#or b) a reader of pro authors

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

then send me a son

pairing: joel miller x reader

cws/tags: so much angst (w/ happy ending! i swear), discussion of suicide attempt (the canon one), suicidal ideations, losing a child, losing a parent, survivors guilt, discussions of abortion, unplanned pregnancy, p in v, oral sex, virginity loss (but it's not that big of deal/not a kink), both dealing w grief, ellie is dead, this is set in jackson post tlou pt I

summary: joel is put on suicide watch after he returns to jackson w/o ellie and reader becomes his 'caregiver' of sorts. lowkey enemies to lovers but also not bc it's kinda one-sided 'hatred'

a/n: author is pro-choice! and also understands the complexities of mental health that reader and joel do not at times (just wanted to make it clear that i understand... from personal experience... what depression is like as well as suicidal ideation).

title is from the song 'the suburbs' by arcade fire, but listen to the entirety of the suburbs (album) and funeral (album) if you want to understand my mindframe while writing this

the last sentence is a quote and i've reblogged it before but i'll find the image and post it/reblog it again

wc: 9.4k

masterlist | ko-fi | taglist

Joel is just surprised Tommy has the gall to ask, “Where’s Ellie?” when he arrives in Jackson alone. 

In this world, when two people leave and only one comes back, you don’t ask because you already know what happened. You wait for that person to tell you about a miracle, and when they don’t, you know for sure. 

“Heaven, if you believe in that sort of thing,” is Joel’s response. 

But Joel doesn’t believe in Heaven or Hell, or anything other than ashes and dirt. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Tommy says because he’d already said ‘I’m sorry’ when Sarah died, and that didn’t bring her back. 

It takes a hefty amount of booze to get Joel to tell the story.

“I just hope she died for something. Then, at least, I’ll know I’m being selfish.”

I didn’t get that with Sarah, he thinks. She didn’t die for a ‘noble cause’. He doubts Ellie did either. 

“You’re being put on watch,” Maria tells him the next morning – when he’s sober and asking what his duties are now that he’s back. 

Life goes on, which means work goes on, so what’s my job? As long as it’s not burning bodies, I’ll be okay. 

“Watch? Like I’m watching, or I’m being watched.”

“Being watched.”

He asks why, though he doesn’t need to. Tommy knows why he’s got that scar on his forehead. 

“Fucking authoritarian bullshit,” he mutters, half into his pillow. “Thought you were a communist.”

“I am. And this has nothing to do with that.”

“I bet Tommy put you up to it anyway.”

“He didn’t ‘put me up to anything’.”

“But he told you, didn’t he?”

“He told me a long time ago.”

“Figures. You always knew I was a coward.”

“You say stuff like that, and then act like you don’t need help.”

“I didn’t say I don’t need help. I said I don’t want it.”

She’s silent, letting him continue. “Now let me grieve in peace, will you?”

She hums something akin to agreement, but asks for something that sounds like protest to him. “Where’s your gun?”

“Which one?”

“All of ‘em.”

He tells her because he doesn’t want Tommy or anyone else searching through all his bullshit because that’s what happens if he doesn’t give ‘em up.

“Want my kitchen knives too?” he says, almost wryly. 

She takes most of them, but leaves the more blunt ones out of sympathy. He can have butter on his toast. Unless she takes the toaster so he can’t take it with him in the bathtub. 

She leaves the toaster, and then, leaves him alone. 

Quite frankly, he’s too old to kill himself. Sure, people do it at his age, but he’s so goddamn tired. Moreover, he knows he could get someone else to do it pretty easily. Maybe he could be a martyr. He could save someone from a clicker or a soldier. He could save someone’s life for once. But would that be enough to save his soul? To make it to Heaven and see Ellie and Sarah again?

Maybe, he would, if God really does love people the way some say he does. But if Joel was God, he’d deny himself entry.

He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Aside from the two times he eats. And once in the middle of the night to take a piss because he may be depressed, but the last of his dignity is motivation enough not to wet the bed. 

He doesn’t shower or change his clothes. Not like he’s wearing a shirt anyway, just boxers ‘cause it’s too hot outside and he doesn’t want to get up and turn on the fan. Sleep doesn’t come easy, but it comes. It comes because it has to, reluctant as it is.

He wakes up to the voice of an unfamiliar woman. Quieter than Ellie or Sarah, less stern than Maria or Tess. Not like he was expecting to hear from three out of four of those women, not outside of his dreams. 

You’ve always cared about people, saving lives and all that. But you’re no good with a gun, so Tommy finds a better job than patrol for you.  

“You’re going to be watching my brother, Joel.”

“Like, spying on him?”

“No, like making sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

A suicidal man is nothing new, especially in this world, but Tommy’s bluntness about it is. He acts as if it’s a normal job. Like the ones in office buildings that sound wonderful even though the people who tell you about them assure you it was barely better than life is now. This new watchmen position is the same as patrol, in a way. Terrifying in the gravity it holds. You have to keep someone alive.

You can shoot deer, you can run quickly, you can hide well. You can survive on your own. But, at age 10, your mom bled out as you sat by her side. You were too weak to carry her, to dig a grave and bury her. Your survival feels unearned, but you’re no good with guns. You’d miss if you tried to do it. That’s a rare thought anyway, and surely not one you plan to ever speak aloud. They’d put you on watch too, which sounds suffocating, in all honesty.

You don’t know Joel. You’ve heard his name in passing, but you arrived in Jackson during the period of time he was gone. He was going to take some girl to some hospital for something or other. 

“What about that girl?” you ask. “Is she not taking care of him?”

“She’s not around anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. 

He just nods. The ‘why’ of the whole arrangement makes sense, but you’re still unclear on the ‘how’. Am I just supposed to stay in his house 24/7? Is he allowed to shower on his own? Do I have to cook or do laundry?

“Just check in on him. He’s not the most… personable, but don’t take anything he says to heart.”

Just check in on him. It sounds simpler than it will be, you know that much. Even keeping a plant alive takes more than ‘checking in on it’. 

You arrive at his house around 10 AM. You assume he’ll be awake, but when you look around his living room and kitchen, you can’t find him. Oh God, you think. What if he’s… 

He’s asleep in bed. You’re pretty sure. He’s lying there and there’s no evidence that anything’s wrong, but when you say his name from the doorway, he doesn’t move. So, you walk closer to him, just to make sure he’s breathing. 

“Joel,” you say softly – because your other option is reaching out to touch him, and you feel that’s a little too personal, especially when he’s not wearing a shirt. 

“Who the Hell are you and how did you get into my house?” he says. 

“Tommy sent me.”

“Oh, so they’re making you watch me?”

“Yeah.”

You’re glad he knows about the arrangement. Maybe he’ll give you some direction on what to do with him. 

“Must hate you if they stuck you with me.” 

You can’t tell if he’s being ironic, but you hope so. Still, you don’t know how to respond. You decide on a simple, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Though you’re alone in the room, you sit with perfect posture on Joel’s couch, looking around at the decor – or lack thereof – looking for clues about who this man is. 

You think about making him breakfast, but you’d have to raid his cabinets to do so, and you’re terrified to make any missteps when it comes to Joel. You don’t think he’ll kill himself over burnt toast, but there is a persistent need lodged inside your brain to make him like you. It’s a little selfish when you should be focused on just keeping him alive, but maybe if he likes you, he’ll feel better, maybe you’ll feel better too. That’s still nothing but the ever-lingering hope in your heart. But it’s something.

He comes downstairs eventually, in a t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. 

“Good morning,” you say. 

“No, it ain’t,” he says, heading in the direction of the kitchen. 

“Do you want me to help you with anything? Breakfast or coffee?”

“I can make my own damn coffee, kid.”

And he does. The first shred of kindness you get from him is an offer to pour you a cup. 

“I’m alright, but thank you.”

He sits down in a chair across from you and sips his coffee as you watch him awkwardly. 

“Are you really gonna do that all day?”

“Do what?”

“Sit there and stare at me.”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“You could leave, for starters.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“What? You afraid Tommy’ll get upset with you?”

“A little.”

“He’s a softie. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

You are worried. Sure, you want Tommy to be happy with you, but moreover, you don’t want to leave Joel alone lest something happen to him. You might not know the guy very well, but you’d hate to see someone take their own life. 

“Can I just stay here? I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

He shrugs, and you take it as a yes.

He does not need a caregiver or a watchman. He does not need you, but you look like a kicked puppy and there’s no way he’ll force you to leave. Another young girl he’ll reluctantly let stick by his side. It’s almost cruel of Tommy to send someone like you. Someone young and full of life. Someone he has a hard time pushing away. 

He should’ve sent Joel a crotchety old bitch or a drill sergeant. Maybe Tommy thinks he’s doing Joel a favor by giving him a nice girl, polite and eager to please. It’s a good thing your chipper attitude irritates him. It’s the first item on the very small list of qualities that Joel dislikes.

At first, he insists on making his own food. You’re still a guest, even if he’s reluctant to have you as one. It doesn’t matter where he lives, he’ll always have been raised in Texas. He’ll always hear his mother calling him out on his lack of manners. His hospitality is force of habit.

Plus, if he lets you do anything for him, he’ll owe you something – at least in his mind. And he doesn’t want to owe anyone anything. He doesn’t want to give or get or build any kind of rapport with you whatsoever, especially since you seem to take all attention as progress, despite the fact that Joel is harsh with you most of the time. 

The whole ordeal makes him feel like more of a failure than he did before. He couldn’t save Ellie, or Sarah for that matter, and now he’s being forced into his own retirement or held hostage depending on how you look at it, so he can’t even get the satisfaction that productivity brings.

He also finds himself pretty fucking bored without work. He became so used to being in constant battle, even in his sleep. One wrong move and he was dead. The worst injury he’s gotten in the past few weeks was a paper cut.

Reading was never his biggest hobby, but it’s not bad when you find the right book. Often, you’ll sit across the room from him and read a book of your own, and the silence as he relaxes into the couch is quite peaceful for a change. 

No amount of peace and quiet can cure his boredom, though. It makes him antsy, and you notice. You notice a lot when your job is just staring at him, it seems.

“I found a book of crossword puzzles,” you announce. 

“Congratulations,” Joel says. 

“I thought since you were bored, I’d give them to you, and maybe you could do them…”

By the look on your face, he can guess that you’re regretting your words. Lest he make you cry, he accepts the book. 

“Plus, it looks kind of old so I don’t know if I’d know how to do it myself,” you add.

He knows you don’t mean it as an insult, but it sounds like one, and it makes him laugh. The list of qualities Joel likes about you is already long — and buried deep in his subconscious — but he’ll have to add the fact that you can make him laugh.

“Are you calling me old?”

“Not in a bad way. You’re just older than I am.”

He flips through the book and finds that about 80% of them are done. 

“Somebody did most of these already.”

“I’m sorry�� maybe I could erase that person’s answers and then you could do them?”

“I think I’d still be able to tell.”

You hang your head in defeat. 

“Gimme a pencil and I’ll try the ones that aren’t done yet.”

You look through his junk drawer, find a pencil, and hand it to him. He doesn’t expect you to sit on the couch next to him. 

“I know you’re supposed to watch me, but you don’t have to watch that closely.”

You move away slightly, no longer looking over his shoulder. 

“I was just curious about the answers.”

“I was kidding around,” he says (though, it’s only a half-truth). “Come back here.”

It takes him about a week to finish the book. 

“Had to go back and fix some of the others,” he says. “The person who originally filled ‘em out was an idiot.”

“That’s not very nice. Maybe it was a kid.”

“Kid had great handwriting, then.”

You pause, hesitating for a reason he can’t pinpoint. 

“What? You want me to say sorry for calling that guy an idiot. ‘Cause I will if it matters that much to you.”

“No, no, fuck that guy, he was an idiot,” you say, clearly taking after him. 

“Language, Missy,” he says, jokingly scolding you. 

“Sorry. I should stop swearing.”

“It’s okay. You probably picked it up from me anyway.”

“Maybe,” you agree. You’re fidgeting, holding something behind your back, he notices. 

“Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” you say, holding it out to him. “I just figured since you finished the crossword book, I should get you more.”

He only did the crosswords for you. He never really cared for them anyway. He just wanted to make you happy — he’d rather have you content than pissy or whiny. The only thing worse than your constant insistence on getting his approval would be if you just sat there and cried all day.

He’d tried to give the book back to you, but you couldn’t do ‘em on your own since you were lacking in 90s pop culture knowledge. So, he did them, with you watching over his shoulder the whole time. 

He’s about to admit this to you and hand the new one back over to you when he looks at the pages – white paper, stapled together, all drawn up in pen. 

“Did you make these?” he asks, in awe of both your ability to draw perfectly straight lines, and moreover, how much you must care if you’re willing to go to these lengths. Kiss-ass behavior, he tells himself.

You nod, and he gets the sudden urge to hug you, but opts for a thank you with a smile he can’t repress.

“You didn’t have to do all this, but it’s very sweet of you.”

He considers taking back the ‘very sweet’ comment when he finds that 3 down is four letters with the prompt “grumpy old man”. JOEL fits perfectly in the blank spaces. 

You go on walks, read endless books, and Joel finally lets you start taking on some of the housework. It should be nice, but you get the feeling he’s not all that happy about this situation. Not that he tells you it outright. He doesn’t tell you much at all. And you’ve tried. It’s not like you’re asking hard-hitting questions. 

“How old are you?” 

“56.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

He doesn’t even bother to ask the same question back to you. Sometimes, he doesn’t even look up at you when you speak to him. You know it’s the depression of losing someone close to you, you know what that feels like – the problem is, you don’t know how to fix it. You only know how to hide it.

It’s quite simple, in theory. All you have to do is give him the desire to get out of bed every day. But you don’t even know what he likes. All you know is that your presence is not high on his list of favorite things. You try and try until you swear his shitty attitude is rubbing off on you. 

Tommy checks in with you periodically, asking you how things are going with Joel, and this would be the perfect opportunity for you to get out of this position, which Joel would probably love, but to spite him, you tell Tommy it’s going well.

And it is, in a way – Joel is not actively mean to you. He doesn’t insult you or argue with you, he just mostly ignores you. So, you figure if you ignore him, maybe he’ll miss your attention. Stupid teenage bullshit mindset, acting like you have a crush on him, playing some sort of push and pull game that he’s not even privy to. 

But that’s not like you. That brooding behavior is all Joel, so it lasts no more than a day or so until you go back to trying, and accept the fact that he’s just an asshole. Doesn’t mean you have to be one. 

You never expected to win him over with the crossword puzzles but you see the look in his eyes when you give him the homemade ones, and you know there’s something in there besides all that pain. You know that look, can’t put a name to it, all you know is that it’s a good sign, one you had yet to see from Joel.

Joel wouldn’t have thought he’d get tired of hearing someone ask, “can I do anything for you?”, constantly begging to dote on him, to care for him. The last time someone did this for him was on Father’s Day, which is an ancient holiday now, almost mythical.

But it’s been weeks of the same old shit. It has nothing to do with you. In fact, you’re probably the best ‘caregiver’ he could’ve gotten stuck with. Thing is, though, he doesn’t want a caregiver, and he’s tired of said caregiver bombarding him. It’s enough to just have her watching him like a hawk, but yapping in his ear is another thing. Because he enjoys the quiet (and because the way you ask him questions reminds him of Ellie.)

It’s a joke, a stupid joke. It’s his patience wearing thin.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask. 

“Sure. A beer, maybe. And a fuckin’ blowjob,” he mutters. Yeah, that’d be the dream but it’s a joke, bordering on a jab at you. 

“I don’t think we have any beer,” you say. You both know damn well there’s no alcohol in the house. 

“I know.”

“And, as for the other thing- is that something that you’d want… me to do?”

“Hey,” his tone softens. “Sweetheart, it was a joke. I was messing with you.”

“Okay, so you don’t want that, correct?”

“It was a joke. I’m sorry I even said it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, sheepishly. “It’s your house, your rules, right?”

The concept of free speech in his house was one he’d brought up regarding ‘swear words’— It’s his house so he’s allowed to say ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘bitch’, and every other word he could come up with, and he came up with some deep cuts just to make you laugh. Admittedly, it’s a nice sound.

“Yeah.” He thinks for a moment. “I just think that these sorts of topics aren’t appropriate for someone…”

“You know I’m an adult, right, Joel?”

“Yes, I know, but you’re still young and you seem a little innocent. I don’t want to put those types of thoughts in your head.”

“I know what a blowjob is, and I know what sex is. I just haven’t found the right person yet. That doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it or whatever.”

You rarely snap at him, so he knows that word — innocent — must’ve been more offensive than he’d meant it. Maybe you’re not innocent. Maybe you’re just kind and a hell of a lot younger than him. Maybe it just seems like you should be.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just saying that I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“But do you want it?” You punctuate every word with a newfound annoyance.

“It’s not about that.”

“Yes it is.” You’re quite incredulous for someone who has been presented with the idea only a moment ago.

“Fine. Yes, in theory, if we were just two people who know each other, then, sure, if you offered, I’d say yes.”

“I offered.”

The way he calls you ‘sweetheart’ feels more like an insult than a term of endearment. You’d rather be ‘kid’ or nothing at all, anything less patronizing. It’s worse when he calls you innocent. You’re not innocent, you’re just nice — something that Joel is not. You’re painfully nice. You’ve heard it makes people like you. You’re still waiting on the results, though.

