#‘LOL IRIS WROTE THIS’

[boypussydilf]

i know u asked for sherlock and iris for the character relationshjips ask game SO if someone else hasnt sent them yet do them but i want to hear you ramble abotu homumiko also. [holding you at gunpoint]

as you know i got a homumiko ask already but everyone look at it again “basil its long and incomprehensible and most of your followers dont even really know who these guys are” LOOK AT THEM. THEYRE KINDA WEIRD

ANYWAY !!!!!!! YAYYAYAYAYA IRIS AND SHERLOCK YAAAAAAAY. this post is probably gonna get long too so heres my eyecatch so people who dont wanna read all that are still forced to see them

describe their canon relationship/dynamic

describe their canon relationship/dynamic

tumblr is being buggy with this post.

God…. how do i…. they have so much going on …. lets start with the basics hes her dad. Obviously. thats her dad. he was handed a baby and just went Ok!!!!!!!! and took care of her forever. thats her dad. Iris’ main, initial frame of reference for The World and Being A Person is This Fucking Guy.

There is also the fact that thru most of the games she is not Calling Him her dad </3 consequences of. him telling her hes not her dad ansbJSHJSNSJSNSJSNWJS. even still as ryuu & susato say they have a parent child relationship … for the jokes abt iris being more lkke the parent of course which Is True and a Straightforward Joke But Still Really Funny. but he still is. like. The Dad Equivalent. Her Guardian. even when not actually Her Dad. they have a mutual duty of care. Sherlock makes sure they have money to buy food & Iris actually Makes Edible Food and thats about it you know.

they have the funniest fucking dynamic. Ever,. they treat each other like Equals. they talk to each other like Colleagues. They literally try to steal money from each other. iris bullies him all of the time and he also sort of bullies her back. Iris walks around loudly announcing embarrassing facts about him in public and Sherlock yells at her about it and no one feels bad and they love each other. and she kicks him. theyre so funny

Basically just. thats her dad. they are also best friends being each others constant companions for ten years (Because he raised her from birth). they steadfastly look out and care for each other. and every morning they wake up and try to invent new ways to be mean to each other

your ideal/headcanon version of it? how does it differ from how it is in canon & why is this your favorite version? any other alternate versions of it you enjoy?

in terms of Their Relationship Dynamic there is no way to improve upon it. there is nothing to change. theyre perfect. this is the best relationship ever. but i still of course have lots of headcanons about them. where do i even begin

for one thing as is probably already clear i thimk every day abt what capcom refuses to give us answers on: Iris’ Early Childhood and The Process Of Sherlock Raising Her. please i wanna know what that was like. And continues to be like tbh its just not something we see much bc its not relevant to ryuus side of things…… First of all: he has undeniably tried his best to take care of her and done an overall good job. look at her. Mikotoba would not have trusted sherlock with an entire fucking baby if he was not confident the man could like. Handle It. Successfully keep another human alive and make sure she comes out overall well adjusted and all that. But hes still. Sherlock Holmes (Ace Attorney Character). He. again. does not seem to have any perspective on what to prioritize. I just think he went “okay time to teach iris The Basics” and then jumped straight from “heres how to write your name” to giving her lectures on something he learned the other day about aerodynamics and skipped over a bunch of stuff in between and didn’t really realize until she, like, saw an owl and went UNAUTHORIZED FUCKING BEAST? because she was like 5 and had still never heard of an owl.

Also im glad everyone in the world independently got up and thought “he definitely took that baby to crime scenes” because he definitely took that baby to crime scenes. Like. As everyone has said 200 times. What the hell else is he gonna do? He has to take cases or he DIES. There is no one he is close enough to for him to go Hey take my baby for a while. He’s broke as fuck permanently he cant PAY someone to watch her. Come on 8 month old child who’s still figuring out how to, like, Exist, let’s go Solve A Mystery. I don’t think she’s ever, like, seen a dead body, though. It’s all in my head, you understand, I have the whole escalation of it in my mind - when shes a Really Tiny Baby he has to just focus on Watching Her and can only take the kind of cases that can be solved sitting in the living room (he is going insane), then when he gets past the “what if i stop paying attention to her for ONE SECOND and she EXPLODES” phase he can do stuff that actually requires Investigation, then the second she’s able to Talk he goes Yeah that probably means she can Help with investigations now. and shes iris so hes right. I think 1-5 is prrrrrrobably her first Murder Investigation though. shes a little girl! you don’t take a little girl to a murder scene! Except under special circumstances!

This veered in … some slightly different direction than just Their Relationship i guess but fuck dude it was fun. Like. I like them. I think about them. i think sherlock went oh god oh fuck i dont know what children are like whats good for children *thinks about him as a child* I WAS WEIRD WASNT I THAT WONT WORK *iris turns out to be Just Like Him* Oh thank god here 4 year old child take this chemistry set and scrap metal. Go wild.

what do you like about their relationship, why is it interesting or enjoyable to you?

I swear to god ive probably said this on 80% of these ask game responses: I like family. They family. all ace attorney games kind of have a Found Family cast in the end, but they dont generally refer to characters who dont have clear cut straightforward straight up family relationships As Family, except DGS, which has ryuu explicitly call them His Family, and, and, I don’t know that the themes of The Importance Of Family & Family Being Something You Can Choose play a huge role in the story of dgs itself in most places, esp the Chosen Family bit, but its THERE, in ryuu calling the gang his wonderful family & iris adopting him and susato as her siblings & mikotoba caring for asougi like his son and Most Prominently, Iris Calling Sherlock Her Dad. which i will elaborate on the importance of in a minute but anyway i just think theyre really cute and really funny

what about the individual characters involved? what does this relationship mean to them, what makes it unique among their relationships?

YOU REMEMBER THAT THING I SAID BRIEFLY IN THE HOMUMIKO ASK ABT MEETING SOMEONE RIGHT WHEN U REALLY NEED IT. *pulls out yet another pepe silvia style conspiracy board* Here i actually made a chart.

I don’t remember almost anything abt the mainline AA series, only remember this bc I’ve seen it mentioned so much, and don’t even remember it clearly enough to know for sure if it’s Dialogue From The Game or just Conclusions People Reached but you know that shit about, Phoenix gets disbarred and its A Bad Time For Him but its Less Bad Than It Could Have Been because at the same time he gets Trucy and now he has Trucy. Like. Same concept. “Accidental Child Acquisition leading to Better Ability To Cope With The Shit That Just Happened In Your Life” is more common than you might think apparently. Inspiring! Every Day This Man Holds Off Emotional Breakdown Until AFTER His Baby Is Fed

If i was ever going to say more about his side of things thanjudt. All That. i forgor. shes dotter. incontext the “i raised you well!!” line is just , a joke abt him being proud of her for something He Very Much Does Not Ever Do Himself but still like WAH . proud of dotter.

Anyway originally i was like, what the hell can I say about iris? That’s her dad and that’s about it. And then I went Simon are you fucking STUPID? THATS HER DAD. THATS THE POINT. God… oh my god …….

Basically!! Returning to the point about Choosing Who Your Family Is and how Sherlock & Iris and specifically Iris calling him her dad for the first time (since we met her) is the most prominent example in the game!!!

Iris’s Whole Deal™️ is she got her World Changed by finding out sherlock wasn’t her “real” dad and her dad was Some Guy She’s Never Met and now she goes then who the fuck IS my dad? Where do I come from? Who Am I? and her Search For Her Dad, Desire To Meet Him, & Attempt To Feel Closer To Him By Reading His Notes And Putting Herself In His Shoes is like. a big part of her identity. For like maybe almost half her life up to this point too!! And …… then she gets closer & farther away & closer & farther away and she decides Susie & Ryuu r her Siblings and somewhere in all of this. decides it doesnt matter quite That much who her “Real” Dad is because shes not defined by her biological father and she already. Has a dad. cries. And. And. And because of the time she spent Not Thinking Of Sherlock As Her Dad it means hes her dad ultimately because She Decided It . not bc he or anyone else said it should be like that but bc she decided he is her dad.

So like . you know. starts sobbing in the streets. anyway they r just both very very important to each other

favorite interaction they have in canon

First prize goes to the off-screen interaction Iris mentions in the credits where she gave him a note that just said like “thank you for everything daddy!” and he read it and started crying. Its like. The ONE thing about dgs2 i remembered with Clarity. in the years between my first & second times watching dgs i thought about it often and i still do.

Second prize goes to her going “oh its just a wax figure see *KICKS HIM AS HARD AS SHE CAN*” itsso fucking funny. that was not necessary. at all. she just wanted to kick him huh

favorite interaction they have in your head/a situation you want to put them in

FUCK UMMM. UHHHHH. i already kind of talked about it but even though i dont think its really even IMPLIED? that sherlock has ever taken her to Investigate A Case? she just stays at home generally? In my heart she goes with him and helps out somet8mes. i want to see it.

what else. obvious and not really the kind of thing id put in this category generally but like Iris finds out her dad was klimt when. hey fuckos!! When r u going to tell her !!!

alsgo i have a weakness for Older Iris content like ough my god 🥺🥺 ou my goed 🥺🥺😭 She growed. one day she will not be the most powerful 10 year old in the world she will be the most powerful 20 year old in the world. show me !! show me !! I want to see!! she is going to do so fuckinf much its unreal!!

Finally, i thought of this ages ago for reasons now forgotten to me and just remembered it today. sherlock & iris & date & mizuki hangout. tehyre *checks notes* girls who do violence on their dads sometimes and that’s about it but its funny right

In conclusion: kiss on top of iris little baby head. appreciate her

#this post took uhhh. LIKE 5 OR 6 HOURS TO MAKE . #MAYBE CLOSER TO 7?? #i hit post limit. then ikept getting interrupted by other stuff. then i made the post very long #its. very long. #*iris voice* this is my cringe ass roommate who always breaks the dishes when he washes them #OH: IN BETWEEN THE VIOLIN THING (MENTIONED IN OTHER POST) #& JUST. LIKE. IN THE POSITION OF A DGS FAN HOW CAN U READ THE SH STORIES AND NOT SOMETIMES GO #‘LOL IRIS WROTE THIS’ #ITS LIKE. LOL IRIS WRITES ABT SHERLOCK IN A WAY THAT MAKES HIM SOUND COOLER THAN HE IS #‘YOURE SO FUCKING LAME. DONT WORRY ILL MAKE PEOPLE THINK UR REMOTELY COMPETENT’ #LOVE IT. LOVE HER #basilask #dgs from my brain

[salsa-di-pomodoro]

I just had the absolute worst idea for a submas au.

WARNING LONG POST I DONT KNOW HOW TO USE READ MORE

Like. Ingo disappears, as usual. But people think Emmet killed him because of someone spreading misinformation that is taken as truth (no it's not volo i don't believe in evil volo. He's not immortal in this otherwise he would have come forward).

Emmet gets taken to prison while waiting for a trial and he has a rough time there for the little time hes in (i can't bring myself to leave him there for too long) because prison wouldn't be kind to a man like Emmet (autistic). But that's not even the main angst.

So unova is basically Pokémon America, right? I don't know about new York, or even how it works, but... There's death row in America isn't there?

Whatt if Emmet ended up on death row over false accusations? (HE DOES NOT DIE, I CAN'T HANDLE THAT.)

Ingo comes home with some of his memories on the day of his execution. He remembers Emmet, a little bit, and he's excited to see him again. He reappears at the station, and the depot agents are ecstatic to see him, before they remember what day it is and they realize Ingo has no idea. The very second Ingo realizes Emmet's in danger he starts sprinting across nimbasa towards the direction they pointed him in, hoping he isn't too late.

People who are gathered in front of the building, to say goodbye to Emmet, to protest, or even to get a good scoop, they see him coming and move to clear the way.

The security guards can't really do anything but yell at him when he climbs over the gate, there's too many people to shoot (tranquilizers. Pokémon police is only a little bit better ive decided) safely.

Ingo's coat becomes even more of a rag than it already is after that, but he doesn't really care. Be needs to find his brother.

Meanwhile Emmet is talking to his family for what he believes to be the last time. He is, understandably, a wreck. He's gone non-verbal, they took his clothes from him an the ones he's wearing now have a horrible texture and he's obviously inconsolable. Drayden and Iris (and Elesa, if friends are allowed in) don't say anything either. They know it wasn't him, that he could never do that but they couldn't prove it. How do you reassure someone who's going to die for no reason? There's still the matter of missing Ingo, too.

When an officer says their time is up he wordlessly gets up to follow her as his family is herded out of the room. Iris starts crying and he feels nothing but dread and grief.

Suddendly, they hear a door bursting open at the end of the hall, and yelling. And then someone tackles Emmet with enough force to break him out of the officer's grip, and then they've dragged him to the other end of the room, far away from anyone else, and then his vision is covered by a familiar, albeit tattered coat, and then several Pokémon burst out of their pokeballs to protect them, and then he finally, finally lets himself realize who tackled him, because despite how they're clearly out of breath they shout, at a volume he hasn't heard in years:

"DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HIM!!!"

Emmet looks up to his savior. "...Ingo?" When did he start crying? It doesn't matter. Ingo is here now and everything will be alright again.

#tagging this one ig #submas au #submas angst #? #warden ingo #subway boss emmet #Elesa #barely lol #please be nice this is the first time i share something i 'wrote' #this isnt how i would write tho this was in the heat of the moment #shortly after all this Emmet asks Ingo if he believes Emmet could really murder him #Ingo says he's furious the thought crossed anyone's head #even more so since it got this bad #Ingo will have nightmares about being late now #they both have ptsd oof #they go to sinnoh after everything is over #they cant stand to be in nimbasa for a while #and they take a vacation so ingo can show emmet where he's been even if it was hundreds of years in the past #and emmet helps ingo readjust to being in cities somewhere where it's easier and more familiar than nimbasa would be #Ingo is still missing a lot of memories so Drayden Iris and Elesa and anyone who wants to see them really comes visit for a few days #every once in a while #also akari/rei visit too #still trying to decide if lady sneasler is there #by the way Ingo broke several laws in his rush to get to Emmet #they use the money Emmet gets as reparation for the trouble he was given as bail money for ingo lol #and also to go on vacation #or maybe they call in a favor with Cynthia? #who knows #sorry if this is all over the place i started writing at 2 am #then i fell asleep and then i had just woken up and my mind was sluggish and then i had to go eat so

[not-a-bit-good]

So was anyone gonna tell me Herlock Sholmes from the Great Ace Attorney canonically crossdresses, and looks “stunning“ doing it, or--

#i've literally just found out on my first ever playthrough of the Great Ace Attorney #also protagonist Ryuunosuke Naruhodo is the one who calls him stunning when he sees a pic of a crossdressing herlock #yes even after iris tells him that's herlock #being a bi/gay lawyer runs in the family i guess lol #also this has nothing to do with anything but they wrote phoenix wright on the little omnibus of the 1st trial #and it's a very cute nod to the english localisation #great ace attorney #dai gyakuten saiban #gaa #dgs1 #q

[incorrectpot]

Irie: Okay now, how many of you have played musical instruments? Tono: Do instruments of torture count? Irie: No. Toyama: Is mayonnaise an instrument? Irie: No, Toyama, mayonnaise is not an instrument. Toyama: [Raises hand.] Irie: Horseradish is not an instrument, either. (Source Spongebob. [Has this been done before?])

