness to it. "S' that how good 'm makin' you feel?"

You can only moan, his dick harder now, his infatuation with your fucked-out state evident in the way his movements become more hectic.

"Can't even speak? What'a dirty minx inside 'tis sexy little body"

"Mhm" you blabber, tears running hot down your cheeks, landing on the mattress in fat droplets, noticeable through the reflection even. Joel stares back at your puffy eyes, devotion pouring at your glossy gaze, coated in a faint red tint, more pronounced from your earlier cries. Fuck. Never did he think your lambent eyes and sniffle sounds could turn him on this much. Something about him being the cause of it has his head spinning.

"New rule" he growls, "you keep those pretty red eyes lookin' at me when you cum"

You whimper at his words, the powerful aura they carry pushing your orgasm closer to the edge. You feel your tight folds clenching around his cock, hands holding to his back while your nails dig in it. You feel yourself approaching your release, multiple tears escaping down your cheekbone. In an obscene gesture, it isn't his thumb but his tongue what removes the wet stream from your body, feeling the salty drops on his tastebuds.

You were already so worked up, it was a matter of seconds before you could cum at any moment. Your walls clench around his length, and before you can process, Joel pulls your body up, caging your tits until they're pressed against his soft chest. You face the white paint of your wall, and Joel can see your back in the mirror as he's still buried inside of you. You gasp at the change in position, all of the sudden, a painfull delicious sensation flooding your senses.

"You're gonna cum, aren't ya', doll?" Joel's asking, hot breath nestled in your neck.

"Hmh" you barely manage to blurt as he fucks into you harder, your arms clutching onto him. You were being so loud now that you were sure you'd get at least one noise complain, hoping it stays there; if they found out not only had you been fucking, but with a fourty year old man who happpened to be the father of your bestfriend, you'd probably get expelled. "So close..."

"You know?" he whispers, voice fragile over the sound of your pants and worked up breaths. "I was scared, ealier. M' sorry you had to see that" your body trembles, making you close your eyes. "But I need ya' to know, for'a moment, I did think about having a kid with you"

Your forehead drips with sweat, mixing with the sodium of your tears.

"Maybe in 'nother life, huh?"

Your heart feels like it's about to burst when he sloppily kisses you, as to prevent any words come out of your mouth―humilliating or full of regret, avoiding the heart ache of a rejection. Joel, for a moment, lets his heart wander off to territories he shouldn't, thinking of things he should leave to be. Joel digs his hole deeper, but he doesn't care: he just wants to be the best grave in your cementery.

"Maybe" you answer, but it sounds like a possibility, the promise of a foolish mind betraying the guarded hidden hope.

"Fuck, Joel" you bury your face against his soft pecs, your orgasm crashing over you. Your whine comes our rather loud, trying to drown the sound against his body. He doesn't stop holding you on his arms, firm; you'd probably fallen if he didn't.

"Wait for me, doll. 'M close"

"Please" you plead, kissing his jaw. "Need you. Want to feel you, Joel"

Not daddy, but his name. I want you. I need you. Want to feel you; for you to fill me. He groans, rhythm sloppy as he crashes his lips into yours. he should stop, especially after today's events, but God, his traitorous head is filled with images of you, belly round with his child, one carved to be the spitting image of you.

Do it.

You moan inside his mouth when you feel him finish inside of you, thick, your fingers running through his dark greying hair damp with sweat.

"M' right here" he says his words from earlier, and you feel yourself hugging him to keep his body next to yours even as he pulls out.

"I know" you hum, arms around his neck. "Thank you for coming"

"What of both?"

You let out a laugh.

"Jesus, Joel" but your tone is devoid of malice, adquiring that layer to it, just like his own. There's a shift in the air, and if you felt it before, now you know there's no point of return. "You sure are something else"

dts: @ann-gell; angél de mi corazón, tkm mucho, gracias por llegar a mi vida, ah.

[midnite-c6]

thangyu with piercings….

HOOHHHH YEHAHECBTIEOWOSND FKRIORNEBWHRUF Ok yes!!! thanos already has an ear piercing so. that man has IT already pierced I SWEAR. havent posted a thanos namgyu threesome in awhile, here. 💓

|| nam-gyu tongue piercing & thanos dick piercing is real <3 || warnings: 18+, sex, fwb w/ nam-gyu & thanos, threesome

ˆつ⁠｡⁠☆ best friends with nam-gyu and su-bong since forever, you know all about their lil' secrets, debts, hookups, ambitions, favourites and whatnot. but now you know for sure their favourite thing to do is to fuck their lil' bestie dumb!

nsfw below!!-> ⊂⁠(⁠•⁠‿⁠•⁠⊂⁠ ⁠)

"fucking hell, man. how long have we planned this?" su-bong sighed as he takes another hit off his vape. the smell of sweet vanila filling the air. you'd let out a soft groan from the warm smoke you felt in-between your thighs, nam-gyu, specially in-between them, blows a smoke cloud right onto your exposed cunt, "been wanting to fuck her since that one party." even if he was still quite far, every chuckle he does makes you shiver, the vibrations affecting you. nam-gyu shrugs, "seein' it now makes me want to do it all the time."

"d-do somethin' i feel so vulnerable in this position!" the two would laugh over you, but you were right. you were stripped naked, laying right infront of them while they smoke and stare right into you. you wouldn't be in this position if they hadn't practiced in conducting a strip poker where you would specifically lose!

su-bong would pat your head. "hmmmm, so eager to get fucked, huh? you want this more than us i bet." he was so annoying, but you were a good sport, always, whenever you lose, you'd do exactly what the punishment says. you could feel nam-gyu's breath hovering right about your cunt, its been a few minutes since they've been staring so yeah. you're eager for any sense of touch. he snickers, "your pussy clenched over nothing." he could see that?? you were more sensitive than you thought..

seems like nam-gyu was an angel, nudging the tip of his nose against your clit as he kisses the lips of your pussy, the sound you were about to make was muffled from su-bong's lips that tasted exactly like vanilla. "dude. c'mon, let me hear her." nam-gyu groans against you. su-bong rolls his eyes, "you get all the fun?" nam-gyu hummed, "finders keepers, plus, i want her to rate the sweet recommendation she gave me." the tip of his tongue taking a swift lick against your clit, the wet and cold metal ball contrasting from his warm tongue. "haah-! fuck!" oh. you forgot about that. why did you give him the approval of getting that piercing? you were even there with him when he got it! saying it'll pleasure the women he'll meet ten times more, he really took the advice, and it seems you've proved yourself right.

the flicks of his tongue gradually move faster, the hard metal piercing felt unfamiliar to your clit, you'd arch your back, not being able to keep still. "shitshitshit- slow, slow down!" boosting nam-gyu's ego to an all time high. though su-bong really seemed like he felt left out, "jeez, he's just lickin' your pussy, nothin' special sweetheart." he leans in to say, clearly nam-gyu heard, bring his two fingers to be shoved right inside your cunt. knuckles deep. why were they so competetive to eachother? you'd always scold su-bong for being such a sore loser to nam-gyu, but this was a different competition than any of the other games the three of you played. plus, you couldn't scold him now, too busy moaning nam-gyu's name out like a mantra.

"ugh, he doesn't deserve all that," su-bong, the man with no attention span, pushes nam-gyu away from your pussy, "you fucking jerk-" to immediately line his dick against your throbbing hole, that was slightly stretched from nam-gyu's fingers, "thanks for the prep, bro." but it still couldn't have prepared you into taking his dick. he was pierced down there?! "su-bong! gentle pleas-" he was and will never be described the word: "gentle". he pushes his dick all in one go, fully inside, his pelvis hitting yours. you'd let out a pained moan, it hurt so bad, and the pierced metal added more length to his already big dick. he didn't need allat. "that's it. daaamn. been dreaming of this pussy since college, shit." he groans out. starting to build a fast pace against your cunt. "mph- thought you were choosing not to talk about your sex life, now i can confirm you're still a virgin." didn't take any effort for him to stretch you out though.. "tight as fuck."

you weren't! your past boyfriends were just small-dicked. not your fault you're still tight! you couldn't say that tho, too busy moaning. :/

nam-gyu was annoyed, obviously, but he was used to su-bong's tactics, "just take it, yea?" he says, pulling out his dick right infront of your face as he jacks himself off, the tip touching your lips, but not pushing past it. to him, rubbing his pre-cum to mess up your pretty face was like art, a pretty painting.

shit, this is so embarassing, "fold your thighs, pleaaaseee.?" su-bong 'begs' like it wasn't an order. he particularly thrusts harder. "c'mon do it, it's not hard, woman." you do as he says, your hands hooking to the back of your knees so you were in a full on mating press. "ah.. good girl, you've always been a good friend." the position only helped him to be deeper and deeper. </3 the spongy spot inside you, getting absolutely fucked dumb, especially because of that stupid piercing on su-bong's dick, it's fucking you mindless. he slaps your thigh, "mmm, you're losin' consciousness, babe, don't want ya' sleeping from this performance."

now you're sure this is gonna replace game night, and maybe every other hangout, maybe every other night, ..no, actually, not other, maybe every night. i mean this new game seems fun, what kind of bestfriend are you if not to join them?

nam-gyu is a smoker, thanos is a vaper. ily guys sm i swear there r still sum good asks in my inbox that i will do, i promise 🙏🏻