But, if he’d ordered you to suck him off, you’d have kneed him in the balls, and he would’ve thought twice about calling you ‘sweetheart’. The thing is, he doesn’t. Instead, he backs away from the opportunity, tells you it was a joke. 

But you see two things behind his eyes: one, he wants this. He might not want to want this, but he does. More importantly, you see his genuine concern for your well-being override this desire and you realize you feel safer around him than you do around most men. That’s one of the reasons that you do give him ‘a fuckin’ blowjob’. The other being that, sometimes, before you go to bed, you can’t sleep, and a certain man comes to mind as your fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties. 

When you reiterate that you offered, you exchange a long stare wherein you try to reach into each other’s souls and sort this shit out but when you both realize you can’t, Joel says, “Okay.”

And you say, “Okay.”

A new kind of tension bubbles to the surface as Joel sits down on the couch and you kneel before him. 

You fiddle with his belt, eventually managing to get it undone, but Joel does the rest of the work it takes to get his pants down to his ankles, boxers too. 

You’d imagined he’d be big, but that’s how fantasies work. Every man’s dick is big in your lewd daydreams, but it’s like you manifested it with Joel. You begin to feel like you’re in over your head, and though you aren’t innocent, you aren’t experienced enough to take him. But who are you to back down from a challenge?

Joel can see hesitation wash over your face for the first time. You pause, study the scene like you’re trying to decide your approach, and then you take his cock in your hand, looking up at him like you’re asking for the green light.

He gives you the go-ahead with the only piece of advice he thinks you’ll need. “Just don’t bite, and you’ll do fine.”

He probably should’ve mentioned another thing: don’t take too much at once or you’ll choke. His head lolls back and his eyes fall closed the moment your lips meet the tip of it. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t want you to feel intimidated by his presence while you’re exploring, so to speak. He lets out a low groan of approval to let you know he’s still with you.

But he’s fading into a beautiful oblivion until he hears you gag, feels you sputter and it shocks him out of that blissful feeling. His eyes snap open and he cradles the back of your head. 

“Easy, easy,” he says. “Don’t hurt yourself.” 

You pull away briefly and catch your breath. 

“That’s good,” he says. “Breathe, baby.”

He can see you looking for instructions, so he takes your hand and helps you get a firm grip on his cock, sliding your hand up and down, and finally letting you do it on your own. 

“Doin’ good, baby,” he says. “You gotta give your mouth a break sometimes.”

You’ve never gotten anything close to praise from Joel before. It’d warm your heart like nothing else if it weren’t so goddamn sexy in this context. 

You nod, wipe the spit from your chin, and give your mouth a brief break, but you can’t hold yourself back forever. Soon, your lips are back on his cock, kissing from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue over the head, seeing what reactions you can get from him. 

When you get into the rhythm of hand and mouth in tandem, you barely register him telling you that he’s gonna come. 

You imagine it’s an acquired taste but it’s not awful. You can swallow it. So, you do, and you look up at him with a smile. 

He looks like he’s woken up from a dream and he’s still getting his bearings straight, but he’s quick to stand up and take your hand. 

“Where are we going?”

“To my bed.”

You’d follow him anywhere but bed does sound good to you right now. It sounds like an adventure. You don’t go into his bedroom unless absolutely necessary. You’d think he was hiding something horrible in there if you didn’t have a mutual feeling regarding your own bedroom.

“Are we going to have sex?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. 

“Then, what are we going to do?”

“You,” he begins. “Are going to lie back and relax.”

He coaxes you to lie down, and he doesn’t have to try hard. 

“I,” he continues. “Am going to make you feel good.”

You’re fairly certain about what he means, so there’s nothing left for you to do but let him do the work. It’s just another part of the job you’ll have to learn from experience.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says. 

You nod. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he says, playing with the hem of your t-shirt. 

“Wait-” you say, sitting up, and he withdraws. “Can we kiss… first?”

He looks surprised for a moment, and you worry you’ve fucked up. 

“I just feel like we should do that,” you say, much quieter.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”

His hand cups your cheek and he looks you in the eyes like he’s trying to find answers somewhere in there. 

“Has anyone ever kissed you before?”

“Not really, not the way I want you to kiss me.”

“Feels a bit rude of me to have put my dick in your mouth before you’d even been kissed.”

Still, he leans in and kisses you, but it’s soft, gentle. It’s not a peck on the lips, though, it’s more. It gradually gains momentum and passion. Eventually, he slips his tongue in your mouth and you take it in stride. 

“You’re very good at this,” he says. “If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t think this was your first time.”

“Is that a compliment?” you ask, doubting Joel is capable of such things.

He ignores your question, and sighs. You know it’s not directed at you because you’re fairly sure he’s not listening.

“I know I said I was gonna do some things with you, but I don’t wanna take things too fast, okay?”

“Are you saying you’re just going to kiss me?”

“I think that’d be the right thing to do.”

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

You wish you could sound sexy, or whatever, but you probably come off like a bratty child.  

“Excuse me?”

“That’s not fair. You said you’d make me feel good. I thought you were gonna return the favor.”

“I was.”

“Then, why are you backing out?”

You’re shocked that he’s the pussy — pun-intended — in this scenario.

“I thought it might be too much for you.”

You grab his hand and slip it under the flimsy fabric of your shorts. 

His eyes go wide. 

Fucking hell, you’re wet, is the only thought on Joel’s mind. It makes sense. He’d be offended, maybe even worried if you were dry as a desert down there, but he’s barely touched you. Either you really enjoyed kissing him or you actually liked sucking him off too.

He gently presses the pads of his fingers against the wet spot on your panties.

“You’re right, baby. It’s only fair if I help you out.”

He’s able to get your shorts and your panties down in one swift pull. You look impressed by the action. Just you wait, he thinks. He’s not an expert by any means, but it’s not too hard to learn if you pay attention — and sex is one of the only times Joel does listen — it’s also not a skill you lose over time. It’s muscle memory, or maybe it’s innate.

His thumb rubs your clit lazily as he watches your face scrunch up in pleasure, your eyes fill with need. When the first finger slips inside you, he hears a breathy sigh come from above — it sounds like relief though he knows you haven’t come yet.

He’s never had a woman have such a strong reaction to his lips on her clit. It almost startles him at first. You’re frantic from the moment his lips meet your skin, crying out for him like you’re scared he’ll stop.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m right here. Don’t have to get so worked up. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He can’t say another word because his lips are occupied, so he relies on his hands, his soothing touch, to tell you that everything is alright. He gets the urge to tell you how good you are for him, how good you taste, how pretty you are like this, but he knows it’d be cruel to let up now. He’s callous often, sometimes harsh, but rarely cruel.

His instinct tells him to drag this out, to make your thighs shake, to have tears running down your cheeks, to tease you. To be the asshole that he tends to be when you’re around (and when you’re not). This is a version of Joel you might come to like.

He’s lived long enough to be well-practiced in this field of life. Doesn’t matter if he’s particularly romantic or even sociable, it’s just happened enough times over the course of fifty plus years for him to know the ins and outs. He can get you there quickly and lead you through it slowly.

He’s so used to you saying his name in a tone he considers pestering that he’s begun to hate the word itself. But when it’s drawn out and desperate like this, it sounds wonderful.

You’re at his mercy, he thinks. Which means he’s in control. And, as much as he’d hate to admit it, control does not mean he can kill you, control means he can care for you.

When you come down from your high, Joel is looking up at you from between your thighs with messy hair and kiss-dark lips. His smile looks like one of pride. Your cheeks heat up, only half-remembering what just happened. You could describe the event simply in a cause and effect relationship — he went down on you, so you came. You know what an orgasm feels like, but that was something beyond anything you’d ever experienced before. You fear an addiction may be coming on.

Your voice comes out shaky, which only makes your first words after a long silence sound stupider. “Thank you.”

He looks confused, and it takes him a moment to respond. “My pleasure,” he says, and you swear it might be when you see a semi through his sweatpants.

You’d offer more ‘help’ but you truly don’t think you can manage it. You can feel your body pulling you towards sleep. Your eyes have barely opened and they want to close again.

Joel notices because how could he not, you’re completely naked in every sense of the word.

“Get some rest,” he says before standing up.

He’s leaving.

“Where are you going?” you ask, instinctively.

“Downstairs.”

You do not want to say it. The fear of rejection is too strong, but so is the sudden urge to cry. Holding back tears is a strength of yours, though, so Joel never sees them. Somehow, after doing one of the most adult things, you feel like a baby in the wake of it. You are supposed to be taking care of him, and you are failing.

“What?” is his response to your refusal to meet his eyes.

“I just assumed you were going to stay. That’s all.”

“I can. If that’s what you need me to do.”

You don’t say anything. He climbs into bed anyway after picking up your underwear and handing it to you.

He doesn’t hold you but he doesn’t leave either. What he does do is kiss you on the forehead when he thinks you’re already asleep. It’s a compromise between your fear and your desire.

It isn’t as weird as one might think it would be — acting as if you’ve never done anything remotely sexual with one another. It’s easier because you don’t have to go back to being friends. You never really were. It was always awkward. What’s new? Only your knowledge that at least some of your feelings are mutual. Only the fact that you think about having sex with him every time he’s in front of you. It’s really just out of curiosity sometimes. What would he be like in bed? Does he want it too? How would you even broach the subject?

Sometimes, it’s not just curiosity. Those days are harder to navigate. You have to pretend like every little touch — most of them accidental — fuels the fire. It’s not the sensation itself. It’s just the acute awareness of his body, how close it is to yours, how easily you could reach out and touch him, that enters your mind.

“You’re staring.” Joel says from the other side of the couch.

“Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Got something’ on your mind?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon, what is it?”

“Why do you suddenly care about my thoughts?” About me.

“You think I didn’t care about you before? You’ve been in my house everyday for months now.”

“So?”

“And, I haven’t tried to kick you out yet.”

“You’re not allowed to kick me out. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay. How ‘bout this: I’m down here sitting with you because I know you don’t like to be alone.”

“So you pity me?”

“No, if I pitied you, I’d have told Tommy to give you a new job.”

“Okay, so, you expect me to believe you care but you refuse to talk to me half the time.”

“I’m not much of a talker. But, now that I’m trying to talk to you, you’re shutting me out.”

“I’m not— It’s just not a big deal. I don’t even remember what I was thinking about anyway.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I said, that’s bullshit.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll talk.”

You take a deep breath before speaking, one long enough that he gestures for you to go on.

“I was just thinking about what it would be like if we had sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, since we, you know, we did that stuff… it’s not like it’s a totally crazy thought.”

“‘That stuff’? Be more specific, honey.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do, but you can’t be thinking about having sex with me when you can’t even use big girl words when you’re talking about it.”

“It doesn’t even matter.” Your face is burning. It so, totally, does matter. “I was just curious.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Go on thinking, I’ll get back to reading.”

“Wait, what? You just made me tell you that to make me embarrassed? You’re not even gonna—”

“What? Gonna fuck you?”

The word slips out of his mouth so easily.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Truth is: he’s been thinking about you every day since. He only caught you staring because he was doing the same. He tries to restrain himself because it feels like the right thing to do.

But he still, he acquiesces and takes you upstairs to his bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed and undresses you slowly like you’re a gift and he doesn’t want to tear the paper. He places your clothes atop the dresser, but leaves his strewn across the floor.

Wonder fills your eyes as he reveals his naked body. Hesitation and awe wrapped up in one.

“Wow,” you say, breaking the silence, “it’s, um, you know— do you think it’ll fit?”

It’s not the first time he’s heard that. It no longer brings him that bashful pride that it did when he was younger. It’s just a fact. A nuisance sometimes.

“Not if we don’t get you ready first.”

“Do you need to get ready first too?”

He looks down at his cock, rock-hard and eager.

“No, baby, just looking at you is enough to get me ready.”

A thought crosses his mind — one he thought he’d left in his teenage years — what if he comes too quickly?

He lies back on the bed next to you and reaches for you, waits for you to let him maneuver you.

“Come here,” he says.

You sit up and face him, slowly inch towards his arms that beckon you.

You’re fairly sure you know what he wants you to do. Sit on his face. But god, something about it seems awkward in the amount of control you simultaneously give up and are given in turn.

“You trust me, right?” he asks.

“Of course.”

An answer you wouldn’t have ever thought you’d give back when you first met.

“Then, come sit on my face.”

You swing your leg over him and steady yourself above his face.

He grips your thighs to guide you. You grip the headboard to save yourself from passing out the moment Joel’s mouth meets your skin.

Joel wouldn’t be the man you’d have thought would have such a talented tongue based on how little he uses it. You can’t blame him for not talking right now. Your moans echo off his bedroom walls and permeate the balmy summer air. The windows are closed and the curtains shield your naked bodies from the neighbors but even if you’d left them open, you wouldn’t have the sense to care.

You’re an incoherent mess of moans and half-words, trembling thighs and sweat. Your orgasm comes on strong, and if your eyes weren’t screwed shut, maybe you’d see the gates of heaven.

It’s been a while since he’s done this. Tess never liked it like this and the last woman before her was one from another lifetime, pre-outbreak, an inconceivable world despite having once called it home.

He’s not really thinking about that, though, in this moment, all Joel can think of is you. Your skin, your sweat, your heat, and the pretty noises you make. At one point, he swears he hears his name though your thighs are covering his ears. And he doesn’t mind it one bit.

“I’m gonna pass out,” he hears from above him.

“No, you’re not. I’ve got you,” he tries to say, though surely his words are muffled.

“Don’t let me go.”

He doesn’t. He carefully helps you lie back on the bed. When he meets your gaze, he swears he’s never seen adoration like that in anyone’s eyes before. At least, not in a long time.

It terrifies him, but in spite of his hesitation, he holds you close.

A blanket of peaceful silence settles over your bare bodies.

You speak quietly, trying not to awaken Joel’s senses. The ones that pull him away from you. The moment feels like glass in your hands.

“Are we going to have sex?”

“Hm?”

“We were going to, right? You were getting me ready for it.”

“I thought I wore you out.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d tell you if you were.”

He hesitates.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

Those are the words that awaken his arousal. In an instant, you find his body looming above yours. He kisses you until your lips are red and puffy. He doesn’t break your gaze as he positions his cock at your entrance. Your green light is your needy hips begging him to fuck you.

He starts slow, even the head is a stretch. You scrunch up your face and hold back the urge to squirm.

“It’s gonna be a little uncomfortable at first, baby, and that’s why we’re gonna take it slow.”

Slow is an understatement. It takes ages for him to give you another inch — or maybe you’re just antsy. This one makes you whimper, makes you clamp down around him.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

Joel’s voice is tender and sweet, and it gives you enough hope to ask for something you think he’d usually deny you.

“Can you hold my hand?”

He interlocks his fingers with yours. It feels oddly natural. He doubts he’s heard someone ask to hold his hand since— not now, he’ll go soft if he thinks about her. He’ll close in on himself and you need him — in more ways than one.

He continues slowly as he promised he would until he hears your moans of pleasure and your pleas for more, more, more. More is a little bit faster, a little bit harder, as deep as you can take it, and most importantly, his thumb tracing circles on your clit.

You squeeze his hand with yours as your inner walls clamp down around him.

“Just let it happen. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

When you come, he does too — the most blissful mistake he’s ever made.

Curses fly out of his mouth through his orgasm, stopping briefly as he catches his breath, and resuming when he pulls out and watches as his come drips out of you.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I liked it.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Because I fucking loved it. “But, it’s dangerous. We’ve gotta be more careful.”

In the future — it’s implied. Another time is nothing when the lines have all been crossed and when the other side brings him a warmth the hot summer never could.

You have more power over him than the sun.

It becomes a routine — briefly — and you are more careful. You discreetly buy condoms, but when your next period doesn’t come, you fear it might be too late.

You don’t tell Joel, not at first. Sometimes, they’re irregular, and you don’t want to give the man a heart attack. But then a week passes, another week passes, and eventually you have to — especially when you’re beginning to feel a bit nauseous and have no other explanation for it. It’s better to say something before he asks.

“Joel,” you say, “I haven’t gotten my period yet.”

A look of horror crosses his face before he asks, “How late is it?”

You take a breath before admitting, “A few weeks.”

“How many?”

“Almost three.”

“Fuck.” He sighs in preemptive defeat. “Have you taken a test?”

“No, I thought it would come so I didn’t want to overreact.”

“We’re going to go get one.”

He stands up immediately and turns towards the door.

“Wait,” you say, stopping him in his tracks.

“I should probably get it. It’ll look less suspicious.”

No, it won’t. Those who suspect something is up with you, will have their suspicions, and those who don’t, won’t think to pay attention.

They recommend taking multiple because false negatives are common.

The first one is a clear positive, so clear you think it might be a false positive, so you wait to freak out until you see two lines come up on the second test.

Joel is silent, even when you hand him the test.

But, so are you, because what more is there to say? The tests say it all.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he says, and you’re surprised until he clarifies.

“I doubt they’ll make you pay for the pill or the procedure — however they do it, but I’ll take care of you while you’re recovering. I’ll be there through it all. Promise.”