It has not and I’m glad it has been done now because I love it

Adding a little extra:

Toyama: [rises hand again]

Irie: sigh, Takoyaki is not an instrument either

#someone please draw irie like squidward in that episode #wrote it correct? I always write the Spanish name lol #prince of tennis #tennis no oujisama #u17 camp #high schoolers #shitenhouji #irie kanata #atsukyō tōno #toyama kintaro #incorrect quotes #incorrect anime quotes #incorrect tenipuri

[purpleparrot]

its always so fun finding out what someone's hobbies and interests are, particularly if they're unhinged

#like im reading this post on r/unresolvedmysteries and its about a medical mystery #and its super well researched and written i can tell the person who wrote it is in the medical field and is really smart #then i checked their post history and they also post on the g*ylor sub lol #shut up iris

[katiexpunk]

The Art of Noticing | Pairing Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary:  In the hushed corners of this desolate world, where whispers of yesteryears linger among crumbling ruins, you find a peculiar kind of peace; just like you did when you fell asleep in the darkroom for the first time. Still armed with your camera, even in this new world, you try to keep your heart attuned to the silent narratives of a forsaken universe. You used to think this was your strong suit; to be able to immortalize the unnoticed, to preserve the beauty around you, even in a world of darkness. That was until it almost got you killed. And Joel Miller hates you for it.  Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word count: ~6.1K Warnings: This one is full on corn with plot; plus lots of emotions. No specific age gap mentioned. References to loss, grief, death and sadness. Reader almost gets her throat slit, until Joel saves the day. I mean, canon-typical violence. Joel is an asshole in the beginning. Angst. Enemies to lovers. Lots of hatred towards a bird lol. Lots of film/photography references. Ellie is a gem, as per usual. Size kink. Reference to a gun/knife. Alcohol. Use of pet names (darlin', baby, good girl, sweetheart, etc.). Unprotected P in V. Oral (M and F receiving). There's a titty fuck. Grinding/dry humping. Fingering. Nipple play. There are no physical descriptions of the reader except that she has hair long enough to whip over her shoulder. Please let me know if I missed anything. A/N: This one has been in my WIPs for months. It started off as an entirely different story, but after going through and re-reading what I originally wrote, I hated it. I have all the feels about this one. Special thank you to @sydneyinacoma for being my emotional sexy support blanket and holding my balls on this one, as per usual. And to @papipascalispunk for originally editing the first version of this story, although it looks totally different now. Iris, you're a gem. Thanks for believing in me even before I did. I hope I make you proud with this one. Masterlist | Read on AO3

Tumbling at the edge Of disaster,  This is how I lived. Oh see how the chrysanthemums  Are dry now, Yet still beautiful.  ~ Noelle Kocot

In the hushed corners of this desolate world, where whispers of yesteryears linger among crumbling ruins, you find a peculiar kind of peace; just like you did when you fell asleep in the darkroom for the first time. Your mother had always told you there was beauty in capturing the poetry in the often-ignored details, and she made sure you were given the tools you needed to do so. She was kind like that. Sometimes it's as if her presence still lingers vividly in your viewfinder, her radiant smile eternally illuminating your memories.

Your film helps you to hold on to the details that no one else is around to remember anymore, details you might one day forget; details like the color of your best friend's eyes, the warm hue of orange of your grandfather’s favorite recliner, and even the nearly lime green color of the fresh green tomatoes from your garden.

In a place where the larger story has faded, you still revel in the tiny tales—the vines reclaiming forgotten streets, sunlight gently embracing relics of the past, and the murmurs of tales etched into the decay. You think about the scratches carved into the dining room table of your childhood home and often wish you could once again find your seat around it. 

But that reality is gone. 

No longer is the girl who liked to swim or play with dolls. No longer is the girl who fought with her sister for stealing clothes from her closet, or her brother for hitting too hard. 

Like many others, she’s gone. They’re gone. 

She was whisked away to make room for the woman you are today; the person you’ve had to become to survive. 

Still armed with your camera, even in this new world, you try to keep your heart attuned to the silent narratives of a forsaken universe. You used to think this was your strong suit; to be able to immortalize the unnoticed, to preserve the beauty around you, even in a world of darkness. 

That was until it almost got you killed. 

And Joel Miller hates you for it. 

++++

Months after your patrol that went wrong, you bump into Joel outside the Tipsy Bison, giving him a cursory glance before turning around. 

The idea of saying sorry crosses your mind, but for whatever reason, you don't. Your kindness, once a vibrant tapestry, is now a threadbare token. Besides, it’s his fault. He shouldn’t have been standing so close to the doorway. If anything, he should be apologizing to you.

You’re in a rather grumpy mood this evening, having wasted the last of your film only to overexpose the prints earlier in the day. Every single one – ruined. Sure, before the outbreak, this might not have bothered you as much, but now, finding film is like striking gold, and your stash is dwindling at an alarming rate. The frustration hangs over your head like a cloudy day. All you want to do is go home and sulk – forget about the mistake – at least if you were at home crying over your photographs, you wouldn’t be subject to prying eyes. 

“Watch it,” Joel says, voice low and even, a sharp hint of annoyance behind his tone. 

You stop in your tracks. You know you should walk away from this. But your temper is already on edge, sensitivity on hyperdrive, and something about the sneer of Joel’s voice gets under your skin. You spin around in a huff and toss your hair with annoyance. “Maybe next time don’t block the door,” you bark.

Joel retorts, red-hot at your audacity. “‘Scuse me? Wanna run that by me again, sweetheart?

The pet name is patronizing; you’re a real stick in his craw. 

"You heard me," you snap back, punctuating your annoyance by crossing your arms over one another across your chest.

Joel turns around and takes a large stride toward you, closing the gap between your bodies so he’s nearly chest-to-chest with yours, his imposing figure towering over you, and his eyes narrow. “What’s got your panties in a twist tonight, hmm?” Joel asks, voice dripping with sarcasm and void of any genuine concern. 

“You” you say, “you’re always so fucki–” before you can continue your sentence, Joel stops you by placing his large index finger onto your lips to hush you. "You've got one helluva smart mouth, darlin’," he says, voice low, almost menacing. 

You freeze, looking up at him unsure of what to say as he brings his face inches from yours, the scent of whiskey heavy on his breath. The flecks of amber that dance around the edges of his irises catch your attention. As you swallow, your eyes momentarily flicker down to the thin line of his lips. Abruptly, he withdraws his hand, leaving an echo of intensity lingering in the suspended moment.

He isn’t particularly nice, but you have to admit, he is fucking hot. Since his arrival in town, he's been a magnetic force, his somber aura unmistakable to even the most casual of onlookers. A silhouette of brooding intensity, with shoulders that carve the space around him and biceps that speak of strength. His voice, a rasp in the wind, adds another layer to his already large presence. 

“I’ve been told,” you pause. “Just – just get out of my way,” you say firmly, walking away as your shoulders brush against him. 

"What's got your panties in a twist?" you scoff in your best imitation of his voice. You exhale sharply, fully aware of the true reason behind the agitation. You haven’t been fucked in years, and the heat that Joel stirs low in your belly is an incredibly frustrating feeling, knowing you’ll never get to do anything about it. 

God damn infuriating man. 

++++

As you lay in bed that night, you can't help but replay your encounters with Joel, the scenes repeat like an annoying commercial that won't leave your mind. Memories of your patrol with him keep playing on a loop, embedding themselves in your thoughts, refusing to fade away in the darkness of the night. "You could’a been killed," Joel's words still ring in your ears, the weight of his tone and the intensity in his eyes seared into your memory. You remember the sounds  – the bone-crushing crunch and the grim, wet thud as Joel swiftly dealt with the raider who tried to slit your throat for your backpack, all while you were innocently looking through the lens of your camera, attempting to take a picture of a bird on a tree branch. 

“I told you to follow my instructions, to listen, and you almost got killed on my watch – f’what? A picture of a fucking bird?” he said, trying to get you to see his point of view. Of course, you’ve apologized. Profusely, even, but it falls on deaf ears. 

Ever since that moment, Joel hasn’t looked at you the same. You're certain all he sees is a stupid little girl, unable to protect herself. Nothing but a burden. Dead weight on his already sore shoulders. 

Just go to sleep and forget about it, forget about him, you think to yourself, stirring in the scratchy fabric of your sheets. 

As you drift off, you wonder what the bird saw that day. 

++++

With a grunt, Joel manages to kick off his boots in the entryway, and they land with a loud thud against the floor. The worn wooden stairs creak beneath his weight as he ascends the steps, the dim hallway leading to Ellie's room. Pushing the door ajar, he finds her peacefully asleep. A small smile tugs at his lips, grateful to see her warm and safe. 

Retreating to his room, Joel sheds the remnants of the day – his jacket, the weight of exhaustion, and the lingering sensation of your soft lips under his finger. As he settles into bed, the worn mattress groaning beneath him, he remembers the sound of your sweet voice; your puffy, teary eyes looking up at him as you apologized; and the sticky feeling of the blood on his hands from the man who tried to hurt you. 

He wishes he would have pulled you close; and held you in the safe embrace of his arms. 

He’ll never admit it, but he forgave you almost immediately, and it terrifies him more than anything in this new world ever could.

He’s already lost so much, and he’s not sure how much more he can take. 

Surely it’s easier to hate you, rather than admit the truth, rather than lose you. 

“Fuckin’ bird,” he mumbles before drifting off to sleep. 

++++

"Come on, you've gotta be there! It's gonna be a total snooze without you," Ellie pleads, practically begging you to join her at the annual community holiday gathering.

Whereas Joel mostly acts like a grade-A jerk, Ellie is like a breath of fresh air. From the moment you met her, you’ve had a connection  – you taught her the ropes of film exposure, and she's good company in a world where friends are a rare commodity. Despite your initial reluctance, you eventually cave. It’s not really your thing, but it’s a taste of normalcy, or what passes for it in this broken world, that you crave; plus, you convince yourself that you might even get a few good photos out of it. 

Standing alone at the bar, you try to relax. You fiddle with the strap of your camera that rests on the bartop as you reminisce about how before the world turned to shit, you would have been quick to capitalize on an opportunity like this – to meet a nice guy, maybe have a drink or two and then end the night between the sheets. 

You close your eyes and try to recall the last time you were touched, but it’s fruitless. It’s been so long since you’ve felt the gentle caress of a man or anyone for that matter.

You huff your residual irritation at the thought as you notice Joel talking with Tess in the distance. Tess. She’s rather new to town. You’ve only spoken once or twice, but you’ve gathered that she is a formidable woman with a no-nonsense demeanor, but still somehow kind. 

Plus she can hunt, a welcome skill around here. As she converses with Joel, you take the time to drink in the details about her that you hadn’t noticed before. You guess she’s in her mid-40s, her hair is a mousey shade of brown with small shiny threads of gray in the mix, but she wears it well. Her complexion is soft, and her smile is nice. She’s pretty. You try not to color yourself too hard in the various shades of green as you wonder if Joel thinks the same.

“Another,” you signal to the bartender, and he fills your glass with amber liquid. 

Maybe it’s the booze or the thick air from the crowded room causing your brain to go fuzzy, but you find yourself lost living out an alternate reality in your mind – one where Joel doesn’t hate you. One where he calls you a good girl, voice thick like honey, as he fucks you within an inch of your life. 

Ellie’s voice calls you back to reality as she yells your name, signaling you to join her at the other end of the room. Downing the last of your drink, appreciating the subtle warmth it brings to your insides, you carefully place the glass on the bartop, shooting a subtle nod of appreciation to the bartender as you do; you grab your camera and place the strap around your neck. As you navigate the space toward Ellie, your keen awareness catches Joel breaking from his conversation with Tess, his gaze searing into you as you walk past both of them. His face is unreadable, but that doesn’t stop your pulse from quickening under his attention. 

++++

After hours of socializing, all you crave is the comfort of your bed. Exhausted, you stumble out of the building, your balance betraying you on the gravel beneath your feet. Shit. You stand up, brushing off the lingering dirt from your knees, inadvertently smearing a small fleck of blood into your skin in the process. Of course, the one night you decide to wear a dress, the only one you own, you would end up injured. 

“Really don’t have much spatial awareness, do ya, Darlin’?” Joel says, appearing out of the darkness, his dark and husky voice rings in your ears. It comes out a little harsher than he intended. 

You shoot him a glare, half-hoping your eyes could actually launch daggers and finish him off right then and there. "Why do you always have to be such an asshole to me?" you demand, your frustration boiling over. “I’ve already apologized as much as I can, it’s fine if you don’t like me, but you could at least be cordial,” you say, voice defeated.

His mouth opens like he has something to say, but he doesn’t respond. "Right. Screw this, I'm going home,” you sigh as you walk away, thoroughly done with whatever messed-up game of cat and mouse the two of you are playing.

Joel watches you walk away, wishing he dared to go after you. 

++++

Months go by, and despite the shifting atmosphere, as the crisp embrace of autumn gradually succumbs to the biting chill of winter; the air between you and Joel remains unchanged. His indifference is as unyielding as the encroaching winter snow.

“Tommy, please don’t make me go,” you beg. “He doesn’t even like me,” you cry, hoping he’ll have some sort of mercy on you.  

“Sweetheart, he doesn’t like anyone. ‘M sorry, but it’s gotta be you two this time, ” Tommy replies, the sentiment of his voice echoing that there is no other option. 

As you’re packing your backpack, you consider taking your camera but decide against it. Joel’s words pierce through you once more, “you almost got killed on my watch – f’what? A picture of a fucking bird?” You stash it in your dresser drawer, exchange it for a beanie and gloves, and walk out of the room to head to the stables. 

Underneath the dappled morning sunlight filtering through the trees, you tread the familiar path to the barn, a soft crunch of gravel beneath your boots. The earthy scent of hay and the distant sounds of horses create a tranquil backdrop. As you approach the stables, your gaze catches Joel's silhouette – he stands, a rugged figure, in a weathered leather jacket and denim jeans with a knife sheathed at his side and a gun slung casually over his shoulder. 

"Hey," you utter, your voice a gentle cadence, drawing closer to him. His gaze assesses you with a measured scrutiny, and with a subtle nod, he responds in a low murmur, "Ready?" The acknowledgment of your greeting remains absent. 

Once inside the barn, you see the stable attendant readying your ride. 

“‘M sorry, but you two are gonna have to share a horse,” he says, matter of fact. “Good ole bessy here has a lame foot that we gotta take care of before she’s back in commission,” he adds, patting the horse on the side. “And every other horse already has a rider for the day,” he adds. You think you hear Joel groan, but you can’t be sure. 

You give the horse a friendly greeting, running your hand along its sturdy neck, a silent bond of understanding. Climbing onto its back, you settle in comfortably. Joel, without a word, positions himself behind you. The feeling of his thick chest pressed up against your back causes your breathing to hitch in your throat. Your eyes flutter closed as Joel reaches around you to grab the reins and he gently nudges the horse to go. 

The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves on the path fills the air as you and Joel ride in tandem, a shared silence enveloping the space between you. The warmth of your body pressed against him, and the faint scent of your strawberry shampoo mingled with the earthy aroma of the trail, causes Joel to stiffen behind you. He adjusts his hips, subtly pulling them back, so you don’t notice.

You ride like that for what seems like an hour or more, until Joel breaks the silence, "So what’s the deal with the camera,” he asks as the horses continue their steady pace. His question throws you off. Is he being friendly?

“Oh, uh – well, my mom gave it to me when I was a little girl,” you say. Your voice goes an octave higher as you continue, “It’s all I have left of her now. All I have left of anyone, really,” you say. You bring your gloved hand up to wipe away the bead of snot that has gathered at the tip of your nose, sensitive from the cold, as you wait for his response. 