[bigfatbreak]

im gonna reserve thoughts on the new season of mlb, but i do have Fears plotwise that make me apprehensive to really take in so ill state it below

marinette's lie about hawkmoth is clearly going to be the big catalyst in this series/season/wtv but my big thing is, if its going to be written, it should have some level of nuance? she's a child who was trying to spare everyone's feelings when it came to a tragedy that was thrust upon her. the rest of us can be like "oh yeah well I just would've told adrien" but that would've been equally explosive, and she really thinks this way would essentially save adrien both from a worse grief than just losing his father and also the animosity of the public. there was no answer that didn't have major repercussions, essentially, and she was taking the path more likely to help adrien's state - after all, gabriel is already dead, but the anger of the public remains. who would they take out hawkmoth's fury onto? years of being a public menace and terrorist would likely be framed at Adrien

but i feel like what's gonna happen is lila is going to reveal her lie in a very big way, (because we're already seeing the narrative push the envelope and be a bit overbearing in how the public LOVES ladybug SO SO MUCH LOOK THE PUBLIC LOVES HERRR) essentially try to sway adrien to her side (since gabe had a big thing with lila and adrien, trying to make them like. two sides of a coin or smth) and Marinette is going to have to try and fix it all whilst everyone is telling her she's a terrible person for lying as though she doesn't already resent herself for lying in the first place, which may lead to her getting akumatized and becoming lila's tool, leaving alya and the gang to fix shit

that could be good, but the issue is, when it comes to marinette the series seems to like framing her choices as foolish or stupid when they could better be framed as tragic. my big worry is when everything blows up and everyone no doubt hates ladybug/marinette for telling a falsehood to the public, there's not going to be a facet of the narrative that focuses on the tragedy of the matter: that she was a child left with a choice and she tried to save everyone and fumbled it. instead everyone is going to say she was stupid with her foolish little love goggles on and that she's just sooo airheaded when it comes to adrien, and they're going to minimize the shit that happened to her as "marinette is dumb" rather than "marinette was put into an impossible situation and no part of it wasnt going to blow up on her"

she wasn't RIGHT for lying to the public, or to her friends, but she also wasn't WRONG to try and minimize the damage. and i don't think they're gonna touch on that latter part in a way that has any sense of respect for the character, coz man. the narrative loves blaming marinette for shit she DIDN'T do, so considering she HAS done something with big consequences, I can only imagine how they're going to beat her character against the wall

[cheyisagirlkisser]

fwb with vi but she's super possessive.. 18+ content. angry, rough sex<3

Imagining how Vi would fuck you if she were all angry and possessive. Watching you flirt with some random asshole who supplies community dick when you could be having her. Whatever, just wait till you get home. She would totally be waiting on the edge of your bed, jaw tense with the jealous feelings swirling around in her mind.

She'd have you laid in your own bed, on your stomach. Your cheek would be pressed into the bed, occasionally lifted when her hand gets a nice, rough grip on your hair and forces you to look back at the mess. You can't even see it, but your pussy is dripping, ass in the air as she stuffs you full of her fingers. You tremble, even let out soft, filthy cries into the bed. It's no use.

"V-Vi!! Fuck, I can't-" You feel one of her hands land on your ass cheek, though you can't tell which. The other hand is deep inside you, forcing pathetic squeals past your lips.

"Yes, you can. You're gonna take it, aren't you?" She huffs out, breathless from fucking you senseless.

You cry into the sheets, so turned on and so overwhelmed at the same time. Her fingers don't cease, three digits thrusting as if she'd die without this.

"Pussy's dripping all over these pretty sheets of yours." She laughs at the way you clench upon her words. "Tell me. Do you deserve to cum for me?" She asks, making sure you answer by pulling your hair. You gasp out weakly, feeling the tell-tale orgasm bubbling up in your pussy, walls fluttering around her touch.

"Please. I'll be good again, I promise." You plead, letting Vi take the sight of you in. Drool is trailing down your lips, and your cheeks are tear-stained.

Vi takes on a more gentle pace, but it's somehow even more intense. She seems to hit the sweet, vulnerable spot inside of you that is hidden beneath gummy walls. "Color?"

You swallow, trying to compose a proper thought while she fucks you. It proves to be almost impossible. "Green." You finally mumble out.

And then, the switch is flipped again. Vi goes back to the roughness, a hand groping and squeezing your ass like it belongs to her. You keep screaming and begging for more, telling her you're about to cum. You can't take it, feeling the knot in your lower abdomen nearly snap into halves. Suddenly, she stops.

You whimper at the loss of her fingers as they withdraw, quickly sitting up and looking back at her. She doesn't even lick her fingers clean, looking at you as if daring for you to argue. Instead, you pout a little and flop back onto the bed, laying down on your side. Even as your body is left unfulfilled and the soreness creeps into your legs, there is some odd sense of satisfaction. You like when she denies you, likes when she fucks you to your breaking point and doesn't actually let you shatter. Though, it'd be nice if she did.

"Maybe if you quit messing around, I'll let you cum next time." Vi lightly scolds, leaning in to kiss the top of your head before taking you into her arms. You smile despite the frustration. Maybe next time you get her riled up, she'll make you cum as payback. The thought is more of a comfort than a turn-on, though. You feel fine falling asleep in her arms, letting Vi have her good girl for now.

[ventique18]

It's rather interesting to look at the characters' preferred styles because you can infer a little bit of their personalities from them. I noticed that their first favorite, worth the most points, would usually be in-line with their outward personalities. But it's the second that interestingly says a part of them that others don't readily know.

For example, Silver's is basic and elegant. Basic is obvious, because he's a guy who yearns for nothing aside from protecting what he already has. The second one is a bit surprising. Elegant, which is probably the opposite of basic as its furnitures are usually gaudy and over-designed. But it makes sense-- because he's a prince of a fallen peoples.

Sebek and Lilia are also rather obvious. Lilia likes cute things! Sebek likes stylish things, which is usually the theme for more traditional furnitures and is a pattern common among the characters who are rather gentlemanly by nature. Malleus himself has stylish as his most favorite.

But Lilia and Sebek have something in common: unique. While yes they're both a bit weird just like the furniture within this category, it might actually convey something deeper than that. It's that both of them feel ostracized in their own homes. They at times feel like people who just don't belong, what with Lilia being the shamed general of a dead princess and Sebek being a half-blood mutt in a land full of purebloods.

It's their preferred style that isn't worth as much as the first one and maybe try to shake off, but even so is a part of them that stays with them wherever they go.

As for Malleus... What's more surprising is the theme that he doesn't like rather than the two that he likes. It's stated in-game that the Thorn Fairy is the height of elegance. Malleus himself frequently mentions elegance because it's something he strives to maintain every waking moment.

But he doesn't like Elegant things. Because unlike Vil who doesn't stray from his goal of becoming the most beautiful of them all, Malleus personally doesn't actually care to be elegant. It's just something expected of him; something he'd get scolded over for if he was caught lacking.

In a way, elegance is his prison.

So in its stead, he likes simplicity instead. Because in his heart, he just wants to fit in with others and not be constantly reminded that he's just different. He wants to make normal friends. He wants to live a normal life. He finds solace in Ramshackle dorm and its absolute simplicity in the most truest sense.

I'd write about the other boys but this'll become an entire research paper lmao. Try to look at your other faves' styles and come up with reasons why they like it! 👀

[rcmclachlan]

Reading the comments on this post and you know what? Tommy does have a podcast!

It's called Getting Rom-Commy with Tommy and he breaks down the history, plots, tropes, and cliches made famous by romantic comedies. He recorded the first episode—Tillie's Punctured Romance, the first feature film in the genre—in 2020 during the early days of the pandemic, and has since gained a small but loyal following who love his deep dives, quirky sense of humor, and the random breadcrumbs about his own life that he drops occasionally.

For three and a half years, he's posted an episode every other Thursday without fail, so it's the talk of r/romcommytommy when the promised episode about A New Leaf doesn't materialize. They worry about Tommy being sick or dead—or worse: growing bored with the subject matter—and flood his podcast inbox with well wishes and pleas to continue the series.

Finally, the episode goes up the following Thursday, and he prefaces it by apologizing for the delay. He had gotten tangled up in a work thing and had spent the previous week dealing with the fallout (i.e.: paperwork), but he's in high spirits because he isn't in federal prison and has reconnected with old friends. And made some new ones! Which has nothing to do with Walter Matthau's performance, which in Tommy's opinion is one of his best, and he jumps right into the movie and says no more about what kept him away.

After that, for months, the series takes on a different tone—more buoyant, almost bewilderingly cheerful—and it elevates what was already a great program to something that truly has a happy ending every time. More people start listening. The subreddit hits 10k members, and speculation about what's causing Tommy's audible joy runs rampant, with most agreeing it's because he has someone special in his life.

Then, the 103rd episode goes live. It's an unflinching look at the movie Blue Valentine, which is very much not a romantic comedy, and for the entire episode Tommy vacillates between sounding dead inside and on the verge of tears. "It's just another example of how even the most passionate relationship will erode over time," he murmurs. The episode ends without its usual jaunty outro.

It becomes clear over the next several weeks that something devastating has happened, because Tommy has ditched his beloved rom-coms for the most depressing movies ever made. The subject of the top trending post on the subreddit for a month is 'If I ever listen to the Closer episode again I will need the following: a gun.'

