#they give me so much hope and inspire me to do better

[bubblegumgothglados]

Can I admit something? Your ‘going back in time and kidnapping you as a baby’ story is stuck in my head. I keep thinking about Laika’s “I would have raised you better” story as well. Your and others’ writing like that hasn’t so much changed how I think, more just given me words to think about a feeling with.

Every time my girlfriend talks about her parents yelling at her, treating her like a piece of property despite being her own adult. Acting like shes a child and doesn’t know how to think for herself. It infuriates me.

It infuriates me. I want to steal her away. I want to take her away and treat her right, give her the independence and emotional safety her parents denied her. I want to see her blossom into her own beautiful person, free of the self doubt that was so deeply drilled into her head.

But I can’t tell her this. I told her that I wouldn’t hate on her parents. I can’t imagine telling her that I wish I could kidnap her as a baby. That I want to take her away at all. I can’t force her to come across the country into my care. So I bottle it up until I want to cry. I clench my teeth and I smile and tell her I’m there for her, that I’d do anything for her if she asked.

I hope this makes sense. Thank you for your writing and your kindness.

My "kidnapping you as a baby" writing is directly inspired by Lakia's "I would have raised you better", I'm glad someone read them both and had them both resonate together

I absolutely understand what you're feeling and I commiserate, I have every faith that one day you will get to rescue her and see her blossom. Have strength, be patient, love her the way she needs you to, and you'll get there together

[pamwritessometimes]

I saw your requests were open, and I love your writing. I was kind of thinking of something with soldier boy finally meeting someone who matches his energy a little Too well, in his opinion. Like readers stubborn as shit and ben has almost zero clue how to handle it other than being aggressive, which she just doubles and gives to the next person type of shit. Idk, I love your writing, and just had this thought. Thank you <3

A/N: Hey, lovely! First off, thank you for sending in my very first request (!!) 🤍 I’m honestly obsessed with this idea and it was such a blast to write! Your request was the main inspiration for this, though I might’ve veered a little from the whole she gives it to the next person angle. But I hope you still enjoy the story!!!

PS: Sorry, it took me a while to write this. I had an unplanned vacay at the hospital last week.🙃

Lights, Camera, Fuck Off

Soldier Boy x supe!fem!reader

Warnings: language, SB and the reader both being stubborn assholes, sexual references, violence

Set in the 80s.

Y/S/N stands for your supe name.

You weren’t exactly sure how you ended up here, stuffed into an overpriced dress that clung to every goddamn inch of your body, standing under the blinding lights of the red carpet while Soldier Boy hovered a little too close to you. (Okay, maybe that was a stretch. Maybe you didn’t mind it all that much.)

You hated to admit it, but you kind of enjoyed this. The spotlight, the way people looked up to you, the whole whoop-de-fucking-doo.

Soldier Boy, on the contrary, looked like he was ready to punch a hole through the nearest wall.

The flashing cameras, the reporters shouting questions, the never-ending buzz of excitement — this was Vought’s idea of a PR masterpiece. Your debut as the newest member of Payback, packaged neatly with the release of your first movie. It was supposed to be a big moment, the kind of neat and flawless event that solidified you as not just a supe, but a star.

And Vought, being the manipulative assholes they were, had decided there was no better way to sell that image than by pairing you with their crown jewel— the so-called greatest supe America had ever seen.

Hah. More like America’s Greatest Asshole.

But you didn’t mind. You knew damn well that you needed him to get what you wanted.

It’s just too bad he didn’t get the memo that he wasn’t the main attraction anymore.

“Smile, sweetheart” Ben grunted out of the corner of his mouth, his jaw clenched so tight you could practically hear his teeth grinding. He had all the money to replace all of his teeth anyway. He slung an arm around your shoulders, his grip a little too firm (dickhead), like he was daring you to try something.

You plastered on the fakest smile you could muster, tilting your head just enough to make it look like you were thrilled to be standing next to him. “Oh, I’m smiling, gramps” you shot back, low enough that the cameras wouldn’t pick it up, but loud enough for him to feel every ounce of your sarcasm. “Try not to throw your back out posing for these guys.”

His fingers tightened for a split second before he let go, stepping back just enough to keep up appearances without strangling you on the spot.

God, you infuriated him.

The problem with you wasn’t that you were reckless. Or loud. Or impossible to shut up once you got going.

The problem was that you were all of those things at the same damn time, and Ben had no fucking clue what to do with that.

It wasn’t like he’d never met a stubborn woman before. Hell, he’d dated them. Slept with them. Been yelled at by them when he inevitably did something to piss them off. But you? You weren’t just stubborn. You were a force. Well, literally. Your superpowers were one of a kind. Energy absorption — like a freaking human battery. You could take a hit, soak up the energy, and throw it right back when you felt like it.

Both physically and linguistically, really.

So yeah, an unstoppable, immovable and downright insufferable force.

And for some goddamn reason, you’d decided to point that force directly at him.

The reporters were eating it up. To them, it probably looked like playful banter — two teammates ribbing each other like old friends. But anyone who’d spent five minutes in a room with you two knew better. (If they got out alive.)

This wasn’t friendly.

This was war.

The afterparty was somehow worse.

You’d managed to ditch Ben for a grand total of ten glorious minutes before he found you again, like a goddamn heat-seeking missile. He spotted you across the room, chatting with some low-level Vought exec who was trying a little too hard to flirt, and you saw that familiar tick in his jaw start up again.

Great.

One, two, three—

You barely had time to brace yourself before Ben shoved his way between you and the exec, his infuriatingly broad shoulders cutting off your view like a wall of smug masculinity.

“Beat it, pencil dick” Ben snapped, not even sparing the guy a glance.

The exec sputtered, muttering something about getting a drink, but you didn’t miss how fast he bolted in the opposite direction. You sighed, crossing your arms and glaring up at Ben.

“Wow” you deadpanned. “Real subtle. You jealous or just an asshole?”

(Both, actually.)

Ben snorted, grabbing a drink from a passing tray and downing it in one go. “Like I give a fuck who you talk to.”

You raised an eyebrow, refusing to back down. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The tension between you was thick enough to choke on, but neither of you moved. This was the dance you’d been doing since day one — pushing, pulling, seeing who’d crack first. And Ben? He hated that he hadn’t figured out how to make you fall in line yet.

“Look” he finally growled, leaning in close enough that you could smell the whiskey on his breath. “You think you’re hot shit ‘cause Vought’s got you playing dress-up and kissing babies for the cameras. But out there?” He jabbed a finger toward the door, his eyes narrowing. “You’re still just a rookie. You’ve got nothing on me.”

You tilted your head, your smile slow and dangerous. “You done?”

He opened his mouth to say something else but you didn’t give him the chance.

Cause listen up, asshole.

“Because the way I see it” you continued, stepping in until there was barely an inch between you, “you’re pissed that I’m here. Not because I’m a rookie. Not because I’m new. But because for the first time in your miserable, overhyped, long-ass life, someone’s not kissing your ass.”

His nostrils flared, and for a second, you thought he might actually lose it. You could almost see the steam coming out of his ears as his fists were clenching at his sides like he was trying to hold himself back from decking you right then and there.

But he didn’t.

Instead he spun on his heel and stormed off, shoving people out of his way like a very handsome and very furious wrecking ball.

And you just watched him go, grinning from ear to ear like the cat that ate the canary.

The next morning, you were rudely awakened by a pounding on your hotel room door that sounded like the goddamn apocalypse.

You groaned, dragging yourself out of bed and stumbling to the door in nothing but an oversized t-shirt. You yanked it open, ready to chew out whoever was dumb enough to wake you up this early — only to come face-to-face with Ben, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. And not because of his usual use of night escort service.

His hair was even a mess which was uncharacteristic of him, his eyes bloodshot, and his jaw clenched so tight you were surprised he hadn’t shattered a molar.

“Oh good” you muttered, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “It’s you. I was worried it might be someone important.”

Ben didn’t even blink. He just shoved his way into your suite, slamming the door shut behind him.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped, turning on you with a glare that could’ve melted steel.

You arched an eyebrow, unfazed. “You’re gonna have to be more specific, gramps. With the country? The government? Vought? My maid service? I’ve got a lot of problems.”

He took a step closer, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You think you’re so fucking funny, huh? Running your mouth like you’re hot shit.”

You crossed your arms, matching his glare with one of your own. “Funny how you keep showing up if I’m such a pain in the ass.”

That did it.

Ben exploded, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his hands flying as he ranted.

“You’re fucking impossible!” he shouted. “Every goddamn time I try to put you in your place, you just come back with more of that bullshit! You don’t know when to quit!”

You watched him for a moment, letting him stew in his own frustration before you spoke.

“Maybe because I don’t need to quit” you said quietly, but with enough steel in your voice to make him stop dead in his tracks. “You’re used to people backing down. To people being scared of you. But guess what, Ben? I can call you that, right? Anyway, Ben, I’m not scared of you. I’m not impressed. And I’m sure as hell not gonna roll over just because you bark loud.”

He stared at you, his chest heaving, his face a mix of confusion and rage. You could see it in his eyes — the war going on in his head. He didn’t know what to do with you. He didn’t know how to handle you.

And that scared him more than he’d ever admit.

For a long, tense moment, the room was silent except for the sound of his heavy breathing. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and punched a hole straight through the wall of your hotel room.

Plaster rained down around his fist, dusting the floor like snow.

You blinked, staring at the hole in the wall, then back at him.

“Well” you said dryly, “that’s one way to deal with your feelings.”

Ben yanked his hand out of the wall, flexing his fingers like nothing had happened. He shot you one last murderous glare before storming out of your suite, slamming the door behind him so hard the walls shook.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the door, then burst out laughing.

Yeah.

This was gonna be fun.

Later that day, Vought had the nerve to send you both to a live TV interview.

You showed up to the studio with a smug grin, still riding high from the morning’s meeting. Ben, on the other hand, looked like he’d been chewing on glass all day.

The host was a a perky blonde with a smile so fake and sweet it made your teeth hurt. She ushered you both onto the couch, vibrating with excitement.

“We are so thrilled to have the stars of Vought’s latest blockbuster here with us today!” she gushed once the red dot appeared on the sign. It was showtime. Her eyes darted between you and Ben. “Soldier Boy, Y/S/N, thank you for coming to chat with us. Now, rumor has it you two have quite the dynamic on and off-screen. Tell us about it!”