“Hmm,” he adds, sensing the sadness, the grief behind your words; a hard truth almost everyone left alive has had to live. His heart hurts for you, hell, it hurts for him, too. 

“Must be hard, reckon there’s not much worth takin’ a photo of these days,” he says, his head scanning from right to left to look out for any potential threats. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you pause. 

“When I was younger, I used to think the sound of thunder was just the sound of god rearranging the furniture,” you say, slightly angling your head back to look at him, “it’s all about perception, Joel.” 

He peers down at you, a furrow forming on his brow as he considers your words, his eyes tracking down to linger on your lips. Before you can say anything more, your attention flickers upward to the sky, the clear blue sky has been replaced by dark, ominous-looking clouds, and a raindrop falls to your cheek. 

++++

By the time you find shelter, far from the comforts of Jackson, you’re both completely drenched.

“Stay here,” Joel says, hopping off the horse and swinging the rifle over his shoulders into his thick hands. You brush away the beads of water collecting on your lashes as you watch him enter the home to make sure it’s safe. He’s gone for what feels like forever, and after he returns, the rifle is slung over his shoulder again. It’s safe.

“Alright, darlin’ – all clear, let’s get outta this mess,” he says, offering his hand to help you get off the animal. Once steady, he takes the horse by the reins to lead him into the garage for shelter. 

The rain-soaked chill clings to your skin as you and Joel step into the abandoned home, seeking refuge from the biting cold. Droplets cascade from your clothes, leaving a small puddle beneath your feet. The air inside is still, the only sound is the soft creaking of the dilapidated structure, the percussion of the raindrops falling on the roof, and the whip of the wind beating against the siding of the house. 

Without a word, you both start shedding your damp layers, your shivers becoming more pronounced in the cool silence. You stand in the dusty living room, clad in only your bra and underwear, as you hold your arms crossed over your chest partially to warm yourself but also to shield yourself from Joel’s eyes, slightly self-conscious. 

Joel briefly walks off before he returns from the bedroom off the side of the living room, having managed to find an old blanket among the remnants of the forgotten lives of the people who once lived in the home. He holds it open wide to you, an offering, and you turn your body so he can drape it around your shoulders. Once secured, you find a little bit of relief in its thick fibers. 

You turn around to face him, and he stands there, rubbing his hands together in front of him in an attempt to warm himself.

“Joel, you’re freezing,” you say, slightly taking the blanket off of your shoulders as if to offer it to him. “‘M fine, Darlin’ – I’ll be fine, keep it, you need to get warm,” he says, but you see the way his body shakes as he says it, his tender curls plastered to his forehead; weighed down by the water collecting in them. 

At that moment, you witness a fracture in Joel's stoic facade, the rugged exterior showing hairline cracks. The formidable walls he's meticulously built begin to crumble. 

"Joel, seriously, we can share – come here," you insist, extending the blanket open with one arm, inviting him into the cocoon of warmth. The gesture carries an unspoken understanding, a truce. You might hate me, but I don’t hate you. 

Joel hesitates for a second, his eyes tracing over your skin; as if he’s committing the sight of your hard nipples and damp skin to memory. 

At last, he acquiesces, closing the gap between your bodies. His hands encircle your waist, drawing you close as he wraps both arms around you. You respond by wrapping your arms around his neck, and the blanket falls around both of your bodies. With him this close, you notice the subtle scent he carries with him, a touch of rain, a dash of cinnamon, and a hint of sweat. You’re not sure how, but he smells good. 

With a long exhale, he tightens his hold on you, enfolding you against the sturdy warmth of his body. You melt into him, your cheek resting on the soft skin of his chest, and your breathing returns to a steady rhythm. You both pause there, letting the warmth swallow you up; eventually, the goosebumps that once littered both your bodies, begin to fade.  

Your stomach flips as you listen to the subtle pitter patterns of his heart and the rhythmic sounds of his breathing. You had forgotten how good it feels to just be held; to have another body pressed up against yours. You realize Joel must feel the same, your attention flickers to the hard stiffness pushing against your stomach. 

Tilting your face up to meet his, your arms still entwined around his neck, you whisper "Joel," your voice suggestive and questioning at the same time. His name hangs in the charged air.

"Darlin'," he responds in a low murmur, and before you can formulate a response, his lips claim yours in an unexpected yet tender collision. Joel groans and forces his tongue into your mouth. The intensity surges, and he begins to pull you back towards the couch. Joel pauses when the back of his calves meet the edge of the cushions, and he deepens the kiss before sitting back, pulling you with him onto his lap, the blanket falling to the floor leaving you almost bare on top of him. 

The air in the home is still cold, but you don’t care, the adrenaline pulsing through your veins and your red-hot desire for him is more than enough to keep you warm. He’s as hard as a rock under his underwear, and you hum, noting how good his cock feels beneath you. You haven’t seen it yet, but you can tell he’s big. 

 “Are you sure you want this? What about Tess?” you ask, grinding against his erection. Joel grunts as he gropes both of your breasts with his hands, his lips meeting yours once more. 

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters, leaning back to look at you. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more,” he says, his hands leaving your breasts to find your hips, and he pulls you down harder onto his clothed erection. “And Tess and I are just friends,” he adds, “You’re the one I haven’t been able to get outta my head.”

Joel closes his eyes, and his mouth hinges slightly open. It has been a while since you’ve been laid, but god were you glad to see you could still render a man speechless. 

Joel’s long, firm fingers find their way up your back to the clasp of your bra. He begins to unhook it. “Take this off,” he says, and you do as he says, throwing the damp lace onto the floor, leaving yourself completely topless on top of him. 

“God damn, Darlin’ –”, Joel responds to the sight of you. 

“Like what you see?” you say, feeling confident, and less intimated now that Joel is beneath you. Of course, he could overpower you in a matter of seconds, but in this moment, you have the upper hand. You grasp his chin, admiring the feel of the coarse hair on your fingertips, and lean down to kiss him hard. 

His cock throbs against you, and your pussy drips in response. You stay there, kissing him, grinding your clothed cunt into him, enjoying the desperate sounds he makes as you do. His firm body, soft tummy, and compact muscles spur you on. You grin as you trace your hands down his smooth chest, noting the scars -- from what, who, you can only imagine –  until your hands eventually make their way down to the band of his underwear.

Joel stops you, firmly gripping your chin to look at him. He pauses there and then pulls your face towards his, firmly sucking your bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth. “Mmm, Joel,” you mutter, the words leaving your lips fumbled and sloppy. Joel intensely stares into your eyes for a moment, and you stare back, eyes wide in disbelief that this is happening. 

“C’mere,” Joel says, breaking the silence with another kiss, as you rock your hips against him again, the movement sending sparks straight to your core. God, you’re so fucking wet for him – a dripping mess. 

Joel presses his face against your chest and works his way to your pebbled nipple before daring his tongue out to lick it. You push a still slightly damp curl away from his forehead, before clenching his hair in your fist. His breath is almost desperate as he laps at your tender nipples, alternating between sucking and little flicks of his tongue. “Joel,” you moan, pulling his face into your chest.

He growls softly, and sucks at your nipple harder, then rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger. You make a little noise in response. He trails the flat of his tongue up the valley of your breasts and over your exposed throat before kissing it, his hips lifting to you a bit as he does. He can’t wait to be buried inside of you. 

“Up, baby. There’s a bed in the back room,” he says, tapping your thigh. You shimmy off of him, and he rises to full height. It doesn't take long for his lips to find you again. Kissing in a way that’s almost as violent as he is, you walk backward this time, making your way to the bedroom with Joel’s guidance. 

It isn’t much, just skeletal remains of what was once a sanctuary. A duvet rests on the creaky old bed, its once vibrant pattern lost to time and dust. The room is mostly bare apart from the bed and a half-falling apart nightstand. Joel sits down on the bed and you fall to your knees in front of him. Your fingers hook under the elastic of his underwear, and his hips cant up to help you pull the fabric down and off his legs. 

The cock that springs free is thick and long. You’re intimidated only momentarily until the need to feel him overwhelms you. 

You spit into your palm and take his heavy member in your hand, before beginning to jerk him off. You slide your thumb across his swollen and red tip, your other hand gripping the thick, dark coarse hair against the base of him. 

Joel’s eyes roll back into his head at the sensation of him in your soft palms. You bend forward and place his cock in the space between your breasts, you tilt your chin down and open your mouth so a long line of drool dribbles down to the cleft of your chest for lubrication, and then you squeeze the flesh around his length, rubbing up and down the entirety of him. 

“Fuck nghh — that’s, ugh, that’s so good baby,” he grunts, his hands grabbing the nape of your neck. 

And it is good. Almost too good. 

“Darlin’, shit – ah, you gotta stop or I’m gonna come,” he says, his voice low. 

“Maybe I want you to,” you purr, torn between making him coat your tits with come, or letting him fuck you first. 

“No,” he says, voice more firm this time, “Gotta feel that perfect pussy before I do, baby girl,” he says, rising to full height, his arms wrapping under your armpits to bring you up with him. In one swift move, he has you turned and your back hits the mattress while a soft oof escapes your lungs. 

Joel has a hazy, dark look in his eye as he hovers over you. His pupils are blown open wide with lust. You think he might fuck you then, but he looks down and notices that your pussy is still covered by the thin lace of your now-soiled panties. He kisses down your chest, your tummy, and his head eventually finds its place between your thighs. He plants a soft kiss on your mound, and he mutters how sweet he thinks you’re going to taste. 

“Think we oughta find out,” he says, and he hooks his thumbs around the fabric and pulls them off your frame. Within seconds, his soft lips are on your wet folds. 

"Fuck –,” you cry out as he licks a firm stripe up your pussy. Joel moans before making his tongue flat and massaging your clit with it. It’s so fucking good. "Taste so sweet, Darlin’, knew you would," Joel breathes, his breath hot against you. 

He sinks a thick middle finger into you, and your walls clamp around the welcomed intrusion. His finger grazes against the soft spongy spot inside you that feels so good, and he works it in and out of you before adding another finger, twisting and working them both into you with precision. You’re so fucking close. You choke out a moan in response, enjoying the sensation of his long and thick fingers rubbing against your walls as his tongue makes tight circles around your sensitive clit. 

You pull at your nipple with one hand and hold on to the top of his head, his hair entangled between your fingers as you attempt to hold on to him, an anchor to keep you from floating away, and he devours you. 

His fingers thrust faster, his mouth firm on your throbbing bud, and he works to throw you over the cliff of your orgasm. You wail out, and the slurping groans that come from Joel are primal and filthy. 

“Be a good girl for me,” he demands, his words barely audible with his mouth on your puffy lips, “want you to come,” he moans. “Come on pretty girl, I’ve got you – let me taste your sweet release.”  

His dirty talk is all you need. "Yes, oh my god – Yes! Joel, fuck, I'm coming, don’t stop" you cry, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, your chest hot. Your vision goes white as you release yourself to him. Your back arches and your legs flex; your stomach feels like it’s being sucked into itself, and Joel works you through it, lapping up your come.  

He rises from between your legs, his beard slick with your release, and smiles at you. As satisfied as you are at the moment, he’s the one that looks it. “Kiss me, darlin’,” he says, and his lips find yours. You savor the way it tastes; a hint of tang, but just so. You reach your hand in between your bodies to grab his cock, and he takes the hint. 

“Gonna fuck you now,” he says, lining the entrance of his cock, the tip of it weeping with pre-cum, up against your wet and waiting hole. He presses his hips forward gently, and you begin to relax and flutter around him, feeling the subtle sting of an unfamiliar, yet not unpleasant, stretch. 

“So big, feels so full, Joel,” you cry, “I know, baby. But I know she can handle it,” he coos, pressing impossibly deeper into you, until eventually he’s buried in you to the hilt. Underneath his solid frame, skin to skin, his cock firm inside of you, you feel your skin prickle hot and blood rushes through your ears. He fucks you equisitely, his chest crowding yours, but he bears the brunt of his weight on his forearms so as not to crush you too much. 

He steadies like this for a while, before he eventually pushes himself up and grips the back of your knees. You follow his cue and pull them up, feet flat on the mattress beneath you. He folds them cross-cross onto your chest, obscenely stretching your needy hole around the girth of him. 

You can’t breathe. He’s so big you swear you can feel him in your lungs. His cock drags in and out of you, making you shudder and your toes curl. The way he fucks you is so much – hard, deep, and passionate. 

“You feel so good, Darlin’. Gripping me so fucking good, being such a good girl,” Joel moans. 

“God, don’t stop, ugh I’m so close,” you say, eyes closing. 

“Eyes open, baby. Want you to look at me while you come on my cock,” he says, as he takes your chin in his thumb and forefinger, demanding your attention. 

Something snaps inside you, and your whole body tenses, and then releases in a sweet gush. “Jesus,” his blunt nails dig into the flesh of your hips before his jaw falls slack. With one more thrust, he loses himself, buried deep inside of you, your walls coaxing his balls empty.  “Fuck, baby,” he growls as he empties everything inside you, finishing his climax with a guttural groan. 

Joel pulls out, and you sigh at the loss of being full of him. He bends forward to press a kiss to the top of your head, inhaling sharp breaths, before falling to your side on the mattress. 

You sit up onto your forearms, and a dribble of his release comes out of you. You grin down at him, surveying the damage. Joel’s complexion is pink, and his eyes are closed – he’s successfully been fucked into oblivion. 

“Cmere, darlin’,” he says, eyes still closed, opening one arm open to welcome you into the warmth of his chest. You lay there, once again listening to his heart and the sounds of the rain on the grimy window in the room. You trail your index finger down his sternum. 

“You know, I thought you hated me,” you say, your voice a little sad, but you know you need to get this off your chest. “I know you had to kill that guy because I wasn’t paying attention, and I really am sor–” Joel once again silences your sentence by placing his finger on your lips. 

“Never say sorry to me again, Darlin’,” he says “‘sides, I’m the one who should be apologizin’, I’ve been a real asshole to you,” his voice sincere. “I just – I don’t know what I would ha’ done if I didn’t get to that guy in time, I’d never forgive myself if I lost you and could have prevented it.” His head drops to the pillow and he stares at the ceiling; your head finds it’s place once again the crook of his arm, nuzzled up against his side body for warmth. 

There’s still so much more he wants to say, but he knows that he’ll have the time to do it later. He stares at the rough texture above him for a moment longer, before he quickly gets up, as if to remember something. 

“Be right back,” he says and walks into the other room. He returns with a pack and pulls from it a little black container. “Found this during a raid the other day – thought of you,” he says, handing it to you. You jiggle it up by your ear and smile. 

Film.

Joel Miller may be an asshole.

But he’s an asshole that most definitely doesn’t hate you.

END

Tagging moots and those who showed interest in the preview: @untamedheart81 @darkheartgatita @endlessthxxghts @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @bastardmandennis @dins-riduur-anthe @josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @survivingandenduring @nosesitter @pedroswife69 @morallyinept @milly-louise @toxicanonymity @javiscigarette @planet-marz1 @anavatazes @dugiioh As always, please let me know if you want to be added or removed from my tag lists.xx

#joel miller the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller one shot #The last of us #enemies to lovers #pwp fics #pedro pascal character #joel miller #pedrohub #film photography

[daisynik7]

Iris

And I don't want the world to see me, ‘cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am.