The pill or the procedure. The abortion that he expects you to have. Truth be told, you hadn’t really thought about what you’d do until now. It’s probably the right decision. Do you really want to bring a baby into this world? Can you even take care of one?

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll make an appointment.”

You save your tears for Maria. She approaches you in the clinic. You’d be delighted to see her at any other moment.

“Making an appointment?” she asks.

“Yeah, just a checkup,” you lie.

The woman at the counter clarifies with you. “Just a checkup? Is that what you’d prefer?”

You turn back and forth between her and Maria.

“Um, no,” you say, “keep it as is.”

Maria raises an eyebrow and there is nowhere left to hide. You might be able to outrun her, but she knows where you live and isn’t afraid to confront you at your doorstep.

She saves you some of your dignity when she whispers, “How about a chat at my place? I have some tea that helps with nausea.”

The tea is persuasive but you’d have to go anyway. You don’t speak on the walk to Maria’s. She brews the tea and you sit across from each other in the kitchen before she finally speaks.

“What’s the appointment for?” she asks. “And I’m not here to judge you, I just want the truth.”

You’re not my mom, you could say, but she’s the closest thing you’ve had to one since your own passed.

“An abortion,” you say quietly, looking down at the table, at your hands around the mug.

“Okay,” she says, gently. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You try to reply but all the comes out is a sob.

Eventually, she pries the truth out of you. You explain what happened when you told Joel the news.

“So, he made the decision, and then told you he’d be there for you if he did what you wanted?”

“I guess. But, I think it might be the right choice. I mean, it'd be hard to raise a child in this world…” You cut yourself off when you look at her bump. She’s gonna be a mom, a good mom. And, stupidly, you’re jealous.

Even though it’s not there yet, you swear you can see a high chair in your periphery. You could be holding a warm bottle instead of a hot mug of tea. Maria could be feeding her child his first bite of baby food next to you.

“Let me ask you something, and I want you to really think about it, and be honest with me.”

You nod and wait for her question.

“If Joel had said he’d support you no matter what, even if you wanted to keep the child, if he said he’d step up as a father, would you have made the appointment?”

“I don’t know.” Oh, but you do. Maria waits for you to come to a conclusion, for you to spit it out.

“I like the idea of having a kid. I love kids, and I sometimes think about what it would be like being a mom, but I know that I can’t be one. Not right now.”

If there is one thing Joel can’t be, it’s a father. Not again. He’s too old, too grouchy, too cynical. He’s not the man he used to be. He was never good at it anyway. He couldn’t save his own kid. He’s already a failed father — once, if not, twice.

You’d be a great mother, and that’s the greatest tragedy. He’s failed you already. He’s not good at the kinder things of life. He shouldn’t have indulged in you, in the love you gave him when he cannot give it back. There are a lot of things Joel can’t quite get right — being a lover, a father, a good man.

Every night since the outbreak began, he’s watched Sarah bleed out in his arms. Sometimes he sees Tess, Sam and Henry, Bill, even Tommy which feels like an augury. Ellie is there almost every night, losing consciousness. Only sometimes is she in that hospital bed, often, she’s lying in the show, with blue lips and almost no pulse. Now, you’ve begun to enter his subconscious. You’re always too far out of reach, screaming his name until he’s shot dead, and the last thing he hears is you shriek as you watch him die in front of you.

Another person is another tragedy once they have the misfortune of coming into his life. There cannot be another person, especially not a child.

You should be back by now, he thinks as he splashes water on his face for the umpteenth time, hoping it’ll wash away all the mistakes he’s made.

He can tell it’s Maria by the way her knuckles rap on his front door. He can tell she’s pissed too.

When he opens the door, he sees you in standing behind her, like you’re afraid of him.

“Unless you want to have this discussion on your doorstep, I suggest you let me — us — inside.”

He does, reluctantly.

“Joel Miller, when do you plan on becoming a man?”

“What?”

“You just told her to make an appointment, didn’t even give her a chance to think about it? You managed to run away from your problems while you’re on house arrest. Impressive.”

“I thought that was what we both wanted,” he says, looking past her, to you.

“I guess, maybe,” you shrug.

The one thing he’s grateful for is Maria’s suggestion that you talk privately.

You sit further from him than usual, you refuse to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask what you wanted. I thought I was making the right choice.”

“It’s okay. I don’t even know what I want.”

But the tears suggest otherwise.

“Do you want to keep the baby?”

“Maybe, but I can’t. It’s not a good idea.”

“That’s what I think, but Maria’s right, it’s your choice.”

“But I don’t know how to make that choice.”

“You’ve got a good heart. Follow it.”

You spend a lot of time thinking, remembering, and trying to convince yourself that there is no part of you that wants to be a mother. But, in your bedside drawer, there is a handful of photos — all from before the outbreak. You see your mom as a child on a swing set, and as a teen blowing out candles on her birthday. Her mom is in that one too, sitting next to her, smiling. You wish more than anything to have pictures of you and your mom.

You think about the little girl who pretended a ratty old stuffed bear was her baby. You can hear your mom telling you that you’re doing a good job, how you’ll be good at this one day. Your bedtime stories were never about fairy princesses, but about your family, the ones you didn’t get to meet.

“I wish I could have that,” you’d say.

“One day, you might be able to — the world is scary right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be like this forever,” she’d insist.

In retrospect, you wonder if she really believed that, if she really believed that teddy bear would one day be a baby that you’d be the one carrying, and she’d be the proud grandmother.

“I told her I wanted to be a mom like her,” you explain to Joel, and he understands.

You know about Ellie, but not about Sarah. Joel never brings either of them up to you. Until now. It’s a fair trade, he tells himself. Photos for photos, info for info. But it’s more than that.

“Hold on for one minute, I’m gonna go get something, and I’ll be right back.”

It’ll only take him a second to grab the pictures, but he’ll need a moment to compose himself.

“This is Sarah,” he says, pointing to the little girl in the photo. “My daughter.”

You’re silent for a moment, gazing at the photo, at a younger Joel you’ve never met.

You’re the first person not to tell him that you’re sorry for his loss, and he is relieved not to hear the empty sympathies once more.

“What was she like?” you ask.

It’s hard to explain, and for that reason, he talks for at least a half hour about Sarah. All her likes and dislikes, all his favorite moments from the day she was born until the day she died. He tells the story of that too.

When you try to tell him that he sounds like he was a good dad, he has to explain why he wasn’t.

“I couldn’t save her,” he says.

“I couldn’t save her either,” you say, pointing to your mother in one of the photos.

“You were just a child,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

“And, you were just a man,” you say. “It’s not your fault.”

“A grown man.”

“Doing the best that you could.”

And you’re right. He did try his best. He stops arguing not because he’ll ever concede but because the weight of the present falls upon him all at once as he meets your eyes and remembers why you’re here.

He can’t have Sarah back, he can’t have Ellie back, but you’re right in front of him — and he loves you. It’s too late to turn back and kick you out on your first day, it’s too late to never speak to you, it’s too late to not love you.

It’s not too late to fail you like he’s failed everyone else. It’s not too late to do the opposite either.

You tell him your decision, and wait for his disagreement, for him to dissuade you. But, he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try my best.”

You cancel the appointment and make the final decision, but it doesn’t feel real until Joel finishes building the crib in the spare bedroom. The most unexpected part is how excited you feel even when you’re nauseous, even when your feet are bloated, even when your back is killing you.

You’re also terrified, particularly when you hear Maria’s account of her labor and delivery. For someone describing how painful it was, she seems oddly unfazed, happy even. She’s too focused on her baby boy, and you get it — he is pretty cute.

When the day comes, you find that you’ve underestimated the pain entirely. The wounds you’ve gotten in combat are nothing compared to this. Every hour that goes by feels like a full day for you. Every time the doctor checks your dilation it’s still not yet time.

Until it is. And everything becomes a million times more chaotic. You swear the only thing keeping you sane is Joel’s hand in yours. (You have to apologize later for squeezing it so tightly.)

Finally, the telltale cry comes, and it feels like you’ve run a marathon by how exhausted you are and by how proud you are of yourself for doing it. This will go down as the greatest feat of your life and you are more than satisfied with that fact.

The doctor announces that it’s a boy and though he said he’d be fine with either gender, Joel’s smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it. You’re smiling almost as big. It hurts your cheek muscles but you can’t stop, especially when they hand you your baby boy. Though he doesn’t know how to speak, his hand wrapped around your finger tells you that it’s going to be okay.

There is so much pain in this world, but not in this room.

[icemankazansky]

A Simple Guide to Not Being Afraid to Write Comments to Fic You Read

I've seen a lot of posts about the current state of fanfiction comments. Writers, especially writers who have been in fandom for a decade or more, are frustrated by the lack of comments, and have noticed a definite decline in comments (and all other forms of reader interaction) in the past ten years or so. Many readers feel daunted by the expectation of leaving comments, afraid they'll do something wrong. As a fandom old maid, the latter confused me for a while, until I realized that most of the people who feel that way probably have not been taught this form of communication.

But your loving fandom elders are here for you. Come along as your auntie tumblr user icemankazansky makes this shit easy.

The easiest way to think of fanfiction comment etiquette is to compare it to something you likely already know: Gift Receiving Etiquette.

Fanfiction began as largely a gift economy. And a lot of it still is! You'll see authors participate in exchanges like Yuletide and Id Pro Quo; those are ficswaps in which authors write for a specific person to specific prompts. And even outside that, fanfiction is not written for money; authors write and post it simply for the joy of creation and community with fellow fans. Fic is posted free for anyone to enjoy. Is that not a gift?

So. When you as a reader finish the chapter or story you're reading and you are faced with the comment box, try to follow the same etiquette you would when receiving a gift. (And even if you didn't love this gift and it's not your favorite gift ever, we already know that it's more useful than the products from your cousin's MLM that they're passing off as gifts, because you read the story. At the very least, it entertained you for the time you took to read it.)

The big rule of gift receiving etiquette is not to insult the person who gave you the gift, either directly or indirectly. That's it. Full stop.

I've been seeing a lot of comments lately that are just along the lines of, "Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us." A+, top of the class, full marks, you're doing amazing. If you don't feel comfortable commenting on the story itself, that is perfect feedback. And that's the most basic way you respond to a gift, yes? Thank you for the gift. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for sharing.

Does this rule mean that you cannot say anything at all that might be negative about anything? No, absolutely not. What you want to avoid is saying something that is, at its core, a negative evaluation of the author or their work. Let's do some examples.

Character A's obliviousness about Character B's MASSIVE crush on them made me so frustrated! I was tearing my hair out internally screaming, "JUST LET HIM LOVE YOU."

✔️ Excellent comment! You're allowed to have all sorts of feelings about things that happen in the story, and in fact authors LOVE to hear about any emotions they made you feel. Yes, frustration is not a positive emotion, but the thing you are expressing frustration about is not the author themselves or their shortcomings.

Contrast that to:

I was really frustrated that it took you so long to post this chapter. The cliffhanger at the end of the previous chapter had me tearing my hair out, and then you just left us hanging FOREVER!

❌ Nope! Here what you are expressing is frustration with the author and how fast they come out with new chapters. Imagine your sister buys you a gift for your birthday, but she isn't able to give it to you until the next week, and you respond with: "What took you so long?" I think Emily Post would frown on that.

Reframing

The way you say something and the point of view from which you give feedback can have a HUGE impact on the message you're sending. Let's take the last comment (the one about wanting an update) and see what happens when we reframe the same sentiment as a positive:

I was SO EXCITED to see that you updated this story! I have really been looking forward to seeing what happened after the cliffhanger in the last chapter.

✔️ Now it's not an insult. The author will be happy to know that you are happy to see new work from them.

This idea extends beyond the story itself: to the fandom, the characters, the pairing, the tropes, etc. Let's do some examples.

I looooove reading about these sexy boys SO IN LOVE even though the movie you're writing about is SOOOOO problematic.

❌ Nope! Assume that the author enjoys the canon, characters, pairing, etc. in the stories they write. This comment is insulting to the author because it basically says, "That thing you love is not great, and you should probably feel bad for liking it." Imagine your aunt gifts you a sweater from a popular retailer, and you respond with, "This is so cute, I love it! It's a shame that it was made in a sweatshop." Do you have a valid point about the canon or the retailer's business practices? You very well might. Is this the proper time and place to talk about it? Absolutely not.

Let's do a reframing exercise. You should be very careful about how you approach commenting negatively on anything in the story that appears in the tags list, but you can make it a compliment and good feedback if you have the right perspective. See the difference with these two approaches:

I kind of think frottage is disgusting, but I liked it in this story.

❌ Nope! You just told the author you think their kink is disgusting. That's like telling your poor aunt who is just trying to keep you warm this winter that she has awful taste in knitwear. Try again.

Frottage normally isn't my kink, but I love your other stories with this pairing, so I decided to give it a try, and I'm SOOOOO GLAD that I did! This story was 🔥🔥🔥

✔️ "This normally isn't my thing, but you made me expand my horizons!" Authors love to hear that. That's like telling your aunt, "I never thought this color looked good on me, but I look so cute in this sweater! I'm so glad you helped me step outside my comfort zone, because I'm the better for it."

thank u, next

The last thing I want to address is this new trend I've seen in commenting lately: placing an order. If your mom surprises you with new headphones, you don't respond with, "I wanted the white ones 🙁," or, "You should get me a new phone, too." It's easy to see why that isn't appropriate in a gifting situation, and it's also not appropriate when commenting on fanfiction.

Let's do some examples:

This fic was soooo cute, but it would have been a million times better if Character A had been with Character C instead of Character B.

❌ There are a few things going on here. Number one, you're telling your mom you wanted the white headphones, not the ones she actually bought you. You're also disparaging the A/B pairing that the author chose to write about, and as we discussed, we can assume that the author wrote the pairing because they liked it. Even if it's not their favorite and/or they also write A/C, they made a choice for this story to be A/B, and the comments section of a fic is not the place to question choices the author made in their own work.

You should write a story where Character Z who is not even in this story does [thing that is vaguely referenced in the B plot].

❌ "You should get me a new phone, too."

I want a sequel. 😞

❌ "Thank you, next!"

You can reframe this kind of sentiment if you are careful about it, and it's not all you say.

I really loved this story. I would be so interested to see these ideas explored further if you ever decide to write more in this universe.

✔️ Not "gimme." Not "more." This is, "If you build it, I will come." It is a HUGE difference.

You already know how to do this. You know how to graciously accept a gift; just use that same etiquette, and boom! Now you know how to fearlessly write a comment to fic you read. You're doing amazing. Go forth and comment.

[writeriguess]

GUURL What a joy to have you here again. I am very happy to know that you are back to doing something you like and that you do it perfectly anyway. you are amazing, i missed you ╰⁠(⁠*⁠´⁠︶⁠`⁠*⁠)⁠╯

I wanted to request a Bakugou x Reader where he's the bodyguard. maybe something smutty or suggestive with the situation, do what you want with it. (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

author's note: Thank you so much! <3 This scenario is so incredibly hot—I couldn't help but make the smut longer. Katsuki as the reader's bodyguard is just irresistible!

Duty and Desire

The rhythmic clicking of your heels against the marble floors echoed through the grand hallway, each step a reminder of the gilded cage you called life. Tonight’s charity gala was no different from the others—endless forced smiles, hollow conversations, and the subtle undercurrent of danger you’d grown used to.

Trailing behind you was Bakugou Katsuki, his sharp crimson eyes scanning every corner with the intensity of a predator on the hunt. Dressed in a tailored black suit that hugged his broad shoulders and powerful frame, he looked more like someone who belonged at the event than a hired bodyguard. But his scowl—perpetual and deadly—made it clear he wasn’t here to schmooze.

“Will you stop glaring at the walls like they personally offended you?” you teased, glancing back at him with a playful smile.

“Tch. You think this is funny?” he grunted, hands shoved into his pockets. “You’re the one with a damn target on your back. Maybe take it seriously for once.”

You rolled your eyes, but his words carried weight. The threats against you had started small—anonymous emails, cryptic messages slipped under your door—but they’d escalated. Enough for your family to hire Bakugou, a pro-hero known for his explosive temper and unyielding determination, as your personal bodyguard.

Except he didn’t just feel like a bodyguard anymore.

It was in the way his broad shoulders stiffened whenever someone got too close, the way his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long when he thought you weren’t looking. And it was in the way your skin burned whenever his hand brushed yours—brief, accidental, but searing nonetheless.

“Stay close,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff as he stepped forward, placing a firm hand on the small of your back.

The touch was fleeting but deliberate, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You hated how much of an effect he had on you.

“I’m not going to wander off into danger, Katsuki,” you said, turning your head to glance at him.

He arched a brow, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Yeah, well, I’ve seen the way you get when you’re bored. Don’t make my job harder than it already is.”

The night dragged on, the room filled with the kind of people who thought money equaled worth. You navigated the crowd with practiced ease, playing your part as the dutiful representative of your family. But no matter how many times you smiled or shook hands, you were always aware of Bakugou’s presence—his crimson gaze never leaving you.

Every time someone stepped too close, his hand would brush your arm, your back, your waist, guiding you away with a touch that was equal parts protective and possessive.

“You’re hovering,” you said at one point, turning to face him.

“Yeah, that’s kinda the job, princess,” he shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

The nickname sent a jolt through you, as it always did. It wasn’t affectionate—not really—but there was something about the way he said it that made your stomach flip.