Ben grunted, crossing his arms and staring at the floor like the couch might swallow him whole, but he quickly tried to compose himself. He ain’t gonna look like a fool on live television because of some bratty little chick he can’t fucking tame.

You, however, leaned forward with a grin disguised as a pageant queen’s smile.

“Oh, dynamic is one way to put it” you purred, shooting Ben a sideways glance. Your smile and bright tone was just as fake as the host’s tits and nose, but she didn’t catch any of it. Nobody did, other than Soldier Boy. “I’d say it’s more like… explosive.”

The host giggled like you’d told the funniest joke in the world, absolutely and endearingly oblivious to the murderous tension simmering between you and Ben.

“Well, whatever it is” she said brightly, “the fans love it. There’s already talk of a sequel!”

Ben’s eye twitched.

A sequel? A fucking sequel?

And nobody was man enough to inform him before this?

He didn’t hate being near you, but damn, sometimes he felt like diving off a bridge and staying underwater until even his superhuman lungs gave out.

You were a problem he couldn’t solve, a riddle that pissed him off just by existing. Did he keep playing this stupid cat-and-mouse game? Try to break you, make you bend? Or should he switch it up, try something different? Because every time you were near, there was this part of his brain that got dangerously louder and louder.

He wanted to throttle you. He wanted to bend you over the coffee table right in front of you. He wanted to fucking tame you.

But most of all, he just wanted you.

And he felt absolutely crazy for that.

You smirked. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized you were having the time of your life driving him absolutely fucking batshit insane.

Because the truth was, Ben could huff and puff all he wanted. He could punch holes in walls, snap at everyone around him and act like the world’s biggest hardass.

However, at the end of the day, he couldn’t ignore you.

And one thing was damn sure.

He was gonna die trying to fuck this attitude out of you.

Alright, I love love LOVE the way Ben and the reader interacts. 😭😭 I had so much fun writing this, it’s insane.

Hope you enjoyed, love!

xx Pam

[starpoweredv1b]

HIIII!!!! This is muscle mommy anon rawr. Thank you for answering my ask <333

Anywaysss, my grandma forcefed me rotten eggs so I lack the motivation for 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 seggs and I don't feel so well but the thought of missing class makes ke wanna kms

SPEAKING OF CLASS! Erm, imagine the LLs as teachers and you're just a student with so much troublemaker tendencies yet 0 social skills so the teachers helped them when they're too shy to ask for help from other students! Tampons/pads, bandages, painkillers, hoodies, etc etc.

You view them as father figures but they view you as their little girlfriend. Their cute cute miniscule little girlfriend who needs to be pampered and locked up in a nice pastel pink cage with all the soft pillows your scoliosis needs <3

I noticed you loveee fwb aus so let me propose you one!! What if, instead of living for centuries, the LLs died and reincarnated over and over again just to fulfill a promise with the original MC. We met one of them and is in a relationship with them on their 1st reincarnation, and they promised us that they'll be lovers again in the next one. But the LLs only remember the ogMC on the 2nd reincarnation and forward. Currently, we're still chasing after them, but since they're pursuing MC, we can only be their fwb until MC finally got together with them (do whatever u want w/ this prompt tbh teehee)

At first I was going to erm, send an ask about MC applying lip gloss so slowly it's almost sensual but that's boring so have these!!! Maybe you'll gain inspiration mwah

xoxo, not-freaky-anon<3

hi not-freaky-anon!! your muscle mommy ask was a banger i loved it to bits ♡ also so sorry to hear that you're still unwell hope you feel better soon and that rotten eggs will never cross your path ever again. also why, grandma?? 😭hope catching up with classes go smoothly for you! love you and you got this 🫶 thank you so much for the ask and don't be afraid to send anything at all the lipgloss sounds hot 🫠

you read my mind for the fwb thing. i actually adore this trope so bad like nobody gets it!! i love fwb aus with angst and yearning and drama!!! this is definitely on my list of to-writes for the lads boys 🙂‍↕️

the first half of this being heavyyyyyy on corruption kink and daddy issues is so yum? like i lovedddd this so much. i think the LI's viewing them as their little girlfriend is so hot like can you imagine them using how close you stood to them, or the way your clothes ride up when you stretch a little too comfortably, as jerk off material when they're alone.

fisting their cocks hard and fast, wishing it was your hand instead. or your pretty tongue and tight throat stretching to accommodate them because let's face it, they are the closest thing you're gonna get to an experience with a real man. so deluded by their own fantasies that when you actually look weirded out by their confession, they had no choice but to put you in a cage of your favourite colour!! fully accessorised and customised to your comfort and liking of course.

you're troubled because nobody had ever cared enough to stick around and give you the love that you need. so why not just give in? you can say no or be as hesitant as you want but as soon as you get cock drunk, begging them to thrust harder into your deliciously tight squelchy walls, they'd feel reassured that this was what you've always wanted too. always too shy to ask for more when you deserve nothing less than the world on a platter :(

[solarsavoy]

Sure, I'll share. I've got a couple of approaches for this, a fandom list, and an original work list. I have surprisingly few ships that are important to me, actually, but I should have enough.

Fandom list:

Karmagisa, from Assassination Classroom: my first and one true ship. I love both the chaos and stability they represent, leaning towards chaos. These characters definitely represent me in different ways, and seeing them matched together, in a way, makes me feel whole. I am a highly intelligent loner with no family at home, hung out in the back of the class by myself when I was in school, and played videogames all the time instead of actually trying. I'm also perceived as super sweet and friendly with people, suffer from incredibly low self-esteem, and show a little bit of my surprisingly dark and twisted side every now and then. I didn't know this when I first jumped on the Karmagisa ship, and then later even learned what a ship was, but the more time I spend with it, the more of myself I discover. So really, I think this is the only ship that represents me quite perfectly, but I will list others anyway because they still matter, just not in the same way.

"SakuSyao", from Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles: Even though this was technically chronologically my first ship, I didn't know what a ship was at the time and simply liked them together. For this one, the story matters much more to me than the ship, but I can't say I don't love them together. ^^ (The quotes are intentional, for those that know the story. Warning: if you look up what they're for, you'll spoil yourself on a big part of the story.)

Karushuu, from Assassination Classroom, with a focus on Shuu: so this one's a little weird in concept. I ship Shuu with Karma, but don't necessarily ship Karma with Shuu. I think Shuu needs a little more chaos in his life in order to grow as a person, and Karma is the perfect one to inspire that. I go back and forth on whether or not I want Shuu to be ace or aroace or other, but regardless, I see Karushuu as a necessary ship for Shuu. I admit, I have a lot of well developed, personal headcanons for him, and because of those headcanons, Karma is the one that helps Shuu break free from his trauma, become his own person, and gives him purpose. And in the reverse, Shuu doesn't really do much for Karma. He challenges Karma mentally, and, I imagine, frequently fights with him to get him to conform. I hope that makes sense, and even though it's a one-sided ship, it's still really important to me. I think any ship where at least one person is able to grow internally and become a better version of themselves because of the other is a good ship, even if it is also best set to sail temporarily.

Original list, all are from Krystar:

Rizzy, Roxin and Izzy, canon: Roxin is a hyperactive extrovert that is kind and loves people. He's absolutely crazy about Izzy and always has been. It's like love at first sight cranked all the way up to infinity. Izzy is an introvert who likes working on technology. He often acts like Roxin is a nuisance, but also sees him as his connection to the outside world. Without Roxin, he feels isolated and disconnected, fully aware that this is of his own doing, but he has a problem fixing it on his own. He just feels more comfortable in his own workspace, and is often annoyed by people, but Roxin constantly helps (forces) him out of his shell. And in return, Izzy is a point of stability in Roxin's life. They're also just super cute together. Roxin is really touchy-feely and Izzy hates being touched, but for the most part allows Roxin to do as he wishes, which makes Roxin feel extra special.

Steshi, Stag and Deshi, not canon: I know it may seem weird to ship two people in my own work and have them not get together when it's technically within my own power to make it so, but it just is the way it is. In canon, they work well together. They balance each other out when fighting a common enemy and make up for each other's weaknesses. Stag is wild, unafraid to attack first and ask questions later, great at reading people, fast both mentally and physically, and is quick to come up with short term strategies in battle. Deshi, on the other hand, is extremely tame and reserved, questions every action he ever takes, is completely oblivious when it comes to other people, is slow to react on purpose but makes up for it with his instincts and intuition, and leans on his instincts for more "in the moment" decisions while fighting. They just balance each other really well, and even though it's not canon romantic, Stag does have a crush on him, and I'm a sucker for unrequited love. (Compare "SakuSyao")

Mythren and Gerit, canon: I just love these two and most of it is because Gerit is just so precious! ^^ These two also balance each other out really well. Mythren is quick, thorough, and playful while Gerit is deadly and dense. Gerit is a very unique character for those that haven't read the bit I've posted for him on AO3. It's hard for me to put it into words exactly, but Gerit is lacking in a lot of ways and Mythren not only compensates for those weaknesses but helps Gerit to grow out of them. They're just really good for each other, and like with the themes of most of the other ships I've listed, they fill in each others' gaps and mesh quite perfectly.

I know this was supposed to be a quick list and I went and made a thing out of it, but I know most who might see this won't know any of my original stuff, so they needed an explanation. So, do these ships say anything about me? 👀

Tagging @jackiewepps, @heyhellohihowareyou, @magicalflyingfish, but only if you want to do it. No pressure if not!

I don't wanna hear any of the emotional-wreckage psycho-sexual deviance comments that my answer might arouse

Soukoku

Klance

Jegulus

Next question.

Bonus point for stsg which takes charge whenever one of em is resting

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 141 (Safe and Sound?)

Ash's family, friends, and pets rejoiced over his safe return to a brisk Brindleton Bay - where it still would not stop snowing. Gord followed Ash like a guard. Hazel, who'd been watching Lavender with Heather and Conrad in Sulani, warmly embraced her nephew when he raced to greet her. "Ashy, I'm so glad you're safe."

"Me too, Auntie Hazel. But we totally outsmarted the time travelers! And Felix Psyded and the Grim Reaper helped, too!"

Hazel nodded and pushed out a smile. Heather had told her everything by text from the flight home, and she was still trying to wrap her mind around the whole thing - just like Heather and Conrad. Time travel was one thing, but murderous hitmen and vengeful exes were another thing altogether. Ash seemed the least disturbed by the strange reality he found himself in, which was at least something the adults could take comfort in.