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x f!reader

Rating: Mature – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~4.5k (I went way over than I was supposed to, lol)

cw: switching POVs (2nd person reader, 3rd person Eren), canon-universe, VERY canon-divergent, consider this a what-if scenario, major AOT spoilers up to season 4, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl position), fingering 

Summary: At the Battle of Fort Slava, Eren Jaeger, hell-bent on launching his ultimate attack on Marley, injures himself to pose as a wounded soldier, granting him admittance to the hospital to finalize his plans. You, an Eldian volunteer working at the hospital, start treating this new patient, nervous about his mysterious demeanor. Eventually, you learn that you have much more in common with each other than you think. 

Author’s Note: Thank you @ichinosejager13 for your second request for the y2k karaoke party! I did something totally different this time; I wrote a fic set in the canon universe. I thought it fit well with this song, so I hope you like it! While it’s set in the canon universe, it is very obviously canon divergent, so please remember I took a lot of liberties with this. I am in no way suggesting that any of this is what I wish happened in canon. I just think it was an interesting idea to write. Also, I understand that this will seem very out-of-character for Eren, but let’s just roll with it because it's all in good fun, lol. 

Like, reblogs, and/or comments are ALWAYS appreciated! Thank you for reading! MDNI banner by @/cafekitsune.

Fort Slava, huddled in the trenches. Blade through his leg, bullet in his eye. This is the last vivid memory Eren can recall as he stands in line outside the hospital, waiting to be admitted. Some asshole Marleyan imitates explosion sounds, causing all of those around him to fall to the ground, cowering in fear. They suffer trauma from the battlefield, and even Eren, with a clear conscious now, is affected by it. A kid, another Eldian dawning the same yellow armband as he is, steps towards them, kneeling down to help them up. He even assists Eren, correcting his armband to his left arm instead of the right. Luckily, it goes unnoticed by everyone else, which is exactly what he wants. 

It's all part of his plan; the attack on Marley. It’s been in the works for months now, starting with his infiltration of the army, fighting alongside Marleyans and Eldians alike. He thought he’d have better clarity of the situation, maybe get convinced to call the whole thing off after bonding with other solders through the tragedies of violence and war. Unfortunately, it’s only made him realize how much more he needs to follow through with it. Nothing will ever change in this cruel world unless he’s the one to do it. 

There are days when he gets cold feet. He’s tempted to re-evaluate, find a way back to his home of Paradis, reunite with his friends, devise a better plan and figure it out together. But in all the futures Eren can see, his current plan is the only one that will work. The only one that will grant him the freedom he’s been chasing his entire life.  

The process is slow to get a room in the hospital. Luck remains on Eren’s side when he’s assigned a private room. It’s barren; a single-bed, just long enough to accommodate his stature, withered sheets and rusted iron on the frame. There’s a small nightstand beside it with two drawers to hide his belongings, which is essentially nothing, and atop is a small lamp, illuminating the room in a dreary glow. It’s not luxurious, but it’s enough for the time-being. Because that’s all Eren needs right now: time. 

Eventually, Zeke will find him. They’ve been contacting each other for a while now, and Eren has a firm grasp on what his older brother is trying to convince him to do with the Founder’s power. While he doesn’t agree with his idea to euthanize the entire race of Eldians, Eren needs to entertain it long enough to manipulate Zeke into letting him use his royal blood. 

It's all convoluted and fucked up, he’s aware of that. Somedays, he wishes he could escape this curse without doing anything at all. That one day, he’d be gone from this world, liberated from his Titan power, saved from this burdened life. This isn’t what he imagined while reading all those books he and Armin would marvel at as kids. This isn’t the freedom he was hoping for. 

He rests in his pathetic, yet oddly comforting bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. His leg and eye are still wrapped in bandages, so a nurse should be coming soon to check on him. There’s a faint commotion out in the hallway, but Eren is too lazy and too uninterested to investigate. Soon, it subsides, and the door swings open, revealing a women around his age, wearing a nurses uniform and the yellow Eldian patch on her left arm. He recognizes the attire from battle; the army had a few nurses stationed at the fort for casualties. 

“Mr. Kruger?” she asks. 

It takes him a second to remember the alias he decided to use. He confirms it, nodding his head silently. 

She gives him a warm smile, introducing herself. “I’ll be helping you from now on.”

~~~

You started working at the hospital a few months ago. For Eldians, it’s nearly impossible to be accepted into higher education, so nursing school was never an option. With opportunities so scarce, your best bet was to apply for a volunteer position at the hospital in hopes of using that as a steppingstone for an actual paying job. You don’t expect a promotion any time soon, not even in the near future, but at least you’re spending your time helping others.

While it’s rewarding, it isn’t glamorous or pretty in the slightest bit. Because you lack the proper education, your tasks mostly include bathing, feeding, cleaning up any accidents or messes. Occasionally, if your patient is open to it, you spend time with them chatting, doing activities with them, listening to their stories. This is rare, though. Most that are admitted are Marleyans who refuse to speak to you because of your status. Some are even reluctant to have you help them in the first place. The Eldians, sadly, are usually too traumatized to open up, so you do your best to make them comfortable however you can. 

When you meet your newest patient, Eren Kruger, you don’t expect him to be any different from the rest. You are, however, surprised at how young he is; he can’t be any older than you, judging by his appearance. His records show nothing except for his name and his status as an Eldian, which isn’t unusual, so you don’t think much of it. “Mr. Kruger, I know you must be hungry,” you start. “Lunch will be arriving soon. If you need assistance, I’ll be here to help you.”

He acknowledges you with another curt nod, remaining silent. You can’t help but notice how brilliantly green his eyes are. Have you ever seen irises like his before? You let the inappropriate thought vanish quickly before you ask, “Would you like me to bathe you now or after you eat?”

At this, his brows tighten. “Bathe?” 

“Yes, Mr. Kruger. We can bathe you before or after lunch, it’s up to you – ”

“I don’t want to bathe,” he says, avoiding your gaze. 

You blink at him, unsure how to respond. “Surely you must want to be clean – ”

He interrupts you again, muttering, “How can I, when I’m like this?”

You understand his hesitation now, not needing further explanation. Sometimes, patients with missing limbs have expressed concern submerging themselves in a tub full of water, not wanting to get their bandages wet. Quickly, you clarify, “It would be a sponge bath. We can do that while you’re lying in bed, actually. And your bandages will stay intact.”

This seems to be the answer he’s looking for. His expression relaxes when he says, “After. I want to do it after I eat.”

You smile softly at him, noting it on your checkboard. “Understand. I’ll go check on your meal now. Is there anything else you need from me?”

A beat passes before he replies, “Pen and paper. For letters.”

You write it, reminding yourself to bring it when you return with his meal. “Got it.”

A few minutes later, you return with a tray of food along with a wad of paper and two pens. You set it on his nightstand beside him, waiting for him to move it. When he doesn’t, staying still, staring blankly at the foot of the bed, you clear your throat. “Mr. Kruger?”

“I’m not hungry,” he murmurs. 

“But you haven’t eaten all day. You need nourishment if you’re going to get any better.”

“And who says I want to get better?” He glares at you, startled by the intensity in his gaze. 

You swallow hard, nervous, but still resilient. “You have to eat. You owe it to yourself after what you’ve been through.”

“And how would you know what I’ve been through?” His voice is steady, a hint of venom, barely enough to sting. But you’re determined. You sit at the edge of the bed, careful not to touch him. Reaching for the tray, you set it down on your lap, sighing. “I don’t know. I have no idea what war is like out there. All I know is that it’s not great for us here. At least out there, you’re fighting together as a unit. Marleyan, Eldian, it doesn’t matter. You’re working to defeat our enemy. And who knows? If we ever win the war, maybe life will be better for us here.” You shove the tray towards him, glaring back at him. “So the least you could do is try to see it through and survive, right?”

He studies you carefully, contemplating how to respond. Glancing at the tray in front of him, he smirks, scooping a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. You ease up, tension releasing from your shoulders. 

After a few more bites, he speaks. “Who do you think the enemy is?” 

Just when you thought you were in the clear, he asks you another question. “It was the Mid-East Allies. That’s who you fought at Fort Slava.” 

“But who do you think the real enemy is?” He’s finished with his potatoes, now moving on to his meatloaf. 

“Well, I suppose it’s whoever the government says it is.” You’re unsure what kind of answer he’s searching for.

“And if they say that we’re the enemy, then what?” He points between you, leaving you confused. 

“We…?”

“Eldians. Devils.”

“No, no. The Devils are on the island. We’re…we’re not like them.”

“Are you sure?” He stuffs the rest of the meat into his mouth, chewing and swallowing it all down. “What makes you think you’re any better here than you are there?”

Your face feels hot now, and you start to stammer. “Because…because that’s what we were told. We’re on the right side. They’re on the wrong.” 

His plate is nearly clean now. He slides his fingers on the remnants, licking it off before chugging half a glass of water. “What if I told you there’s a place for people like us? A place where you wouldn’t have to walk around with an armband. A place where you were treated fairly. Would you want to go to a place like that?” 

You feel yourself drawn in by his words. The idea of it sounds impossible. Ever since you were born, you were taught to know your place in this world. That place was here in Marley, destined to be a second-class citizen. You were told that the island across the sea was full of devils like you, but because you’re here, you’re better. You can’t deny that you’ve been curious what life is like out there. All this time, you thought it must be worst, secluded on an island, hated by the rest of the world. 

But is this life any better? Secluded in your own community and still hated by the rest of the world?

You pick the tray up from his lap, muttering, “I’ll go get your sponge bath ready.”

He doesn’t add anything else, watching you silently. You walk towards the door, ready to leave. Before you do, you say, “And to answer your question: I would.”

~~~

It was supposed to be innocent banter, that’s what Eren intended. He figured he could chalk it up to the trauma speaking for him, that she wouldn’t even be remotely interested in what he had to say. He thought she’d be like all the other naïve, brainwashed Eldians, ignorantly believing everything that was told to them. He realizes soon enough that he was wrong to underestimate her.

She comes to him every day, fulfilling her volunteer duties. Their daily routine begins with breakfast, then a morning stroll in his wheelchair out in the courtyard. Sometimes they’ll play chess at one of the tables, sometimes it’s checkers. Lunchtime comes, and then it’s time for a bath, one of Eren’s favorite parts of the day. Her hands are always gentle, gliding along his skin with a damp sponge. They’ll do another stroll outside, this time on his crutches, where he practices how to walk. Dinner arrives when it’s already dark out, and occasionally, he’ll ask her to read the latest news from the paper. 

While all this happens, they talk. They talk a lot. 

As expected, she figures out that Eren is from Paradis, though he bends the truth about his true intentions for being here. She doesn’t know about his Titan powers, thinking he’s a refugee seeking sanctuary here. Surprisingly, she isn’t offended about it; in fact, she’s curious. They spend most of their time together sharing stories of their childhood. Eren describes life in Paradis, she describes life in Marley. While there are stark differences between their upbringings, there are also blatant similarities. And together, they come to the gut-wrenching conclusion: Eldians are terrorized wherever they are, whether it’s here, or across the sea. 

Eren has only sent one letter in the past two weeks, and that was to his friends back home, informing them that he is in Marley, safe and sound. He doesn’t disclose his plan to them yet. In all honestly, he’s not sure what the plan is anymore. Zeke still hasn’t found him, nor has Eren gone out of his way to be found. What Eren does know is that he enjoys spending time with the woman who helps him. So much that he’s losing grip on what he’s supposed to be doing here. He has to do something soon.

It comes to a head one night, three weeks after he was admitted to the hospital. Eren requests for another sponge bath after dinner; it was a hot day and he worked up a sweat during their afternoon walk. She helps him strip his shirt off, starting with the wet, warm sponge at his chest, massaging small circles onto his sticky skin. He watches her carefully, noticing her eyes lingering on his body more so than usual. 

He speaks softly into her ear, leaning in close. “I have something to tell you.”

She continues above his waist, hands gently scrubbing, not bothering to look at him when she responds. “What is it, Eren?”

He’s thought about this all day. The plan. “Would you like to visit Paradis?”

This time, she does look at him, confused. “What?”

Louder now, and more confident, he says, “Come to Paradis with me. See what it’s like there.”

She scoffs. “I can’t just leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is my home.”

“They treat you like nothing here,” he argues. “At Paradis, you’re somebody. We can be safe at Paradis.”

She stops, tossing the sponge into the bucket of water beside her, frustrated. “Safe? After everything you’ve told me? You said it yourself; you’ve been terrorized by Titans since you were a kid. Every nation in the world wants Paradis gone. How can it be safe?”

He swallows thickly, gripping her hand delicately in his. “I can’t explain everything right now, but I have a plan. We have a plan.” He recalls one of the last memories he has of Armin, his brilliant friend, suggesting a small-scale Rumbling, enough to scare the rest of the world from attacking Paradis for centuries. He dismissed it quickly then, but now, he considers it. Could this be their best option? Instead of the billions of casualties Eren had originally devised? “You just have to trust me for now. Once we’re there, I can explain everything.”

She stares at him, clearly in shock from his suggestion. He doesn’t blame her. Eren is asking her to give up everything she knows. 

“Eren,” she starts, squeezing his hand tighter. “I don’t know if I can do that.” 

He smiles at her, brushing his thumb across her knuckles delicately. “I understand. I know it’s a big ask, and I shouldn’t have expected you to say yes. I just…I just think I know what I can do for Paradis to make it safe for people like us. Somewhere we can be ourselves, where people will know us for who we are, and not for what they see on our armbands.”

“It sounds like paradise,” she says quietly.

“It does. And I think I could make it that way. I know I can.”

She sighs, retrieving the sponge again. “I want to believe you, Eren. But I don’t think I can throw away my life for something I’m unsure of.” She starts to slide his pants off, ready to wash below his waist.

“Please, just consider it. I plan to leave soon, within the next few days. I just have to send out a letter tomorrow, and I should be ready to go.”

“You’re leaving? Already?”

“I know what I have to do now. I can’t waste any more time when we can end this war now.”

She peers at him, tears welling in her eyes. “I…” 

“What is it?” He sits up, leaning in close to cup her cheek, brushing away her falling tears. 

“Will we ever see each other again?” Her voice is trembling, lips quivering. His heart sinks into his stomach, seeing her like this.

He presses his forehead to hers. “I’ll find you when this is all over. I promise you. Whatever you do, don’t go anywhere near the shore, okay?” The small-scale Rumbling should only affect the fleets, which will be in the middle of the ocean, far from the shore. Still, he can’t risk anything happening to her. Not when he isn’t there to protect her.