The tension between you simmered beneath the surface, growing harder to ignore with every passing moment. By the time the event wound down, you were desperate for some fresh air.

You slipped away to a secluded balcony, the cool night breeze a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere inside. The distant hum of traffic filled the silence as you leaned against the railing, staring out at the city lights.

But, of course, you weren’t alone for long.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Bakugou said, his voice cutting through the quiet as he stepped onto the balcony. He shut the door behind him, effectively sealing you both off from the rest of the world.

You turned to face him, leaning back against the railing with a faint smile. “You’re off-duty now, aren’t you?”

“Not until you’re home and locked up safe,” he replied, his hands shoved into his pockets as he approached.

His presence was magnetic, his broad frame and piercing gaze drawing you in despite the simmering annoyance in his tone.

“You don’t have to babysit me, you know,” you said, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

Bakugou scoffed, his lips curving into a smirk. “Yeah? Tell that to the psychos sending you threats.”

The tension between you crackled like static electricity, the unspoken attraction growing harder to ignore. You didn’t know if it was the moonlight catching in his ash-blond hair, the way his suit hugged his muscular frame, or the fact that he was the only person who ever made you feel truly safe—but you couldn’t deny the pull anymore.

“You’re always so serious,” you murmured, your voice dipping into something softer, more intimate.

“And you’re always so damn reckless,” he shot back, stepping closer until there was barely a breath of space between you.

The heat radiating off him was intoxicating, his scent—smoke and spice—clouding your senses. You tilted your head up, your heart pounding in your chest as his crimson eyes bore into yours.

“Maybe I like testing your limits,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bakugou’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching at his sides as he stared down at you. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Don’t I?” you challenged, leaning up just enough to close the remaining distance between you.

For a moment, he didn’t move, his breath mingling with yours as he hovered just out of reach. Then, with a growl of frustration—or maybe surrender—he grabbed your waist and pulled you flush against him, his lips crashing into yours.

The kiss was everything you’d imagined: fierce, demanding, and all-consuming. His hands gripped your hips with enough force to leave bruises, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue past your lips, his kiss turning rougher, more desperate.

“Knew you’d be trouble,” he muttered against your mouth, his voice rough and low as he pressed you back against the railing.

“And yet, here you are,” you shot back, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tugged him closer.

Bakugou growled, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, lifting you onto the edge of the railing as he stepped between your legs. The cool metal pressed against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his hands as they roamed over your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he admitted, his lips trailing down your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there.

“Good,” you breathed, your head falling back as you clung to him. “Because you’re the only one I trust to catch me when I fall.”

His grip tightened, his gaze blazing as he pulled back just enough to look at you. “Damn right I will. But don’t think this changes anything. You’re still a pain in my ass.”

You laughed, leaning forward to press a softer, lingering kiss to his lips. “And you’re still my favorite pain in mine.”

Bakugou’s lips were relentless against your skin, trailing heat down your neck as his hands gripped your thighs firmly, keeping you steady on the edge of the balcony railing. The cool night air did little to temper the fire burning between the two of you, and with every graze of his teeth, every rough kiss, the world outside the balcony seemed to fade further away.

Your hands roamed over his chest, your fingers gripping the lapels of his suit jacket as if anchoring yourself to him. His body felt solid beneath your touch, every muscle tense and coiled with barely restrained energy.

“Katsuki,” you breathed, your voice breaking as his mouth found the sensitive spot just below your jaw.

He growled low in his throat at the sound of his name spilling from your lips, the vibration of it sending a shiver through you. His hands slid higher, brushing the fabric of your dress aside to squeeze your hips. The pressure of his grip made your head spin, but it was the sudden shift of his body against yours that truly sent your pulse skyrocketing.

You gasped as your thighs brushed against his hips, feeling the unmistakable hardness pressing against you through the thin fabric of your dress.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your eyes widening slightly as you looked up at him.

Bakugou froze for a moment, his crimson eyes locking onto yours as if daring you to say something. His lips curled into a smirk—cocky, almost predatory—as he leaned in closer, his voice a low growl in your ear.

“You feel that, princess?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s what you do to me.”

The roughness in his voice made your stomach flip, your hands tightening their grip on his jacket as your thighs instinctively pressed together. But he wasn’t about to let you retreat. His hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you flush against him so you could feel every inch of his arousal pressing against you.

“Shit,” you breathed, your cheeks flushing as a wave of heat pooled low in your belly.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your ear. “That’s what I thought. You’ve been teasing me all night, haven’t you?”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing as he pressed his hips against you again, his movements deliberate and slow. The friction was maddening, and the smirk on his face told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, though your voice came out shakier than you intended.

Bakugou chuckled darkly, his hands sliding down to grip the backs of your thighs. “Flatter myself? Tch, you’re the one squirming.”

“I’m not—” you started, but your words cut off in a gasp as he rolled his hips against yours, the hardness of him pressing perfectly between your legs.

“Not what? Huh?” he taunted, his tone rough and teasing as his lips found yours again, cutting off whatever weak protest you were about to make.

The kiss was dizzying, his tongue sliding against yours with a mix of dominance and desperation. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body arching into him as the heat between you became unbearable.

“Admit it,” he muttered against your lips, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You like this. You like driving me crazy.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your lips curving into a smirk of your own as you leaned in to nip at his bottom lip. “Maybe I do.”

Bakugou growled, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises as he pulled you even closer. “You’re such a fucking tease.”

“And you love it,” you countered, your breath hitching as he pressed himself against you again, the hardness of him making you dizzy with want.

“Maybe I do,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as his lips trailed down your neck.

Bakugou's lips were back on yours, searing and demanding, as his hands slid down to grip the backs of your thighs. He pulled you closer to the edge of the railing, locking you in place as his hips pressed firmly against yours. The hardness straining against his pants was impossible to ignore, especially as he shifted his hips deliberately, dragging against you in slow, maddening strokes.

“Katsuki,” you gasped, your voice breaking as the friction sent a jolt of heat straight to your core.

He didn’t respond with words—he didn’t need to. Instead, he growled low in his throat, his hands sliding to the underside of your thighs and hoisting you up higher so you were completely at his mercy. The cool night air hit your legs as the fabric of your dress bunched up around your hips, but the heat of his body pressed against you made you forget the chill.

“Fucking soaked already,” he muttered, his voice rough as his crimson eyes dropped to where your bodies met.

You flushed at his words, your breath hitching as you felt his hips press against you again, harder this time. The thin fabric of your panties did nothing to stop the steady, delicious pressure of him rubbing against you, and you bit your lip to stifle the whimper threatening to escape.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asked, his tone dripping with arrogance as he rocked his hips against yours, slow and deliberate. The hardness of him pressed perfectly against your damp center, and the friction had your head spinning.

You clung to his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric of his suit jacket as your body moved instinctively to meet his. “Shut up,” you whispered, though the way your thighs tightened around him betrayed you.

Bakugou smirked, leaning in to nip at your ear. “Don’t tell me to shut up when you’re grinding on me like this,” he growled, his voice rough and teasing as he thrust against you again, dragging a gasp from your lips.

The movement sent a wave of pleasure through you, the friction just enough to make you ache for more. Your panties were soaked, clinging to your skin as he continued to press against you, his pace growing rougher, more desperate.

“Katsuki,” you whimpered, your head falling back as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“Say my name like that again,” he muttered, his breath hot against your skin.

You obliged, your voice breaking on his name as he ground his hips against yours, the rhythm almost punishing now. Every movement sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your body arching into his as the heat pooled low in your belly.

“Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” he admitted, his grip on your thighs tightening as he held you steady, his movements growing more erratic.

“You’re the one who started it,” you shot back, though your voice was shaky, barely a whisper as your nails raked down his back.

Bakugou chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing your neck as he thrust against you again, harder this time. “Yeah, but you’re the one who’s gonna finish it.”

The tension between you was unbearable, the heat and friction building to a crescendo as his movements grew rougher, more desperate. You could feel every inch of him through his pants, the hard length of him dragging perfectly against your damp panties, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, his voice low and commanding as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze.

Your breath caught in your throat, your body trembling as you stared up at him. “I—”

“Say it,” he growled, his hips pressing firmly against yours, dragging another gasp from your lips.

“I want it,” you finally whispered, your voice breaking as the words tumbled out.

Bakugou’s eyes darkened, a triumphant smirk curling across his lips as he leaned in to capture your mouth in another searing kiss. “Good,” he muttered against your lips, his movements growing even rougher as he ground against you with enough force to make your legs shake.

The world around you disappeared entirely, leaving only the two of you tangled in a haze of heat and desire, the line between duty and desire long since obliterated.

Bakugou’s movements stilled for a moment, and you felt him pull back just slightly, his forehead pressed against yours. His breath was hot and ragged as his hands slid down to grip your thighs again, his thumbs brushing dangerously close to the edge of your panties.

“You’re killing me,” he muttered, his voice low and rough as he glanced down at where your bodies were pressed together.

You swallowed hard, your breath catching as his fingers hooked around the damp fabric of your panties, tugging it to the side with a deliberate slowness that made your pulse race.

“Katsuki—” you started, but your words dissolved into a sharp gasp as his fingers brushed against your bare skin, grazing your slick folds.

“Shut up,” he growled, his eyes dark with hunger as he leaned in to capture your lips in another bruising kiss.

His free hand moved to his belt, and the sound of the buckle clicking open sent a shiver down your spine. You felt the warmth of his hand as he freed himself, the hard length of him brushing against your thigh.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice dripping with arrogance as he shifted his hips, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance. “Already soaked, begging for it. You really are a tease.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you tried to steady yourself. “If I’m such a tease, then what does that make you?” you shot back, though your voice was shaky, breathless.

Bakugou smirked, his lips brushing against yours as he pushed forward just enough for you to feel the pressure of him pressing against you, not quite entering yet. “A guy who’s about to give you exactly what you’ve been asking for.”

The heat between you was unbearable, the tension snapping as he finally rolled his hips forward, pushing into you slowly, inch by inch. Your breath hitched, your head falling back as he filled you, the stretch of him making your thighs tremble.

“Fuck,” he growled, his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself fully inside you. “So fucking tight.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to draw a low groan from him as you arched into him. “Katsuki,” you whimpered, your voice breaking on his name as he pulled back slightly before thrusting into you again, harder this time.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his voice rough as his movements grew more deliberate, each thrust sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

“Katsuki,” you repeated, your voice trembling as your body moved in rhythm with his.

“That’s right,” he muttered, his lips finding your neck as he bit down gently, his teeth grazing your skin. “You’re mine tonight.”

The world around you faded away entirely, leaving only the heat of his body against yours, the sound of your ragged breaths mingling in the cool night air. Every thrust, every whispered growl of your name, pushed you closer to the edge, and you clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he muttered, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as his movements became more erratic, more desperate. “I’m not gonna last if you keep squeezing me like that.”

You gasped, your nails raking down his back as the pressure built inside you, your body trembling with the force of it. “I—I’m close,” you managed to whisper, your voice breaking as his thrusts grew harder, faster.

“Then come for me,” he growled, his grip on your hips tightening as he held you steady, driving into you with a relentless pace.

It was all you needed. The tension snapped, and a wave of pleasure crashed over you, your body arching into his as you cried out his name. He wasn’t far behind, his movements growing erratic as he groaned low in his throat, his grip on you almost bruising as he found his own release.

For a moment, the two of you stayed like that, tangled together on the edge of the balcony, your breaths mingling as the cool night air wrapped around you.

“Fuck,” Bakugou muttered, his voice rough as he finally pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “You really are trouble.”

You laughed softly, your fingers brushing against his cheek as you leaned in to kiss him, softer this time. “And you love it.”

His lips curved into a smirk, his crimson eyes glinting with amusement—and something deeper. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice low. “Maybe I do.”

Feel free to request <3

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

DAY XII. — HAND HOLDING (DURING THE ACT)

cw: Fluff, Romantic Talk, Hand Holding, Cunnilingus, Aged-Up / Pro-Hero Time Skip, Fem! Reader. 18+ Only!

author's note: It was so interesting writing Deku. He's so cute but he's still an anxious dweeb who struggles to talk to girls. Enjoy!

word count: Approximately 1.2k words.

“Um, okay. I’m not sure if—well, it’s just, I’ve never done anything like this before so I don’t know if I’ll be able to perform at the kind of standard you might be expecting, which—”

“Izuku.” 

Izuku pauses, the brows of his face pinched together and his pretty emerald eyes wide. They’re glossy with emotion, shiny underneath the dim lighting of your bedroom. His head rests in between your thighs, hands curled around the swell of your knees, fingers pinching into your skin. The way he looks at you makes you pause, but you just amend your surprise with a half moon of a smile. 

“It’s okay, really. I don’t expect you to be an expert at this. I mean, I’m sure I wouldn’t be good going down on you either.” 

A distinct little yelp squeaks in the back of Izuku’s throat before he quickly flings his gaze off to the side, red flames igniting and powdering across his face while he stammers a response. 

“Ha ha! W-Well, you’re great at everything you do, or, you have been, so I’m sure you’d do great if you, uh, did g-go down on m-me. B-But we’re not talking about me right now! I’m just trying to make sure that you’re comfortable with this, and that—” 

“Izuku.” 

Once again, his teeth snap shut, and his eyes meet yours. 

“Don’t think about it too much. Just do what your gut tells you. I know it’ll feel good, don’t sweat it.” 

Izuku gulps, but he nods, determined. His face shifts a little, and his body wiggles along with it. He tries to press himself further in between your legs, squeezing your knees before he starts to push them down so he can accurately lower his face to the meadows of your cunt. Izuku’s determination fades a little, cracks of doubt breaking through his facade before he swallows and scrunches his brow ridge. You stare at him fondly, content with observing him build up the courage to swoop forward and claim what already belongs to him. His locks sway along his forehead, full and curly, and they tickle your thighs with Izuku’s every subtle movement. One of your hands reaches for him, tapping his head in a wave gently before you start to pet him. Izuku jumps, quickly glancing at you before he blinks and looks down again. 

“J-Just tell me if you don’t like this and want me to stop. I’ll…” 

Izuku doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he finally bows his head until his hot breath fans against the meaty lips of your cunt. Another swallow, but Izuku doesn’t keep you waiting any longer. He’s delicate and ginger whenever he connects your lips, his mouth is soft and warm, and you moan quietly at the sensation that unfolds beneath him. It’s lightning, but it’s slow, it’s nothing real. Fire, but it’s dull, but toasty enough to feel like ice thawing from your body. The feelings start to weigh down on you, and your head collapses onto the pillow within a mere second of Izuku’s mouth against your cunt. 

The fingers in his hair braid themselves, a shallow sort of attempt to ground yourself. Izuku pauses for a split second, probably listening for any signs of discomfort, but resumes once another moan floats from your chest. His mouth parts, and his tongue pokes out like a snake hidden within tall stalks of gross to lay a thin stripe over the seam of your cunt. You feel like you’re spinning on a carousel, faster and faster, and your thighs clench once Izuku’s tongue prods against your clit. It’s hard, heavy, and thumping, eager to be touched and Izuku decidedly flicks it a few times. You groan each time, encouraging Izuku to tilt his head to the side so that he could suction his mouth against your clit. Both of your eyes roll back into your head, scattering like bowling pins smacked in the center, and a moan that’s way too loud escapes you whenever Izuku starts to suck and tug your clit. 

“W-What was that you were saying about not being good? Ahhh, haa, oh, Izuku, that feels so so sooo good. Don’t stop, don’t stop!” 

Your praise spurns Izuku on, and he starts to work his jaw in miniscule circles to lap at your clit and play it over his tongue like a meal, like food he wanted to savor, like a broth and soup that spreads love and health throughout his chest. You wondered what Izuku was thinking, you wondered if he was really enjoying this, but an ear-splitting slurp made your head dizzy and all thoughts flew out of your mind. 

His belly is flat to the bed, but you can feel him start to crunch up, can feel whenever he starts to gyrate his hips. Izuku’s moving in a way that slides you further towards him, your knees are growing closer to your head by the moment, and his face dives deeper. His groans vibrate your body, too, and his chin is parting your cunt down the middle. Glaze is slick down your flesh, but Izuku just bobs and weaves his head, smearing you wet, like he’s gone. 

“Like that! Yeah, ohhh, yes, yes.” 

Izuku nods to the best of his ability, and you’re left gritting your teeth and groaning. You wonder if he’s asked how to do this or if he’s researched it himself because, fuck, he’s so good, but that thought is fleeting and all you can imagine is teasing him after this is over by returning the favor. Because he’s eating you out like he’s mad with a fever, like you’re cetirizine. Maybe he’s listened to you gush one too many times—and that idea flatters you so badly, it makes you feel special to think someone is that dedicated to making you feel like this. 

And whenever one of Izuku’s hands leaves your thigh, trailing down, leaving storms and electricity in his wake, you nearly gasp and cry out his name whenever he finds your free palm and taps it gently. You flex, trying to process everything, trying to focus on anything all at once but finding each feeling overlapping and overwhelming. Izuku traces his fingers up before he laces them between the gaps of yours, curling down over your knuckles and squeezing. Tears spring to your eyes, fresh and new, and you start to pant, chanting Izuku’s name with every molecule of air you sip through. 