Lavender was unaware her brother had been kidnapped, least of all by time travellers, instead thinking he'd stayed an extra night in San Myshuno with his other family, but she was happy to see him again nonetheless. "Ashy want to read with me?" she asked, sitting next to him on the living room sofa.

"Sure, Lava," he said, and she handed him their worn copy of The Giving Tree. As he read, his voice trailed off, and suddenly he looked up with a smile. "I just got an idea!"

"Like the icy chippy?"

"No, this one will work. All we have to do is tell Mom and Conrad we want them to finally get married."

Lavender looked at him wide eyed as she shook her head. "Mommy said no snow."

"I know, but Mom really missed me while I was gone so she'll say yes. Especially if we tell her we'll plan it and promise there won't be snow."

Lavender cocked her head slightly. "How we gunna plan a wedding?"

"Auntie Hazel will help us, I bet. And Uncle River, too!"

"I want wedding cupcakes!"

"No cake? Just cupcakes?"

Heather smiled as she listened to them from the computer, where she answered an email from Marisol Quesada, the artist in Ciudad Enamorada who she'd commissioned to work on her video game's concept design.

She would agree to her children's plan when they presented it to her; with another baby on the way, it was well past time for her to make things official with Conrad, and now she was up against fitting into a wedding dress with a baby bump. The sooner, the better, if there was no snow. But for now, as her life returned to normal, she refocused on Marisol.

(Thank you @igglemouse for inspiring another crossover with your incredible storytelling. I love your words as much as we love Marisol's artwork!)

The artist's emails were professional, her work was incredible and they had a similar vision. She hoped Marisol wouldn't be upset that her latest response to their collaboration was a few days late; Marisol was always prompt with her replies. Heather wasn't sure how to say she'd had to focus on her kidnapped son instead of the latest proofs, so she made up an excuse about pregnancy fatigue - which wasn't entirely a lie, anyway.

While Heather focused on designing Furever Friends: Stray Valley and her clinic, Conrad was dealing with Ximena and Rafa's cases - what had once been slow investigations taking years off his life were now meetings with judges and lawyers and filing evidence for discovery. But he still found time to help Hazel and River plan his wedding to Heather.

River came to Brindleton Bay for a vet appointment with Duchess and suit fitting with Ash and Conrad, and as her morning sickness finally subsided, Heather was more than happy to focus on her work.

Her regulars were excited for the new clinic, and she was excited to give pets and their owners an even better place to heal when feeling sick. But for now, the old clinic that helped make her the vet she was today still felt like a home away from home.

(Heather would never think of asking her recycle disciple brother not to hug his bag of trash while in her clinic. He loves it too much!)

A few nights before the wedding, Ash was wearing his wedding suit around the house in anticipation, and once his homework was done and he'd helped Lavender stack blocks, he sat down to watch his father on Simlandia National's 6 o'clock news. But even Conrad was intrigued enough to sit and watch when he realized what they were talking about.

"We bring reports this evening of a turquoise-haired man named Emit Relevart, who told several sims in Willow Creek Park he's a time traveler from the future asking for help with his latest mission. Police in Willow Creek say the man is harmless but annoying, and he's unwilling to leave the park until he's found a fellow time traveler and several stolen items he believes have been dropped through time. Sims are asked to beware of Emit Relevart when walking in or near Willow Creek Park, and officials advise against following him through any strange looking portals. Guard your safety, Simlandia."

Ash's eyes bulged. "More time travelers?"

"We don't know that for sure," Conrad said carefully. "Emit Relevart could be a hoax."

"But his name is time traveler backwards!"

"That could all be part of the hoax," Conrad assured him.

"I wonder if Emit knows Marco and Ximena in the future."

"After what happened in Sulani with Rafa, hopefully Ximena's still behind bars in the future, and Marco's gone. He was off the grid for years, but when he died in Sulani, we found a death record for him in San Myshuno."

"So if you time travel but then you die in the timeline where you already exist, your other self dies, too?" Ash considered the questionable and confusing science of time travel - still a bit much to grasp for a genius nine-year-old - but Conrad didn't know how to explain it any better, either.

"Are you worried more people who knew Ximena and Marco will try to find you again?" he wondered, and Ash nodded. "The Landgraabs increased security, and your mom and I will never let anyone hurt you. Same as always," he said.

Ash soon refocused on the wedding, which carried his excitement through the evening until Heather and Conrad tucked him into bed. He fell asleep with his blankets curled around his shoulders, bundled under heavy cotton sheets in the cool spring night of Brindleton Bay.

While he slumbered, Marco's ghost stood over him with a frown. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

[grrrrrrrbarkbarkbark]

Once again: I love my friends

[crescentfool]

orpheus and thanatos 💚

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[averlym]

litany of the martyrs (click for better resolution!)

[sschmendrick]

Gotta write a production report for two songs we recorded and I'm gonna have to do at least a third of it for a group of 6 after having done about half of the recording and editing work for one of these two projects...all that cause I still haven't found an internship so I can't just say : do it without me.

It's a little exhausting. I know they will work if I really push them but they'll do it super late and I'll have to revise it when I get back home from the small concert I've allowed myself to go instead of my portuguese lesson (brazilian artist so it's all good my teacher said, I still feel bad) and I'll have to run around tomorrow morning to print it and I'll assume the cost again.

It's...yeah it's exhausting. And my thesis is so far behind, and I still have no internship. I wanna keep strong but man that diploma is slipping away from me. I'm not even sure I have good enough grades at my exams now !

[starscelly]

if you give a goalie a knife...

[hoziersong]

do you mind if i ramble in the tags about my weird relationship with making art in fandom for a second

[imaginedisish]

Anything (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)

A/N: Something is seriously wrong with me...I cannot stop writing for this man. Started this one last night after hearing him say "princess" in "The Wolverine" (2013). This is another nightmare fic, but I promise it's different! Heavily inspired by "anything" by Adrianne Lenker. Hope you guys enjoy!

Summary: Your summer affair with Logan is, in fact, not just a summer affair.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT!! MINORS DNI!!! Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), (some?)fingering, cockwarming, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, nightmares, fem!reader/afab!reader, canon-typical violence, mutant!reader (unspecified abilities), feelings, angst, cursing, probably grammatical errors, I think that's it!

Word Count: 3,213 short for me

It started one summer night—under the stars. You had slipped out the window of your room in the mansion. You were sitting with your legs crossed, perched precariously on the old, shingled roof. You never got much sleep—you simply couldn’t—even though you knew the mansion was safe. Staying awake remained a solace, a comfort. It meant fewer nightmares; it meant you couldn’t be haunted by the hurt of your past.

Staring up at the stars beat staring up at your ceiling, and so you had made it a habit to crawl out of your window and sit on the roof. 

Until that one summer night, when Logan found you out there.

He shoved open his window and stuck his head outside. “What the fuck are you doing out here?” You smiled, turning your head to face him. You shrugged your shoulders, giggling at the concern on his face. He mocked you, shrugging his own shoulders in imitation. 

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile and the way he made you laugh. You and Logan had been growing closer, spending more time together. He was looking out for you—constantly and protectively. It made you feel good knowing that someone cared so deeply. 

“Why don’t you come over here?” You called over to him, patting the spot next to you. He shook his head and ducked back inside. You quickly assumed he didn’t feel like being with you, your heart sinking down into your stomach. You wanted him to come out, to sit with you. Maybe you could’ve—

But then there he was, pushing the window as far open as it could possibly go, struggling to climb out. It wasn’t too much of a scuffle over to you, your rooms being right next to one another, but he made a big deal of the trek nonetheless. He huffed for dramatic effect as he sat down next to you. 

“This is so incredibly dangerous,” he had said, sarcasm heavy in his voice. 

You gasped. “Logan Howlett cares about safety?” You clasped your hand over your mouth for flare. “My safety?” 

He smiled, but there was something serious in his face. “I do, actually.” You tried not to notice as he inched closer to you, your shoulders brushing together. “What are you doing out here, princess?” He asked again. 

You smirked at the familiar nickname. “I don’t really like sleeping,” you muttered. 

Logan nodded. He understood better than anyone else. “I know…” He trailed off, looking up at the sky. “But why sit out here?”

“It’s quiet,” you whispered. “And it’s beautiful. Better than being in there, just sitting in bed.” 

He nodded again. “It is beautiful.” You turned your head back to Logan as he spoke. He wasn’t looking at the sky anymore. He was looking at you. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Did you have a dream tonight?”

You shook your head from side to side. “Didn’t give myself the chance to yet, and I don’t plan on doing so.” You sighed, looking down at your legs, still crossed like a pretzel in front of you. “Wish we didn’t have to deal with this, you know?”  

Logan slowly brought his arm around your shoulder, as if he was waiting for you to shove him away. He had touched you before, but not quite like this. It was always in passing—always short and fleeting. But this? This was intentional. You leaned into his touch and let your head fall to his shoulder. “You don’t have to deal with it alone,” he offered, his lips faintly brushing at your temple. 

You tilted up to look at him, his face inches away from yours. He pulled you in closer, his breath fanning across your cheek. “You’re not alone,” he repeated. 

And then his lips were on yours. You kissed on the roof. You let him tug you into his window, into his bed. He tasted you that night. You spread your legs and let him inside. And then you slept. You slept without waking up in a cold sweat. You slept without reliving your past. And for the first time in a long time, so did he. 

And now it's become a habit. He opens his window for you, and you climb across the roof and inside. Every night. You haven’t slept alone since the beginning of the summer, and it’s August now. There’s no label on whatever it is you two are. But you know it’s serious—the way he asks every night if you can stay, even though he knows you’ve already made up your mind and that you aren’t going anywhere. 

But tonight is different. Logan was sent on a day trip with some of the students, while you were tasked with staying at the school to run through training exercises. It’s the end of the day now—10 PM. You’re exhausted as you let your back crash down on the mattress. 

Thanks to Logan, your body has become accustomed to sleeping. You can feel it calling you, feel your tiredness creeping in at the corner of your eyes. You try to fight the feeling, but it’s no use. Your eyes flutter open and closed, resisting until you can’t anymore, and you fall asleep. 

There’s a piercing ringing in your ears. Your chest is heaving violently. You’re strapped down to a chair, a needle inches away from your forearm. Maybe it’s Stryker. Maybe it’s some other mutant hunter or government agent ready to do their worst. You thrash around in the chair, yanking at the restraints to no avail.

You choke out a sob, throwing your head back in agony. Logan is all you can think about. What if he’s in danger? What if you never see him again? What if this is it?

Just as the needle breaks skin, the piercing ringing starts up again, and everything goes black. 