She nods, not asking for any further explanation. He presses a small kiss to her forehead. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to bring us peace.” 

~~~

Eren asks you to drop off a letter in the mailbox, addressed to someone named Azumabito. Apparently, she is an ally to Eldians who is stationed here in Marley, so she can arrange a ship for him to head back home. 

There are still so many questions left unanswered, though you decide not to ask them. Maybe it’s foolish to trust someone you’ve only known for a month. But Eren has given you more truth about this harsh world that anyone else the entire time you’ve been here. And he’s the only one who’s ever promised you a better life. 

Two days after you mailed the letters, you receive a response. It’s addressed to you, though you’re sure it’s meant for Eren. There’s a fancy insignia stamped to one corner of the envelope: a circle with a triangle in the center, formed by samurai swords. You keep it safe in your pocket as you head for the kitchen, ready to deliver Eren’s dinner. 

He reads it when he’s finished with his meal. You watch as he scans the letter carefully, mouthing a few words under his breath. When he reaches the end, he looks up at you, a small grin on his face. “She’s arranged a ship for tomorrow morning, before sunrise.”

You gasp, surprised at how soon his departure is. “Tomorrow?”

He nods, folding the letter and tucking it beneath his pillow. 

You let out a deep breath, unsure what else to say. Noticing your quiet demeanor, he reaches for your hand to hold it. “I know this is happening so fast. But I’ve never been more certain about what I need to do until now.” He interlocks his fingers with yours, smiling. “And you helped me with that.”

“Me? How?”

“By being you. By giving me a chance to explain myself. Even when you found out I was from Paradis, you didn’t judge me. You got to know me. It showed me that there are people, good people, on this side. That even in a ruthless place like this, there is beauty to be saved.” 

You don’t say anything, throat too heavy with emotion to respond. Blinking away your tears, you take his tray from his lap, walking quickly to the door. Before you can leave, he asks, “Can you please come back to help me shave?”

Without turning to face him, you nod, exiting his room, stifling your sobs on your way down the hallway. Your heart yearns for more time with him. For the past few weeks, being here has been an escape from your painful reality. You’re not seen as an Eldian, you aren’t considered a second-class citizen. With him, you’re just you. 

You know that you can’t keep him caged here forever. Like a bird, he’s ready to spread his wings. He’s ready to be free. While you’re heartbroken to see him leave, you’re thrilled for him to fulfill his destiny. All you can hope is that one day, you’ll be reunited in a better place than here. 

You return to his room a couple of minutes later with everything you need to give him a close shave. His facial hair has grown out quite a bit since he arrived. You lather his face with a small amount of soap, scrubbing the suds off with a warm, wet towel. He closes his eyes, indulging in your relaxing touch. After mindful preparation, you begin to shave his goatee with a straight razor, pulling his skin taut, gliding the blade carefully across his chin, cleaning it after every stroke. When you’re done with his beard, you focus your attention on his mustache, delicately moving the razor until his skin is smooth and shaven. You smile as you wipe off any remaining residue with the towel. 

With everything discarded into the bucket of water set on the nightstand, you take this time to admire his face, memorizing every detail. The flutter of his lashes, the bridge of his nose, the sharpness of his jawline, the plush of his lips. It’s only now that you realize how close to him you are. You’re kneeling beside him on the bed, noses almost touching, your fingers grazing his smooth skin. He opens his eyes to look at you, and his breath hitches at the intimacy, glancing at your mouth. 

Before you can move, he closes the short distance, kissing you on the lips. As quickly as it happens, he pulls away, blushing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have asked first. I’m sorry – ”

You cut him off with another kiss, hungry for more. It’s his last day; in mere hours from now, he’ll be gone, and you’re not sure when you’ll see him again, if ever. It’s crossed your mind many times by now, how it would feel to be with him like this. The feeling of his lips on yours, the slide of his tongue in your mouth, the taste of his spit. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you’ve never thought about it. In fact, it’s been on your mind every night as you fall asleep, wishing you were in his arms instead of alone in your bed. 

He doesn’t pull away this time, sinking in deeper, slipping inside your mouth to swirl his tongue with yours. He’s just as sweet as you fantasized he’d be, luscious and rich in your mouth. His skin is smooth against your fingertips, tracing his jawline. One hand slides around your waist, tugging you closer to him, the other wraps around the nape of your neck, holding your head steady. You swing one leg over him, straddling his lap, hoisting the hem of your dress past your hips, revealing your panties. He moans, shifting beneath you in the bed to slip his trousers down, displaying his erection bulging in his underwear.

“Is this okay?” he huffs, catching his breath. His voice wavers, his only visible eye half-lidded with arousal, unable to keep his cool.

“Yes,” you answer, grinding yourself on him, kissing him sloppily. His grip is on your hips, guiding you to rut against his cock faster. The friction between you is enough to make you wet, your slick soaking through the fabric. 

“You’re an angel,” he whispers, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth. “I want to make you feel good.” His thumb teases the elastic of your waistband, hand slipping inside to rub your clit against his fingers. 

“Eren,” you moan, his sensual touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. He slowly slides two digits inside you, massaging your bud with his palm while he pumps his fingers into your sopping cunt. His cock is stiff beneath you, watching you ride his hand, cursing under his breath until you reach your climax, coating him in your arousal. 

You’re breathing heavily, in a daze from your orgasm. He removes his hand from you, slipping it past his underwear to jerk his cock. You reach for him, tugging his bottoms down his legs, replacing his fist with yours, stroking him eagerly. He whispers your name, bucking his hips in tandem with your movements. You’re aching for more, desperate to feel him inside you, feel him deeper. You position yourself correctly, pulling the crotch of your panties to the side to  tease the head of his cock up and down your folds. He sits up on his elbows, watching you with a nervous expression on his face. “Are you sure?” he asks.

You nod, smiling at him. “I’m sure. I want to be close to you, Eren.”

He swears, letting his head fall back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. You sink down on him, his dick stretching you out smoothly, still sleek from your previous orgasm. He moans, craning his neck to take in the lewd sight before him. “Oh my god,” he groans, thrusting his hips into you. 

You ride him slowly, his entire length filling you up to the brim. He plants his feet into the mattress to fuck you deeper, the metal frame creaking with every thrust. It doesn’t take long until you’re both coming together. He shoots his load inside you while you gush all over him, creating a wet mess between you that you couldn’t care less about in the euphoric state you’re in. You lift off him, rolling to his side, relaxing into the pillow with him beside you, cradling you in his arms. He gives you a smooch on the cheek, nuzzling his nose with yours. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“What?”

“You really are an angel,” he says, smiling at you.

~~~

Eren wakes up alone, and he’s almost convinced that it was all a dream until he spots the small note scribbled on paper laying his nightstand. 

It’s too hard to say goodbye, so I won’t. I trust you to keep your promise. We’ll see each other again soon.

With daybreak approaching, Eren leaves for the docks quickly with only the clothes on his back and letters in his pocket, including hers. With sunrise teasing the horizon, he makes it to the meeting place just in time. He recognizes Azumabito and greets her, explaining the situation as they board the ship. She informs him that they are waiting for several other passengers, so he makes himself comfortable by a window.  

A few minutes pass and one of the crew approaches him. “Mr. Jaeger, there is a woman trying to board, claiming they are with you. Do you know anything about this?”

He glances out the window towards the docks and to his shock, he sees an angel with a suitcase in hand, talking to Azumabito. His heart races, overjoyed as he jumps out of his seat, sprinting out of the ship to meet her. 

#eren smut #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren yeager smut #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #aot smut #attack on titan smut #attack on titan fanfiction #eren fanfiction #y2k karaoke party #milestone event

[iloveboysinred]

That zuko smut you wrote was SO good!! is it okay if i request some nsfw hc ??? but from keith kogane, idk how to be specific lol!! Thank you sm 💗💗

Thank you anon youre my second ask ever i’m super excited !!!!! I’m glad you enjoyed it! You are so kind🥰 & Ofc you can !! I love me some Keith Kogane. Top tier boy in red

Masterlist

cw; sexually explicit content, 18+ MDNI! Nsfw under the GIF kinda long!

GIF BY @/kin-of-the-sheep

- Okay so in my head i feel like after you and all the paladins get launched into space and learn about Zarkon and the war and everything, you and Keith definitely didnt have time to really “get it on” if you know what i mean. Things were moving so fast and you all needed time to adjust.

- But after a few days of training and getting used to the fact that you’re literally in space the switch is back on for sure.

- Keith isnt a patient man. So I feel like he definitely enjoys quickies here and there around the castle. They’re never planned. Sometimes the way you train in hand to hand combat gets a little too touchy, sometimes the way you looked at him made his stomach turn and his dick jump. Keith just needs you in that exact moment, and the way ya’ll be fucking its a miracle nobody has walked in on you yet

-or maybe they just stay away on purpose 😭

- he likes to be rough during these, slapping your ass, squeezing your hips, shit even tugging on your hair. Everything is moving so fast he wants to get a feel of everything.

- but when you guys have real sex, its like night and day.

- You guys would come home from a mission, tired and scared for each other, every time you guys go out there you run the risk of being captured or worse. So immediately you and Keith embrace each other, heading to the showers to clean off.

- It starts innocent, Keith washing your back, washing your hair. He was savoring every caress, just wanting to be in your skin.

- but then he starts getting touchy feely, ghosting his fingers over your nipples, leaving soft nibbles on your neck. You feel him starting to get hard, his body pressed to yours as close as he can be.

- knowing thats on his mind, you decide to take it to his room.

- it takes you a minute to get there, because Keith kept stopping mid walk to press you against the wall and kiss you and feel you up over your towel. He gets needy fast. Like i said, he’s not a patient man.

- So, when you finally reach the intended destination, his movements are in haste, wanting to get you bare and open for him as soon as he can.

- His kisses are slow as his hands wander, holding you close to him as if he’s never going to get the chance again.

- he’s greedy with your body, eating you out messily. He wants every last drop of you, whole time relishing in the fact that you’re all his.

- every sound you make, every reaction to his touch is reserved for him. In a world where everything was taken from him, Keith wanted something to himself. Something he could take.

- So, he took and took. Orgasm after Orgasm until he was satisfied with the mess he’s made of you.

- But even then he’s not finished with you yet. He likes to watch you closely when he enters you. Eyes half lidded as the tightness of your heat squeezes around him, its utter bliss for the two of you, and he doesnt hold back.

- I dont care what anybody says, Keith is vocal during sex. He grunts and moans right above you, thrusting into you with a passion that shocks you. He loves to ask you how he makes you feel, if you like what he’s doing, ect. Despite having been in the same predicament many and i mean maaany times and knowing just how to set you off.

- “like that, baby?” “Fuck…tell me you like this dick” “take it baby, fuck!”

- Very into eye contact during sex. You guys will lock gazes often. You love to drown in his purple iris while he fucks you, getting almost lost in each other, the only thing you can think of is the stuttering of his hips as he nears his end. He’s everywhere at once, his scent, his body, his voice. All you see is Keith.

- ngl Keith folds you up into so many different positions. He just wants to be as deep and as close to you as he can. He’ll have your legs on his shoulder while he basically folds you in half, beating down into you with his forehead pressed against yours, grunting out curses as his hips rock into yours. He loves the way your face contorts with every thrust. He’ll reach between your legs, playing with you just to watch you squirm.

- He loves when you scratch up his back. It lets him know that he’s hitting it just right, boosting his ego as well as adding to his pleasure.

- he doesn’t really do pet names during sex. He’ll call you “baby,” “hun”, “beautiful” maybe even “my love” if he’s feeling sappy & he loves when you call him “baby”, “honey” or even just his name sounds good coming from your lips. But as far as daddy, sir, master?? He will roll his eyes at you so fast and look at you so crazy, it actually makes me laugh thinking about it.

- When he reaches his peak, he smashes his lips onto yours, his hips jerking into yours as he spills into you.

- But when you reach your peak he takes his time to coax you through it, riding it out with you, whispering encouragement and littering your skin with kisses as you come undone.

- after care is a must. Once you guys are all cleaned up you lovebirds will lay next to each other and lock gazes. Kissing and giggling like lovestruck puppies.

- But all that lovey dovey shit aside Keith is a freaaaaak

- Its the little things you do that really gets Keith’s blood pumping.

- like when the team found out he was half galra and Allura was being cold and standoffish to him, you didnt hesitate to rip her a new one about your man! I know thats right

- while you were bickering with her, Keith was just smug as shit, getting turned on by your protectiveness.

- soon as he got you alone he was beating your walls loose, biting you, sucking marks into your neck.

- when you get angry like that he’ll happily bottom and let you ride him. He absolutely loves when you take control and throw him around a little bit. He reaches up to play with your nipples and leave hickeys all over you as you rock yourself down on him, letting you essentially get yourself off on him any way you wanted.

- Be rough with him. Grab his hair, bite him, mark him up. He’s yours and he wants you to prove it.

- teasing Keith is a dangerous game. If you’re in public doing it especially. You’re basically asking him to break you down as soon as he gets you alone.

- sometimes it gets competitive, Keith doesnt back down and he’ll make sure you’re nothing short of a wreck by the end of the night. But you’re his perfect match. The both of you essentially going tit for tat all night. When he thrusts into you, you throw that ass back on him. When he presses heated kisses to your lips, you suck his tongue into your mouth and turn it into a make out.

- When he came back from being gone for two years with his mom, you guys fucked like animals.

- Seeing him shed his angsty teenager phase into his angsty grown ass man phase was making you feral.

- his hair had gotten longer, he was taller, and his body had become more muscular, but still lean.

- when you got him all to yourself after everyone greeted him and he delivered his news and all that, you guys were just straight up nasty.

- you had two years of no sex to make up for, after all.

- He fucked you in just about every position in the book. Doggy, missionary, cow girl, full nelson, all of it. He missed your gasps, your hushed whispers of his name as he brought you to your high. It was sentimental almost, the way his thrusts showed how much he missed you.

- and it was when you reached your peak that it really dawned on him that he could never stray too far from you. Your boy in red was wrapped around your finger, bound to you. He gazed at you in new astonishment, almost childlike wonder as you fluttered around him. Forcing his own orgasm to rack his body. He moaned, low and drawn out. Pressing his lips to yours like he always did when you reached your climax, rocking his hips gently into yours to draw it out as much as he could.

- hushed “i love yous” between the two of you as you basked in the glow of having your Keith back.

Hope you like this Anon 💕 thank you for your request/ask :> notes and reblogs are appreciated, comments, asks and submissions are welcomed !

#voltron #vld keith #keith kogane #keith kogane smut #vld keith smut #voltron smut #voltron x reader #keith kogane x reader #❥iloveboysinred #{​anonask ੈ✩‧₊˚ ฅ^. .^ฅ}

[slexenskee]

👀 New surprise acoustic album coming up in a chapter near you~

I think we all know what spurred this surprise acoustic album this time 😂

Disenchanted - MCR, Regular | Acoustic

Stay Together For the Kids - Blink 182, Regular | Acoustic

Iris - The Goo Goo Dolls, Regular | Acoustic

How's It Going To Be - 3EB, Regular | Acoustic

All These Things That I've Done - The Killers, Regular | Acoustic

I chose these songs mostly on the regular versions, but some of them have pretty great acoustic versions ngl. I really like that Stay Together For the Kids and Disenchanted renditions, which I think use the real ripped vocals over acoustic instrumentals. And I actually prefer the Boyce Avenue version of Iris than the actual acoustic version from GGD. But for How's It Going To Be and All These Things I've Done, I really adore the originals, even if they lend themselves well to acoustic versions.

Also yes instead of talking about his feelings in a mature and calm manner, Gojo instead runs off and makes an album about it instead 😂 tbf using art as an outlet is actually a very healthy thing to do, but so is talking to your partner about your internal struggles.

But I find it very in character of him to struggle to put his own feelings into words, or rather, to express them outwardly and actually speak and vocalize them to others in a normal way, and turn to music instead. Unlike Hawks - who is more of an action guy and even in his POVs shows how he feels through his actions rather than introspective monologues - Gojo's actually your classic Tortured Poet (see what I did there lol) who has a lot of Thoughts™, even if he's horrible about expressing them and regularly ignores them. So in his own way, he's trying to communicate a lot through this album - to the whole world, but also to Hawks specifically.