His listeners debate whether or not to jump ship, but the film analyses are still really good. Plus, it feels like abandoning a friend in their time of need.

I don't know if you will ever see this, Tommy, but I think I speak for everyone when I say: we love you, we're here for you, we're not going anywhere, but for the love of GOD please go to therapy, u/marshedmellowout comments on the post for the In The Mood For Love episode.

No one's quite sure if u/marshedmellowout got through to him, but it feels like a turning point when the subject of the next episode is Desert Hearts. Tommy spends almost half the episode runtime analyzing the film's hopeful ending, and even cracks a couple of jokes. While his voice doesn't have that incandescent happiness from before, it's much lighter.

The next few episodes continue that slow, upward trend, and the movies Tommy deconstructs go from having hopeful endings to happy ones. He's back to making terrible puns and laughing at his own jokes, and everyone on the subreddit breathes a collective sigh of relief. He's going to be okay.

None of his listeners are prepared for how he starts the 118th episode.

"You're all in for a treat today, because I'm joined by a very special guest. He's not a big fan of movies, usually, but he's got a mind made for analysis, so making him watch Groundhog Day was kind of a no-brainer. I've been dying to hear him pick this one apart. Evan, say hi."

The joy from all those months ago is clear and present in Tommy's voice, but it's tempered with something new: certainty.

"H-Hi, everyone," Evan says, bashful and a little giggly. "Sorry, I've never done something like this before."

"You literally had a walk-on role in the country's most watched TV show. 22 million people tuned in that night, and that's not including the streaming numbers."

"That was different! I had one line. Plus, I didn't care about making Brad look dumb."

"Brad didn't need your help with that," Tommy says, audibly besotted. "Evan, you can't possibly make me look dumb. They can't see me."

Groaning through laughter, Evan gasps, "Oh my god, I said you get five stupid jokes and you just wasted one. Better make the next four count."

"I'll do my best," Tommy says. "So, overall, what did you think of the movie?"

It's the most listened to episode of the entire podcast, and u/cadburybunnyeggs's post 'Evan needs to be a permanent host and here's why' makes the front page of Reddit.

(A year later, the Four Weddings and a Funeral episode, which goes live two days before Tommy and Evan get married, is nominated for a Webby Award. What happens afterwards in the subreddit breaks containment and winds up in the New York Times.)

[omagpies]

Recently saw your roleswap AU and I’m loving it! I have a few things I’m curious about:

1. So by my understanding Anya failed her flight certification 8 times and PE was cheap enough to be fine with that? Did she never pass? Makes sense, I’m just kinda clarifying lol

2. Does nurse!Curly also feel like he wants to try something different in his career like in canon? Did he also not have enough savings after PE went under? Did he go to nursing school or did he also fail his entrance exams?

3. What’s Daisuke’s story in this AU? Did his mom push him to go to trade school to become a mechanic? Did he do that on his own and his mom suggested working with PE?

4. It’s so interesting to me that Anya tried E-dating after getting back to earth and seemingly got rejected based on her appearance, poor girl :( but I’m kinda wondering about Curly’s perspective on this, did he have feelings for Anya while she was E-dating and just sucked it up for her?

5. I’m kinda curious about Curly and Anya’s relationship pre-crash, was it a little bit flirty like in canon? Did Anya try to approach Curly with what Jimmy was doing or was the blackmail powerful enough for her not to say a peep to anyone?

haha gonna answer all of these at once! but first here's something on 5 :)

she never passed the Official Legit certification but passed what counts for it in PE (so, certified only to fly PE vessels) and kind of sees it as her last chance to make it as a pilot. still hopes to get properly certified one day, working at PE to make the money for simulator hours and exam fees

curly actually went to a med school on a football scholarship but had to drop out about two or three years in because he started prioritising studies over practice and the money got pulled. used the money he had left to switch tracks and certify as a nurse. joined PE because space travel sounded fun but is pretty bored of it because he doesn't get to do much on a regular haul. he isn't quite as existential in this regard as canon curly because working in a people-oriented nurturing profession actually makes him feel useful, he just wishes he could be more useful ya kno? has enough savings to be able to rent a place and find a job at a hospital, so overall it all kinda works out for him if you don't count all the horrors

i think in this au daisuke's mother actually pushed him to intern as a mechanic a few years earlier than in canon, which is how he met swansea (pilot with engineering background) and got inspired enough to go into trade school. by the time the events of the au begin he is a certified mechanic though not with a lot of experience :"3

curly has had the biggest fattest crush on anya almost the entire time of knowing her (i feel like he kinda spawns in already in love with anya), so her E-dating phase is kinda rough on him (like, Very rough; mans full on wasting away from his heart getting broken in tiny ways a hundred times a day), but he is king of denying himself and putting others first so he does his best to be A Good And Supportive Roommate about it. he even tries to date other people too! but with not nearly as much gusto and it never goes far. he is too whipped

there was definitely Something. i'll expand on it a bit more in a later ask i got about captain anya, but the tldr is that she goes to great pains to Act Professional and curly is never in a million years going to confess anything. and then jimmy's arrival blows it all up and any kind of romance plummets down everyone's lists of priorities. and anya never tells curly anything -- this is her problem to deal with, and with him being jimmy's friend there is a tiny part of her that is afraid of not being believed even though she overall thinks he's a good guy :")

anya writes all kinds of things, but it's all fiction. she dabbles in poetry, but her two main points of focus in prose are a) long meandering stream of consciousness type of pieces that span generations and have very convoluted plots and interpersonal relations (think woolf's waves meets one hundred years of solitude), inspired largely by the time she had to lie there and do little more than drift in and out of delirium and think, and b) shameless smut that starts out as your run of the mill romance and suddenly changes genres halfway through (funny how life can just Change all at once huh). she never really gains a Massive audience but does have a considerable number of dedicated fans of both categories

(more roleswap au)

[astermagnolia]

DP x DC x Spiderman

THIS CAME TO ME IN A VISION WHILE I WAS MINDLESSLY WORKING AT MY JOB

Ok, recently I've been into the "Spiderman gets transported into Gotham" fics and suddenly I thought "Danny and Peter stuck in the same body while trying to survive Gotham"

(if you want to write this go ahead)

OK STICK WITH ME

Peter gets transported to Gotham after Dr. Strange does his spell but it (the spell not strange) takes things further and transports him to a new dimension with no Peter Parker. He ends up climbing out of a Lazarus pit, his body in absolute pain.

At the same time, Danny is fleeing his home dimension because *whatever you decide* and ends up flying into a portal and overshadowing a person that's, for some reason, in the portal (Lazarus pits are portals to the infinite realms). Because of the weird fuckery that is ectoplasm, Dannys ghost status, and the Lazarus pits, Danny and Peter end up sharing a body but neither realize it yet.

Peter passed out instantly while Danny is kinda out of it (and driving the body he thinks is his) and ends up wandering Gotham, finds some clothes, and finds an abandoned building to sleep in.

Peter wakes up thinking he did all this while on adrenaline and just shrugs it off. He wanders Gotham and then goes back to the building he woke up in, that's when Danny wakes thinking he overshadowed someone and freaks Peter out as well.

Both pass out in shock.

Danny was the one to wake up the next time they woke up and tries to go ghost but can't (something changes though). He tries his other abilities and those work. He goes to find his reflection and his face is different but has his familiar black hair and blue eyes. Peter wakes up and speaks to Danny on his head and now both freaking out again. They calm down and talk about what happened.

Peter says that's his face and body but with black hair and blue eyes. They try to switch which causes dizziness but Peter is in control now with brown hair and hazel-green eyes.

Basically: when Peter is in control of the body he looks like himself. When Danny is in control, the body has black hair and blue eyes. When Danny 'goes ghost' while in control then he gets his white hair and green eyes, but the body doesn't change.

I'd like to think they have to learn each other's abilities now. danny has to learn how to not stick to things (plus he gets to try how gravity actually affects him now) and how to deal with the spider sense.

Peter has to learn basically pages worth of abilities😭. He has to learn not to go through things, turn invisible, start floating, etc. Peter can't go ghost and when Danny passes out when he is in ghost mode, it just turns off but maybe during extremely stressful situations or life and death moments, Peter can go ghost, it doesn't last very long though.

Time for some silly shenanigans:

Danny runs into Jason for whatever, maybe he was robbing him (even funnier answer, Danny was stealing Jason's bike wheels) and Jason gets him food. Next time, Peter runs into Jason and Dick while Peter was dumpster diving for, idk, tech parts. Dick and Peter are talking while Jason is staring at Peter. Internally, Peter is freaking while Danny isn't helping.

Then Jason asks if he has a twin.

Danny is losing it, just laughing as Peter has to deal with this. But Peter-blurt out the first thing in your mind-Parker says "yes, we got separated and I'm looking for him while I'm staying at my uncle's apartment".

So now Peter has to come with a whole backstory and reason why they're separated and why he won't go to the police. ("Acab bitch" Danny says and Peter repeats without question. Jason this time loses it while dick pouts and peter is horrified by what he said)

Peter and Danny making up fake identities, families, and backstory.

i think it would really be funny if Danny is the ghost prince (waiting to be crowned after his death) so the Infinite realms are up in arms about their beloved prince being missing and his last known signature/location is the dc universe. so now JLD is scrambling to find him and all the while he is just chilling in someone's head.

some fun/interesting arguments: the way they view death. peter is a very "do not kill" guy, basically his ideals align with batman (maybe. I'm not extremely knowledgeable in spiderman lore) and Danny-being a ghost/the ghost king-has different views. i think he's still a "try to save everyone" type of guy but has exceptions.

maybe they share dreams which leads to horrifying nightmares.

another fun thing: they're both inventors so they can look at a microwave and just break it apart to build something new.

another point: Danny's weirdness as a ghost

Peter: did you just stick something in our body??? i cant feel it??