You force yourself to sit up, cold sweat drenching every inch and curve of your body. You look over to the clock on your nightstand: 12:37 AM. You had only been asleep for two hours. You shut your eyes, letting your head bump into the headboard behind you. You take deep, slow breaths, trying to lower your heart rate, silently reminding yourself that it was all just a dream. 

You’re not exactly sure what brought the nightmare on, but you know you aren’t going back to sleep. You crawl out of bed and into the darkness of your room, carefully walking to your window and shoving it as far open as it can possibly go. You climb out and sit on the still-hot roof to look at the stars. 

The twinkling balls of heat shine above you. It hits you then that even stars must die. They have all that energy, all that beauty, and then they burn out. You swallow at the thought, tears burning behind your sinuses. 

You don’t want to look over at Logan’s room—don’t want to see the window closed. The trip was to some aquarium down the shore in Jersey. You know he’s likely not home yet, and for the first time since all of this started, you’re worried about bothering him. You don’t want to force him to deal with your—

And then you finally see it. His window is open, the curtains billowing around inside. You let out a tight breath you didn’t know you were holding, your shoulders going slack at the thought of crawling into his bed. 

You scale the roof carefully, bending down as you climb inside his room. You get tangled up in the curtains, and you shove them aside to reveal Logan in his bed, eyes shut. You swallow harshly at the sight—his chest bare and his hair a mess. Sometimes you’ll stay up and watch him sleep, just to see this, just to know what he looks like when it's late and no one else is around. 

But then he’s twitching. He grunts, his chest heaving rapidly. You sprint across the room to his side, practically tripping over nothing in the rush of it all. He’s fisting the sheets, mumbling nonsense, violently turning left and right. You can see the pain in the tightness of his jaw, in the way his muscles flex. Your heart drops deep into the pit of your stomach. 

“Logan,” you call out, bringing a hand to his shoulder. You know he’s sensitive—know he can bring the claws out at any second—so you take care with your movements. “Logan,” you call again, louder this time. You grip his shoulder harder, shaking him, trying to force him out of the nightmare. 

You think you hear your name slip from his lips. “I’m right here,” you soothe, bringing your other hand to his abdomen, rubbing softly as you continue to shake his shoulder. He’s a sweating mess, his body cold and hot at the same time. You want to take his pain away, to make all of this better. “Come on,” you beg. “Wake up.”

And then he’s sitting up, his eyes open wide. You step back, giving him the space he needs as he comes to. His claws shoot out, ready to strike. He turns his head, his eyes frantically searching the room until he finds you. 

He quickly retracts his claws, and you watch as his shoulders relax. His chest still rises and falls rapidly with every breath he takes. 

“Logan,” you whisper, stepping closer to him again. “Are you—” 

He cuts you off, pawing at you, grabbing your sides, and pulling you into his bed. He’s on top of you in an instant, caging you in, his throat bobbing as he swallows harshly. 

“Can you stay?” It’s a ritual, the way he asks. He knows your answer—always does. But he asks anyway. You know he wants to hear it from your lips, wants to know that you want this, too. 

Your heart clenches in your chest. “Yes,” you sigh as one of his hands comes to rest underneath your shirt, climbing slowly up your stomach. “But Logan—”

He swallows your protests with a kiss, and you moan into his mouth. It’s hurried, rushed, like he’ll die if he can't have you right away. “Don’t wanna talk about it. Need you now. Talk after,” he mumbles against your lips, kissing you again before you can say a word. 

You understood—you needed him too. Needed to feel him inside you, under your skin, everywhere. 

His hand slinks up to your bare chest; you had forgotten you weren’t wearing a bra, just one of Logan’s old t-shirts and your panties. His touch is rough; needy. He squeezes your tits, his fingertips brushing your nipples, drawing tight circles. You moan his name, already squirming underneath him. 

Logan’s erection grinds against your core. He’s just wearing his boxers—nothing else—but it’s still too much. You need him bare before you, deep inside you. You lift your hips up to meet his, your arms wrapping around his back to pull him closer.

He takes the hint, his hand gliding back down your body to the hem of your panties. He reaches down farther, teasing your folds through the fabric. “Fuck, so fucking wet already,” he mumbles, slipping your panties to the side so that he can feel you. You shudder under his touch, his fingers spreading your slickness up to your clit. He strokes teasingly, the ache between your thighs growing with every flick and circle. 

It feels like heaven, but you need him closer. “Logan,” you whimper, fisting the sheets underneath you. “Want you, please.” It’s a desperate prayer and not just a request. 

Logan suddenly pulls his hand away and you whine at the loss of contact. “I know, sweetheart,” he soothes reassuringly, sitting up and pushing his boxers down. You’ll never get tired of the sight of his cock springing free against his stomach. His hands are back on your hips in an instant, squeezing lightly before hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties and yanking them down. 

He's back on top of you, lowering down onto one forearm as his other hand pulls your shirt above your tits. “Wanna see you, pretty girl,” he groans, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple before his forehead meets yours.

His hand comes down to the base of his cock, guiding his tip to your entrance, to where you need him most. His chest heaves in time with yours, your nipples brushing against him. He stays there for a moment, not moving. His eyes search your face, as if to confirm you’re real—that you’re truly here with him. You can see the need in his eyes. It’s not lust anymore—not just about sex. It’s never been about that. 

It has always meant more. 

Logan suddenly thrusts into you, bottoming out down to the hilt, stretching you open. You can feel him throb inside you. He groans at your ear. “So goddamn tight.” He doesn’t pull back out, his hips still, his cock buried deep inside you. You need him to move, need to feel his cock rub against your walls. You try to grind down on him, but he doesn’t let you. His hand latches onto your hip, keeping you in place. 

“Lo,” you whine. 

“Love when you call me that, sweetheart,” he growls, his hips still stuck in place. “Just wanna feel you like this for a minute. Don’t move.” 

It’s all too much. You need more, need him to fuck into you. Logan frees his hold on your hip, his hand trailing down between your bodies. He finds your clit, drawing achingly slow circles there. It’s nowhere near enough, but the temporary relief feels so good. 

“Always want you this close,” he murmurs, his hips finally starting to move, slowly but surely. You arch your back at the feeling. “Feels so good, so fucking good.” 

He’s taking his time, committing how you feel around his cock to his memory. He’s filling you up, taking in every inch you have to give him. You’re still adjusting to his size, his cock working you open with every thrust. His fingertips swirl around your clit, adding more pressure to the sensitive bud. You’re already close, already putty in his hands. 

Your walls flutter around him, drawing him in, deeper and deeper. 

“Should’ve just brought you in here when I got home,” he husks between starving kisses. “Shouldn’t have waited.” 

You wrap your legs around his waist. “I’m here now,” you coo, your nails scratching at his back as he pounds into you, picking up his pace, his hips snapping into yours. 

“D-don’t know what I’d do without you,” he stutters, his voice suddenly shaky. He’s still fucking into you relentlessly, pumping in and out. “F-fucking need you all the time, princess.” His words and that nickname light a spark at the base of your spine. You can feel yourself melting, ready to come undone. 

“So close,” you choke out in between thrusts. 

You clamp down on him. “That’s it,” Logan whispers, his cock rutting into you, his fingers still circling your clit. He’s working you through it, taking care of you, making you feel good. “Come on my cock, pretty girl. Wanna feel it.” 

You can’t help but do as he says—that spark at the base of your spine spreading like wildfire. You’re moaning his name, walls squeezing around him, stars blurring your vision as your orgasm floods through you. But Logan isn’t slowing down, his cock pounding into you and his fingers stroking your clit long after you’ve finished. 

“Love feeling you come,” he mutters, biting your lip in between kisses. “Wanna feel you come again, princess.” 

You’re already beyond fucked out, overstimulated, and far too sensitive, but his words goad you along. “’S’so much, Lo,” you whimper, tripping over your sentence as he splits you apart, sinks into you, hitting your g-spot with every pump. 

“Know you can take it,” he praises, pressing a kiss just under your ear, then to your pulse point, and back up to your lips. “Know you can come again for me, can’t you?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer. “A-anything for you.” You mean it, and he knows you do.

“Fuck,” he curses, his thrusts growing sloppier as the words fall from your lips. “F-fucking beautiful, perfect.” 

You look to where you two are connected—where you become one—and watch as his cock disappears into you. It’s too much, the sight, the feeling of him fucking into you, rubbing your clit, chasing your orgasm. It’s all it takes to have you falling apart underneath him, coming on his cock again. 

After a few soothing strokes to your clit, his nails trail up your body, his fingertips exploring your bare skin. Logan curses under his breath, your name on his lips. You know he’s close behind—almost there. 

“Don’t pull out,” you whisper in his ear, his cock pulsing inside you. “Stay.” 

That’s all the permission he needs to fill you up, his hips stuttering as he comes. “F-fuck,” he groans, his hand slipping under your back to hike you up, to bury himself as deep as possible, to hold you flush against him as he finishes inside you. 

He pumps a few more times, riding out his orgasm, but he doesn’t pull out. He grabs your thigh and hoists your leg around his waist as he shifts you onto your side. You’re next to him now, your chests still pressed together.

“Lemme stay inside you,” he mumbles. 

You nod against him. “Okay.” You squeeze your leg around his waist, taking him deeper. 

The room is silent, your shared shallow breaths the only sound. The curtains dance in the breeze from the still-open window. Your eyes flutter shut, and Logan’s lips press a kiss to each of them. 

After a few moments, he breaks the silence. “Don’t ever wanna spend a night without you.”

Your eyes flutter back open, and you’re met with Logan’s soft, sleepy face. His hair is a mess. You can’t help but smile at the intimacy—the domesticity. “You don’t have to,” you say back. 

“I mean it,” his voice is steady, firm, the sleepiness replaced suddenly with something more serious. “Need you with me all the time.”

“I know,” you say. And then he’s drawing stars across your back. It makes you think of the night this all started. The night everything changed. “I’ll always stay. Always.” You blink and an unexpected tear slips down your cheek. You swallow harshly, unprepared for the vulnerability of the moment. 

Logan immediately notices and brings his thumb up to your cheek, brushing the tear away. “Just want you. Give anything to make you mine.” 

“I already am,” is all you can manage to say. “Don’t need anything.” 

“Gonna give it to you anyway.” He kisses the spot where he wiped the tear away. 

You start to drift off—his arms around you, his cock still buried inside you—the thought of a forever with Logan replaying in your mind. 

You think he’s asleep, but then you hear his soft husk at your ear. “I love you. Always will.”