You can feel this burning, this reality that is starting to compress the rims of your belly. It’s down, but then it’s shivering and shuddering throughout your thighs all the way down to your stretching toes. But then it’s up, making your shoulder recoil and your chest bounce like a gunshot. 

Izuku’s hand is in yours, and yours is in his. You return his hold, losing yourself to the intimacy of him, of Izuku, of your lover, of your pleasure. His mouth seems to suck you in, through a drain and tumbling into the rabbit hole, and you’re crying before you can catch yourself. It’s getting to be too much, the way you seem to slowly implode, and your back arches before Izuku’s name is your death rattle.

And you squeeze again, hands intertwined, and Izuku holds you all the way through your orgasm. 

[ladyymiisa]

RISE AND SHINE!

summary: mornings with shouta might be a challenge, but you still love him unconditionally, even when he's being a total pain.

tags: aizawa shouta x fem!reader, fluff, shouta is an insufferable little shit in this so i’m sorry if it seems a bit ooc

author’s note: misa writing about someone who’s not hawks? absolutely crazy. anyway, eat up my children!! (i wish he would eat me instead)

mornings with shouta can go one of two ways:

1. you wake up first, only to be sweetly persuaded into remaining in bed with him for another hour or so. this usually happens on the weekends.

2. you wake up first and are confronted with the formidable task of ensuring that your boyfriend gets out of bed on time to attend to his responsibilities as both a pro hero and a teacher.

today happens to be the second scenario.

“come on, shouta,” you urge, attempting to pull the blanket from his body, only to succeed in moving it a mere millimeter from his grasp. even freshly awake, his grip remains unyielding—a trait whose logic you’ll never quite comprehend.

with a sigh of frustration, you give the blanket another tug, this time applying more force. “your alarm has rung three times already. how much longer do you intend to lounge around?” you ask, your annoyance evident.

shouta remains silent and you find yourself sighing once again.

this won’t do. he should have been out the door by now, and you’re pretty sure nezu will give him another reprimand for being late once again. there’s only so much he’ll let slide.

with your lips pressed together, you silently watch shouta. you observe the steady rise and fall of his chest as he dozes off peacefully, without a care in the world. a few unruly strands of hair have fallen across his eyes, partially obscuring his face from view. perfect.

it's time to resort to plan b.

with your plan set in motion, you roll your shoulders, savoring the satisfying pops of your joints, then position yourself, ready for action. without an ounce of hesitation, you allow your body to collapse onto his like a ragdoll, face landing straight against his bare chest. this action finally elicits a response from shouta.

he grunts in disapproval, partly due to the unexpected impact of your body landing atop his own without warning, but makes no effort to push you away. instead, he remains there, defeated and motionless.

"get off." he grumbles, voice thick with sleep.

"only if you get up." you retort.

you feel the low rumble in his chest as he grumbles once more. a few seconds of silence pass, and just as you begin to think you might have won, his arms unexpectedly wrap around you, securing you in place.

this prompts you to gasp in offence and struggle against his grip, but your efforts are in vain. shouta has no intention of letting you go so easily, not when the warmth of your body nearly lulls him back into slumber. you let out a whine, lifting your head slightly to look at him.

the fucking bastard is smirking triumphantly.

with a resigned sigh, you allow your head to fall against his chest once more. something tells you that shouta won’t be the only one getting an earful from nezu today.

[motherismotheringggg]

heavy petting ☁️

lazy morning in bed with needy nicholas headcannons

summary: based on my tags from this post; this user is pro dry humping!!!

type: needy/touchy! nicholas chavez x black fem reader

warnings: dry humping, nipple play (m! and f!), established relationship

author’s note: from the second i made that post i couldn’t stop thinking abut dry humping this man and i #NEED that; i wrote this in one sitting and ngl ...i had to b*st a n*t right after, im ovulating BAD

tags: @blackynsupremacy , @hoffmansgirl , @emluvsuxo , @ilovecheetahchrome , @nicholaslut , @nicholaschavezslut69 , @niteskysx , @melaninjhs , @pawofassumption

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

needy/touchy nicholas! who slid your dining table chair close to his, draping your legs over his lap while eating. his fingers traced lazy circles and lines on your thighs. whenever he had to pull his hand away to drink his orange juice or cut his french toast, he rushed to find your skin again. like it physically pained him to not touch you.

needy/touchy nicholas! who, after breakfast, insisted you both get back in bed instead of lounging on the couch. “i just wanna hold you,” he said simply. you could barely put the dishes away with his arms wrapped around your torso, his nose buried in your neck as he inhaled your scent.

needy/touchy nicholas! who, once back in bed, held you so close it felt like he thought you might float away. even as you scrolled through social media, showing each other funny tweets, his hand stayed anchored to you.

needy/touchy nicholas! who let out a playfully dramatic groan when you turned over to lie on your side, his hand immediately wrapping around your waist. it was as if to playfully protest, “how dare you turn away?” you cooed, “i’m still here,” in a jokingly reassuring tone.

needy/touchy nicholas! who started inching closer and closer. you knew he always wanted to be close, but you also knew your boyfriend too well—nicholas could never resist the chance to get a little handsy.

needy/touchy nicholas! who shifted behind you and moved your curls out of the way to access your neck, planting soft kisses when you made even the slightest bit of movement. the way his hips pressed into you, his clothed hardness grinding against the curve of your ass, sent heat pooling between your thighs. the friction of fabric against fabric only made it more intoxicating.

needy/touchy nicholas! who feigned innocence with a teasing “what?” when you asked, “you think you’re clever, huh?” his hand slid from your torso to your hips, gently guiding your movements to align with his.

needy/touchy nicholas! who teasingly asked if you wanted him to stop, knowing full well you’d already set your own pace. as he nibbled on your earlobe, your breathy moans spurred him on, and his need for you only deepened.

needy/touchy nicholas! who slipped his hand under your oversized t-shirt, his fingertips brushing over your nipples before rolling them between his fingers. his low groans matched your sharp inhales, making sure you felt just as good as he did while you completely took control of the rhythm.

needy/touchy nicholas! whose body spasmed under you, breathy and whiny as your movements drove him crazy. he begged for you to get on top, hungry for you you to take full control of him

needy/touchy nicholas! whose hands immediately cupped your ass the second you straddled him. you found the perfect spot where his needy cock met your sensitive clit, and rocked your hips against him.

needy/touchy nicholas! whose eyes were hazy with ecstasy as he watched you sit upright, biting your lip while still rocking your hips. “you’re so fucking sexy,” he groaned. “it feels so good, baby,” you replied, bracing your hands against his chest as you came crashing down, letting your body fall weak.

needy/touchy nicholas! whose hands stayed glued to your hips as your movements grew more desperate. when your thumbs grazed his nipples, his eyes fluttered shut, and he threw his head back in pleasure.

needy/touchy nicholas! who was utterly ruined as you rode him, his hands squeezing your thighs while his eyes rolled back. “just like that, baby… don’t stop,” he panted, his breath hitching every time you clenched around him.

needy/touchy nicholas! who, when you told him you were close, pushed you to keep going. “fuck… i’m close too,” he grunted. you pinned his hands down on either side of his head as you both raced toward release.

needy/touchy nicholas! who begged you to say his name when you came, knowing it would make him climax even harder. he loved knowing he brought you to that edge.

needy/touchy nicholas! who, the moment you came and moaned his name, tensed under you as his own release spilled, his stomach flexing as his pleasure overtook him.

needy/touchy nicholas! who was still breathing heavily as you tried to slip away, his arms locking around you. “don’t go,” he murmured, pulling you against his chest, your slick bodies pressed together. his lips trailed soft, lazy kisses down your temple as he whispered, “i need more of you… just stay like this a little longer.”

[pinkykats-place]

Bakugo x Reader ft. OmegaVerse

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Disclaimers!

None of the fics linked are mine.

Some contain mature content.

Readers are male and female.

Note: If you read any of these stories and like them please let the author by liking, commenting & reblogging the original fic!

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

A Comforting Space

Alpha Pro Hero Bakugo x omega (implied female) co-worker

Summary: There are many benefits to working at Dynamight’s agency. A nesting room is one of them.

Kinktober Day 9: Alpha & Omega

Katsuki Bakugo x fem!Reader

WARNINGS/TAGS: a/b/o dynamics (alpha Katsuki/omega reader), knotting, age-gap (Katsuki is in his grumpy 40s, you're in college), he calls you "kid", fucking in a pool, some mention of sex toys, degradation, creampie

Alpha!Bakugo x Omega!Reader

Omega!Bakugou headcanons

Bakugou - Alpha (headcanons)

The Silent Treatment 

Omega!Bakugou x Fem!Alpha!Reader

Nightmares

Omega!Bakugou x Alpha!Reader

Heat

𝑶𝒎𝒆𝒈𝒂 𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒊 𝒙 𝑨𝒍𝒑𝒉𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

BAKUGO HEAT HEADCANNONS

[O!Bakugo Katsuki x A!Male Reader] 

Nesting Fever

Alpha!Pro!Katsuki x Omega!Reader

CHANGE OF HEART

O!Bakugo Katsuki x A!Male Reader

Omega!Bakugou with an Alpha s/o

Alpha! Kitsune! Bakugo Katsuki x Omega! Kitsune! Gender-neutral! Reader

[popopretty]

[Translation] Asagiri Kafka's afterwords for The Day I Picked up Dazai novel

Normally, afterwords would be the last thing I read in a novel, but as there are not many changes to the published novel this time compared to the movie bonus version, I was able to skim through the text quickly and get to this. And to be honest, despite not being a writer myself, I was so moved by Asagiri's views about writing and his characters that he shared in the afterwords, that I had to sit down and translate it right away.

This is just my crappy translation, as usual, but I hope it gave you a short, interesting look into the author and the characters. And please do not forget to buy the novel if you have the chance.

The translation is under the cut, thank you!

It has been a while. This is Asagiri Kafka.

Have you been enjoying Bungou Stray Dogs?

This novel, “The Day I Picked up Dazai”, is a compilation of the first week’s bonus novel “The Day I Picked up Dazai – Side A” and the second week’s bonus novel “The Day I Picked up Dazai – Side B” for the screening of “Bungou Stray Dogs BEAST” movie (hereinafter referred to as “BEAST”).

Normally, it is difficult to publish a bonus like this, but since "BEAST” and “Fifteen” that were published earlier by BEANS Bunko were originally bonus novels too, "The Day I Picked up Dazai” was also published in the same way, thanks to the efforts of all parties involved in the Bungou Stray Dogs series.

It is the story of Dazai and Odasaku’s first meeting, where Dazai who wants to die, collapsed in front of Odasaku’s place, who is neither a mafioso nor a hit man.

Why are there two different stores, Side A and Sode B? Regarding this question, please read the novel and see for yourself. If you keep in mind that this is the bonus for the BEAST movie, I think you will be able to understand it better.

Let me reminisce a little bit here.

This story was actually suggested to me by Igarashi Takuya, Director of the Bungou Stray Dogs anime.

Shortly before BEAST movie premiered, I was struggling. It was because I was asked to write a bonus novel for movie-goers again. I said “again” because, as I mentioned earlier, BEAST itself was a bonus novel for the Bungou Stray Dogs DEAD APPLE movie. I remembered having a hard time writing it, because I let myself run wild and wrote a total of 190 pages instead of 50 pages as requested.

But I had learnt my lesson after the last rampage. I can’t just write whatever I want anymore. I have to wrap the story in a reasonable length, like a pro should do.

A proper, professional story.

Huh?

My pen stopped right there. I stopped, looked around, feeling lost.

What is a proper story?

The act of writing novel is quite different in character compared to other types of media such as writing manga, anime scripts, or game scenarios. You can say it is almost a different thing. Writing novels, rather than narrating an event, is more like putting the flow of emotions into specific sentences. You use the sequence of letters to create rhythms, create flows, and create emotions. If anything, it might be closer to composing a song than writing a story.

Therefore, you have to decide “what kind of emotion will be put in this novel” from the very beginning, or you can’t start writing. That is the only and absolute rule.

Now, however, that is where the condition of a “proper story” hung over me.

A proper novel, of a proper volume, with a proper content for a bonus.

In other words, a proper emotion.

I searched through the drawers inside my head. For a proper emotion that is waiting to be brought out.

There was nothing but emptiness there.

A professional story teller is one with the skill to move the readers’ emotions. When people find the chance to move their own emotions, they will happily be paying for it. Human-being is that kind of creature.

And writers are ones who create and sell those kinds of emotions: the fear, the excitement, the heart throb etc., those that make you think. It is that kind of job.

It is supposed to be that kind of job.

Yet I became unable to move forward.

A good story is a story that moves people. I know that. Then what kind of emotion I should put in the story to make it "proper"?

How do I find that emotion?

I mean, how did I even write novels until now?

I stood still. My legs stiffened, my knees froze, unable to take even a step forward.

I then tried to at least pretend that I was moving forward, by listening to music, by taking a walk around the neighborhood at night. But as good as the night breeze felt, I didn’t manage to reach a single story that I needed to write.

What if I stayed like this forever, what would I do?

I felt a chill plunging into my back.

Then I realized, that stories, or probably emotions too, are not things you can search for or come up with. You have no choice but to patiently wait for it to come your way. You have no choice but to humbly and earnestly sit and wait for the story’s visit.

I got that, but the "proper 50-page story” still refused to come.

It was not long before one week passed. Then two weeks.

I was doing other work, while keeping my heart’s door open, waiting for the story to come to me.

At that time, I had an online meeting with the anime staff. I casually asked Director Igarashi, “Do you have any story you want to see?”

The Director gave it a little thought then told me, "I want to see the story of Dazai and Oda’s encounter”.

At that very moment, the story rushed in through my door, like a bang. I could hear that sound very clearly.

Two stories. Odasaku, and the two Dazais. A story where they met, and a story where they couldn’t meet. A story of gain and a story of loss. If I can portray the gain and loss side by side, the amplitude of the heart will be doubled and rise up in front of us.

That was a momentary event. Rather than pushing my way forward, I felt as if something was pulling my hand. Before I noticed, I have already finished the stories.

I came to realize.

It is not the writer who searches for the story. It is the story that chooses its writer, and at some point it will come our way. A professional writer is no more than someone with the ability to catch that call.

Also, this is the most important thing: there is no such thing as a “proper emotion”. Because after all, the feelings of other people belong to them only. That is why there is no guarantee that a novel can move others “properly”. However, you can move your own emotions. You know what kind of novel can and how it will move you. If you do, you can write just that. That’s the only way. That is the truly professional attitude. That’s what I thought.

Well then.

It is a little bit off topic, but as we are talking about “stories that come our way”, let’s talk about Odasaku’s first-person narrative.

Odasaku is a special character. For me, he is exclusively a novel character, and I have never portrayed him in the manga.

He first appeared as the narrator in “Dazai Osamu and The Dark Era”, then “BEAST” and now this “The Day I Picked up Dazai”. All are novels. That’s why for me, Odasaku doesn’t live inside the pictures, he lives inside the first-person narrative passages.

He is an eccentric guy. Even if you prepare the place and tell him to speak, he won’t speak to you that easily. His way of thinking is rather unique, that if I write his narrative after writing other characters’ first-person narrative, I would stumble for sure. Odasaku doesn’t speak. He just sits there in silence, while I can do nothing but sitting in front of my blank manuscript paper, trying to talk to him, like “What’s up?”, “Here, here”. However, he is a guy who won’t speak when it is not necessary. Sometimes it goes days or even weeks without him saying a word. Why did such a character come to me...?

During such time, there is only one thing I can do. That is, of course, to stay with him, sit patiently, and simply wait.

Finally he will start speaking. In his unique rhythm, word by word. His words have the power to cut through the world from a certain angle. That special cross-section is full of things I have never seen before and it never fails to surprise me.

And then when he finishes telling his story, he will swiftly disappear. To a dark and quiet place somewhere – probably, I can only imagine, somewhere like a bar. He will sit there calmly and keep his own time to himself. After that, it will be hard to call him again. It is a backbreaking task to me, but in the end, that is the type of guy Odasaku is, and if I am allowed to sound self-conscious, that is Odasaku's charm.

This story was written in such a way. There is a chance that he will come back again. And when he does, I will patiently listen to his voice again.

This story was completed and published thanks to the help of many people: in the Bungou Stray Dogs BEAST movie’s Production Committee, the anime staff, Young Ace’s Editorial Department, BEANS Bunko’s Editorial Department, and the many people who were involved in the publication of the book. Thank you very much. It is all thanks to you that the book was published without any problem this time as well.

Well then, see you in the next story.

Asagiri Kafka.

[mi-dori]

☆How the Resident evil girls would take care of you☆

●Featuring: Ada Wong, Jill Valentine and Claire Redfield●

●Warnings: gn reader with a cock, dom bottom char, sub top R, oral, breasts sucking, h-job, b-job, creampies●

Being an agent isn't an easy task; and it certainly was enjoyable. You had to deal with unbelievable things from day to day and it had become a regular occurrence for you but what hadn't was the fact that you came home extremely tired one day and you're girlfriend decided to take care of you.

●ADA WONG

Ada isn't the type to show affection nor is she the type to care (I mean she does but she hardly ever shows it).