Tbh this album is probably Gojo's most 'personal', or at the very least, as personal as you can get when you never wrote the songs to begin with lol. But idk, my millennial is showing here but there was always something so personal to making mixtape CDs for yourself or for others. You might not have wrote them, but it says a lot that you chose them to define yourself, you know?? Anyway I digress, moral of the story this is actually Gojo reaching out in his own way. And tbh, it's kind of a summary of his life too. A lot of times I pick songs for this fic mainly just because I like the way they sound, with no real meaning to them, and that's canon too as Gojo picks his songs for the Vibes™, but for this album noooope.

Disenchanted - Going to be crowned as the quintessential 'Dabi' song. Literally all about being a disenfranchised and disenchanted youth who sings away his angst and the chorus is 'If I'm so wrong, how can you listen all night long?' This is basically the summary of how sad teenage Dabi felt and why he turned to both music and villainy

Stay Together For The Kids - So on the nose it's not even funny, but I adore that guitar riff in the beginning. And while Gojo's parents didn't divorce in either of his lives, I still feel this resonating with him because of the way his youth was ruined by the adults who were supposed to love and care about him, in both lives. And yes, when the Endeavor reveal drops people are going to be questioning this song.

Iris - Yes, this is his pining song. First for Suguru, but then takes on a new meaning with Hawks. Yes, it turns all the Sixwings fans into a sobbing mess every time. Really though more than being a love song about either Suguru or Hawks, this is hi trying to convey his own feelings with lines like 'yeah you bleed just to know you're alive'/'when everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am'

How's It Going To Be - Known to Sixwings fans as the 'breakup/makeup' song. Like yeah it's about Sixwings breaking up, but it's also Ru-kun shouting to the world that he wants to get Hawks back. It becomes infamous for it. When No Scrubs finally goes on their massive Taylor Swift Era's-esque tour he'll play this and Iris back to back and have the whole stadium bawling. Ngl this is my favorite 3EB song, so it had to go in this fic somewhere. I love how it starts mainly soft and acoustic and at the climax the full band kicks in and Stephan Jenkins just starts belting 'I wanna get myself back into you, the soft dive of oblivion'

All These Things That I've Done - If Disenchanted is Dabi looking back on his life/past and all the anger and sadness he sees there, then the final track on the album is about coming to terms with himself and trying to accept who he is, and look towards the future. Huge theme for he next arcs/final fic in this series. I actually always thought the line was 'these changes ain't changing me, the gold-hearted boy I used to be'... but it's actually cold-hearted, which kinda totally changes my narrative for this song so I'm pretending it's gold-hearted 😂

#fic may death never stop you #mdnsy art

[that1emowitch]

Suit Shopping

Prompt by @shinekocreator : "Hear me out: the batsiblings going suit shopping with Dick. Fluffy engaged birdflash. Maybe something around planning the wedding. Also some batsiblings being siblings"

A/N: I had a random burst of inspiration at 10 pm and suddenly wrote this whole this lol

Words: 3006

LMK IF I SHOULD MAKE A PART 2!

TW: None, I think. It's all pretty fluffy. Lmk if I missed smth

“I still think he’ll look prettier in purple,” Steph holds up her phone, showing an image of a bright purple suit. “Like, look at that! All it needs is some glitter.”

“Tt.” Damian scowls at her. “Everyone knows weddings are supposed to be black-and-white.”

“Yeah, the purple looks like the Joker,” Jason points out, nodding. “But hear me out: Red.”

Damian shouts again in protest, basically jumping on Jason. The two start fighting, pulling each-other’s hair and yelling.

“You sure you want them to help, Rob?” Wally shakes his head, his arms wrapped around Dick’s waist as the pair stands just a few feet away, looking at the Bats trying to kill each other.

Dick sighed, resting his head on his boyfriend— no, fiance’s shoulder. “They’re not really giving me a choice, honestly. But this’ll be fun, I’m sure!”

Wally chuckles. “Yeah, Bart and Barry are insisting to come shopping with me, too. So is Iris, actually.” He pulls away from Dick after placing a sweet kiss on his lips. “I’d better get going. Have fun!”

“You too!” Dick smiles as he watches his beloved speed off— he is the fastest man alive, after all. Then Cass walks up to him, gesturing to Damian, Steph, and Jason, then pushing her right hand towards the webbed part of her left in the sign for “annoying”.

He just chuckles, shaking his head. “Just have to wait for Duke and Tim, now, huh?”

Cass smiles and points behind him— where Duke has just entered the living room through the Batcave. “Hey, D,” He waves his hand in greeting as he walks up to them. He gives Damian and Jason— the latter of who is now pinning the younger against a wall with a gun raised— a long look. “What is going on?”

Cass just makes the “annoying” ASL sign again.

“DUKE!” Steph suddenly jumps on him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “I am so glad you’re here, you’re the only sensible one in this house! Which color do you think Dick’s suit should be?”

She shows him three photos— one exquisite, expensive purple suit made of leather, and two cheap thrift-store black and red suits.

Duke hesitates, carefully extracting himself from the blonde. “Uhh… Don’t you think Dick should decide? It is his wedding.”

“Thank you,” Dick says, pulling Duke closer. 

“Heathens, all of you,” Steph shakes her head, disappointed.

That’s when Tim finally enters through the front door— being carried by Kon. Tim quickly jumps out of Kon’s arms, beet red, when he realizes his siblings are already here, and watching. Jon trails after the pair, instantly brightening up when he sees Damian.

Damian stops fighting with Jason just to greet Jon. Suddenly, the young Super flies into Damian, wrapping himself around the Bat, yapping away excitedly.

Everyone in the room freezes.

Oh no, poor Jon is so dead… Dick thinks.

Then.

Damian awkwardly raises his arm and pats Jon on the back, half-hugging him.

Jon pulls away in a second then runs to Dick. “Is it true? You’re getting married? How does it work? Are you excited? Where’s your ring? When’s the wedding? Are you gonna have a b—”

“Woah, woah there!” Dick laughs a little, showing off his ring— a thin gold strand with a Robin on it. “Yeah, I’m engaged to Wally. You know, Flash.” 

“WOAH…” Jon’s eyes are wide with awe. Damian pulls him away, tutting. 

“Tt. You must be real naive if you don’t know how weddings work.”

“Whatever, man, I just wanna go to the mall.” Jon smiles and shrugs. 

Dick smiles back, proud of his Baby Bat for making a good friend. “So,” He claps his hands, getting everyone’s attention. “None of us will be flying to the mall, just FYI. Now, there’s 9 of us here, but one car can only fit five, so we’ll need to take two cars.”

“Um, actually,” Jason stood, twirling keys on his fingers. “I’m taking my motorbike. And only Blondie’s allowed to come with.”

“But this is a family bonding opportunity, Jay!” Dick protested. “We can all—”

“I have a bike,” Kon said suddenly, looking at Tim hopefully. “I can just fly back and get it here. Then we can— uh…”

Tim blushes. “Yeah, yeah, that’d be perfect.”

Kon flashes a smile, and flies out the window.

Dick sighs. I guess that leaves no other choice.

“Okay, the rest of you, come on,” Dick heads to the garage, watching with a soft smile as Damian, Jon, Duke, and Cass pile into his car. While Jon and Damian bicker over who called shotgun first, Cass quietly slips into the passenger seat.

God, Dick loves his sister.

He flashes her a smile, letting her turn the radio to a station to one that plays 60’s ballroom music— she loves music with no words.

He hears the moment the boys realize Cass has taken the seat— they fall quiet, and get into the back, squeezing against Duke, who was peacefully sitting by the window.

He grins, hands on the steering wheel, ready to set off.

They all meet again in the mall’s carpark. Jason and Steph are discussing something about the parking being ridiculously overpriced, Damian’s explaining to Duke how cars work (Duke’s trying hard not to say “I know”), Cass is still listening to ballroom music, Kon’s encouraging Jon to get piercings…

“This is the quietest they’ve all been together, isn’t it?” Tim pipes up from beside Dick, making the older man jump.

“Jesus— Tim, how’re you so quiet?” Dick took a breath to steady himself.

“Years of stalking Batman and Robin paid off, I guess,” He shrugs. “I need coffee.”

Before Dick can reply, Tim walks towards the others, and shouts, “Okay, people. Here’s how it’s gonna go:”

Dick’s brows furrow. “Wait, you’re planning this—”

“There are too many stores, and not enough time. So we’ll split up into groups, find and buy any and all suits we like— in size M, or US 40—”

“—You know my size?”

“—forget about the price, Bruce is paying, and meet back at McDonald’s at 6pm. Jason and Steph, go with Dick to the east wing of the mall. Cass and Duke, go to the west wing. Kon and I will take the north, Damian and Jon to the south. Got that?”

Dick was stunned for a second when everyone easily agreed and split up— they must’ve discussed this before. Slightly dazed, he let Jason and Cass lead him away, to the east entrance of the mall.

Damian walks through the mall, heading straight to the information desk, where a directory of all stores is put up. His eyes scan the shop names and their descriptions, analyzing each one. After all, Grayson deserves the best of the best.

Suddenly Jon appears beside him, vibrating with enthusiasm. “Where do we go first?”

“Nordstrom.” Damian replies, his eyes landing on the name of the store. “Anything there will easily outshine every suit any of the others manage to find.”

“Oooh, that sounds so fancy!” Jon’s eyes widen in awe.

“It is. Not that a farmboy like you could understand it.” Damian turns to face Jon.

“At least I’m not a crazy trust fund kid who’s going to buy, like, 20 suits just so Dick has plenty of choices,” Jon shoots back, undeterred.

“At least I’m not a 12-year-old who thinks math is hard.” 

“At least I don’t have Mommy or Daddy issues.”

"At least I'm a man of great intelligence and taste, while you are a farmboy that talks to birds."

"Hey, those birds were awesome... and at least I talk to them... you just sit around being brooding and quiet. The most noise you make is when you're complaining."

“At least I am not a naive boy who thinks the world is sunshine and rainbows!”

Jon crosses his arms. "Yeah, and at least I'm not a brooding snob who's afraid to express his feelings, so he hides behind sarcasm and snarky comments." 

That one shuts Damian up. 

“So,” Jon puts up a radiant smile again, hand pointing into the air. “To Nordstrom!”

“It’s right there.” Damian points behind Jon.

Jon moves so he’s pointing towards the store. “To Nordstrom!”

Tim and Kon’s hands find each other as soon as they part with the rest of the group— enjoying this feeling of being so close to one another. They head straight to the first clothes store they find, searching around for a suit.

“Hey, Tim,” Kon calls, picking up a red and blue Superboy-themed crop top, complete with leather lining and metal studs. “This would look cute on you.”

Tim blushes. “Kon, we’re looking for a suit!”

“But just buy this too,” Kon encourages, smirking. “Trust me. I can really imagine you in this.”

“And nothing else.” The words escape Tim’s mouth before he can think, and he suddenly slaps his free hand over his mouth. “Um, forget that. Please.”

Kon’s cheeks turn slightly red, but he puts the top in their shopping basket anyway. “So. Um. Suits.”

“Yes,” Tim says awkwardly “Suits.”

The two find a section of the store for formal clothing soon enough, and start rummaging around for something Dick might like.

Everything seems wrong— too formal, too stiff, too not Dick.

“What if we buy a few of these suits, then paint them?” Kon suggests.

Tim turns to face him, thinking. “Good idea, but the only one of us that can paint well is Damian— and we’re competing against him.”

Kon’s brows raise. “Wait, we’re competing against Damian?”

“We’re competing against every other ‘team’ we split up in,” Tim explains, skimming through racks of blue-gray suits. “Damian and Jon, Duke and Cass, Steph and Jason.”

“Oh,” Kon nodded along. “So, how does it work?”

“We all find the best suits possible and present them to Dick, and the team whose suit Dick picks wins.”

“And Dick has no idea about this competition.”

“Helps him be a neutral judge.”

“Uh-huh,” Kon chuckles. “You Bats and your secrecy…”

“Coffee,” Tim says suddenly, turning to leave the store. “We’re not gonna find anything here. Might as well get some coffee. On me.”

Kon smiles, taking Tim’s hand again. “As you wish, babe.”

Then his eyes widen. “Wait, we have to buy the tank top first!”

Duke watches as his sister prances around the store, looking at the different dresses. They’re in a designer boutique (whose manager didn’t believe they were actually here to buy something until they flashed Bruce’s credit card). 

He chuckles as Cass picks up a soft pink dress, holding it to herself and standing before the mirror. “It looks lovely, really.”

Cass smiles, and gives it to the manager to add to their cart, just like the many other dresses she did so with before. It doesn’t matter that they’re here to buy a suit— if Cass likes something along the way, she can very well buy it.

Then she finds another princess gown— this time, pastel purple, with shiny sequins and sparkles.

“Yeah, Steph’s gonna love seeing you in that,” Duke grins teasingly. Cass blushes sightly, then hands it over to the manager.. 

“Also, where are your best suits? Something flashy, not formal and plain.” He asks one of the assistants. 

“Oh, yes, I’m sure yellow and black would look great on you, Mr. Thomas,” The assistant replies politely, starting to lead them to a corner.

Duke tries not to cringe at the mention of him in black and yellow. “Um, it’s for my brother, actually. We have his measurements, but is it possible to get it custom-made without him actually being here? It’s a bit of a surprise.”

“Of course,” The assistant nods, leading them to a row of racks filled with rolled-up sheets of fabric. “It would take longer, but you can custom-pick every piece of fabric, every decoration, even talk to our design specialist to make it perfect. It would usually take a few weeks, but for you, we can get it done in just two days, I’m sure.”

Cass walks up to them. “Blue.”

“Of course.”

“Like the night sky. With shining stars, if that’s possible.” Duke adds.

“Do have a chat with the design specialist I mentioned, Mr. Thomas and Ms. Wayne.” The assistant smiles politely. “Shall I check out the six dresses you bought, meanwhile?”

Duke nods, smiling. “Yes, please.”

This was definitely going to be better than the others’ suits.

Steph pulls Dick along by the hand as they both laugh, running through the clothes store. Jason walks behind them, clearly amused but pretending to not care.

“OOOH, pick this!” Steph shoves another bright purple suit into Dick’s hands. He gives her a look. 

“Steph… I don’t like purple! I want something blue!” Dick looks around, making sure no one’s eavesdropping, hen whispers, “Nightwing blue!”

Steph pouts. “What do you think, Jason?”

“Red.” Jason replies, looking through some suits. “But if we wanna win, we gotta give him what he wants.”

Steph frowns slightly, but agrees.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dick holds his hands in front of them. “What do you mean ‘win’?”

Both of them freeze. Then Steph replies awkwardly, “Uh, win your heart, of course!”

“Yeah,” Jason adds, his tone dry. “Prove we’re your best siblings ever.”

Dick blinks. “Steph’s not a sibling. She’s dating our sister and she used to date our brother.”

“Potato, Potatoh,” Steph puts on the fakest smile ever, steering Dick away towards the blue-coloured suits. He goes along, confused.

As they peruse through the suits, Steph and Jason exchange glances, silently communicating their plan. They need to find the perfect Nightwing blue suit to win Dick over. They scan through the racks, occasionally holding up a suit for Dick to inspect. 

“This one?” Steph asks, holding up a suit that's more on the navy side.

“Nah, too dark,” Dick shakes his head.

“What about this one?” Jason suggests, pointing to a suit that's a bit too light.

“Too bright,” Dick dismisses it.