“I love you, too.”

[valyvinny]

╰┈➤ ❝ Love and deepspace boys ⑅ ♥̩̥̩♥̩̩̥͙♥̩͙ˊˎ Love Languages ❞

PAIRING : Caleb x reader, Sylus x reader, Zayne x reader, Rafayel x reader and Xavier x reader GENRE : Fluff WORD COUNT : 1745 TAGS : sfw, fluff, minor self deprecation (only in Xavier's) A/N : Very fluffy headcannons for the boys! Really enjoyed writing this so I hope you like it :). The next piece of writing is probably gonna take a while because exammmsss ugh. Pray for me everybody.

The different love langauges of the LADS boys

──●◎●── Caleb ┆彡 Physical touch

Caleb is an absolute FIEND for physical touch. This is largely because he spent the better part of his life having to make do with patting your head, ruffling your hair, and holding your hand to ‘measure hand sizes’. Always having to exercise an immense amount of restraint when all he wanted to do was kiss you senseless.

The line between platonic and romantic was blurred since the very beginning. But Caleb wouldn’t dare tread that line, especially if it meant losing you. That he wouldn’t be able to bear. 

But now you were his, and he’d take any excuse to have some part of himself touching you at all times. Whether that be a hand on the small of your back, little pecks throughout the day, cradling your face, massaging your sore muscles, he’d take it. 

However, his favorite form of physical touch other than sex ofcourse was just holding you. Sometimes it would be when the both of you had a rare day off together. It would be a lazy afternoon, your head on his chest and his arm wrapped around you, lazing around on the couch. 

Other times it would be late at night, after another grueling day of work. With him holding you close, your back to his chest. 

Sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night, another one of his treacherous nightmares plaguing his sleep. But the sight of you next to him would instantly put him at ease. He’d pull you closer to him, kiss your neck, and drift back to sleep. 

With you in his arms, Caleb felt truly at peace. 

──●◎●── Rafayel ┆彡 Quality time

Rafayel will do anything with you, as long as it meant that you were next to him. He wasn’t very picky with what the both of you were doing really. As long as he was doing it with you. 

You were his muse. Many times, he’d ask you to simply sit around him while he paints. You’d be doing your own thing. Typing up work emails, writing your reports or catching up on your favorite series. 

There wouldn’t be much conversation between the two of you. But somehow, your mere presence brought him inspiration to create. With you around, ideas came easy. 

You’d often be subjected to his texts throughout the week. 

“Hey cutie, wanna go on a walk with me” 

Other times it would be 

“I have an exhibition in Milan. Dun know if you wanted to come?”

(That’s a lie, he already has an extra ticket ready. But it wouldn’t hurt to ask right?) 

And who were you to deny the Lemurian? 

Sometimes however, your schedule didn’t allow you such luxuries. But that minor inconvenience didn’t stop him. He’d come over and help you do your laundry or even cook you a delicious meal if it meant just spending that extra bit of time with you. 

Every now and then your work required you to take missions away from him. Sometimes even away from Linkon. It was pure torture for the merman. Sure, you’d video call occasionally, but it just wasn’t enough. He wished you were beside him. 

And when you’d eventually came back to him, he’d pout. 

“Look who finally decided to stop by” 

But all that indignation would melt almost instantly as soon as you said “I missed you Raf”  

──●◎●── Sylus ┆彡 Gift Giving

Sylus is a very busy man. One would be heading an organization such as Onychinus. There’s always a deal to make, meetings to attend and people to intimidate. But that never stops him from always having you on his mind. He’s a thoughtful man. 

Sometimes you’d come home to find a package dropped outside the door to your flat. 

“I was passing by a store and I thought this dress would look beautiful on you kitten” the note attached to it would say. And it did. It was tailored to perfection to fit your form, hugging all your curves in all the right places. 

The dress would easily be several thousand dollars. Every time you’d admonish Sylus for spending so carelessly, he’d scoff in response. 

“Money is nothing to me sweetie” 

More often than not, you’d find a single rose on your window sill. When you questioned the silver haired man about it, he’d simply say “Well kitten, you shouldn’t leave your window open. It’s not safe. A little birdie may come in” 

(But maybe that’s exactly why you did it) 

But perhaps the most thoughtful gifts are the ones that Sylus gets you after you’d casually mentioned it in passing. 

One such present, and probably your most cherished one, was your limited edition plushie. They had it in stock only in one store in the whole of Linkon. To make matters even more bleak, they were selling it only for a day. 

“I really wish I could get it myself. But the Association just assigned a mission to me” you’d complained. 

The next time you met Sylus, he’d be holding that very plushie in his hand. 

“I have something for you sweetie” 

Truth be told, Sylus doesn’t understand the allure of such toys. It seemed to be quite popular considering he’d stood in a queue for a grand total of three hours. But it was worth it, the look of excitement and surprise on your face is something that he replays in his mind every now and then, whenever he’s away from you. It brings him warmth. 

Sylus would give you the world if he could, just to see you happy. 

──●◎●── Zayne ┆彡 Acts of service

Zayne is a very attentive man. He’s almost fine tuned to your needs and wants. Sometimes you’d tease that he never really frees himself from his ‘Doctor mode’. He spoils you, really. 

“I’ve ordered your favorite soup from the restaurant you like. It’s on its way to you. Please eat well” he’d text you when you were on your way home after another tiring day fighting wanderers. 

It’s almost like Zayne was a mind reader. Somehow, he’d know exactly what you needed, when you needed it. 

“I’m coming over to you right now. I have a tub of ice cream and chocolate in hand. Would you like anything else?” he’d ask you on the first day of your period. 

For Zayne, your happiness and well-being were his priority. He’d go to any lengths to ensure that. 

Once, after a particularly overwhelming week at work, you were dreading returning to your apartment. You’d left your place in a mess having had no time to clean up in between work days. You’d often find yourself coming home and collapsing into bed almost immediately. 

But now you had to face the mountain of a task that was cleaning up. Especially now, considering you had the next few days off. 

As you opened the door to your apartment, you were stunned. The entire place was neat and tidy. Not a hair out of place. From the kitchen, a delicious aroma wafted over to you, a pot of stew boiling away on the stove. 

You stood there both in awe and confusion, when Zayne emerged from your room. He looked soft, clad in a pair of pajamas and an apron, a duster in his hand. He hardly resembled the same intimidating Dr. Zayne that had everyone quaking in their boots.

“I hope you don’t mind. I had some free time and used the spare key you gave me” he said. 

“I thought you could use some help cleaning up. Once you freshen up, I can serve the rice and stew I made for dinner” 

Zayne preened under your appreciation. Warmth creeping up his neck, dusting his ears a soft shade of red, as you littered his face with kisses and endless appreciation. 

“It’s nothing” he’d say. 

To him, it really was nothing. If Zayne could do anything to lighten your burden or even make your day just a tad bit better, he’d do it in a heartbeat. 

──●◎●── Xavier ┆彡 Words of affirmation

Xavier truly has a way with words. He always knows exactly what to say, no matter the circumstance. This innate ability of his had the power to single-handedly turn your day around. 

You wanted to be the best hunter there ever was. This ambition of yours would often push you to take up extreme and risky missions to prove your abilities. But sometimes, it made you reckless.

There was one such time, where you were battling a rather difficult Wanderer. You really tried your hardest. Used all the strength you could muster and everything you’ve learned from your years of training, but the Wanderer bested you. If it weren’t for Xavier fighting it off, you’re not sure you would’ve made it through. 

“I’m pathetic” you’d say after. “I can’t seem to do anything right” 

Xavier couldn’t stand it when you were like this. The self deprecation stung him a little. If only you could see yourself through his eyes. But in moments like these, he knew you needed an extra bit of support and affirmation. 

“You did good my light. You were brave. No one else volunteered to take this mission but you did” he’d say, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your forehead. 

“It was a difficult mission. The Wanderer was of an incredibly high level and you weakened it considerably. You’re stronger than you know. Sometimes, it’s okay to combine strengths and ask for help okay?” 

And it not just what he says. It’s how he says it. Xavier says things with such surety and conviction, that you can’t help but believe him. You can’t help but take his words as law. 

Your favorite part of the day is always the random text that Xavier would send you. It would always be at different times, owing to the fact that he would often fall asleep and wake up rather erratically. But the element of surprise made it that much better. 

Each day was different. Sometimes it would be “You can achieve anything you set your mind to my love” other times it would be “I believe in you my light” 

These messages meant more to you than Xavier would ever know. It comforted you, knowing that you had someone by your side to always root for you. It gave you the strength and the courage to face obstacles head on. 

And for Xavier, praising and encouraging you came easily. You’re the strongest woman he’s ever known and he’d spend his entire lifetime reminding you the same. 

© valyvinny. All right reserved. Do not steal, copy, translate, repost or reupload any of my works. Do not use my work for AI

[dilf-docs]

You're a Daydream, Stay A While

joel miller x younger!reader

summary: you're jackson's designated bartender. well, your dad is, but after the arrival of a new face in town, maybe the inspiration to finally step up to your obligations kicks in.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., oral (f. receiving), fingering, foreplay (mostly breasts), creampie, breeding kink (kinda), angst/comfort, insecure!joel (love touch etcetc starved), needy!joel, pov switch mostly joel (he's down bad as well), collected shitty puns from across the internet like thanos collected the infinity stones

word count: 6,136 words

side note: yk what's worst than simping for old men? simping for old men who don't exist. since y'all know, tlou II trailer dropped, which got me searching for joel's ***** to brace/prepare myself. umm so, why did no one tell me jackson!joel is the hottest thing ever? can´t wait to see pedro being senior citizen level of hot and dying (again) on his bday month! 😍 anyway, this is based on this request and well, yes! i too would flirt with an old ass if he looked like that™ hope u like it bc for some reason I'm not sure of it JSJDLKDFK also 400 followers GUYS STOP (pls don't) IT'S TOO MUCH (give me more) HELP!=="))??! (that i do need tysm)

The truth is simple: you hate working.

An apocalypse later, you figure there are more important things. But on Jackson, it feels like the world before fungus and violence, and everyone's got a role to play. As the daughter of Tipsy Bison's owner, yours is to help around the bar, something no matter how much your dad scolds you, you don't seem to care enough to even do a decent job.

Of course, it could be worse: patroling, keeping the cattle or crops, but not even then you're moved enough to give a shit about it.

Enter Joel Miller.