Danny: oh yeah. i do that sometimes. im pretty sure i stuck our phone in out chest.

Peter: Get it out?!??

anyways, this is all i got. yall can take this and run with it. add onto it or remove something. this is brought to you by- peter gets flung into Gotham and that one fic where Danny and young Jason kind of merge so Jason is Danny's ghost half

[rifari2037]

Are you sure you want Zuko to build a statue for Katara? Because, if that happen in canon, the whole fandom would be uproar, not only pro-zutara but also antis!

But, here the things why Zuko build a statue for Aang, but not for Katara...

First, Aang is the avatar and Zuko honour him highly. Also, he and Aang together build Republic City. So, Zuko commissioned a statue for Aang makes perfect sense.

But since Zuko and Katara only ended up as friends, what makes Zuko have to make sure Katara has a statue? Moreover, after becoming the Avatar's wife, Katara doesn't have any role, especially in building Republic City.

Katara isn't like Sokka who is the chief of the tribe, or Toph who is the chief of police. So why did Zuko make her a statue, then? Isn't it weird to make a statue just because they're friends? Wouldn't that just make it seem like there's something going on between them?

Why not Aang who make sure his wife get the role and the statue? He is the avatar after all!

You know what would be the perfect situation for Zuko to build a statue for Katara? Yup, if Katara is his wife!

If Katara is Zuko's wife, then Zuko would've build her a statue to honour her as the First Lady and ambassador of the Water Tribe.

Damn! If Katara is Zuko's wife, he wouldn't hesitate to make statues of her in every corner of the city because he is truly in love with her

I mean, Zuko was willing to die for Katara, so how hard is it to make a ton of statues for her after he became Fire Lord???

[catscraftsandcommentary]

Where's that post about a young man who asked an old lady how she found a love that lasted her entire life, and her answer was (paraphrased) "young man, you don't FIND a love like that, you BUILD it! Do you think our ancestors just wandered upon giant temples deep in the jungle? No! They found a flat bit of ground near a river, maybe near a rock quarry, and said 'this is good. We can MAKE something with this.' And then they put in the work!"

Also, this version of true love feels so much more achievable - finding your "one and only destined perfect love" takes away control of the situation. If it doesn't work out, then clearly it's the fault of Destiny, or that person just wasn't The One - it's never that you (or your partner) didn't try, didn't communicate, didn't make compromises.

I've been kicking around a new idea for the "finding your soul mate" trope, where some people can sense - not if that person is The One, but "are we compatible? How compatible are we?"

So yes, sometimes it's "DAMN, we fit together SO WELL, it would be a tragedy if we didn't get to explore that!" And sometimes it's "well, we COULD be something, with some time and effort. Do we want to try for that?" And sometimes it's "I could fit with either of these people, what will I do?" And maybe over time your compatibility changes, just like real people change - grow closer and better matched or more distant and more casual.

Which is a lot more like real life, and leaves a lot more room for personal choices.

As someone who's been a lover of traditional folk music from the British Isles for several decades, one thing I've learned is that "True Love" didn't always mean what you think it means. In the older songs, "true love" is not some mystical quality, some type of connection that is magically better than other Loves. No. A love that is "true" merely means that your Love is "true TO YOU." "True" as in faithful and loyal and trustworthy. A lover who will stand by you and with you no matter what comes. True the way a good sword is True. True the way a good knight is loyal. The contrast is "False Love," which is a lover who betrays you, who cannot be trusted.

"True Love" isn't something you find, it's a vow and a choice that you make, every day, to BE TRUE.

[tahbhie]

How Plot Progression Works—Myths and Facts.

Let me start with a myth.

Last week, a writer approached me with their half-finished draft, unsure how to continue. Apparently, they got writer's block in the middle of the work. For about thirty minutes, we discussed the book freely as if it were a finished and published work.

Then I realized the issue.

☞ The problem?

From the conversation, I noticed that the writer's thoughts and ideas, which they voiced for the book, totally contradicted what they had written.

Their book followed a sequence of events. It was well-calculated, and the plot progression was on point but only to a certain level. I noticed robotic recurrences.

Something like this:

Scene 1— a sudden revelation

Scene 2— an unexpected fight

Scene 3— introduction of a new character

Scene 4— a conflict

Scene 5— another sudden revelation

Scene 6— an unexpected fight

Scene 7— introduction of a new character

Scene 8— a conflict

Meanwhile, all these elements didn't tie to each other in the story. They just performed different roles in each scene and were rendered useless in the next and every other scene that followed.

☞ Why did this happen?

Among other reasons, being extremely rigid with writing advice is a main factor.

Writing advice is great, but don't bend your style to suit the rules; bend the rules to suit your style.

Here's a clearer example of what I'm talking about.

Writing advice often says to keep readers on the edge of their seats within the first five pages, but this doesn't mean introducing unrealistic problems that don't fit your story. For example, introducing a sudden and improbable conflict just to add excitement can disrupt the flow and believability of your plot

During our session, I already understood how to assist, and we were setting our comfortable hours when the writer suddenly said, "I was told to include conflict in the middle of the book, then I ran out of ideas when I got there. I could have added one just a few pages in because I believe it would do well there, but again, I was unsure if that would make sense."

Now, who said conflict can't start a book? When you start your book with a conflict, you just have to ensure that you build towards 'the reason' behind the conflict so your readers can understand.

☞ Should I follow every writing advice with a closed mind?

No, you shouldn't. Remember that you are writing that book because you want to, and your idea was great enough to convince you to actually write. You need to enjoy the process and create what you truly want to create. Follow instructions flexibly.

Now that the myth is out of the way, let's talk about things that make a plot.

➜ Basic plot elements.

Initially, your plot should have the following:

✧ Protagonist ✧

Who are readers following in the story? Make that clear in the first few chapters. If you're writing from a first-person point of view and plan on switching between characters, aim for a maximum of two characters. It becomes clear that those two characters are an important part of the story; hence, they get the privilege to narrate the story from their respective views.

✧ Goals and objectives ✧

What is your protagonist after? Here's one thing you should know: your character doesn't have to know what they want at the beginning of the story. They may be as confused about their life as anyone reading, but as the story unfolds, they find a goal worth reaching and discover the needed strength to reach the goal.

✧ Antagonist ✧

What/Who is standing as a threat? A threat is hell-bent on ruining your protagonist and stopping them from achieving their goals. An antagonist could be an object or a human. It all depends on the concept you aim for. Funny enough, the antagonist could be a lie that starts out seemingly small but ends up being harmful. The rom-com movie "Upgraded" is an example of this concept. The lie the art enthusiast told was the greatest trouble she faced.

✧ Conflict ✧

What are the problems the protagonist faces? Problems can start from anywhere over anything, and you can choose to make them mild and solvable at first while building up to something larger.

✧ Resulting consequences ✧

What happens after the protagonist faces the trouble and tries to solve it? Did they lose anything? Hurt someone? Earn support from people they least expect?

✧ Character arc ✧

How has the journey shaped your protagonist? After going through something they probably never saw coming, how has it changed them? For a timid main character at the beginning of the story, do they finally become brave and display a different side of themselves?

All these are important for a well-rounded story as a whole.

Join the Writers' Universe and connect with like-minded writers.

➜ Secondary plot elements

These elements help you shape the above category.

● Setbacks

Let's use movies to illustrate this. There are certain points where we lose hope for the main character, almost convinced they've lost. We see them at their weakest points, hurt that the antagonist got them good. These moments are the setbacks. The protagonist is made vulnerable.

● Loss

What did the setback cost them? The reason I intentionally labeled this as loss is because to move a plot forward, some things need repairing. Since most loose ends were already from the beginning of the story, adding a fresh loss piques the reader's interest. It doesn't have to be the death of someone. It could be the brutal end of an alliance formed on an emotional scale.

● Break of a new dawn

I just wanted to get creative with the title. This point marks the pivotal change of events, and once again, there's hope for the protagonist as they find solutions to their problems. In this stage, they discover hidden abilities within themselves (this isn't limited to fantasy).

And there you have the important sections of plot progression. But keep these few things in mind. To ensure you're not leaving a huge gap in your plot, try to:

┗→ Introduce elements that work for your story:

It's common to believe something works well simply because it did in your favorite book. You might want to reconsider that with a different mindset.

┗→ Tie elements together:

Of course, this doesn't apply to all, but try to create a link between events in your story. If a fight occurred in a scene, link it to a cause in a few scenes ahead. This can lead to another conflict, this time on a larger scale, without having to introduce something entirely different.

And back to the question that birthed this post:

ᴥ Should conflict come early or not?

It depends on your work, but it can come early. That's not taboo.

There was a movie I watched featuring a female lawyer as the protagonist. The movie started with the kidnap of her only child, and the rest of the scenes drove us to the 'cause,’ then more conflicts, setbacks, and finally resolution. We were also able to explore the character’s personality based on the decisions she took in different emotional scenes.