The trio continues their search, but nothing seems to meet Dick's standards. Steph starts to feel a little anxious— they need to find something soon if they want to win the competition. Just as she's about to suggest going to another store, Jason spots a suit tucked away in the corner.

“Hey, check this out,” Jason calls out, pulling out a suit in the perfect shade of Nightwing blue. It's sleek, stylish, and has just the right amount of sophistication.

Dick's eyes light up as he examines the suit. “This... this is it.”

Steph grins triumphantly. “I knew we'd find the perfect one!”

Jason nods in agreement. “Let's grab it before someone else snatches it.”

They quickly make their way to the checkout counter, excitement bubbling within them. As they pay for the suit, Jason can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Not only did they find the ideal suit for Dick, but they're also one step closer to winning the competition.

With the suit in hand, they head towards the designated meeting spot at McDonald's, eager to show off their find and see what the others have come up with.

The group rendezvouses at a particularly large booth in the mall’s McDonald’s just at 6 pm. Everyone’s carrying shopping bags— Damian and Jon are carrying three each. They settle into the booth, arranging themselves comfortably, excitement evident in their expressions.

Dick, seated at the head of the table, can hardly contain his curiosity. “Alright, everyone, let's see what you've got!”

“Not right now!” Duke shouts suddenly, and Cass nods along. “Cass and I have customized the perfect suit for you but it’s going to take two days to make, so, just to be fair, we’ll present our find in two days.”

Damian scowls. “Why should we waste our time over your fault?”

“It’s not a fault, it’s a—”

“It’s not fair,” Tim chimes in. “We spent so long—”

“GUYS! Guys,” Dick interrupts them before the argument gets too heated. “This is my suit, so I make the rules. I choose that we wait for Duke and Cass’s suit to be ready. I kinda wanna see it.”

Duke leans back, relieved, and Cass wears a smug smile on her face, as if saying, “Ha, I win!”

It makes Dick wonder, again, what exactly the competition is about.

“Well, let’s at least get some food, if we’re not doing show and tell,” Kon speaks up after a long beat of silence. Everyone agrees (for the first time ever), and place their orders quickly.

Once their orders arrive, they dig into their meals eagerly, savoring the taste of fast food after a long day of shopping. Dick watches with a fond smile as his family enjoys their meal, feeling grateful for their presence in his life.

After they finish eating, Dick leans back in his seat, feeling content. “So, what now? Do we head back home?”

“Nah,” Jason shakes his head. “Let’s catch a movie or something. There’s that new action flick playing at the cinema.”

Steph’s eyes light up. “Ooh, that sounds fun! I’m in!”

“I’m down,” Tim adds, nodding in agreement.

“I suppose it could be entertaining,” Damian mutters, though there’s a hint of excitement in his voice.

Jon looks around eagerly. “Can I come too?”

Kon slings an arm around his shoulders and pulls him away. “Nah, not this time. Let’s leave the Bats to their boring plans— you and I can go get you some piercings!”

“Um,” Jon pauses, hesitating. “Mom and Dad will not be happy, Kon.”

Kon just smirks and ruffles his little brother’s hair. “I know. Pissing off Clark to make you cool— It’s gonna be so worth it!”

The pair walks away from the Bats, waving goodbye, after Kon places one last kiss on Tim’s lips. The Bats leave soon, too, heading down to the cinema, arguing over who the best Green Lantern is, for some reason— and Hal Jordan’s currently winning over Guy Gardener.

Dick laughs and shakes his head, listening to their banter.

God, he loves his family.

LMK IF I SHOULD MAKE A PART 2

#dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #kon el kent #jon kent #batfam #fanfic #batman #birdflash #dickwally #timkon #stephcass

[paperstorm]

wip wednesday

I was tagged by @inflarescent @alrightbuckaroo @birdclowns and @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

Season 3 of Missing Moments is in the initial phases baybee so have a scene I wrote at 4am while insomniatic and trying to dig into Carlos's mindset at the hospital. (does that low key count as self harm lol probably)

-

Carlos tugs his jacket tighter around his shoulders as he steps out into the still-falling snow thought the automatic sliding doors. He passes by others, concerned visitors braving the storm to visit their loved ones. The chill seeps quickly through his clothes and into his bones. Carlos has lived his entire life in Austin, he’s never felt cold like this. TK used to tell him about winters in Manhattan, about snow and sleet and the kind of cold that burrows into muscles and tightens skin and leaves a person with chattering teeth and lungs aching from inhaling ice crystals, but Carlos could only ever imagine it until now. It’s worse than TK’d described. But come to really think of it, the cold might not be the reason he’s having trouble gasping for a proper breath.

He finds a brick half-wall, a built in planter than in the summer months would be filled with flowers, and he sits onto it. It’s all he can do not to collapse onto the snowy ground. Carlos tucks his shaking hands into his own armpits, clenching every muscle in his body as his molars press together in a useless attempt to stop himself from bursting into tears. His eyes burn, his head pounds, his breath comes in uneven bursts through his nose.

It can, the doctor had said. Their chosen course of treatment can work, for someone in TK’s condition. She hadn’t meant it. Carlos may not be a medical professional like she is, he may not be the same sort of hero as her and Captain Vega and TK and Nancy, but he’s still a first responder. He still knows that dance. He knows intimately the mask of sympathy to wear and the tone of voice to adopt when the situation calls for kindly offering a grain of false hope to someone in a sand-dune of despair.

His shoulders shake. A woman with a teenaged daughter in tow crosses in front of him on their way towards the parking lot, and Carlos tucks his chin down against his chest so they won’t see the way his eyes are filled with tears.

It’s important to know when a thing is over, he’d said to Marjan, only hours ago before his world was tilted off its axis. Like the well-meaning but misleading doctor, Carlos hadn’t meant it. The mask he’s constructed out of his grief and anger and loneliness and heartbreak disintegrates right off his face and seems to crumble to dust at his feet. He wipes in annoyance and tears on his cheeks, that freeze to his skin almost as soon as they’ve spilled from his stinging eyes.

When to move on, he’d said. She saw through him.

Once upon a time, Carlos was a master of this deception. He built a home for himself constructed almost entirely in lies, in half-truths and secrets and pieces of himself given only on a need-to-know basis, and he wasn’t happy, but it was good enough. It was enough that his parents still invited him over for dinner. It was enough that his coworkers only speculated about his sexuality in private and to his face behaved at least cordially and professionally, even if behind his back they were sneering at him. It was enough that Michelle knew he was gay and accepted him for it, even if she was always too consumed with loss to ever really take an interest in Carlos’s wellbeing after Iris was gone. It was all enough, and then TK came along, and then it wasn’t. And Carlos’s ability to lie to himself so successfully burned up along with everything else he lost in the fire.

He never moved on, he’s still stuck right where he was the day TK walked out on him, and if he loses TK forever, Carlos can’t see a way to ever extricate himself from this spot.

He untucks his right hand, exposing his bare skin to the frigid air and reaching with trembling fingers into the pocket of his jacket for his cellphone. He’s been avoiding this very action for months, but Carlos hurts in every inch of his body as he sits here in the snow and considers a future in which TK is just a jumble of increasingly bittersweet memories and a gravestone he’ll never work up the courage to visit, he can’t avoid it anymore. He presses his thumb into Mama in his contacts and brings the phone up to his ear, choking on an inhale as his heart races while it rings.

“Carlitos,” she answers. “Hola, mi amor, are you keeping warm?”

Carlos vibrates. A miserable noise escapes from his throat and he quickly covers his mouth with his free hand, reduced to clawing back desperate sobs the very second he hears her warm, familiar voice in his ear.

“Carlos?” Andrea says sharply. “Mjio, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

Carlos gasps and squeezes his eyes shut so tightly he gives himself an instant headache, rocking back and forth just slightly against the flowerbed as he fights to pull himself under control – or at the very least to wrestle back enough control so that he can stop scaring her.

“Carlos!”

“It’s not me,” he manages to force out, with a cough. “It’s TK.”

Andrea inhales. “What happened?”

“He was … there was a little boy trapped under the ice.” Carlos’s voice shakes but he pushes through it. “His team was trying to rescue him, and TK went into the water. I’m at the hospital, he’s … they’re saying he might not wake up.”

“I – might not why?” Andrea asks. She sounds so upset, and it only makes Carlos feel even more like he’s about to throw up on the sidewalk underneath his boots.

“Hypothermia. They’re trying, but …” He trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

“Oh, mijo,” Andrea sighs.

“I can’t …” Carlos sniffs and shakes his head. “I just wanted you to know.”

“What hospital?”

“Austin General.”

“Stay right where you are, I will be there in 30 minutes.”

“No.” Carlos sits up a bit straighter and shakes his head. A few fractions of the anguish fall away. He wipes at the tears on his face and new ones don’t replace them. “It’s dangerous, there are people sliding into ditches all over the roads and the first responders are all slammed. Stay where you are.”

“Carlos – ”

“I mean it,” he insists, kind but firm. “This is bad enough without me having to worry about you stuck in a snowbank somewhere the paramedics can’t get to you. Okay?”

She’s quiet for a moment and Carlos thinks she’s going to continue arguing, but she doesn’t. In a heavy, displeased voice, Andrea replies, “Alright. Keep me updated.”

“I will.”

“Te amo. I’m so sorry this is happening.”

“Thanks. I love you, too.” He sniffs again and ends the call before he can catch her response. If he hears her voice for one more second Carlos thinks he might break apart into a million pieces, and he can’t do that right now. He shoves his phone back into his pocket and stands, scrubbing hands over his face one last time to make sure it’s dry and then heading back inside.

Tagging @theghostofashton @strandnreyes @reyestrandd @heartstringsduet @bonheur-cafe @goodways @beautifulhigh @carlos-in-glasses @liminalmemories21 @redshirt2 @orchidscript @freneticfloetry @whatsintheboxmh @wtfuckevenknows

#wip wednesday #911ls fanfic #missing moments #paperstorm writes

[cerseimikaelson]

HIII CERSEI GUESS WHOS BACK (YOUR FELLOW WOTG FAN) WITH MY THOUGHTS ON COTG:

It is such a funny book, my fav jokes being the 'shrek, fiona, donkey' joke and an underrated classic in my mind, the scene where percy is like "There was screaming, crying and running in circles, and that was ✨just me✨" when talking about blanche's story (its so brutally honest and funny in a vulnerable way, which I will expand later on with the vulnerable part of it). It had so many iconic moments

It was a very low stakes, slow plot. You can tell Rick wrote it for the experience of reading our fav characters again (adding on to the fact that rick was made to write it by disney as additional marketing for the show, you can tell the plot wasnt thought of much), and ive seen people get mad over it, id love to know what you think!

This is a bit of a touchy topic. I've seen the people on the internet calling percabeth abusive with the constant name calling and the physical ??violence?? ( i obviously dont agree, but thats another topic), but something I've observed that everything that anti percabeths pointed out was toned down in the book?? Another post confirms that the majority of seaweed brains in the book was from percys pov and not annabeth actually saying it (like when hes looking at her expression and saying things like 'she looked like she was trying to say,....') and also when it comes to physical 'violence' (it feels so wrong to say bc i cant find another word lolol), the only things i found while rereading were 'lightly pinched my arm' and 'nudged me with her toe' which is wayyyy more toned down than ricks usual 'swatting my arm' or 'punching me' or 'judoflipped me'

One thing I admire so much about this book is the way he's written the characters vulnerability. percys way more open when he talks about crying whereas in the books its brushed over a lot, which is something the lovely @demigods-posts pointed out. annabeth tearing up when sally compliments her on something small like a cupcake, grover scared of percy and annabeth leaving him, and ofc percy. i saw someone interpret the river god scene as a ptsd induced panic attack, and i admire how rick has written it with so much angst, but still kept it light for the tone of the books.

another thing i love is how the characters dont revolve around percy as a main character (which is probably something rick learned while writing the tv show). annabeth has hobbies of her own, she's in her dream school, she is a busy woman and good for her. grover regularly goes to camp, and has his own conflicts with his gf and stuff. sally and paul are on their own arc with the baby on the way.

the fluff needs a special mention. every moment is so cute and sweet, there are way too many instances, especially with grover and percy which there was a severe lack of in hoo. them turning to seven year olds, percy and annabeths daily night iris message routine, the domesticity of the jacksons family

As usual, I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions too, im so happy i get to talk about it with you :))

Heyyy friend, how are you? Thanks for the ask!

Since you mentioned her, I LOVED Blanche. Iris is one of my favourite goddesses, so it was great seeing her. And I loved watching a god actually be ignored by their teenage child for once instead of the other way around. Blanche being a propel rebel with the monochrome was golden. (also, pink hummingbirds? lol)

It is obvious there wasn't much in terms of an actual plot with real structure, but it was fun and light-hearted and it does set the foundation for something in the future. Not all quests need to be high stakes, all-hands-on-deck, the world is coming undone. I liked watching the trio have semi normal lives (meeting up for smoothies after school) instead of constantly being on hero mode.

I genuinely had no clue people were upset about Percabeth's interaction in this. But seriously, violence? Did those people forget Annabeth judo-flipped Percy in New Rome, or was it okay then because it was a grand romantic gesture? How is punching someone in the arm to tell them they are being an idiot (provided you don't turn them black and blue of course) abuse? Percy and Annabeth are in a relationship, obviously they are going to be tactile with each other. Not to mention, people often nudge each other in real life and nobody shouts abuse then. I am rambling now but honestly this is the first I've heard of this and I have opinions.

I know Rick wrote the PG version, but can we talk about Zeus literally objectifying Ganymede at brunch and nobody but Hera (and Percy silently) batting an eye? Honestly, I am not a hardcore Zeus hater (although he is an a**hole) but the way Rick writes him he has no redeeming qualities whatsoever. I officially volunteer to be Hera's divorce attorney.

I really liked the idea of Annabeth having a secret fan club and having dinner with Sally, Percy and Paul every night. That was excellent.

I am already brainstorming theories about what the third book is going to be. Does it matter that WOTG isn't even out yet? Absolutely not. I kind of want it to be about Athena because her interactions with Percy are always 10/10, but that probably won't happen.

Feel free to send me asks about your favourite gods and goddesses, any headcanons you may have or anything you wish to discuss about PJO. You can also find me on ao3!

#cerseimikaelson #percy jackson #percy jackson series #pjo fandom #the chalice of the gods #ask #greek mythology

[angst-is-love-angst-is-life]

Can you recommend me some good fics where Barry Allen gets kidnapped :) since in one of your tags you said you read a lot of them lol

I read them, I write them, I live and breathe them. Absolutely anon, allow me to dive into my bookmarks.

Just a reminder, always be sure to check the tags and warnings to know what you're getting into. Stay safe out there folks!

Juncture by @pennflinn may be my favorite fic of all time. Technically he gets kidnapped before the story's events but that's because it's an alternate ending to Escape from Earth-2 (and he is held captive for pretty much the entire fic so). The whump is SUPREME and the overall story is so well written. I will always recommend this fic.

One Second by pennflinn. Another one by penn because she is an incredible writer and HOLY FUCKING SHIT THIS FIC!! It takes my favorite premise for a fic "What if Barry was kidnapped in this scene/episode when he wasn't in canon!" and brings it to a WHOLE nother level. This one is diverges from 1x14 "Fallout" where, instead of everyone getting away semi-safely, Eiling kidnaps Barry and whump ensures. BUT there's another twist to this fic that (in my opinion) makes it stand out from many others-- every once in a while, there's a glimpse of a parallel universe where the events were different and let's just say some of those universes h u r t. Also, I wanted to kill Eiling so bad after reading this that I wrote a ficlet with the sole purpose of murdering him :) Anyways, go read; it's amazing.