He, who made sure his arrival in Jackson didn't go unnoticed, making heads turn at it, not only because of his emotional reunion with Tommy, the little girl with him, or the fact that he left yet still returned. But also (mainly to you) because he was hot. Very hot.

Joel was the type of handsome that was rough in the edges, his closed-off demeanor and overall mystery adding to the thrill. His face seemed to be in a perpetual state of grief and darkness, sprinkled with grey and wrinkles, that in your opinion, didn't mean about age but just something that made his features all the more attractive.

It was a lie to say there weren't any boys your age in Jackson, good-looking too, yet you felt yourself gravitate towards Joel's musky presence. Yes, he could be your dad, but again, it's the apocalypse, and there are plenty of things to worry about than some age gap.

That doesn't stop the talking, anyway. It may be the end of the world, but gossip is just like cockroaches: it never dies.

The Tipsy Bison owner's daughter is in love with Tommy's older, much older, brother.

It didn't bother you, thought. You were pretty open about it, giving Jackson more to talk. Whenever Joel arrived at the bar, all heads would turn in your direction, ready for the shameless flirting and compliments you showered the oldest Miller in.

Maria had warned you, of course. She was the closest you had to a friend―sometimes being like a big sister, and she seemed to know what he was up to before, at the QZ in Boston, thanks to Tommy. Safe to say, you didn't care, despite listening to every word she had said.

Joel could break your heart, yet in a dying world, you weren't afraid to live.

Which is why now, as he enters the bar, you offer your dad to take his place.

"Go rest, I'll take this client" you offer with kindness, but he knows better. You're his daughter: in the end of the day, he's aware Joel is here, your shift in attitude warning him about Miller's incoming presence.

"If you will take this client, take the rest too" and before your dad can throw a speech about everyone being equal in Jackson, you're accepting to do the job properly, despite your grumbling and lack of interest to anyone who isn't Joel.

"Joel" you greet as soon as he sits, one of the many flirty smiles you have for him only adorning your face. He nods, avoiding your eyes that look at him like he could give you the world. He can't, so he keeps focused on the glass you're pouring in front of him.

"See? Didn't even need to ask. I already know" you seem proud of it, and the ghost of a smile brushes his lips.

"Well" he raises the glass, "it's an easy drink"

You feign hurt, "is that how you treat your bartender? I could poison your drink" Joel now truly smiles, knowing you could never, "or I could just strip you of your my favorite customer rights"

Now he feigns hurt, playing along for the first time in ever.

"Copied" he raises his arms in surrender, not before taking a gulp. You watch hypnotized the way his adam's apple bobs, the liquid sliding down his throat until it looses itself in the peak his two buttons undone give, of what looks to be a broad soft upper body, blessed with a patch of greying messy hair.

"Have they ever complimented you before, Joel?"

You. He refrains from answering, scared as to where little encouraging had led you and your shameless mouth to. He can feel the rest of the people behind him whispering, holes burning his neck. He can't let you win again: make him seem a pathetic excuse of a man who can't say no to a sweet doe-eyed delusional girl.

But you don't stop, despite his silence and the growing pit on your stomach.

"I'll take that as a no. Wanna know why?" he takes a much needed sip, "because all the good pick-up lines are taken"

This he can handle, Joel thinks. It's silly, proper of your age-

"But you aren't"

Ah, of course. Hasn't he learned?

You have the nerve to laugh, free as a wind chime softly carresed by the wind. His face burns, and even thought he's heard plenty of worse from you ("No pen, no paper but you still draw my attention", "Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?" "You must be a dog person because you look fetching"), nothing had affected him this much.

Which is why he tries to pull the mask that had accompanied him since he first knew what grief was, so no feeling would ever made him weak again in a world hardened with pain. He's so good at it, wearing it like a second skin that doesn't scrub off no matter how much he wastes Jackson's water supply away, he sometimes sees the way your face is crestfallen at his indifference.

But you're young and stubborn, as so was he, before all the suffering and broken dreams.

So you won't listen to the past or doubts: the moment he stepped a foot into the community, you knew it was over, beating so loud you could barely hear your own breathing or him, when Maria introduced you and he shook your hand with his much bigger one.

"Joel" he'd said, with the sexiest voice you'd ever heard. His hands were covered in gloves, but despite that and the cold winter, the warmth that pooled from his palms had spread across your cheeks and chest. It had taken you a while to realize you hadn't said anything.

"Y/n" you hate the way your voice sounded small.

He nods, a way of saying Nice to meet you in his withdrawn nature. Then walks away, with Tommy and the girl, who looks curiously at you, Joel completely oblivious of how he's just turned your world upside down.

"Welcome to the museum!" you had said.

He tilted his head in confusion, Ellie's stare intense. "I thought this' Jackson?"

"This is a museum, because you're a work of art"

The tip of his ears instantly reddened, and the laugh Ellie was containing bursted like a bottle of champagne.

"Look at you, old man!" she laughed at him, making you wonder their relationship and how closer they seemed to be, despite initial assumptions. "Can't believe a girl gets the big, grumpy, scary Miller to blush like a boy"

You think that's the reason behind his apathy towards you, barely reacting to your pick-up lines or "subtle" flirting. It's probably not a reason as childish as that, but you'd rather be wrong than accept he may never feel the same way you do.

Because for a moment, despite the times you lived in, life made sense.

So no matter the stares, Joel's guarded posture and lack of reciprocation, you'll always be there, waiting: riding the roller coaster, enjoying the high.

The speed brings you closer, even if that means you'll crash.

Unfortunately for Joel, he knows who you are.

He's not even ten patrolling jobs closer to owning a bottle of whiskey of his own (he thinks earning it is bullshit, hasn't he done already enough?), so he's forced to go to the only place where he can get it.

And of course, there's you: a name and face he couldn't place upon his arrival, even if you had introduced yourself with your shitty line (which made him blush and Ellie laugh, so maybe it was a grudge what made him bent on removing you from his head) yet now is ingraned into his mind.

He doesn't know what's worst: your flirting or the fact that you seemed genuine about it. Or maybe it's the fact that he can tell you apart from the rest now, with a face full of life, always ready to give him your best smile and serve his glass the way he likes.

He needs to be the bigger person in this mess and stop it, Joel thinks. He isn't one to care about the talking, years of being brutal hiding any possible feeling that isn't rage. But then Ellie smuggled her way in his life, he found Tommy again, and Jackson was a reminder of old days when he would allow himself to feel anything else. So, in a way, he's become a bit susceptible to the talking behind his back.

How could he entertain a girl that could be his daughter? hushed, behind his stool. But then your fingers brush "accidentally", and his dick twitches between his legs when you bite your lip, pronouncing a Sorry like no one has said before: a tone so low and sultry, he's convinced wasn't even possible. Then you bat your eyelashes, and laugh (a sound both as delightful as addictive) before you're saying: "Don't mind them. They're just jealous you've got all my attention" and for a brief second, Joel let's himself believe he's special and worth of your time.

It's now a while since he's been there in Jackson, slowly settling into a life that doesn't involve running and fear.

If he thought your little crush was a phase, he's wrong.

You're still giving him time.

He's not supposed to get attached to you, Ellie, Tommy and Maria (future nephew in the way) more than enough. But then, when he's alone in a house too big for two people, Joel misses the way your loud voice fills the eerie silence that's followed him since death has been tracking his every step. Or how your interest on his life doesn't seem an act, listening to every word he says with tender eyes and soft smile, sometimes even making the effort of bringing things he's said before into new conversations; remembering. His heart flutter at your compliments, no matter how dumb they are, probably because he's not used to that stuff. As he lays awake at night, brain clogged with wounds too deep to bear, he finds comfort in things he has a feeling he's too old to get worked up about.

"Joel" you had said one day. God, he loved his name on your lips. The way you say it so sure, as if you'd follow him wherever he'd go.

He coughs. "Yeah?" and you smile, because at least he's looking in your direction.

"The chance of meeting a person like you is the only reason I talk to strangers"

The way your tone was straight, not flinching or faltering scared him. How something akin to sincerity dancing in the sparkles of your eyes, that now seemed to waver not out of whimsy but out of vulnerability, perfectly hidden in what could pass as another one of your attempts to woo him, but Joel's lived and seen enough to know it means much more.

So now, whenever there's darkness, he finds light on replaying those small moments on his head.

Dear God. What's he become? Ellie can't find out or he'll never hear the end of it.

But this things you don't know. All you see is a wall, and you're getting tired of hitting it.

The few words he spares your way are now a punishment you endure, cruel reminder that it's all you'll ever get.

Could you be in love forever? Could you even love?

It was a new feeling. Foreign, in fields of inexperience, but familiars in others. You may have never felt it, but the way your beat was steady when he showed up, worn out boots against the wood creaking under his weight, makes you believe when you know, you know.

"Hello, Joel" your father greets before you speak. Today, no matter how much you tried to shoo him away, he stayed.

You send a small smile his way, but he doesn't return it. You feel small, like a kid, undeserving of his attention. There's a bit of relief knowing your dad's there, so you let him take Joel for you.

There's always a first, and when both your dad and Joel notice, the latter feels a little sting on his chest.

But he's caused this, he thinks. It's what he wanted, after all: for you to stop chasing a man with scars in and out, bearing sins and blood where you had innocence and love.

"We're having a party tonight" he comments, making Joel quirk an eyebrow as he sips.

He gives you a brief glimpse, lost in the curve of your ass in those tight jeans, you giving him your back. He dryly scoffs on instinct at your deliberate choice to ignore him.

"Why's that?"

"My daughter's birthday"

He sees your body tense in the corner of his eye, wiping the glass in your hand with a bit too much force.

"Happy birthday" Joel speaks up, and you mutter a weak Thanks.

That's all he gets? No smile, no looking his way. Just a dry thank you that sounds more like something he would say.

Oh.

Was this how you felt?

"Time sure flies by" your dad sighs nostalgic, completely oblivious to the whole thing. "I feel if it was yesterday we came home from the hospital with you"

You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes, despite the obvious adoration for your dad.

"Don't get sappy on me" you sound embarrassed.

"I don't care. Twenty-one years later and an apocalypse in the mix, you're still my baby"

"Dad!" your cheeks heat up, and Joel almost forgets he's there, his body back to life when your face goes back to its normal color and happiness.

"Which means" your dad goes back to Joel, "you're invited"

Your laughter dies and Joel's chest tightens.

"You need to stop saying that. All Jackson is invited" you respond, making him flinch. The bite is obvious.

You're not special, is what you try to say in between lines.