She tried to keep her calm in some scenes while she just flat-out threw a tantrum in others, but overall, she was a strong woman who was broken by the incidents occurring and then rebuilt. I read a book with the same premise: the main character was a tween who misplaced something precious and decided to go on an adventure to search for it, and that was what the story was built upon.

I always tell writers one thing—own your book. The first draft seems to be the toughest one of its pair, but if you don't allow yourself to freely express your thoughts, there will be no first draft or story at all.

✧✧✧✧

Struggling with any stages of writing? Send me a message, and let's sort it out for a suitable fee.

✧✧✧✧

Do you want to create characters readers are compelled to start a fandom for?

Check out "My Characters and I" extensive coaching session. Understand the secret behind every attractive character. The slots are limited, and this opportunity closes once capacity is reached. Don't miss it; you never know when you’ll stumble upon these golden gates again.

[y0ur-lovrr]

this doesn't really give you a idea but maybe a angst with chishiya?

—Forgotten Memories.

A/n; I didn’t rlly have an idea for this one, so if it’s bad i apologize, but ty for leaving a request!! <3

Pairing; Chishiya Shuntaro x Reader <3

—The only sounds around you are the sounds of the light breeze and the light and ragged breaths of Chishiya underneath you, biting back small grunt as you keep your hands forced against his gunshot wound.

Your own breaths are ragged and pained, you having your own gunshot wound on your side, though you refused to care for it right now considering that Chishiya is bleeding out in front of you.

“Stop it-you’re also bleeding out, you know?” Chishiya grunt, trying to put pressure against your own wound, though not having much energy to do so.

“I’m fine…We’re gonna be okay-Arisu and then are finishing the last few games..and we’re gonna go…home.” You mutter through slightly gritted teeth, pausing to let out shaky breaths, trying to keep yourself awake and grounded despite your body starting to feel weaker.

He lets out a small grunt as your knees suddenly buckle beneath you, making you almost crash down against him, his arms instantly grabbing you by your shoulders and pushing you to sit down beside him as he leans back against the abandoned car.

For once, he doesn’t know what to say, and you don’t either. Instead sitting in silence as one of your hands leave his wound to press onto yours, putting as much pressure as you can in order to attempt to slow the bleeding. You can feel the warm and thick liquid coat your hands, staining your shirt and bottoms, your eyes trained on the sky above you.

But after a few moments suddenly fireworks start to light up the sky, making his eyes also drift upwards, his eyebrows slightly raising.

“All surviving players will be presented with two choices.” The robotic voice of the game plays out from the sky, and you huff slightly in reply, Chishiya letting out a quiet hum.

“Players must now all decide whether to accept permanent residence in this country, or decline it.”

And then it’s silent, besides the sounds of the fireworks in the sky and your own breathing and heartbeat that plays in your ears.

Chishiya waits for a second to catch his breath, before he breathes out, “I decline.”

And without missing a beat you reply too. The words “I decline, I decline the offer” leave your mouth in a quiet mutter, not having much breath or strength left in you.

One of your hands reach over and grab onto one of his, gently gripping his fingers against yours, but chishiya doesn’t decline it and instead gives yours a gentle squeeze.

But what worries him is when he hears your breathing start to get quieter, making his head turn towards you, his eyebrows slightly furrowing as he sees how your eyes flutter closed.

He mutters your name, concern etching its way into his normally casual tone, giving your hand a tug as he calls your name again, but then, he suddenly feels his eyes close, his own consciousness leaving him, but he spends the last bit of his consciousness trying to shake you awake-not wanting you to go to sleep forever.

—You’re walking down the hospital hallway-more like stumbling, having a small crutch to help you walk. You’ve been awake for a day now, having been told about how a meteor had hit Shibuya-and you were in its space when it happened, along with others. You were dead for a minute, but you were brought back with cpr, but being left injured from the blow.

“Apologies, but do we know eachother?” A voice rings out from behind you as you walk towards a vending machine, your fingers pausing just before you’re about to put your money in.

“Uhm…” you mumble as you turn your head to look at the voice, and then you see him. A guy around your age, bleached hair and also using a crutch. But you can’t remember if you do know him, but you can feel a small sense of familiarity-but you don’t know him, you would’ve remembered him if you did.

“I have no idea who you are, sorry.” You mumble with a small sigh, staring at him for a second more before you turn back towards the vending machine and put your money in, selecting your item and waiting for it to fall down.

“Oh. I just get the feeling we know eachother, that’s all.” He says with a small huff, shifting on his feet slightly, watching as you struggle to bend down and grab your item.

“Well I don’t know you, so..” you mutter with a huff, glancing at him for a second before you walk past him with your crutch, wanting to go back to your room, feeling his eyes watch as you leave.

As you walk away, Chishiya’s eyes don’t leave you. He can’t name it, but something about you is so familiar-but he can’t remember who you are, but something about your eyes and the way you carry yourself has a sense of familiarity. He’s unaware of what happened in the borderlands, how close you two got, and how you basically died next to eachother.

But now, you’re both back to being strangers.

[lucysarah-c]

Mounting Spring Ch. 8

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.)

Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it.

From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another.

Masterlist to the previous parts!

Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there!

“I’m taking a shower,” he had said. “If you want to use the bathroom, now’s the time.” 

He didn’t wait for a response, stepping into the bathroom. The sticky feeling of his clothes clinging to his body was driving him insane, and he needed relief. The day was unexpectedly warm—not scorching, but the first strong days of spring always seemed to carry an extra weight. 

“Baby, you want breakfast too?” her voice floated through the door just as he bent down to roll off the black trousers of his new uniform. He paused for a moment, the words catching him off guard. 

Something about it felt... off.  The strange limbo they were in. It was the whole situation. He wasn’t usually one to get prudish or shy about his body—expeditions and common showers had long since stripped away any modesty. But as he tossed his clothes into the laundry basket and stood naked in the bathroom, her voice came again, faint but clear. 

“No, baby, get down from there!” 

He turned his head toward the door instinctively, a strange sense of restraint settling over him. Maybe it was because all the previous times he’d showered over the past three weeks, she’d been asleep. Even the night she arrived, she’d gone to bed before he’d had the chance to clean up. 

‘This is so fucking awkward,’ he thought, turning on the water and stepping under the spray. He’d been naked in far less private settings —hell, he’d stripped down and washed off in front of squads of men during expeditions without a second thought. 

‘Yeah, but nobody there was supposed to get knocked up by me.’ 

He sighed, running his hands through his hair as the water cascaded down his body. That was the real difference, wasn’t it? On expeditions, privacy was a luxury, but the situation had always been purely practical. Now, the person in the next room wasn’t just some comrade. She was supposed to be intimate enough to make moments like this normal—but they weren’t. Not yet, at least. 

As he lathered soap across his skin, his thoughts spiraled further. ‘It’s weird middle ground, isn’t it? We’re supposed to be close enough for her to be fine with me taking a shower while she’s awake, but not close enough to share those—what do you call it—quiet, personal moments. 

The thought didn’t stop him from moving through his routine. By now, the soap was rinsed off, and he stood over the sink, ready to shave. The sharp blade of his razor rested in his hand as he straightened up, catching his reflection in the slightly fogged mirror. His gaze drifted across the room as if searching for memories outside his body. 

His thoughts shifted, unbidden. ‘Did I ever go raw before this?’ he wondered, the thought creeping in before he could stop it. The memory of Kenny’s crude “lessons” in life played in his mind, and he frowned. ‘Only thing that bastard ever taught me besides killing—wrap it up.’ He snorted faintly at the absurdity of it. 

He cleaned the razor, his brow furrowed. ‘How many loads does it take to secure a pregnancy, anyway? That’s gotta mess with a guy’s head, constantly thinking about that. And if you’re in heat—’ 

His hand froze mid-motion. ‘And when you’re in heat… is it all doggy style all the time because it’s the “biologically optimal” thing to do? Can you switch it up?’ 

He let out a long breath, shaking his head slowly as he finished shaving. “I should not be thinking about this on a Wednesday morning at 10 a.m. before a meeting,” he muttered to himself, rinsing the blade one last time. 

His mind, however, didn’t seem to get the memo. ‘But seriously, though... does it always have to be on fours? I mean, I like on all fours, but… a whole week of that? Her knees, dude.’ 

Finally, he dried off, pulled on a clean shirt, and opened the door. 

“What took you so long?” she asked, her head tilting slightly as she looked up at him. 

“Nothing,” he replied curtly. 

“It’s very warm today,” she commented, seemingly trying to maintain some level of conversation with the man who was, supposedly, her husband. “Is it always this warm in the south?” 

“Mhm.” Levi only hummed in response, shrugging his jacket over his shoulders before sitting on the couch to pull his boots back on. 

“Breakfast?” she asked again, a cat cradled in her arms as she looked at him. 

“No,” he replied curtly. His head was killing him, and just the thought of food made his stomach churn. He wasn’t paying much attention—just going through his usual morning routine—until he tried brushing off the white cat hairs stubbornly clinging to his black trousers. 

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue in irritation. 

“Did you brush the cat today?” he asked, finally glancing back at her. 

But the complaint died in the back of his throat when he saw her reflection in the fogged-up bathroom mirror, struggling to put on a pair of earrings. 

A pretty sundress, hair braided half-up, half-down, long lashes accentuated by mascara. 