Since she's a mercenary, you hardly ever saw her. Her job takes her places you don't know about for long long periods of time and when she does return, you're on a mission or doing something that will prevent you from seeing your lover.

When that rare opportunity comes for the two of you to be together, hell, she's definitely gonna make the most of it.

"Ada..." you whined out, feeling the sly vixen teasing your already leaking tip. The mission you were sent on was a dangerous one but with your skills, you managed to make it out, but it drained all of your energy. Ada knew this, she wanted to take care of you, to pamper you, but it was in her nature to tease you. She loved hearing your little whines and pleas for her; it gave her a feeling of authority over you.

"Yes sweetness? That's my name baby, tell me what you want," she purred, her hands moving up and down your length in a slow agonising movement. You let out a breath, one of frustration.

"Please go faster. Don't tease me, please baby." You gave her your best puppy eyes and of course she'd fall for it. Ada can withstand anything but your puppy eyes. With a small smile, she increased the movements of her hand, stroking your cock faster. You felt yourself already cumming so you bucked your hips into her hand.

"Uh uh uh, no cumming. Not as yet." With a confused look on your face, Ada stopped her movements. Her hands were replaced with her warm wet mouth and you let out a shaky breath, hands gripping the sheets under you.

"Oh fuck.." you gasped out, feeling Ada take more of your length down her throat. She was a pro, doing all kinds of tricks with her tongue on it. You couldn't help but moan at how good she felt. She loved hearing your moans, it made her feel proud and even more motivated to make you let out more sounds.

Ada lifted your shirt a little, running her hands all over your stomach. She looked at you with hazy eyes, her beautiful brown orbs staring deep into yours. Her gaze had a certain effect on you, making you shiver. She continued bobbing her head, sloppy sounds coming from her mouth. Not once did she pull away for air, she kept sucking, increasing her pace. You groaned loudly, feeling yourself getting real close.

"A-baby... I'm close..." you gasped out. Ada closed her eyes and took the other two inches that were left out down her throat, eliciting a gasp from you. With a final suck, you released your load in her mouth, to which she swallowed without hesitation. As she pulled away, your cock went limp and you fell back onto the bed.

"T-thank you baby.." you smiled widely, your eyes threatening to close.

Ada hummed. "I expect something from you as well," as she said that, your head shot up but once you saw her soft smile, you relaxed. "Tomorrow morning of course. For now, sleep." She gently kissed your head as you dozed off and for once, she was able to let go of her act, and become a school girl with a crush as she admired your sleeping form.

●CLAIRE REDFIELD

Claire and your relationship was the sweetest thing to exist in your home. Both of you were so understanding and caring with each other. With her going to college, and you being an agent, you both know your schedules will always be busy, however, your love out weighed all of that.

Claire isn't afraid to let people know that you are hers and she is yours. Both of you have this weird obsession with each other- which was harmless of course. It was more of an adorable one really, you would always squeal and compliment her over the littlest things she did and she would do the same to you as well.

When the two of you have a chance to be together, it mostly consisted of you telling her about the missions and you helping her study. She was a great listener and was always excited to hear your stories. Sometimes, these opportunities turn into makeout sessions which would soon lead you and Claire to become tangled with each other.

Another rough day you had, Claire was at home, waiting for you. Once she did saw you, instead of plunging into your arms, she gently hugged you, noticing the grim expression on your face. You had enough energy to hug her back and you stood there, basking in all the comfort you could. "Rough day huh?" She asked, combing her fingers through your hair. You nodded in response as she took you to the couch. She straddled your lap and began kissing you softly.

"It's okay darling, I got you." Her words of comfort and the gentle touches she gave you made you feel so warm and fuzzy. Her kisses got a little rougher and you knew where this was headed. Your hands trailed to her behind, resting on it as she moved her kisses down to your neck.

"You're so adorable," she whispered, sucking on your neck. She felt your cock harden in your pants to which she smirked. "Feeling excited honey?" She mused, getting up and taking off her clothes. You took off your pants with a smile which was soon followed by your boxers. Claire took her position back on your lap, her wet folds dragging on your cock making you whine.

"Want to put it inside?"

"Yes please.."

With a smile, Claire aligned your dick before sitting down on it, moaning as the length stretched her out. It's been a while since you two had intimacy and each time, you could never get used to the feeling of her warm wet cunt sucking you in. With a sigh, she slowly began rocking herself, holding your head close to her chest, whispering sweet words to you.

"I love you baby," she moaned out as she began bouncing on it. You groaned at the feeling, your hands landing on her ass. She let out a cry of pleasure as your cock hit that spot inside. "F-fuck you feel so good baby... oh my god you're so big.."

As she kept bouncing, you took her right ripple between your teeth, sucking as she gasped and threaded her fingers in your hair. "Oooh just like that baby..."

You nodded and moved onto her other nipple, sucking it like it's your last day. Claire felt her orgasm approach but she was determined to keep going until you came. After all, it was her taking care of you. You thrust your hips up, but she shook her head. "No no baby, let me do the work." She slammed herself harder on your dick, pulling a loud moan from you, feeling your high approaching.

"Claire... I'm cumming.."

"R-really? Then cum in me baby.." she said breathing heavily as she kept bouncing. With a small cry, you came inside of her, shooting ropes and ropes of cum, painting her insides white. It wasn't long after she came and both of you stayed in each other's arms.

"Did I do good baby?" She asked.

"Oh my god that was wonderful love," you smiled widely, admiring her ocean blue eyes. She kissed your nose slightly before laying on your chest.

You went to sleep, knowing that no matter what, Claire always had your back.

●JILL VALENTINE

Jill was a top agent in S.T.A.R.S and you were but a rookie, now beginning to do heavy missions with your superior's supervision of course.

You joined the force just to be close to Jill, and as childish as it sounds, you needed Jill so you'd do anything to have her by your side. Jill of course wasn't too fond of the idea, knowing the crazy bull shit she dealt with every day but seeing how determined you were, she didn't have the heart to stop you.

Jill and you would always hang out together in the break room any chance you had. To the others in the force, you two looked like normal friends but nobody knows what goes on in that break room whenever you two were occupying it.

"Y/n did amazing for their first official job as a S.T.A.R.S officer," one of your superior patted your back with a smile. Yeah you did good, but you hadn't expected to be so shaken up after it. Jill noticed your frowned and she titled her head.

"What's wrong rookie?" She asked you, gently touching your face. "Did something happen?"

"No not really. I just hadn't anticipated that I'd be so shaken up after my first mission," you let out a light chuckle, leaning into her touch.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it in due time. Come on, let's head into the break room and talk more." You followed her into the break room and took a seat on the bench. "What's on your mind?" She asked softly, pulling you into a hug. With a heavy sigh, you let yourself relax in her touch.

"Is there anything I can do to relief you?" Her tone carried a hint of teasing and you knew what she meant. So with a smile, you nodded.

"Yeah. Can I eat you out Jill, please?" She was taken aback by your request though it wasn't an odd one-she knew how much you loved giving oral and who was she to refuse?

"I don't see why not darling but we have to be quick," she gasped as soon as you got between her thighs and took off her pants. "Someone's in a hurry," she giggled but it was soon replaced by a soft moan when your tongue came in contact with her clit. "Oh fuck.."

She gripped your hair, leaning her head back as her legs were placed on your shoulders. God her scent was intoxicating, it was addicting. You could eat her out for hours and never stop. You circled her sensitive bud with your tongue before sucking on it gently. The feeling of your warm tongue on her cunt sent her mind beyond the realms of earth. "Oh my god... you're doing so good for me baby.."

You hummed, sending vibrations all over her body which resulted in her shivering. Slowly, you inserted your tongue in her tight hole, and began tongue fucking her to the best of your ability. Jill let a loud moan, loud enough to alert the others of what was taking place but she didn't care. All she cared about was how good she felt. It was supposed to be her taking care of your needs but just pleasing her was enough to keep you happy.

Your tongue thrusted in and out, relentlessly fucking her till she sees the stars. "B-babe I'm close.." she gasped out, holding onto your head as her chest heaved up and down. You pulled you impossibly closer, relishing the taste of your woman. With a loud moan, Jill came undone on your tongue. You lapped up all her juices, cleaning her up before helping her put on her pants.

"Woah... you were hungry." She chuckled to which you smiled sheepishly.

"I feel better now," you pecked her lips.

"I know you do."

Jill and you walked out of the break room, ignoring all the wide eyed stares you got and you're both pretty sure everyone knows you're together now.

[weirdbookweeb]

Simon (Ghost) Riley NSFW Alphabet

Many thanks to @fictional-loves for the template <3 and obviously, this is NSFW. Proceed as you wish. Reader is fairly genderless throughout the whole thing. Pros of a non-binary author. Lots of love <3 request AUs, Headcanons, Alphabets of any kind for literally any character for any fandom in my inbox. This did involve some very interesting research. Cough cough.

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

He is a snugglebug for a solid 10 minutes after. He's got his arms wrapped around your waist, his face nuzzled in your chest while he's half-asleep. He'll make soft noises and reply gently to you with a soft, grumbly voice that just melts you to the bones. Then after those ten minutes, he gains his composure and cleans up everything, giving you kisses with teasing half-smiles. He then carries you to a bathtub filled with warm water and slides in right behind you to soak both of your aches away.

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

His own switches between his arms and his cock. His likes how strong he is and how big he physically is compared to a lot of other people, you included. His arms are what hold on to you and protect what needs to be protected. And his cock is just something he is really damn proud of cause it makes you feel good.

His favorite things about you are your thighs and your hair. He likes to tangle his fingers in your hair when he's kissing you, and to stroke it when you're resting in his lap, and to just smell the scent of you when he hugs you from behind. Your thighs are his kryptonite, though. The fact that they clench around his head when he's eating you out, or he can grab them as he fuck deeper into you, or that he can fuck them and feel their soft warmth.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

He loves how dirty anything doing with cum can be. Tasting his cum on your lips? Seeing your eyes widen when he tastes yours? Seeing his cum on your pretty skin? Feeling your cum on his face and pelvis? He loves it all. He wears a condom when he's inside of you, but otherwise he wants you to be his canvas and he wants to taste you.

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

He kind of wants to do something where someone can find you both. Where he has to muffle your sounds and whisper in your ear things that make it hard to not be caught. He thinks it's really hot. He gets hard just thinking about it. He would agree to it immediately if it was brought up, but only if you brought it up.

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

He's kind of got experience. He's slept with very few people and done a few vanilla things, but his job usually gets in the way of things. So he know the basics, but not the extremes.

F= Favorite position

Initially upon meeting you, it's missionary because it's how most of his previous sex was done and he really liked seeing your face. Eventually it becomes Breeze because he likes how deep he can penetrate you and can make you gasp for breath.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

He's pretty serious. He's the kind of person who would chuckle if something funny did happen, like you both falling on the floor or someone farting, but he'd never go out of his way to make jokes. He's usually so deep in the moment that everything seems erotic unless it's genuinely really funny.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

He's neat, but he's not hairless by any means. He's always got a happy trail. It gets a little bit grown out on particularly long deployments (on over a couple of weeks), but never overgrown, unmaintained, and gross.

He also prefers his partners a similar way. Neat, but not hairless. As long as you take care of yourself, he doesn't really care.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

This man is dirty. He swears under his breath when he enters you and talks about how warm and tight you are and cannot shut up about how much he likes fucking up into you. There is no romantic words in his sentences, only dirty promises and sexual gratification. He's gripping you like you're his dark angel bringing him his sinful savior, rough and desperate.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

He masturbates semi-regularly. Every few days, he just kinda gets bored and horny. Passively paws at his dick through his pants as it hardens, teasingly, groaning under his breath before finally slipping his hand under the waistband and taking his cock into his fist with a hiss of pleasure.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

He likes when his back gets all scratched up. Not to the point of bleeding, but angry red marks up and down his back drive him insane. He also loves begging, himself or his partner. He likes being worshipped and worshipping. He also likes wearing his work mask at times.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

He prefers his own bedroom, but he also likes the kitchen. The bedroom is ideal because of comfort, availability, and the fact you can usually be more likely to go to bed right after. But something about how 'public' the kitchen is, and how he can fold you over the counters makes him love it.

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

If you tease this man with a gentle carress and a few sexy sentences, he'll be turned on. Hot outfit? Turned on. Particularly proud moment? He wants to fuck you right then and there. He's kind of just turned on by you. He's got self control, but he's also just a man.

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

Anything to do with non-sexual bodily fluids (scat, piss, blood), multiple people, weapons (knifeplay, gunplay, anything similar), age play, breathplay, and anything that interferes with your ability to consent (CNC, S/A, ETC)

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

He is good with both, be he prefers recieving so he can kiss you afterwards. He is incredibly skilled with his tongue and fingers, though. I mean. His ability to give oral is immeasurable. He was a little bit of a rookie when you got together, but he learned quick what you liked.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

He gives it long and hard. He can hold out pretty long (the better part of half an hour). He can range from 15 minutes if he's been built up for a while to over an hour if he's already came and can handle holding out for a while.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

He's not fond of them. He used to do them with one night stands on deployment and they're not exactly his cup of tea anymore. Besides, what's fun in them if he can pull you aside for half an hour, have way more fun and leave you trembling from an orgasm.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

If you bring them up, he’s willing to try a lot of things. But outside of the bedroom, he's pretty shy when talking about sex. You'll have to be the one to talk about things you want to happen. He’s nothing if not a pleaser.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

He can go a few rounds. 3 or 4 with a resting period, maybe more if you give him an hour. He's not exactly 25 anymore. But each round can last around half an hour each, give or take.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

He's got stuff for the both of you. It's no fun otherwise. There's more stuff for you than for him, but there's vibrators, pentration equipment, lubricant (because yes, men and women and everyone in between can use lubricant, be safe), and more. Some stuff is hidden where you can't find it, just in case you get curious and ask one day to try something out.

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

He is so unfair, but he expects it in return. He is the kind of person to tease you for an hour before you even enter the bedroom.

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

He's pretty quiet. He grunts, groans, sighs, and hisses. If he's completely desperate and pushed to the edge, you can pull a whimper out of him, but most of it is breathy and bass-filled. He speaks constantly, telling you praises about your body, noises, feelings, everything.

W= Wild card (random sincannon of any sort)

This is solely for the femmes and women, sorry mascs and men, but he's got a bit of a mommy kink. If he's feeling a bit pathetic and desperate, he'll whisper out a pathetic "mommy..." and grab you tighter while thrusting into you and biting down into your shoulder.

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

(I'm a science girlie in the most ungendered way possible, so I'm not going to say he has a 10 inch cock like I've seen a few people do, that is almost entirely unrealistic, Rasputin.) He's standardly sizable at 6.5 inches erect and 5.5 inches soft. He's circumcised and has a bit of a curve to him.

Y= Yearning (sexdrive level)

Again, he’s pretty easily excitable when it comes to you, but he’s also not 25 anymore. He doesn't have a super high sex drive, but he's definitely willing to do sex. On a scale of 0-10, 0 being absolutely no sex, 10 being horny all the time, he's a solid 6 with a "not horny all the time, but i definitely thing about it and I'm definitely open to it when offered".

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

He's got problems sleeping in general so he doesn't sleep afterwards. He'll be tired, but he'll kinda just hang out with you for a bit. If he were to fall asleep, it would rake him a couple hours at least and you'd have to fall asleep first and he'd have to follow a specific routine before falling asleep. Fallback from being in the military and being constantly unsafe made him have a pretty paranoid sleeping routine.

[messyloverr]

"Underneath the Scowl"

Katsuki Bakugou x GN!Reader

Summary: You're an exchange student striving to become one of the best hero's in the world. As you're there you meet Katsuki Bakugou, and make it one of your goals to prove yourself to him despite his harsh attitude. Through intense training and perseverance, Bakugou begins to respect you, and what seemed like an unlikely friendship eventually blossoms into love.

Author's note: This is probably gonna turn into a series if anybody acc likes it. Also I haven't written a story in forever so im sorry to whoevers reading if this is shitty ! i wrote this for myself but decided to publish incase somebody else likes this super simple idea ;p

Katsuki Bakugou was a man of certainty—he almost never had any doubts about anything in his life. That was, of course, until you came along. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he knew you'd be trouble.

You arrived as an exchange student alongside Pony Tsunotori, a good friend of yours. She was placed in class 1-B, which meant you'd be transferred into class 1-A. You weren't thrilled about being split up, but you knew that this way, you'd have a better shot at becoming a pro-hero.

The first day was rough—well, mostly for you. The rest of the students were welcoming, greeting you with smiles, showing you around, and offering you a seat next to them during class and lunch. But one person stood out: a blonde, crimson-eyed man who caught your attention.

You tried approaching him, noticing a small group of students surrounding him, which made you think he was just shy—much like Kyoka Jirou or Koji Koda, who had only introduced themselves after the pressure of their peers.

To your surprise, he made it clear that he had no interest in being friendly. So, you turned to Kirishima, who you'd spoken to briefly before.

"Hey, Kirishima!" you smiled as you walked up to him. "I hope it's not a problem, but do you think you could help introduce me to the others? I'm not sure if I've met everyone yet." You whispered the last part subtly, making sure it was clear you were talking about the spiky-haired man a few inches away.