"I'll be there" tone daring, and your father feels something has shifted in the air.

You don't answer after that. What are you supposed to say? Don't come? I hate you for making me feel small? He doesn't owe you anything, but it still hurts.

"It's at seven" there's a sharp edge to your tone when looking at him.

"I'll be there" he repeats, still, but it sounds more like who he really is trying to convince is himself.

Joel is there, as promised. You don't know why, but after what happened earlier, for the first time ever, seeing him brings you dread.

He catches you in a corner, sipping on some drink.

"Hi" it's soft, the tone new, and it doesn't help the pit in your stomach.

"Hey"

"Why are you here?" he's curious., "ain't this supposed to be your party?"

It's funny, really. The way everyone else mingles around you, laugh and talk, yet here you are, bitter inside the shadows of your corner.

You raise your glass and chuckle dryly. "Well, cheers to that"

"You shouldn't be here" he insists, and you roll your eyes. Then, his voice goes soft. "Is... Is this because of me?"

You scoff, venom falling out of your bitter laugh. "Wow, big ego you got there. Newsflash: the world doesn't revolve around you"

He's so used to your pinning, it's hard to bear the change.

"I wasn't saying that, I just-"

"Please don't" you cut him off. "Don't ruin my birthday more than you already have, thanks"

You decide to walk away, but Joel won't let you.

"I don't want that" he insists, blocking your steps. "I want you to be happy"

"Don't bullshit me" your tone is icy, cutting like daggers. "Please, leave me alone"

"Not until you're fine"

You scoff at his incomprehensible behavior.

"Oh, now you care? Drop the act; you're just angry I'm not stroking your ego anymore like a lovesick puppy. Truth is, you don't owe me anything, Joel"

He looks like you've slapped him across his face.

"I know" his voice darkens, filled with tension. "But-"

You get tired at Joel's sudden insistence, overwhelming you with confusion. This is the same guy that has uttered less than fifty words your way, indifferent to your flirting and special treatment. Of course, it may have been a little silly of you to expect so much from a guy older even than your dad, but his apathy was borderline rude, and that you can't excuse. Or understand. Or let go.

So yes, you're being petty. And yes, it also feels good to have him begging to have your attention, the roles reversed.

"But what, Joel? Is there anything you can say, really? It's not that serious" you empty the glass in a chug, feeling dizzy. "Live a little and stop being so obssesed with me"

He shoots you a look hard to decipher. There is hurt: from all the emotions available, he chose the one thing you didn't think he'd be capable of feeling. Hell, he looked rather more like the cause than the affected on the other end. But then auburn fires flash behind his eyes, and the circle repeats itself, the danger and rage Maria warned you about.

"Obssesed with you?" his eyes carry a wild light in them. "If anyone is obssesed, well, it ain't me"

"I need air" you push past him, done with his shit.

"I'm sorry-"

The cold wind hits your face as you storm outside the bar. Is this a lesson to be learnt? Was this how heartbreak felt? The only thing you know is you need to get the farthest you can, even if your footsteps feel heavy with the weight of the snowed streets and frigidness of your heart.

"Y/n, wait!"

You turn around. Unbelievable: Joel Miller is running after you.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Joel?!" you shout, "why can't you just leave me alone?!"

"Because I-"

"There's nothing for you to say" you counter, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. "If this is some sort of guilt thing, I need you to let it go. What I did- I mean, you should probably forget about the whole thing. It's my fault, and I'm sorry my reaction is immature and what not, but I should've known to read the signs. You're simply not interested in a girl who hasn't truly lived or known what pain is"

After you confession, you hear a laugh. You raise your eyes, anger and hurt flashing in tears.

"And you have the nerve to fucking laugh?! Fuck you, Joel" you want to walk away to save yourself from further embarrasment yet your feet seem to be stuck.

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm not interested?" you roll your eyes, but he pins you by your shoulders, as if knowing you'd walk away. "Listen, I need you to know somethin': I'm not who you think I am"

"I don't care" you interrupt, defiant. "You're right, I don't know who you are. But I want to. Who you where outside this walls... It doesn't matter, not to me. You did what you had to do to survive, and that brought you here. Jackson... think of it as a second chance. You can still be happy, you know?"

With me, dies in your throat, not wanting to give more of yourself away.

"It's better this way" Joel insists, "hell, you'll even thank me one day. There's plenty of young boys here who'd love to be with you, trust me"

"I don't want them, Joel. What's so hard to understand?" what makes you get closer to him, you don't know, but in a sudden rush of force, you find the courage to look at him, body standing still as you exhale, fears condense in the air. "I only want you"

"You don't" you should roll your eyes again at his stubborn character, but his voice comes out so small, almost as if resignated, that it tugs your chest.

"I do" you reply firmly, cupping his cheek with tender care. He leans in your touch, despite it revealing his true desires when it comes to you.

"Why me?" Joel whispers, bigger hand covering yours, as to prove it's real and the warmth isn't a joke. "Why not a younger, charmin', happy boy your age? Why a broken violent older man?"

His voice breaks after the admission, quietly seeping into heavy silence that falls like the snowflakes in his hair.

"Joel" you call his name softly, making those sad brown eyes look at you. You gulp, nervous at the storm of emotions inside them, "is it so hard to believe you can be loved?"

Your words make him falter, his grip loosing strength as he tumbles back.

"Love?" he repeats with disbelief, as if you'd just say some kind of tale. "There isn't love in this world left for me. Men like me don't deserve good things, especially if they comin' from a pretty girl as yourself"

You shouldn't be blushing at times like this, but the maroon splash on your cheeks betrays you, warm as the drink from before and red as the dim lights casted by Jackson's Christmas tree in the middle of the town.

"Joel" you call again, and he's surprised you're still there. That you hadn't turn your back on him, or looked into his eyes and saw the monster in him, running away to never come back.

"If you let me" you hold his hands to steady him even as they tremble, "I could"

I could love you.

The promise hangs unspoken in the air, the wind now barely above a humming.

"You'd take me" his voice falters, "with all I've done, knowing I've hurted people?" Killed people, but he can't bring himself to say it when you look at him like that: like he could learn to love you.

"Yes" your voice doesn't waver a bit, "every part of you"

"And you'd take me knowin' that I'm years ahead in hurt, age and life?"

"Yes, Joel" you giggle. "Are you making me do an exam on your life? Because that's not fair, you've barely spoken to me, or anyone else for the matter!"

He chuckles, shaking his head.

"I s'ppose life ain't fair, sometimes"

"But it could be" the moonlight of the now clear sky shines over your eyes, and Joel is sure that the stars would be jealous.

"It could" he repeats, as to believe it himself.

Silence settles again, but it doesn't feel suffocating anymore.

"You know, we should probably get inside"

You dissmiss his words. "Nobody has even noticed we're gone"

"What about the cake?"

Your chest feels warm at his concern. He may not believe it, but the old-world Joel, the one who was a contractor in Texas and had a daughter, is still there, somewhere.

"Jackson is real, but miracles not" you laugh, "we don't have those. The party really is just an excuse for dad to drink with his friends during labor hours"

"And yours?" Joel inquires, "where your friends at?"

"Left early" then you lean to his ear, hot where skin meets cold. "I told them to"

He tries, but all words die on his throat.

"Wanna know why I did it?" your fingers wander to his tense jawline, tracing your sharp nails until they descent to his neck, sprinkled with loose hairs from his beard.

"Why?" voice barely above a whisper, his cock painfully hard between his legs. That you don't know: just the glint of dark on his hazel eyes.

"Why don't we find out?" and your hand takes his to lead the way. When he doesn't move, you try other way.

"I'm the birthday girl" you tease softly, but your orbs sparkle with something akin to dangerous. "You better make it up to me"

You've walked this road so many times, yet it's never felt longer.

The house is alone, you'd say, and Joel followed you because well, he'd follow you anywhere. He notices you said 'house', an indicator you still live with your parents. He wonders if you're embarrased, but by the way you smile, inviting him inside, to a part of you intimate and unknown until today, he knows he's chosen right.

When you open the door, cold creeps in through the cracks of warmth. You lead the way to your room, and once you're inside, he thinks it's very you.

"Very me?" you giggle, taking a seat in the bed. Joel watches from the doorframe, his bulky arms crossed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's cute" and you think it's not a frequent word in his vocabulary, thanks to the pink dusting his cheeks.

"I'm cute?" you repeat delighted, and the shade of pink turns darker.

He just nods, avoiding your gaze.

"Joel" you call, then pat the spot next to you "why are you so far away? Are you scared?"

He grumbles something under his breath before walking over to where you showed. The bed creaks under his weight, and now that he's closer, you hear the wavering beat of his heart and ragged breaths.

"You are scared" you repeat, a statement now. He thinks you're mocking him, until your sure hand grabs his. "It's okay"

Before he can add on that, your face is too close, your breath tickling over his nose. He feels the moist of your lips press over the brigde of it, with a tenderness that brings ghosts of tears he has since long shade to his eyes.

Then they smoothly move to catch him in a kiss. He lets out a shaky gasp against your mouth, letting himself loose on the whiskey drops inside, an intoxicating mix against his own. His hands find your waist, gripping the soft skin with calloused fingers, refusing to leave it. He squeezes your curves while infiltrating your mouth with his tongue, until he pulls to breath, making you whine.

"Fuck, sweetheart" he nips your lower lip, "ain't you the sweetest thin' to ever exist?"

The kiss gets more heated, his hands now traveling to your face as they hold onto you for support, rough digits meeting peachy skin. Just the mere act of kissing makes him groan against you, too old to be shameful about the needy sounds coming out of his mouth.

"Joel" you whimper his name. He stops and takes the time to bore his gaze over your flushed face, your own dazed eyes mirroring his.

His fingers find their way to your hips again, pulling you closer. The moment caughts you and the bed off guard, the furniture creaking while your eyes move to the hardness visible on his worn-out jeans. You move your head to free your mouth to talk, but that doesn't stop Joel, who hungrily kisses the trace of your jaw and the road starting in your neck and finishing on your collarbones.

"Is that because of me?" Joel whines against your lips, yet you can't stop staring at the very big silhouette. "Oh, happy birthday to me"

Joel whines when you tear way from him, his hands loosing grasp on your body. You move up against the headboard, spreading your legs for him to put himself in between them.

You take off your clothes, and his eyes don't leave your body as if it's a show for him. He can drool at the sight of your breasts, rosy skin waiting for his tongue and teeth to sink on it. He leans closer, eyes looming at moles he could beg to kiss.