“Where are you going all dolled up?” 

She stilled for a moment, meeting his eyes in the mirror before turning to face him fully. “You just said I could go out.” 

‘And everything I said after that must have gone in one ear and out the other.’ 

“I want to make a good impression on your squad,” she added before turning back to her reflection, resuming her struggle with the earrings. 

Levi pressed his lips into a thin line, giving it a second thought. He wasn’t the type to regret his decisions, but suddenly, this one didn’t seem like the best idea. 

“My squad barely owns soap bars,” he muttered under his breath. A good first impression felt like overkill considering the social standards of his cadets—not that he held any grudge against them. 

He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, fingers laced together as he pondered it. 

“Maybe you should wait until I come back this evening.” 

That snapped her out of it instantly. 

“What?!” She rushed over to him, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You just said I could go out!” 

The deep frown, the clenched teeth, the frustration practically radiating off her—it was all clearly meant to intimidate him. It didn’t. 

“I’m just saying, wait a couple more hours. Then I’ll walk you around myself.” 

She took a step back, voice lowering into something much colder. 

“You just said it,” she whispered, anger laced with unmistakable hurt. 

‘Oh... alright, she’s actually upset for real.’ 

Levi sighed through his nose, watching how quickly her disappointment turned into something sharp, something like resentment. 

“Fine,” he relented, exhaling as he sat back. “Just… be careful.” 

— 

“I mean... what’s the worst thing that could happen?” Levi said, recounting his morning as if it were some kind of story. 

“Shhh, talk quieter. My head is killing me,” Hange groaned, sprawled limply in his desk chair, their eyes shielded by a cold, wet towel. “I’m getting old… Remember how we used to laugh at Erwin coming back from those meetings completely wasted? Now look at us—we’re no better.” 

“Excuse me, I’ve never stolen anyone’s underwear while drunk… or high, or both,” Levi shot back, defending his honor as if that cleared him of all other debauchery. He leaned back in his chair, voice deadpan. “I don’t remember half of what I did last night, and the other half’s just a blur. But it wasn’t that bad.” 

Hange snorted, shifting the towel slightly to make room for their smirk. “You used to be this famous thug, and now you can’t handle one night of alcohol and… whatever the hell it was they brought for us to smoke. You’ve lost your edge, Captain.” 

Levi rested his head against the cool surface of the table, reaching for his tea cup without lifting his gaze. “I’m a married man now. That life of bad habits is long behind me.” 

That earned a sharp laugh from Hange, who had to readjust the towel when it slid halfway down their face. “You got married three weeks ago, asshole.” 

Finally deciding to take a sip from his cup, Levi straightened just enough to lift it to his lips—only to immediately grimace in disgust. “This is green tea.” 

“Yeah... my liver wouldn’t survive black tea today,” Hange muttered, not bothering to move the towel from their face. Then, as if the thought had just struck them, they added, “If you have a problem with it, win the elections and become Commander.” 

Levi scoffed. “Only an idiot would want to be Commander.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Hange deadpanned. “What are you? One of those people whose whole personality revolves around their partner?” 

“No,” Levi replied curly, “But it’s my only excuse,” 

— 

Double-checking in the mirror, she whispered to herself, “Good first impressions.” A small nod of encouragement. “Scouts are heads of state now, so good first impressions.” 

She pinched her cheeks lightly, giving them a subtle rosy flush, and hummed in approval. But just as she was about to turn away, her nose wrinkled at something in the air. Slowly pivoting on her heels, her eyes landed on the laundry basket. 

‘It tickles,’ she thought, scrunching her nose as if to shake off the feeling. ‘Silly.’ She gave her head the smallest shake. 

Decisive steps carried her to the office door, excitement bubbling in her chest. Her hand reached for the knob—the same one she had reached for on her first morning here. A firm pull, and it clicked open with ease. The door shifted just a few centimeters, separating from the frame, but she didn’t step through. 

She stood still. 

Her eyes remained locked on her reflection in the gilded surface. 

"Be careful." Levi’s voice echoed in her head. 

The freedom she had wanted so badly was now hers for the taking, yet it filled her with hesitation. 

She rocked her weight from one foot to the other, lips pressed together before glancing to her right—toward the open bathroom door. 

‘I mean… better safe than sorry, right?’ 

Back inside the tiled room, she lifted the wicker lid of the laundry basket. 

‘My friends did this when we were teens. Their parents got so mad…’ 

Her fingers grasped the light grey shirt Levi had worn the entire previous day—and slept in. 

‘I just have to rub my neck against it a little…’ 

A memory surfaced. Her friends sneaking around at parties, brushing up against alphas, pressing their necks together. It wasn’t claiming, but it was something back then. And maybe now, it could be something that helped her, too. 

‘I remember Die was working as a cadet… we shared a kiss through the staircase fence.’ 

The thought brought the ghost of a smile to her lips, brief and bittersweet. 

‘He smelled nice… I remember that.’ 

With more doubts than certainties, she slowly lifted the shirt to her face, pressing the collar against her nose as she took a deep, slow breath. Her eyes fluttered shut, trying to gauge her body’s reaction to it. 

First impression? The same as when she first smelled his jacket. 

Strong. ‘Musky, even’ 

But then—almost instinctively—her body craved more. Another breath. Then another. And before she realized what she was doing, she was rubbing the fabric against her skin, pressing it to her neck in slow, deliberate motions, as if massaging the scent into her skin, soothing in a way she hadn’t expected. 

A low, involuntary purr rumbled in her throat. 

Her eyes shot open in horror. 

She let go of the shirt like it had burned her, watching as it dropped back into the basket. 

Her breath hitched, blood rushing to her cheeks as she stood there, frozen in place. 

‘Oh god… why did I do that?!’ 

Moving robotically, she walked to the couch and sat down, staring in silent mortification. The cat kneading a pillow in the corner was swiftly scooped up as she muttered to it in despair, 

“I just did that… to his shirt?! What is wrong with me?!” 

The cat bumped its head against her chin in response. 

She pushed the animal down with a huff. “…Though, I guess… he’s the only man I’m allowed to react like that for, so… it’s not that bad. Right?” 

“Meow.” 

Newfound conviction in her step, she strode toward the door, this time with more confidence. 

The moment she opened it, she inhaled deeply—ready to embrace the fresh air. 

Only to immediately recoil. 

“Ugh…” she groaned, grimacing. 

Levi’s scent—his natural musk mixed with aftershave, deodorant, and cologne—had been intoxicating. But this? The thick, cloying stench of a hundred alphas all packed together, their scents mingling like scrambled eggs? 

Absolutely disgusting. 

“Never mind.” She shook her head violently, as if trying to physically rid herself of the sensory assault. “Let’s go for a walk!” 

She barely got two steps before the soft patter of tiny paws followed her. 

She turned, spotting her cat trotting after her with eager strides. 

“Aww, sweetie! You wanna come too?” 

Door locked, cat in arms—she was ready for her stroll. 

With the window open, she took in a slow, deep breath, savoring the fresh forest air. The scent of pine and linden soothed her nose, washing away the lingering stench from earlier. The sky stretched bright and blue, the warmth of the sun kissing her skin. 

Looking down from the window frame, she spotted two cadets staring up at her, confusion written all over their faces. 

“Morning!” she chirped, all too pleased to be out, to stretch her legs, to breathe. “Beautiful day, innit?” 

The two teens exchanged glances before nodding—slowly. 

“Uh-huh…” 

Unbothered, she continued her stroll. “Let’s get stuff for a picnic!” 

Following the directions given by another cadet, she eventually reached a set of doors—what she assumed was the mess hall. 

To her surprise, it was mostly empty, save for a few scattered cadets who lifted their heads at the sound of her entrance. Their brows furrowed, confusion evident. 

“Hi,” she greeted, waving. “Morning! The kitchen?” 

One of them pointed toward the far end of the room. 

“Thank you~” she chimed before heading off. 

But before she could get far— 

“Excuse me, girl?” 

She turned on her heel, blinking as a cadet stood from one of the benches. 

“Civilians aren’t allowed to wander around,” he said, eyeing her warily. “If you’re looking for someone, please wait here.” 

“Oh! No, no,” she insisted, waving her hands. “I’m Captain Levi’s wife. I live here.” 

Silence. 

The loudest silence she had ever heard. 

“…See ya!” she added before walking off. 

— 

“We should be training,” Eren muttered, biting into an apple. “Not doing kitchen duties.” 

“Come on, Captain Levi hardly ever cancels morning drills. Yesterday’s after-hours meeting must’ve been intense,” Armin reasoned. “They probably discussed something incredibly serious if they were up so late.” 

“Yeah, like that train they want us to build, and—” 

“A kitty!” 

Jean paused mid-peel, turning to Mikasa’s rare display of enthusiasm. “Yes, a kitty… Wait, a kitty?” 

Mikasa had already abandoned the conversation, beelining toward Y/N with bright, wide eyes locked onto the oversized cat in her arms. 

“Oh, hi,” Y/N greeted, a bit caught off guard as the raven-haired girl approached. “He’s friendly.” 

“Can I pick him up?” 

“Sure.” 

Mikasa carefully took the enormous feline, cradling him against her chest with unexpected gentleness. 

Meanwhile, Sasha and Jean locked eyes across the kitchen, communicating through sheer willpower alone: It’s her! The only two in the squad who had actually seen Y/N before, now confirmed. 