Kirishima glanced between you and the man standing just inches away. He made an attempt to introduce you, but Bakugo quickly dismissed the gesture by ignoring the both of you entirely. "Don't mind him, Y/N," Kirishima said with a nervous chuckle. "Bakugou's just...well, bakugou." He offered a warm smile, hoping to ease the awkward tension. "He'll come around. You're brave for trying to talk to him, though. I mean, people usually avoid him at first..." He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a light laugh.

"He can be a little intimidating at first, but once you get to know him, he's actually a great guy!" Kirishima continued, his voice carrying a sense of optimism.

You paused for a moment, wondering if it was worth the effort to keep trying. You quickly snapped out of it, reminding yourself of your purpose here: to become a hero. The first step? Bakugou. You had seen him in action during the sports festival and were eager on seeing him and his quirk up close.

The following days were the hardest . You tried your best to fit in with your classmates, but you couldn't shake off the feeling that Bakugou's fiery glares and constant scowls were tracking your every move. Everyone else seemed fine with your presence, he was the only person who didn't. He remained an impenetrable wall of hostility, and the more he avoided you, the stronger your curiosity grew.

He certainly didn't make it easy. Every time you tried to strike a conversation, he simply shut you down cold.

"Tch, I'm not here for this." or, "Why don't you go and bother someone else?"

Despite his words, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to him than his tough exterior led to believe. Beneath his aggressive attitude, you'd sensed a burning determination—the relentless drive to become a true hero, no matter who or what stood in his way,

One afternoon, after class, you found yourself sitting on the steps of the U.A. dorms. You needed a moment to let the weight of everything settle and to clear your head. As you gazed up at the sky, an uneasiness tugged at your chest, as though you didn't truly belong here.

Suddenly, you heard a familiar voice.

"Tch, you really gonna sit out here like some lost puppy?"

You turned in surprise, finding Bakugou standing with his arms crossed, gazing at you like usual, but with an odd softness in his eyes.

You let out a light chuckle, trying to keep things light-hearted. "I'm not some lost puppy, just thinking... It's been a lot, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it" He muttered, his tone softer than you'd ever heard it. "Things here are tough. But don't act like you're all alone."

For a moment, you stared at him in disbelief. You never expected him to be the one to offer comfort. Much less stand there talking to you. And for a second, you swore you saw a flicker in his eyes, of something beneath his fiery exterior. His true self? Maybe.

Before you could respond, he turned away, his usual edge creeping back into his voice. "Don't get any ideas, you just pissed me off less than usual today. I've got one goal: becoming the number one hero. And I'm not gonna let some extra get in my way." He muttered.

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips as he walked away. Despite his harsh words, you counted this as a small victory. You had shared a real conversation, and that alone felt like progress.

As the days passed, you noticed something had shifted. Bakugou's gaze was different—It wasn't his usual cold, hostile glare you'd grown used to. This time, there was something subtle about it, something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

Sometimes, his eyes occasionally lingered on you, and he wouldn't look away. It was as if he didn't like the connection but couldn't help himself. In fact, his whole demeanor had changed subtly. Surprisingly, when no one was looking, he would give you the briefest nod of acknowledgement as you passed by in the halls. It wasn't much, but it was a small sign that something had changed.

The real turning point came during a training exercise. Your class was split into teams for a mock battle, the goal being to teach everyone how to cooperate with other unexpected hero's in high-pressure circumstances . The moment you saw your teammate, your heart sank—Bakugou.

[queenofdragons12]

Taming the Satoru | s.g

Pairing: Alpha!Reader x Omega!Gojo Satoru

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, A/B/O dynamics, BDSM elements, dom/sub relationship, collaring, oral sex, orgasm control

Word Count: 1,542

You were sitting in your chair when a hand crept over your shoulder and down to your perky breasts. You sighed, "Gojo, not now, I'm working," you chided your boyfriend who rutted against the back of the chair.

"But I'm horny baby," he whined in your ear, white hair strands tickling your shoulder. "Please, you know that I am in rut," he breathed, his voice husky with need, his fingers teasing your sensitive skin until you felt yourself growing wet with desire.

You sighed then stood up, turning to face him. Gojo backed away slightly, a needy whimper escaping his throat as your eyes flashed crimson, your alpha nature rising to the surface.

"What have I said about disturbing me when I'm working?" you asked tersely, your voice dropping to a dangerous purr.

He gulped visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing. "T-that I shouldn't," he whimpered, then yelped as you advanced on him, backing him onto the bed. You stepped between his spread legs where his cock already stood proud and flushed, the tip glistening with precum.

Leaning into his space, you hummed appreciatively, fingers trailing up to tug at the leather collar you'd given him for his birthday last year. The metal ring clinked softly as you pulled him closer by it.

"Yes, and what do I do when you don't follow my rules, hmm?" you prompted, your free hand sliding up his trembling thigh.

He gulped, pupils blown wide with arousal and submission. "Y-you punish me," he whispered, his cock twitching eagerly between you.

He stammered out his reply, "I'm really sorry, ma'am, I'm really sorry!" His iPhone pinged with a notification that he ignored completely as you gave his cock a deliberate stroke. You knelt down on the plush area rug, the Bluetooth speaker in the corner softly playing lo-fi beats as you inhaled his scent, your red alpha eyes flashing in the LED ambient lighting of your bedroom.

"I see," you said, rising gracefully before settling into your ergonomic office chair, crossing your legs as your wet pussy glistened invitingly. You adjusted your AirPods and gestured to the space in front of you. "Please be nice to me then, baby. If you do well with that talented tongue of yours, I'll let you cum. Maybe I'll even post it on my private account."

He whimpered, his body trembling as a sudden jet of cum squirted out, his AirPods Max headphones sliding off his head onto the memory foam mattress. "P-please master," he gasped, his voice barely audible over the Spotify playlist still streaming in the background.

You leaned back in your Herman Miller chair, the RGB lighting from your gaming setup casting a sultry glow across your skin as he positioned himself between your thighs.

He soon found your slick folds with his eager mouth, and you grimaced slightly as his teeth grazed your sensitive skin. You said nothing, scrolling absently through TikTok on your iPhone 15 Pro Max while he devoured you hungrily, his tongue working desperately as if your essence was premium cold brew on a Monday morning.

His tongue soon found a steady rhythm against your swollen clit, alternating between broad, flat strokes and precise flicks that sent electric currents racing up your spine. You let out a low, throaty moan that echoed off the minimalist walls of your bedroom, your fingers instinctively tightening in his soft white hair.

Gojo immediately perked up at the sound, his ice-blue eyes flicking upward with a hint of pride. You caught the look and pinched his flushed cheek between your manicured fingers, applying just enough pressure to make him wince.

"Ah ah, don't begin to get excited now, little slut," you admonished, your voice dripping with authority as you pressed his face more firmly against your heat. "You still need to make me cum, okay?" The last word was punctuated with a sharp tug on his collar.

He nodded eagerly against your thigh, his hot breath fanning across your sensitive skin as he redoubled his efforts. His tongue wiggled deeper into your pussy, the wet, obscene sounds of his devotion filling the room as he lapped hungrily at your entrance. His nose brushed repeatedly against your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your core with each deliberate movement.

Soon, you could feel the familiar coil in your belly beginning to tighten, your thighs trembling on either side of his head. Your breathing grew ragged, your scrolling forgotten as your iPhone slipped from your fingers onto the padded armrest. The tension built exquisitely, your hips rolling against his face as you chased your release.

When it finally hit, you winced and arched your back, gripping the edge of your desk as waves of pleasure crashed through you. Your cum leaked out of your pussy in a hot rush, coating his eager tongue and dripping down his chin as he moaned appreciatively against your flesh, drinking down every drop like it was the finest champagne.

When the last tremors of your orgasm subsided, you gazed down at him through half-lidded eyes, watching your essence glisten on his lips and chin, pooling onto the plush rug beneath him. A wicked smile curved your lips, predatory and promising.

"Your turn, baby," you purred, voice like honey laced with venom.

You lunged at him with feline grace, a predator claiming its prey. Gojo yelped—a delicious, broken sound—as his cock slammed against your slick entrance. The contact alone drew a moan from him so loud and slutty it echoed off the walls, his body arching beneath yours like a bow pulled taut.

With deliberate slowness, you adjusted your hips, allowing his throbbing length to nudge against your entrance. His eyes rolled back, mouth falling open in silent supplication as you finally—finally—allowed him to sink into your velvety heat, your puffy, sensitive walls stretching deliciously around his girth.

Then, without warning, you began to move. Not gentle, not sweet—you hammered down on his cock with punishing rhythm, showing absolutely no mercy as you used his body for your pleasure. The wet, obscene sounds of flesh meeting flesh filled the room, punctuated by his desperate whimpers and broken pleas.

His fingers clutched helplessly at the sheets, knuckles white with strain as you rode him mercilessly. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his white hair plastered to his skin as he writhed beneath you, completely at your mercy.

When his release finally tore through him, it was violent and all-consuming. He came hard with a strangled cry, his entire body convulsing as he emptied himself inside you. You watched with savage satisfaction as he unraveled completely, reduced to nothing more than a whimpering, trembling mess beneath you, utterly broken and beautifully yours.

You smiled down at him, your fingers caressing his flushed cheek as you leaned in to kiss his wet, swollen lips. "You did good baby, oh so very good," you purred, your voice dripping with honey and satisfaction.

His eyes fluttered open, those gorgeous blue orbs glazed with pleasure and adoration as he gazed up at you like you were his entire universe. A soft whimper escaped his throat as you shifted your hips, his oversensitive length still buried deep inside you.

"Please..." he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, understanding what he needed without words. This time, you allowed him to worship you properly—not as a mistress punishing her disobedient pet, but as a queen accepting the devoted adoration of her most loyal subject.

His trembling hands found your waist, holding you with reverence as you began to rock against him, slow and sensual. The harsh dominance from before melted away, replaced by something equally powerful but infinitely more tender.

[mercurygray]

Friends! I have a lot of things to celebrate - and one of them is all of you! This blog has just recently passed 1400 followers, so I decided I should have a little party.

Longtime readers of this blog will know that I love a prompt list, so to mark the occasion, I’ve made one of my own - and since friends, followers, fandom, and fourteen hundred all start with F, that's the theme we're sticking with!

Pick a prompt from the" words for the letter F" list, and, using one of the fandoms, frequent characters, or OCs usually on this blog, you can create something to share! This could be a fic, a moodboard or graphic, gifset, or another creative outlet of your choice. Then, when you’re done, tag me and I’ll share it here!

You do not have to be following me to participate! Simply send me an Ask or a DM with the word (or two, or three) you’d like to use for a prompt. (You can mention which fandom you’re using, or keep it a surprise!) I'll add all the words and their authors here, and add links when the work is finished!

More details below the cut - this is a pro-readmore blog, after all.

If your writing is over 500 words, please use a Read More or I cannot in good conscience share it! Please use appropriate tags for ships and for content warnings.

Canon couple, OC fic, and gen fic are all welcomed! (No reader insert, please.) F/M and multi ships are preferred, but I have been known to enjoy the occasional M/M drabble as well, if that’s more your style!

This author does not particularly enjoy kidfic or underage fic, non-con, mpreg, incest, the use of y/n, RPF, a/b/o, coffeeshop or college aus.

This author loves historical aus, original female characters, appropriately tagged smut, punctuation and paragraph breaks, and learning something new. If you would like, I welcome and love work for my own OCs, so if you’ve always wanted your characters and mine to have a teaparty, this is the time for it!

Frequent Fandoms List A Discovery of Witches, Band of Brothers, Downton Abbey, Dune, House of the Dragon, Masters of the Air, Mercy Street, The Pacific, Peaky Blinders, SAS: Rogue Heroes, Vikings:Valhalla

OC List available here.

[gojuo]

Maybe I don't have text interpretation skills, but I never understand when people say that F&B is a book biased in favor of the greens. For the love of God, on the contrary, every time I read it, it's as if the author was inducing the reader to root for the blacks

Daemon is described more as a hero than anything. Not a hero who saves people like Superman, but the badass Greek hero who kills the monster

Gyldayn says that Jacaerys is a worthy heir to the throne, even though he insinuates all the time that he is a bastard

GRRM put the fandom's favorite houses on Rhaenyra's side

Baela e Rhaenys badass

Mushroom has a sympathy and affection for Rhaenyra that Eustace doesn't have for any of the Greens, he even calls Aemond a kinslayer

And this becomes more obvious when you think it's a medieval war of succession based on a fucking medieval succession and Rhaenyra had more allies, when that's completely unrealistic! No king would choose his daughter above his son! The Anarchy was between Matilda and Stephen, they were not brothers, Mathilda's brother died and that's why she became heiress! After all, a king would still prefer a daughter to a nephew!

The only thing we have is Aegon& Sunfyre bond being so strong and their will to survive and win

but that's going to be ruined in this shitty show that only makes what was bad worse

At this point, if anyone calls anything in F&B Green propaganda I'm just going to assume that 1. they have never read a single page of Fire & Blood, or 2. they're a Targ Stan so the worth of their opinions or critical analyses of the text amounts to a total of absolutely nothing before all else. GRRM did not sit there and write a 700-page lore book with no truth to it in any corner. If you have even a basic understanding of his themes and quirks, it's easy enough to figure out what he was going for in F&B. And yes, he leaves enough room in the text to leave the details hanging in the air for readers to make up their own canon, but he's not writing an outline of the story and its beats that's false. Because what is the point of wasting time and effort to write F&B then in the first place?

Even when you look at F&B in-universe ... Rhaenyra's son becomes king and her other son Hand for the next 40 or so years. Why would a historian risk their career by writing about how the king's late mother (whose death was a huge source of trauma to him) sucked major ass? It's more likely that accounts sympathetic to the Blacks survived rather than those that weren't. We even hear about Baelor burning Mushroom's Testimony (was probably Viserys who ordered it though) for revealing a lot of the things Rhaenyra did, like Brothel Queens. Gyldayn in the text often dismisses Mushroom's writings because they weren't repeated in or by other sources, but who is to say that those other sources weren't burned? There could have been dozens of other accounts confirming Mushroom's writings about the Blacks and Rhaenyra but just weren't lucky enough to survive Baelor's purge. Or you can rationalize it away by understanding that those accounts were either never written by authors or kept/maintained by lords because they were too afraid of the king's wrath. For every pro-Green Septon Eustace account there might as well have been multiple other pro-Green authors who weren't protected by the organization of the Faith and couldn't get off scot-free for talking shit about the king's mother.

Even as I say all that, it's important to remember that the main source for the Dance was written by a guy literally held in a dungeon cell by the Blacks awaiting trial. It's only logical to me that he thought being most favorable towards Rhaenyra and her cause would mean leniency. So if anyone thinks that Orwyle was biased against Team Black and was writing down some mad shit about Rhaenyra, then like I said, they've never read a single page of F&B in their life.

People often repeat the idiotic "Maesters wrote F&B so of course it's pro-Hightower Greens!" lie but this take is so braindead that it could only be the crazed utterings of a worthless Targ stan whose opinions one should never take seriously anyways. If the Citadel wanted to slander Rhaenyra so bad according to these Targ stans, then Gyldayn would have had a ton of material to work with. Instead, he has to rely on one High Septon, one captive held in the dungeons by the Blacks, and a sex-crazed literal court jester who was Rhaenyra's #1 fanboy. Where are these so-called sources written by Archmaester Greenyle, Archmaester Fuckblacks and Archmaester ThreesomeswithMushroomwascanonys then? The Hightowers during the Dance were pro-Green, but eventually they all died and Lyonel became lord, who is explicitly said to be under the influence of his pro-Black wife Samantha Tarly. Lyonel made peace with the Blacks and was approving of Aegon 3 ascending the throne. So if any maesters wanted to talk mad shit about Rhaenyra (the sitting king's MOTHER), pro-Black Samantha Tarly would have just told Lyonel to stop sending money to the Citadel, which would have scared them off because they'd know this would happen.

Gyldayn himself wrote F&B during Robert "Kill All Targaryens" Baratheon's reign. It makes the most sense to me that he isn't pro-Green or pro-Black in any way, rather he's just anti Targaryen.

[marsattaxk]

「Swan Song」 / KATSUKI BAKUGO EXTRA

MY HERO ACADEMIA  ✦  KATSUKI BAKUGO × BALLERINA!GN!READER  ✦ ©marsattaxk 2024

AUTHORS NOTE: hawaiian cocktail from spongebob starts playing. me when i lie and say i'd try to be consistent but ended up disappearing for two months. my bad y'all. i promise i didn't forget about you all and this fanfic, however university ended up grabbing me by the jugular and not letting go until just earlier this month. i, unfortunately, don't have the next chapter for y'all, i weep as well, but i do have something to give y'all as an early Christmas present. at some point this week y'all will get a BONUS ENCOUNTER and today you are getting head canons, twitter profiles, relationship moments, and some random ass facts about SWAN, aka you, the reader, they needed a name so I wasn't going crazy writing [Y/N] all the time. As well as a small preview to the BONUS ENCOUNTER that shall come later out this week. So please forgive me for the wait, i'll start working on chapter two this month so hopefully you'll have a new year's blessing. so for now, peace and love, stay freaky and angsty. - mars

FACTS ABOUT SWAN ( AKA [Y/N] ):

Swan from now on shall be the name we use when talking specifically about ballerina! [y/n], since a: it’s shorter, b: goes with their quirk, and c: since this story is part of a universe of fics, it helps differentiate them from the other [y/n]’s that at some point will appear

Just to quickly get it out of the way, there shall be no physical descriptions of Swan, just that they are tall, and there will be minor tidbits here and there about random things, but never something that talks about their appearance, birthday, ethnic background, etc. The only thing about their nationality is that they are not from Japan, that's it. 