Now you, your expectant eyes plea. Joel's posture adquires a guarded air, as he grows self-conscious.

"Stop staring at me like that" he nervously chuckles.

"Is there something wrong?" your sweet voice inquires, laced with concern. He gulps, kind of afraid and embarrased of what you would say.

"I'm..." his voice comes out strained, "I just-"

His mind briefly wanders to Tess, how she never said anything, rather busy seeking the warmth of his body without commenting about it. The act mattered over the feelings, which where in her eyes but not his heart. But now, his heart beats in a different sound, one where he wishes you won't judge a body crossed with the roughness of scars yet the softness of extra weight.

"M' just warnin' you, doll" the nickname brings butterflies in your stomach, "this body's seen better days"

He removes the layers of clothing: flannel first, and then tight white long sleeved shirt. He's left in his jeans, unbuckling his belt that falls to the floor with a thud. His breathing turns to panting, afraid to meet you in the eye.

"Joel" you repeat his name, bringing him back to reality. "Look at me"

He's killed people, faced raiders as much as infected, and other countless things, so he dares himself to look up, breath hitching when he finds you eating him with your eyes.

"Fuck, Joel. I didn't know you were so pretty under those dirty ass flannels"

You knew he'd be handsome; that's literally the reason why you chose to flirt with him. But now that he's completely stripped off his layers of warm clothing, it's even better. You can't stop your hungry eyes from roaming his body, lingering on the soft swell of his stomach, hanging over the waistband of his underwear. A scar that looks deep is near his belly button, and you wonder if he'll ever tell you why. There's a patch of hair over his soft chest your tongue wants to lick. And of course, his strong arms packed with broad shoulders that make you want to scream.

"Stop lying" he chastises, but there's a smile adorning his features. A true smile on Joel fucking Miller's face. What a rare sight; you need to see it more.

"W-where your condoms?" he asks, nervous.

That catches you off guard, too busy cooing over how a man so big and sturdy could fold that easily, looking and sounding small.

"I'm not sure. I mean, maybe on my parents room but I-"

You cut yourself. Joel's concerned gaze finds you. "Yes?"

"I want you, Joel" the intensity of your stare terrifies him. "All of you"

He falls closer to you, forehead against your own. He can't bring himself to look at you, so he closes his eyes and dares to ask:

"Are you sure you want this?"

Are you sure you want me?

"Don't you trust me?" you're all smiles, even if your voice is soft. "I want you. I truly do"

He's hiding his face into your shoulder until you feel his lips pressing against your now bare skin, making you shiver.

"Where you want me, birthday girl?" he says between kisses. "Tell me, sweetheart. I'm all ears"

"Please, Joel" you unhook your bra, letting your breasts free. His lips begin to kiss his way to your breasts, tongue teasing the skin before nipping it. Joel's teeth catch the hardened nipple, grazing it lightly.

"S'pretty" he sounds drunk, and you love the way he looses himself in the pleasure haze.

He continues kissing your breasts before positioning himself right so he can hover above you. The kisses turn wet and sloppier, as if all his energy was to be spent into the rosy skin.

"Can I taste you, sweetheart?" he lowers his head to your entrance, already soaking wet with your arousal. "Fuck me, if this ain't a meal"

"The best in all Jackson" you joke, but the laugh dies in your throat when Joel's nose ghosts over your throbbing pussy.

"I- fuck, Joel" you moan when he licks your folds, his tongue an expert. For a brief moment, you think of who came before you, and if this is what they got or you're getting the best version. His saliva mixes with your dripping juices, making you whine as his tongue licks your swollen folds. His fingers then slowly inserted themselves inside at the same time, moving in and out of your puffy walls. His groans mix with the sound of your whines and the furniture creaking, the sounds obscene and feeling so far from the outside world.

"You're so good at this, baby" his sweat mixes with the blush on his face because of the nickname, nose pressed against your clit as he keeps up the ministrations. "D-don't stop"

"This pussy's so pretty" he says, "and s'only for me, yeah?"

"Yes, Joel. Only yours" you whine, your orgasm approaching. All of your body feels on fire, every touch inching the burn in your stomach closer as his head remains between your legs, tongue insatiable. You come all over his face, your hands digging into his damp locks as you scream his name to the air.

Joel raises his head to capture your lips on a wet kiss, the taste of you inside your mouth and dripping from his coated beard.

"Ain't you sweet" you open your legs further. "You're such a tease, sweetheart. Gon'be the death of me"

"I just like seeing you like this" you admit.

"Means?"

"So fucking needy"

A borderline primal grumble births from his throat. "You've a filthy mouth on you, sweetheart" he chuckles while wrapping your legs around his waist and lining himself up. Joel's tip runs up and down your folds, grazing your clit long enough to make you gasp.

"And you're s'fuckin' tight" he mumbles under his breath. You gasp for air as you try to adjust yourself to the huge size of his girth, afraid you bit more than what you can chew. His pace starts slow but gradually picks up a rougher and quicker pace. Joel grunts between thrusts, yet takes his time to make sure his lips kiss every mole sprinkled across your face and chest, his favorite just above your left eyebrow.

"I want ya' to come first, like a present" blush crosses through his face again. He leaves teasing kisses against your face, as you wail, finally hitting you.

"I'll wait for you" you whisper, your hips aiding you to sustain his sloppy thrusts, "want you to come too. Inside"

You feel his softening dick twitch, suddenly rock hard again. Oh, so he was into that.

"Don't worry, I have a pill" you explain. "So go ahead, pretty boy. Show me if the size matches the talk"

"Bet" his voice acquires a darkness to it. "Gonna fill you with all of it, until you milk my cock dry. Gonna fill this pretty pussy until it's full of my seed and it leaks for days"

He follows right after, groaning into your shoulder, where he bits the skin. His tongue wets the area, to relief the pain, yet you like it. Thick ropes of cum paint your puffy heat creamy, Joel panting as he stares down at you.

"What?" you chuckle.

Maybe Jackson was a safe haven. Heaven incarnate. Maybe second chances were real, and for the first time in years, he feels safe.

"I don't deserve you" he voices his thoughts, forehead pressed against yours as he tries to even his breathing, yet each breath seems more labored than the last.

Your hands travel to his face, cupping it with tender hands. He leans on the touch, because despite his crimes and past dawning upon him, he's a man: one seeking comfort on a pretty face and anything that'll remind him of distant emotions that can still exist despite what the world has become. Joel's hands travel to yours, thumb brushing skin free of scars and pain. He envies and loves the beauty in your face, eyes full of something akin to affection looking back, blurring the pain mirrored on his own. You kiss him again, and he can feel the emotions in the tip of your tongue.

"You're wrong" your voice holds a quiet determination. Time was a precious gift, but in Jackson, time could be, and the resolve longing tells him you'll be there. I'm not going anywhere, Joel. Not without you. "We all deserve love, Joel"

Joel Miller is a man who finds it hard to trust, yet, when he takes a look at your eyes―warm as coffee, he allows himself to believe in you.

[dollishmehrayan]

# HOW BATBOYS REACT TO YOU WEARING THEY'RE COLOR ── .✦ ( eg. nails, clothes, anything ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ )

a/n: so I first did a small idea of this (here) and then I thought why not do it based off this anon (here) so yeahh, anyways I kinda fell so off course like genuinely I need to make more batboys content, tags: (batboys x reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Dick notices instantly. He’s hyper-aware of the blue.

“Wait, are those nails painted Nightwing blue? Babe, did you do that for me?” Cue the biggest grin you’ve ever seen.

Compliments you non-stop. He’s not subtle about how much he loves it.

“You’re really pulling off my color, you know. Almost makes me think you’re trying to steal my spotlight.”

Gets extra touchy holding your hand, brushing your hair back, etc. “You’re so cute I can’t even deal right now.”, “It’s just blue and black colored nails dick.”

If it’s a clothing piece, he’ll joke, “Matching outfits for day? Say the word, and we’ll be Gotham’s most fashionable duo.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Jason notices but plays it cool at first. “Nice color choice,” he says casually, though he’s dying and resurrecting inside.

If it’s your nails “You’re carrying my whole brand on those hands. Should I start paying you royalties?”

If it’s clothing, “Careful, babe, wearing red this well might make you a target and you might be mistaken for me.” But his smirk shows he’s all for it.

Low-key proud you’re repping his colors but doesn’t know how to express it well. Might just stare a little longer than usual.

Ends up pulling you closer while murmuring, “You look good in my color. Too good.”

Secretly starts thinking of ways to return the gesture, like wearing something in your favorite color. (He’s hoping it’s not absurd neon colors😭)

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Blushes immediately. He’s not even subtle about it. “Wait… is that red because of… me?”

Obsesses over the details. “Did you match your nails to the exact shade of my suit? That’s, like, the coolest thing ever.”

Super flustered but also unbelievably touched. “I didn’t know you liked my colors that much.”

If it’s a clothing item, he’d be stunned for a moment before saying, “You look so… wow. You’re killing it.”

Gets a little shy but can’t stop glancing at you all day. Ends up fiddling with your hand if it’s your nails.

Might text you later "Thanks for making my day with that. You didn’t have to, but I really, really loved it.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Notices instantly but acts unimpressed. “Hmph. So you’re inspired by me today?”

Low-key thrilled but refuses to let you know. If it’s your nails, he might sarcastically say, “Subtle.” But he’s secretly staring.

If it’s clothing, “Green suits you. Perhaps you should wear it more often.” It’s his way of saying you look amazing.

After some time, he’ll let his walls down. “It’s not awful… You look better in my colors than I do.”

Will absolutely brag to Alfred or the others about it later. “Clearly, they understand quality when they see it.”

Ends up gifting you something else in his colors—maybe a scarf or bracelet—just to see you wear it again.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Bruce notices immediately but doesn’t say much at first. He’ll just give you that classic Bruce Wayne smirk.

If it’s clothing, he’ll subtly comment, “You look good in black. Suits you.” (High praise from him)

If it’s nails, he’ll gently take your hand and examine them. “Interesting choice. Are you sending a message, or…?”

Deep down, he’s really touched but doesn’t know how to express it. Might make a dry joke like, “So you’re my sidekick now?”

Later, when you’re alone, he’d admit, “It’s nice seeing you in something that reminds me of… us.”

Low-key loves the idea of you wearing his colors often. He’d never say it outright, but his actions like buying you more black and yellow pieces make it clear (to a point half your dresses were either black or yellow even you’re gold jewelry has yellow hints and accents😭😭)