“I always wanted a cat,” Mikasa murmured, stroking the soft fur with genuine delight. “It was my childhood dream…” She lifted Claws slightly, marveling. “He’s so big.” 

Y/N smiled at the sight but soon noticed something odd—everyone else in the room was staring at her. 

She turned slightly, suddenly hyper-aware of the weight of their collective gaze. 

“Uh… hi?” she offered with a hesitant grimace. 

Jean straightened up, puffing his chest out slightly. “We’re Captain Levi’s Special Operations Squad,” he announced, the title rolling off his tongue with pride, as if it should impress her. 

Sasha muttered, “Are you flexing?” 

But before Jean could retort, Y/N cut in, “Oh, you’re Levi’s kids.” 

Silence. 

Jean and Connie visibly deflated, their supposed prestigious position reduced to children in an instant. 

“Yes, hi—I’m Armin,” the blond quickly stepped forward, almost extending a hand before deciding against it. 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N,” she replied. 

“Yes. We know.” 

The awkwardness thickened as she realized they all knew who she was, but she had no idea about them. 

“I know you,” Y/N suddenly blurted. “You’re the hallway girl!” 

“Yeah! Sasha!” The brunette grinned. “They didn’t believe me when I said I saw you—you vanished into thin air!” 

Y/N chuckled. “Levi was in a hurry.” 

Armin smirked but quickly winced when Mikasa subtly nudged him, as if to keep him from saying anything else. 

“And you,” Y/N continued, shifting her gaze, “you’re the training ground boy. You dropped the equipment.” 

Laughter erupted from Connie and Sasha as Jean clenched his jaw, looking deeply unamused. 

“…Yeah. Jean.” 

Y/N’s attention drifted, taking in the massive industrial kitchen. “I was actually wondering—who do I ask for a tea?” 

The room fell silent. The squad exchanged glances before, hesitantly, Jean raised his hand like a student answering a question. 

“I… could make one?” 

Y/N beamed. “Aw, thank you!” 

Jean blinked. “…Just, uh… give me a sec.” 

“So… do I have to make the damn tea or not?” Jean whispered, his voice barely audible as the group huddled together in a loose circle of conspiracy, all while Y/N inspected the kitchen behind them. 

Armin, glancing over his shoulder at her with furrowed brows, was the first to break the silence. “I’ve heard that in the MPs, cadets are assigned mundane tasks for their superiors, like picking up their dry cleaning. Maybe she thinks that’s how the Scouts operate too.” 

“You’ve been spending a lot of time talking about the MPs lately, huh, Armin?” Connie teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

Armin flushed crimson, his brows knitting together in defense. “What? What do you mean?” 

“You know what we mean,” Sasha chimed in, barely stifling a laugh. 

Jean rolled his eyes, exasperated. “You’re all missing the point. Do I make the damn tea or not?” 

“No,” Eren said flatly, as if the answer were obvious. “Maybe the MPs do this babysitting crap, but we don’t. We’re not the Military Police, and we’re definitely not her personal servants. Just tell her to make her own damn tea.” 

“Maybe she just isn’t used to our kitchen,” Mikasa offered, her tone more considerate as she glanced at Y/N. 

“Let’s just tell her—very subtly—” 

Armin’s attempt at diplomacy was cut off by Jean, who groaned loudly. “That’s not what I mean! I’m asking what the chain of command is when a wife shows up!” 

The Shiganshina trio collectively raised an eyebrow, their faces a mixture of disbelief and judgment. 

“What chain of command?” Eren asked, crossing his arms. “She’s not a soldier. She doesn’t give us orders.” 

Jean snorted. “Yeah, well, maybe you don’t remember how households work, but my dad never had the last word in our house—ever.” 

Armin placed a calming hand on Eren, who looked ready to take offense. “Jean, come on,” Armin said gently, though his expression clearly showed he thought the question was absurd. 

“No, no, Horse Face is right,”  

Jean’s brief moment of smug satisfaction was immediately shattered. “OI! Watch it, potato brain!” 

Ignoring him, Connie continued, “Yeah, my dad couldn’t do anything without asking my mom first. It was always, ‘Did you ask your mother?’ or ‘What does your mother say?’ And nine times out of ten, my mom said no.” 

Sasha chimed in, nodding vigorously. “Yeah, my dad would act like he was in charge, but if my mom caught wind of something she didn’t like, he was dead meat.” 

Mikasa, listening quietly, finally murmured, “I remember... my mom was the one who made the decisions too.” 

Jean gestured wildly toward Sasha and Connie. “Exactly what I’m saying! If Captain Levi got married and now she’s the one giving him the dead-eye stare when she doesn’t like his decisions, where does that put her in the chain of command? Who’s higher in the chain of command: him or her?” 

“Her.” 

“Him.” 

“Captain Levi isn’t our dad, though,” Eren muttered, still trying to wrap his head around the logic. “Men are still the head of the house, so he’s still in charge. She’s not our boss.” 

“But if she gets mad and complains to Captain Levi, and he takes it out on us, then what?” Sasha pointed out. “We’re screwed either way.” 

“Exactly,” Armin said, nodding gravely. “If we don’t do what she wants, she’ll complain, and Captain Levi will get pissed. If we don’t follow his orders, he’ll punish us directly. It’s a lose-lose situation.” 

The group fell silent, clearly no closer to an agreement. Mikasa broke the tension with a hesitant question. “So… would that mean if Commander Erwin got married, his wife would have outrank all of us?” 

Connie snickered. “Why not Commander Hange’s imaginary wife instead?” 

“Be realistic,” Eren muttered. 

As their bickering continued, Y/N stood by, watching them with growing confusion. ‘Maybe they’re busy working,’ she thought, eyeing the kettle that no one had touched. ‘Levi said not to interrupt them while they’re working.’ 

“Don’t worry about it, guys,” she finally announced. “I’ll just go for a walk instead.” 

The group froze. Six pairs of eyes turned toward her in unison, panic flashing across their faces. Armin forced a sympathetic smile. “W-Where are you going?” 

Y/N blinked, startled by their sudden interest. “I thought I’d take a stroll in the forest…” 

Back in their circle, the squad exchanged panicked glances. One by one, they shifted closer to the kitchen door, as if preparing to block her path. Jean, quick on his feet, plastered on a bright smile and stepped in front of her. 

“Eh?” she asked, tilting her head. 

“Haha, look at the time!” Jean said nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why don’t you stay here for a little while longer?” 

“I want to go out,” she insisted, her brow furrowing as she tried to move past him. “If you’ll excuse me—” 

“Uh, maybe… maybe stay here while we, um…” Sasha stammered, desperately searching for the right words. 

Y/N’s eyes widened as her unease turned into alarm. “Are you... are you kidnapping me?” 

“No, no, no!” they all shouted in unison, waving their hands in frantic denial. 

“You’re not kidnapped,” Armin assured her, his sweet smile doing little to ease her nerves. “You’re just... um... confined for now.” 

Her face twisted into horror. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, NOT AGAIN!” 

— 

When Hange walked back into the office, Levi was already up, slamming a stack of papers together. 

“Leaving so early?” 

“Yeah. I should really go train the brats after lunch.” 

The only brown eye not covered lingered on him, their lips twitching as they held back a remark. Hange, leaning back in their chair with an all-too-knowing smirk, tilted their head. “Oh sure, I bet the fresh air will help with the headache.” 

Levi exhaled sharply, unconvinced. Tucking the papers under his arm, he turned to leave—only to freeze at the door. Slowly, he turned back, narrowing his eyes as Hange spun lazily in their chair, still smirking. 

“…What?” 

“I said absolutely nothing.” 

His squinted in suspicion. “You’re so fucking weird.” 

The moment he stepped outside, something felt… off. 

The usual background noise of cadets moving between tasks was there, but underneath it, hushed murmurs—giggling. 

Giggling. 

Levi’s pace slowed as he glanced around. Small groups of soldiers spoke among themselves, some pressing hands to their mouths, others grinning. But what truly set his nerves on edge was what happened when they noticed him. 

Suddenly, as if on cue, they snapped to attention and beamed. 

“Good morning, Captain!” 

A perfectly polite, perfectly innocent greeting. 

Too innocent. 

“Morning,” he replied curtly. Levi narrowed his eyes but kept walking, his boots clicking sharply against the stone path. 

The tension in his gut twisted tighter when he passed another group and, again, the moment they saw him—bright smiles, too chipper, too eager. 

Something was going on. 

His grip flexed at his sides, his headache worsening as he rounded the corner toward the mess hall. And then— 

“Good morning, sir!” 

He barely glanced at the cadet who greeted him, about to walk past when— 

“Your wife is very cute, sir.” 

Levi stopped. 

The air suddenly felt much heavier. 

His eyes flickered to the girl, who gave him an innocent, approving nod before carrying on, completely unaware that she had just turned his entire morning into a waking nightmare. 

A slow, sinking realization crept up his spine. 

The whispers. The giggles. The weird smiling. 

"For fuck’s sake..." Levi whispered, raising a hand to his face, already feeling the embarrassment creeping in. 

Her trail wasn’t hard to follow—he just had to go wherever the biggest crowd had gathered. Sure enough, he found them in the kitchen, the one place most cadets usually avoided to escape extra duties. Yet, now, everyone was hanging around like it was the goddamn market square. 