They are at least bilingual. I mean, they moved from their home country to go do ballet in a complete different one with a whole new language they at least known two languages. Maybe three if we count the English classes students take in school.

While there is no specified birthday for Swan, since y’all’s birthdays are their birthday, they are older than Katsuki. It could be by a year or by a few months they are just older than Katsuki.

Anyway moving on, I stated in the fic and in the notes that they are tall. How tall? In the current, present set of the fanfic, they are 5’11. They are on the way taller side of the spectrum for ballerina height, but hey a little height never hurt anyone. And just to give a bit more insight on this story’s epilogue (yes there will be an epilogue) they shall remain taller than Bakugou. So, tall partner for the win. 

They are left-handed. It’ll probably show up in future chapters but when it came to writing down basic plot points for each, I described them as using their left hand for a lot of basic tasks such as writing, and using scissors. 

It’s mentioned in the story, but they come from a pro-hero family. Their parents are pro-heroes, as well as their grandparents, and great-grandparents. They are the first in three generations to not become a pro hero.

I guess you can kinda infer it but they are closer with their dad than they are with their mom. They have a good relationship with both, don't get me wrong, however there's been moments where they feel like their mom wants them to follow the pro-hero lifestyle more than what they want. While their dad just wants them to do what they are happy doing.

They aren’t really close with their extended family. Not due to problems or arguments, just due to the fact they never see them, and how they now live on the complete other side of the planet. Plus being a ballerina in a pro-hero family doesn’t give you much to talk about. 

Which is even more highlighted by the fact they are an only child. Having no siblings to continue the family tradition of being pro-heroes for their parents. Sometimes they feel as if their extended family pities their parent’s for having a child who wanted to follow what they love more than a tradition.

It’s mentioned in chapter 1 that their whole life is just ballet. This unfortunately led them to not have much to talk about with people in school as once everyone else has their short lived interest and they were trying to achieve their life long dream.

They practically always wear black. The only time they wear color is when they are at practice, during performances, and rehearsals. Any other time they are always wearing black. 

I don't wanna just throw a style at y'all in case you have a completely different way of thinking Swan dresses in, but in my head I see Swan as having a very casual style. Wearing zip up jackets, loose jeans, sneakers. That type of wear since every other day they are wearing leotards and point shoes to dance in.

The ballet performance that they were watching on TV that made them want to be a prima ballerina was Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake (I’m so funny chat). 

It’s mentioned in the first chapter and in the notes, Swan’s quirk is called Swan Song. Their families quirk’s are all, if not most, bird related. 

Swan Song is a quirk that allows Swan to be able to dance with supernatural precision and elegance. As well as create graceful and artistic effects out of air currents. However, their quirk requires them to be at an emotional state, and since they are constantly at practice, they are always over emotional and prone to outburst. As well as be exhausted from the constant use of it for performances.

While ballet may be Swan's ultimate passion, I like to think they have other hobbies outside of just ballet (I mean that’d just be sad). They like to listen to music, as well as have some knowledge of playing the piano (I mean Tchaikovsky was a composer and he composed Swan Lake). They are also very much an avid reader because I said so and because I like to imagine that their favorite book is The Perks of Being a Wallflower. 

Oh, going back to dance. Ballet isn't the only type of dance style that Swan does or did. They used to do contemporary, and did some modern dance. But, ballet is what they focus on more. Swan also isn't opposed to learning other styles of dance, even if ballet is their main one, they are still a dancer and they'd like to learn more.

They also did gymnastics for a year. It was to help them become more flexible for certain moves in ballet. They enjoyed it, but it's not for them.

Their favorite game of all time is Persona 4, which includes Golden.

In general their favorite games are story-based rpg’s. They like the way the stories flow and how everything connects in the end.

Some of Swan’s favorite artists include, but are not limited to: The Marias, Laufey, Imogen Heap, Tommy february6/ heavenly6, Tory Lanez, etc. 

I will drop a playlist if y'all ask me too. 

Contrary to popular belief, Swan doesn’t have a favorite hero, even after growing up in a hero household. From a young age they used to say their parents. Now? They don’t have one. They really have no care for the hero world.

When texting they always type in lowercase. It may be due to the fact that their handwriting is so small, that to imitate that through text they always type in lowercase. And in short text as well, which unfortunately pisses off Katuski in some instances. Example:

Katsuki <3: Did you see the post about that movie you wanted to go see? (clearly trying to take his partner out)

Swan: yeah

Swan: what about it?

Katsuki <3: Didn’t you want to go see it?

Swan: yeah

Swan: i’ll probably go see it my friends 

Katsuki <3: …

Katsuki <3: Dumbass, I’m trying to invite you to go watch it.

Swan: oh 

Swan: why didn’t you just ask?

Katsuki <3 : … I should have expected you to not pick up what I was putting down. 

Swan: hey >:(

Swan is me, and I am Swan. We both don’t understand social cues.

Talking about social cues.

RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS: 

There won’t be spoilers for the chapters but mostly just post story/ they are dating headcanons. And maybe, just maybe, some small epilogue stuff. 

I’m sorry to disappoint chat, but neither of them have relationship experience. If you thought, well maybe Swan does, nope. They are two teens who for a great majority of their lives focused on one thing, they are idiots when it comes to romance. 

Unlike Katsukie who practically never had a crush in his life, Swan fortunately did, so they get some brownie points. 

I’ll get it out of the way, both of them are queer. Have you seen those Izuku and Katsuki moments? Yeah, explosion murder god Dyamight is bisexual in this universe you can’t tell me otherwise. But, yeah dude knew he was bisexual from an early age. I’m going off those head canons of Katsuki seeing nothing wrong about thinking of marrying Izuku when they were kids, and not caring about it, but that’s just me chat. 

Swan? Queer. They are just queer, I envision them always knowing they didn’t care about gender from a young age and that just stuck until they found the label of queer. They’ve had crushes on guys, girls, they’s, trans, and everything in between since middle school, but Katsuki is their first boyfriend. 

They are each other's firsts. First relationship, first kiss, first date, first hand holding, idk just firsts in general. 

Their official first date, happens right after the last chapter (yeah, y’all wont get to see it lmao (you’ll get a BONUS ENCOUNTER of it though)), Katsuki takes them on a late picnic by the river date (all while still in ballet gear (mans couldn’t wait))

While they will briefly interact in one of the chapters, Swan didn’t meet the bakusquad until later on in their relationship (the bonus encounter y’all are getting is about this).

The first ever bonus encounter isn’t just about meeting bakusquad but also meeting Katsuki’s parents, so I won’t go too much into them here. But for Swan's parents, Katsuki meets them after a performance. He thought they wouldn’t be there and then he ended up at dinner with Swan, and their parents at a fancy restaurant while he was wearing the most casual iteration and definition of formal attire. 

His mother did end up yelling at him after finding this out.

Speaking of Mitsuki. She loves Swan. She genuinely believes they are a good influence on Katsuki and enjoys seeing his son happy with someone.

Also this is just me, but I’m a big enjoyer of the concept of Katsuki and his partner basically just being Mitsuki and Masaru when they were younger. And so that’s what Swan and Katsuki are.

It’s probably no secret but you could infer that Swan's physical therapy sessions will come to an end first than Katsuki’s, meaning the entire time Katsuki is still going through his rehabilitation he is complaining to Swan about how he left him all alone in the therapy center. 

Katsuki’s love language is acts of service, while Swans is quality time.

Yapper x Listener. You can guess who’s who. 

They are also: angry, aggressive orange cat and calm, elegant black cat.

They have a blend on spotify together. It took Swan literally begging Katsuki to actually even agree to do so.

He literally out of the blue texted them that their music taste wasn’t that bad making them freak out over the fact he had in fact joined the blend.

Continuing with the spotify talk, since you can see what your friends are listening on spotify, sometimes Katsuki wonders if something is wrong when he sees Swan listening to some sad, heartbreak song, and sits there and wondering if he no longer has a partner. (he still does (Swan just likes sad songs)). 

Katsuki is a romance manga reader, while Swan reads shonen manga as well as thriller/ horror. 

Going back to the hero thing. Katsuki took it upon himself to teach Swan about heroes, especially All Might. So, now Swan has some idea of who these people on TV are.

They both don't use pet names at all. They mostly just stick to each others names. However, Katsuki does pull out the 'baby' whenever he notices that Swan is getting nervous. In turn, whenever Katsuki starts to get agitated, Swan pulls out either 'Suki', 'baby', or the deadly combo 'Suki, baby'. It works wonders on the blonde.

Whenever Katsuki texts Swan, and they can’t type out a response, they send him a picture of whatever it is they are doing.  

Example: Katsuki could asked them what they are doing and they’d respond with a picture, sometimes video, of them just at the dance studio.

This also connects with the fact that at random, Swan sometimes will send Katsuki pictures of two random things together and just caption it with the words ‘us’. And no, Katsuki still doesn’t understand how a creeper and an enderman from minecraft are the two of them. 

This leads to the fact of Swan calling them Badtz-maru and Kuromi. Katsuki did not see it at first but he’s come around to it.

Quickly circling back to bakusquad, they absolutely adore Swan. Most wonder how Katsuki was able to pull them but hey mans got a partner and that’s all Kirishima can ask of his best bro. 

Katsuki has to deal with Swan sending him those random couple trend videos tiktok. He greatly disapproves of most of them and actively judges a lot of tiktok couples. The only trend he actually liked was the ‘I wanna turn the whole world upside down’ one. 

While the two of them don’t get into arguments and fights often, they do happen and they mostly resolve it in the end because communication is something they do. No we will never have a miscommunication trope here chat, I can’t stand them. 

A small sneak peak into their future, and epilogue. They are still together, and they are married. It took a while, some heartbreak, tears, multiple connecting flights, but they are married. 

They are the definition of Pro-Hero and his Talented, Beautiful, Out of This World Spouse that he can’t stop bragging about. 

Yes, Katsuki does have a 5+ hour compilation on youtube of him just referencing, talking about, mentioning his spouse, and girlfriend at the time, he is very much proud of it. This started when he graduated from UA. 

That's all I’ll give. I wanna save the rest for the actual epilogue. 

I think this is obvious but he attends all of their performances. 

We love a supportive boyfriend who supports your borderline obsessive lifelong career

The first time the rest of class 1-A, or 2-A in this case, met Swan was during the sport festival since Katsuki invited them to watch him compete in it. Just like bakusquad, they were all shocked Katsuki was the first one in their class to get a significant other. (eyes shift to the side as if I’m hiding something up my sleeve).

It won’t be mentioned in the BONUS ENCOUNTER because it’s mostly focusing on bakusquad and Katsuki’s parents meeting Swan, but he actually introduced them to All Might and Izuku to before anyone else because that’s his favorite hero and mentor as well as his best friend. 

All Might was proud of young Bakugo for finding a connection with someone else that wasn’t young Midoriya. 

Meanwhile, Izuku ‘I know everything about Kacchan’ Midoriya was freaking out about the fact Katsuki didn’t tell him that he had gotten a partner sooner. 

The two of them yelled at each other while Swan and All Might had a pleasant conversation between themselves while drinking tea. 

Katsuki mostly just has social media because of the fact he’s going to become a famous pro-hero and needs to somehow interact with fans (even though we all know he won't) but he instead mostly uses it to see what his friends are retweeting, posting, and reposting. And to see all the stuff Swan sends him on tiktok. 

He only ever posts about band practice, UA hero work related stuff, or just of him and Swan. That's it. We love a chronically offline king. 

Speaking of social media.

SMAU ( FAKE TWITTERS AND TEXTS):

A quick thing, any of the pictures used do not depict how you, the reader, look like. They are just used to show what or how Katsuki’s and Swan’s (you) relationship looks like. 

SWAN'S TWITTER:

KATSUKI'S TWITTER:

THE TWO OF THEM:

TEXTS:

Damn. I sure as hell gave you all a lot of content to enjoy and maybe come up with more head canons, ideas, scenarios in your heads. I hope this keeps y'all fed for a little while. But, just like i promised. Here is a sneak peak into the BONUS ENCONTER. Recount the night that I first met your mother, that shall drop at some point this week.

SYNOPSIS: Two months into their relationship, KATSUKI BAKUGO finally has the realization that his parents would have to meet his partner, [Y/N]. He struggled to rationalize prolonging the inevitable while also handling his group of friends hounding him to finally and properly introduce them to each other. What he doesn’t know is that while he is trying to find a way to introduce [Y/N] to his parents, is that they have already met.

TAGLIST (open): @oddball08

[sassydefendorflower]

20 Questions For Fanfic Writers

Tagged by the amazing, the wonderful, the fantastic @60sec400 <3<3<3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I just posted my 200th fic a few days ago :D

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,414,702

3. What are your top five fics by kudos?

No Choice At All (2,817), A Day To Remember (2,610), If Only Someone Loved You (2,072), And I'll Dream You Something For Every Night You Are Gone (1,861), With Your Eyes Wide Open (1,749)

4. What fandoms do you write for?

I am known for jumping fandoms quite a lot, but my homebase has been DC for years now. Sometimes I even still write fics for the fandom :D These days I am firmly established in the FMA(b) fandom and I am currently making a name for myself in JetLag:The Game <3

(but I have written for everything from Teen Wolf to Angels for America (the play) to Spring Awakening to Maze Runner)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I really, really try to respond to comments! Because I love getting them and I know (as a reader) how much fun it is to get a response from the author! Unfortunately... whenever I feel a depression spell coming on, replying to comments is often the first thing I stop doing. So, there's comments in my inbox that are 5 years old because I am trying to find the right time to reply. If you recently got a reply from me for something you complimented me on in 2021 <3 <3 <3 I am still thinking about you! <3 <3 <3

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

HA HA HA HA HA HA (insert laughing sickos meme here)

When We Meet Each Other In The Next Life Tell Me To Say Hello ends with Bruce Wayne telling a dying Dick Grayson stories knowing they won't be saved in time. Until Gold Touches The Sun ends with Tim and Damian being forced to watch Dick get executed. Sisyphean has Jason be forced to actively kill Dick to ease his suffering.

Also shoutout to All Quiet On The Eastern Front for being a story about the Ishvalen Genocide told from the perspective of a soldier about to be killed by Roy Mustang.

There's so much more, but those are some of the big ones I can think off at the top of my head.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hmmm, that's harder to answer. What's a happy ending? I have written some fluff fics, those probably count. Recently I wrote Theories Of Non-Conforming Heterosexuality which might end in some of the softest, purest rom-com-esque cuddling.

Oh, and there's The Turbulent Adoption of Roy Mustang which is a lot of crack treated seriously but ends in a surprisingly sincere moment of understanding and love.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Occasionally -- I write a lot of stories that are very decidedly Pro-Choice and some of these stories really didn't suit people's tastes. Other than that... people in the DC fandom go fucking crazy sometimes. I really don't have it that bad comparatively but sometimes I skim through old comments and I am baffled that someone actually said that to me.

9. Do you write smut?

Sometimes. I fear I am bad at it, but the only way out is through ;)

10. Do you write crossovers?

Yes. I love a good crossover and so I try to write a good crossover.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I can tell!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have gotten a few offers of people wanting to translate my fics, and maybe they did it or maybe they don't, but an offer was definitely made. And there's a couple of podfics out there for my fics, which just fills me with joy every time I remember <3

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Yes. Iris. You still have to post the second chapter. Iris. Do you hear me. Please.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Oh, that's a hard one. I am not what you'd call a shipper. Probably Royai? You can never go wrong with Royai.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I AM SO SORRY FOR EVERYONE WHO HAS EVER READ THE MOTHER DOUGH!

Mirror's Turned is my big (abandoned) long fic and as much as I would love to see the story finished (i still have the outline somewhere, I swear) my girlfriend who was helping me edit broke up with me in the middle of writing this and I just... I never managed to pick it back up.

I am soooooo sorry. This WIP haunts me everyday.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I can be surprisingly funny in my dialogue if I want to be, and I certainly have some skill in actually getting a character voice right. My writing is very close style of writing, and as such I am good at shifting the focus into the character -- and I am always willing to try out something new.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I am trying so hard to give everything texture and a feel of groundedness, and I still somehow fail to strike a balance between descriptions, actions and dialogue. It's just... slightly skewered. That, and my Show Don't Tell could definitely be stronger.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I have played around with it before :D It can certainly add something to the story if well done -- just make sure you're using the language correctly.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Detective Conan - I was on a Swiss fan webpage that had it's own little archive. I wrote a handful of stories for that, back when breaching 1k still felt like writing a longfic.

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

I just have to say The Worst Place On Earth - simply because I think it is the best thing I have ever written from a technical standpoint.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR TAGGING ME! And I hope y'all know me a little bit better now :D

I want to get to know @selkienight60 @scienceoftheidiot @babblingbookends and @fanfictiongreenirises <3 <3 <3