"Don’t you all have something better to do?" Levi spat, and like cockroaches when the light comes on, they scrambled, trying to make themselves scarce before they got dragged into something. "Or do I need to start handing out tasks?" 

A few murmured "No, sir," their heads ducking, backs curving as if making themselves smaller would save them from his wrath. 

Then, from the other side of the door— 

"HE SAID I COULD GO OUT!" 

A piercing scream from Y/N. 

Levi’s brows twitched as he marched over, shoving the door open. "What the hell is going on here?" 

"Levi!" "Captain!" 

The second he stepped in, everyone started talking at once, loudly, voices overlapping and stabbing at his already-pounding head. 

Levi clenched his jaw. "Enough." His voice came out sharp, cold. 

Silence fell instantly. 

"They’re forcing me to stay here!" Y/N snapped, pointing at his squad. "They kidnapped me!" 

Slowly, Levi turned his attention to his subordinates and muttered under his breath, "What part of 'act normal and behave' did you not understand?" 

"She wants to go into the forest alone," Jean cut in, standing his ground. 

That successfully shifted Levi’s attention. 

"Get to the training grounds," he ordered, not bothering to look back at them. "I’ll be there in a minute." 

The squad practically bolted, shutting the door behind them. 

Now alone with her, Levi exhaled through his nose. Levi’s arms crossed over his chest, his sharp gaze locked onto her as she stood defiantly before him. 

“I did absolutely nothing wrong,” she huffed. 

“Oh yeah?” Levi drawled, his expression unreadable “Then why the hell is the entire regiment gathered outside?” 

She scoffed. “I don’t know, maybe they’ve got nothing better to do? I just greeted people in the hallways, that’s not illegal. What, saying hello is a crime now?” 

Levi exhaled sharply, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t need to be overly friendly.” 

“Well, excuse my good manners!” 

Levi’s eyes narrowed. “You already went out. You can go back to the office.” 

“I’m not doing that,” she folded her arms stubbornly. “I want to go for a walk.” 

His frown deepened. “You’re not going into the forest.” He sighed, his patience nearing its breaking point. 

“Why not?” 

“I don’t know, maybe wolves?” he deadpanned. “Perhaps people, thieves? You’re going to get lost.” 

“Well, I’ll stay close by.” 

Levi let out a scoff. “We use the forest for training with the 3DMG. We don’t live in the middle of it for pleasure. If someone drops a weapon or knocks off and you get hurt, it’s on me. I told you—this is a place where people are working.” 

Her jaw clenched. “I don’t want to be closed up in that room anymore.” 

He gave her a look, calm but firm. "Open a window." 

“Open a—?! Levi, I’m not a prisoner!” she snapped, frustration boiling over. 

“Never said you were,” he shot back. “But this ain’t a damn vacation spot either.” 

She groaned, rubbing her temples. Then, as if on cue, Claws meowed from her arms, reminding Levi of another problem. 

“And don’t take the cat out without a leash,” he added. “It’s gonna get lost, and guess what? The idiot who’ll have to go looking for it in the forest will be me.” 

“He’s not gonna run off,” she insisted. 

Levi ignored that. “Go back to the office and—I don’t know, paint something.” 

She let out a short, disbelieving laugh, eyes burning with indignation. “I’m not a little girl you can just set back to colouring books, Levi!” 

He was already opening his mouth for another snarky retort when something made him pause. His nose twitched slightly. It caught him so off guard to catch a whiff of her scent that all the arguments disappeared. 

How had it ended up with him standing there, watching the cadets train with the 3DMG while she sat on a bench outside, having lunch? He had no idea. 

"You’re not hungry?" 

"I grabbed something at work," he replied, his eyes still glued to the training. 

She passed him her meal, her hand covering her mouth a little before asking, "What are you doing?" 

"Watching them train." 

Her eyes shifted to the trees, watching the cadets swing through them with ease. "That’s all?" she asked, confused. 

Levi crossed his arms and took a deep breath. "I watch their patterns and correct them." 

"Ah," she sighed in understanding. "So, you’re good at that?" 

"At 3DMG?" Levi raised an eyebrow as if it wasn’t obvious. She hummed a response. "Yeah, a little." 

Y/N accepted this without giving it much thought, continuing with her art, cleaning her hands every so often to avoid staining the sketch. "Which one is Eren?" 

He wasn’t used to the chitchat during work, so it threw him off each time she spoke. "The brunette. Why?" 

"I read about him in the newspapers," Y/N replied, raising her attention from her work to compare her pencil strokes. She squinted at it for a moment. "I also read about you torturing someone. It didn’t do you any favours." 

"Your newspapers didn’t mention the MPs covering up the real monarchy?" 

"No, my parents didn’t buy that kind of newspaper." 

Her answer made him scoff, entertained, realizing she probably meant it without any opposition to the new head of power. 

He tried following her gaze, wondering what she was working on so intently. But he couldn’t make sense of it. "What are you drawing?" Levi tilted back to catch a glimpse of the paper. 

Without a hint of hesitation, she turned her sketchbook around to show him. "You." 

Levi froze in horror, a cringe creeping up his spine. 

"Don’t fucking draw me." 

"Why not? You have a good side profile." 

"Draw something else. You’ve got the whole fucking forest." Levi insisted, but when he saw her uninterested continuation, he grabbed the pencil from her hand. 

"Hey!" she pouted. "Give it back." 

"Maybe you should go back to the office. Plenty of pencils there," Levi shot, hoping to put an end to this nonsense of her hanging around outside. 

There was a brief silence before she stood up. "Fine… but only because I’m getting sunburned." She reached down, picking up the cat that had been wandering around on a leash. "I’m taking the baby." Her tone made it sound like they were in the middle of a divorce settlement, negotiating custody. 

"Better for me." 

As the sun dipped lower and training came to an end, Levi took the opportunity to address the cadets. "When I tell you to do something, just do it. If she tries anything, I’ll handle it. Don’t get involved." 

They all nodded slowly, though Connie hesitantly raised a hand. 

Levi exhaled sharply. "What?" 

Armin shook his head, silently warning Connie to drop it, but the he didn’t take the hint. "We were just… a bit confused." 

Levi’s patience was wearing dangerously thin. "Confused about what?" 

"Just drop it, dude," Jean whispered. 

But under the captain’s intense stare, there was no backing out now. Connie swallowed hard. "About… who has the final say." 

Levi processed the words, taking a slow moment to let the implication sink in. Then, his voice carried loud and clear: "Raise your hand if you think she’s in charge." 

Shakily, Sasha and Connie obeyed. After a sharp kick from Eren, Jean reluctantly raised his hand too, clicking his tongue in annoyance. 

They all avoided Levi’s dead-eyed stare, suddenly finding the gravel beneath their boots fascinating. 

Levi let the silence drag before finally speaking, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Why don’t the three of you give me twenty push-ups to help jog your memory on who’s actually in charge?" 

Groans of protest echoed through the training grounds, the evening sky now tinged with warm tangerine light. 

Eren smirked proudly at Armin, as if they had somehow passed some kind of test. Levi glanced at them. "And the three of you who didn’t stop this bullshit? Another twenty." 

"Oh, fuck me," they all muttered under their breath. 

— 

That night, Levi was washing his face at the sink when he caught movement in the doorway. He looked up, eyes meeting hers in the reflection. "What?" 

"I want to go to Trost the day after tomorrow." 

Levi frowned, still bent over the sink, before slowly straightening up. "And who told you I was going to Trost?" 

"The cadets." 

Grabbing a towel, he patted his face dry. "No." 

"Why not?" she asked, following him as he moved to the bedroom after his post-training shower. 

Levi hated being chased around, but clearly, she wasn’t letting this one go. "Because I said so," Levi muttered, pulling a shirt from the drawer. His damp hair pushed backwards and still dripping a little bit. "I’m just going for a quick business deal with the Reiss company. In and out." 

"But since you’re already going, I want to go and walk around," she insisted. "The cadets want to go too." 

Slamming the drawer shut, he sighed. "What they want is none of my damn problem." 

Under normal circumstances, she would have minded seeing him shirtless, but right now, she was too annoyed by his attitude to care. Each pause he took in the argument to get dressed only added to her frustration. 

"First today, now Trost," Levi continued, slipping on the shirt. " I can’t be walking around with you glued to my side,"  

He braced himself for protests, whining, maybe even some outright complaining— But when he finally looked up, her eyes were glassy. 

Levi blinked. "What now?" 

‘Oh no. 

Not the fucking puppy eyes again.’ 

She hesitated, then whispered, "Are you… ashamed to be seen with me?" 

"No," he snapped instantly, raising a finger in the air. "That’s not what I fucking said." 

But she just shook her head and walked off toward the office, her head down. 

"Come on. You know that’s not what I meant," Levi called after her. 

No answer. 

"Y/N—" 

No answer. 

— 

The next morning at breakfast, Levi dropped into his seat with a scowl. "We’re going to Trost tomorrow." 

His squad erupted into cheers, high-fiving each other. 

"Tch. Fuck me," he muttered under his breath. 

Armin, ever the strategist, tilted his head. "May I ask why, sir?" 

Levi stabbed his fork into his food. "Because she wants to go." 

Across the table, Sasha leaned toward Connie and Jean, whispering, "I’m confused... so, in the end, who is actually in charge?" 

(I know much didn't happen in this chapter but I promise you I'm cooking T-T)

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