Miles Through The Night by @hedgiwithapen. First off, this is an everyone whump fic, Barry is not the only one who is kidnapped but 1. IT HURTS GODS IT HURTS SO BAD I'M DYING. 2. The writing is spectacular, all the characters are super well done, and the story is INTENSE I'M STILL DYING SORRY I'LL STOP NOW. In this one-- actually nvm, the actual summary will do it justice. "With Eobard Thawne dead, life in Central City can go back to normalish. But Barry’s greatest enemy is not a speedster from the future fixated on him, and Eobard’s threat may have been the only thing keeping Team Flash safe from someone who doesn’t consider any meta to be human." THAT'S RIGHT-- AN EILING FIC! Just. Go read it, it's so good and I'm dying.

Lightning Bug by Hedgi. The writing in this was SUPERB and Eiling is a fucking bastard as always (count your days general.). And this time we have another speedster in the mix-- a toddler Wally! Ngl, I just reread this while getting the link and it was SO GOOD-- and once again my words can't seem to do it justice so I'll leave you with the summary "Months after the defeat of Zoom, Barry's main concern (aside from the odd metahuman attack) is helping Joe and Iris raise the four and a half year old Speedster Wally West, Cisco-named "Lightning Bug." And while that's hard, it's nice to have this speedster as family, not an enemy. Things are pretty easy.

Unfortunately, that doesn't last. After all, General Eiling's deal was only good for as long as their mutual enemies were still a threat." Eiling needs to die in a ditch as you can see, but there's some really sweet whump in this and it's because of him soooooo-- anyways, go read; it was fantastic.

Can’t Take That Away From Me by SophiaCatherine (or @sophiainspace on here). DUDE. DUDE DUDE DUDE-- I LOVE THIS FIC. I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS FIC. EVen once the whump passes, the A N G S T is so delicious! From the beginning of the first chapter alone; you'll see the sweet whump AND angst this fic has in store. Oh, and it's Coldflash which I somehow forgot to mention even though that's a foundation of the entire fic lmao. I love it, go read. Also, there is a sequel but it's not Barry being whumped this time... double also; there's a prequel and it's really sweet (no whump in that one fyi)

I Never Told Him by messedupstargazer. I am SCREAMING. THIS. FIC. Fyi, it's Coldflash. SO MUCH ANGST THE WHUMP-- IT'S SO GOOD I HAVE NO WORDS. DYING DYING DYING I AM DEAD I HAVE PERISHED.

Looking through all of these at once has filled me with many emotions and I apologize if some parts were incoherent. I'm probably missing a few and may add more as I find them but for now I'll finish with these two I wrote.

12 hours Barry's kidnapped before the events of the story but I think it still counts. He's trapped in Zoom's lair and forced to run for twelve hours every day :)

Trophy this is my beloved and the entire fic is a Barry whump fest (and angst. a lot of angst.). (or will be, There's one chapter posted atm) Technically we haven't seen the kidnapping yet but in the first scene he is in a cell so. Premise is that Zoom wins in the season 2 finale and everything goes to hell from there. I do feel obligated to warn though that there's not a happy ending for this one.

Thanks for asking! I'm always eager to share Barry whump! :D

#also if anyone wants their tag/@ removed lmk #asks #anon asks #barry allen #barry whump #fic recs #the flash #the flash fanfiction

[vineofroses]

Since it's Tarlos engagement time in the rewatch this week, I'm gonna do a quick self fic recommendation since I wrote two fics about the engagement scene.

First, halted beginnings. Technically about the morning after but Carlos does spend the entire fic pushing away the fact that he's already married.

beta'd by @goldenskykaysani !

Second, fundamental. A meta piece that essentially takes place during Carlos' slight hesitation moment in the clip above after TK proposes. inspired by the thinking that the iris/Carlos marriage probably existed just as an idea early on but then got scrapped, then brought back. And in this meta narrative, the writers, or "Tim," chooses this slight hesitation moment to be like, wait, there's our in to bring that bit of history back, even though we didn't do any of the work to lay that foundation. Carlos as seen in Seasons 1-3 is not the Carlos we meet in Season 4.

also beta'd by @goldenskykaysani !

I didn't really mean to make these fics center around this same aspect of Carlos but I do love that they exist as two sides of the same coin, one as an in-show exploration of Carlos getting engaged to TK while still married to Iris, and the other a meta analysis on how that doesn't quite work when you're working off different fundamentals of a character you've already created.

anyway, thanks for letting me do a weird analysis of my own fics. that's not pretenious at all, lol.

#911 lone star #carlos reyes #tk strand #tarlos #meta analysis #character analysis #fic rec #Youtube

[captainsimagines]

pretty woman, this is me trying || one

Summary: Bucky Barnes does not like to be touched. He’s completely ready to live a distant life and give up when the time is right. Until Stark hires him his own personal pretty woman. Over time, Bucky Barnes begins to learn how to touch again. How to feel again. How to love himself again.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female SexWorker!Reader

Trope(s): Holiday Fanfic ; Slow-Burn ; Friends to Lovers

Based on the Song(s): sweet nothing by Taylor Swift and Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls

(1/14)

Mini-Series / AO3 Link

Warnings: PTSD themes; past sexual abuse (Hydra); strong language; panic attacks; nightmares

Word Count: 2,950+

Author’s Note: A holiday fanfic! You know I couldn’t leave you all hanging! I’m excited for this one. I know it deals with a lot more heavy situations, but I wanted to write something angsty/romantic. PLUS, I wrote this in 3 days so I’m sorry if it’s bad lol

I hope I do you justice. Love you all. xxMoni

~

     Bucky Barnes did not like to be touched.

He did not shake hands, he did not hug, he did not do well with even the slightest brush of someone’s body. The faintest of touches froze him. Paralyzed in the faint sensation. Memories of harsh hands and machines, demented laughter and sedated foreplay, echoed through his mind.

The only person he allowed to touch him when necessary was Steve, and even then Bucky had to remind himself that it was his best friend. The size of Steve’s body was not a danger. The command of his voice was for safety only, and not to order him to strip. The friendly claps on the back were meant to ease Bucky into the world, not to bend him over from behind.

Sometimes he believed he was getting better. Mornings were beautiful, food tasted great, and everyone greeted him with a smile. On those special days, Bucky's heart filled with hope. Hope he could sit in close proximity to someone else, hope he could travel outside the compound and not rely on his super soldier skills, hope he could get out of his head for one second.

But when someone entered a room too loudly, or when he was forced to physically fight an enemy—those special days crumbled to ash, now cruel illusions that sent Bucky on a downward spiral. A spiral Steve usually had to coax him out of with gentle words, words that scarily resembled begging.

So Bucky has given up on trying to fit in. On trying to find the light at the end of the tunnel. On trying to feel human again.

And fuck all that bullshit about being human was to feel pain.

Pain was not a good emotion, and it was mean to give it relevance to the human condition.

It wasn’t an emotion every human had to suffer in order to be considered living. It was an emotion that was cruel and unforgiving and completely, completely exhausting.

If Bucky Barnes had to live his life without touch again, then so be it. If he had to step out of a room to calm his nerves with the repetition of his tapping fingers, then so be it. He did not want to feel trapped, or abused, or ridiculed ever again. He did not believe in soft touches or love making anymore.

First, the war stole his boyhood.

Then the Swiss Alps stole his life.

And Hydra stole his dignity.

His time with Hydra had been documented to horrible extremes. Extremes Bucky was certain were going to be plastered on media outlets and history books. But he had discovered one night, while on a solo-mission to the compound’s lounge, that those theories were unlikely.

Because he had found Tony Stark and Natalia Romanov scouring every database and paper trail about his torture… and completely destroying it. With help from Jarvis, Bucky’s recorded nightmares were erased. Washed out. Encrypted, set on fire, and utterly gone.

Neither Tony or Natalia ever spoke to him of it. He assumed Stark was simply avoiding an awkward conversation, and that he didn’t exactly do good with such rough topics. Natalia did write down the number of her therapist for him.

He threw the piece of paper away.

And on nights like these, he really wished he hadn’t.

Bucky curled up in his thin bedsheets and clutched them close, willing his body to stop sweating. He tried to touch his knees to his chest but he was too large. If he could feel pressure there, then he could fall asleep. If there was added pressure to his back, then the sleep would be immaculate.

He turned and piled the pillows high, setting them behind his back. The coldness of the cotton seeped into his skin, instantly relaxing him. He clutched a throw pillow to his chest and pressed it down, counting by even numbers.

Pressure, a sequence, and breathing.

He could tell by the bright white light shining through his curtains that it was still night. No light that bright could be anything but the moon. That was a reassuring constant for him.

“Shall I ring for Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes?” Jarvis whispered over the speakers in Bucky’s room.

Jarvis’s random voice didn’t scare Bucky anymore. At first, it had caused Bucky to spring into a full blown panic attack. But as time went on and Jarvis continued to speak with him randomly, at odd times, Bucky’s body got used to it. Expected it.

“No, Jarvis. I’m good.”

Jarvis hummed, pausing a little before saying, “Let me know if you need anything.”

Bucky didn’t respond. He never took Jarvis up on that offer anyway.

He curled further into his mound of sheets and pillows and shut his eyes, forcing himself into a dreamless sleep.

He succeeded in sleeping, but relived memories twice over in the dark.

~

    “Twenty bucks says you don’t ask her,” Steve declared, pulling his wallet from his coat.

Wanda giggled from behind the kitchen counter, pouring coffee into her impossibly large mug. Pietro saddled up beside her, stealing the mug for himself.

Sam clicked his tongue. “Bet. I’ll do it today after dinner.”

Steve scoffs, “Fuck off. Another twenty says you won’t have the balls to ask until next week.”

Bucky snickered as he looked between his two friends. He sat with his left leg bent so he could rest his chin on his knee, comfortable enough to be casual this morning. He sipped at his hot chocolate, grateful Wanda gave him one of the festive mugs. It was December 1st, after all.

“After dinner,” Sam promised, slapping his own twenty onto the dining table.

Wanda leaned forward and snatched the money for herself. “I’ll keep this bet safe for the time being.”

“You think she’ll say yes?” Bucky asked, overly curious.

Sam asking Natasha to the annual Avengers Christmas ball? Yeah, right.

Sam puffed out his chest, his smile wide. “I’ll bet more money, Barnes. That’s how confident I am.”

Steve rolled his eyes. He finally picked up his fork and dug into his eggs. With his mouth full, he said, “If you think you know Romanoff, you don’t.”

It was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “Like I said, Cap. I’m confident about this.”

“Well, I think that’s a good attitude to have,” Pietro commented, sitting down beside Steve with own full plate of eggs and bacon. “And when it all crashes and fails, we get to be the ones to tell you ‘I told you so!’”

Sam flung a piece of bacon across the table, cursing Pietro’s name.

Bucky watched it all unfold, feeling both inside and outside the circle at once. He was a part of the conversation, but he still felt benched. His body would lurch forward on its own accord and try to join in—maybe to thump Pietro on the back of the head, slap Steve on the back, grab a mug of coffee from Wanda’s delicate hands.

It was funny, really. Being afraid of Wanda’s hands because of his own history and not because of the power she held within them.

He was both included, and not. There, and nowhere. Inside his head but forcing himself to step out of it. Dissociating for too long until the conversation was on another topic entirely.

Jarvis’s voice snapped them from their play fighting. “Sergeant Barnes, Sir has asked me to tell you that he would like your opinion on something.”

Bucky grumbled, drinking from his hot chocolate. “What does he want?”

“Oh, that’s the wonder of standing up and finding out for yourself, isn’t it, Sergeant Barnes?”

Sam howled, nearly choking on his last piece of bacon. “Jarvis really is Stark’s creation. Jesus fucking Christ.”

Bucky sighed, having been left with no choice. He placed his half-drunk mug in the sink and waved goodbye to everyone, trying hard not to stomp to Stark’s lab.

~

    Stark was under a massive machine with six arms and blue lasers when Bucky walked into the lab later that afternoon. He had ignored Jarvis’s constant badgering and decided to visit the lab after his morning run. Only after it Bucky was certain he wouldn’t physically fight Stark if what he had to say was idiotic.

“My one and only!”

Bucky rolled his eyes and sat at the farthest chair from the monster machine. “You called?”

“And you diddle-daddled.”

To this, Bucky actually laughs. Sometimes Stark got on his nerves, other times he was a breath of fresh, realist air.

Stark climbed out from underneath the metal monstrosity, wiping oil from his hands. Bucky waited patiently as Stark finally sat, cracking his neck three times before speaking.

“So… The Christmas Ball.”

“Uh huh.”

Stark adjusted his seating, slowly lowering himself in his rolly-chair. Bucky watched him become shorter, awkwardly staring at him and the walls simultaneously. Whatever Stark wanted to talk to him about, it was becoming less interesting to Bucky.

“Pepper has informed me that there is going to be an auction. A, donate thousands of dollars to take me out on a date, type thing.”

Bucky grimaced. “Isn’t that prostitution?”

“No, it’s escorting. Prostitution is the other honorable profession.”

Bucky hummed.

Stark wiped a stressed hand down his face, curling his lips as he continued speaking. “Pepper has also informed me that only Thor is being auctioned for real. Meaning, everyone else isn't actually on the roster. Their dates are going to be the highest bidder regardless of what anyone bids that night.”

Bucky frowned, stumped. “So, we’re denying money from actual bidders and rigging this thing?”

“No. Private donors have already given their fair share of money. We’ve flown past our goal for the evening.”

“Then why have the Ball in the first place?”

“Appearances, photo ops, meeting new people—You name it.”

So Steve and Sam were going to be “sold” to their highest bidder, who will also happen to be their dates for that evening. That nice coffee shop girl Steve has been dating for the past six months was already invited…

That meant she was bidding whatever amount she needed to, regardless of the price, for a date with Steve. Money that was already donated before the damn Ball even started.

Bucky looked to the white, marble floor for answers. But all he saw was his distorted reflection, staring back at him with creeping realization.

“What… What about me?”

Stark sighed, shrugging his shoulders empathetically. “I tried everything, Barnes. But the higher-ups forced us to include you, too.”

Bucky was going to throw up. That ball of nausea that often stuck to the back of his throat was crawling upward, scratching his tongue, begging to be let free. To spill all over this damned marble floor.

He whimpered silently, turning his face to his metal shoulder. His hair covered his anguished expression, but it was pointless to assume Stark hadn’t noticed. Bucky’s neck was already redder than the original color itself.

“Barnes, listen to me.” Bucky tried to follow the direction of Stark’s voice. When he blinked, his vision seemed to get blurrier. “Breathe. Tap those fingers. You remember you got fingers, right?”

Bucky counted to three, then began to tap his index and thumb together. He relished in the feel of his skin, in the lifted edges of his fingerprints, of his filed fingernails. Slowly, the world stopped spinning. The chair didn’t feel like it was caving in anymore. The walls stopped stretching and his ears stopped ringing.

The remnants of his panic attack settled in his chest, pulsing uncomfortably. But he could finally open his eyes long enough and not feel like passing out.

“Good, good. Now if you would just let me finish.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, easily amused by Stark’s sarcasm. It was a surprise how quickly the two fell into step after Bucky moved into the compound, seeking each other out for random answers and opinions. Steve had questioned it, but accepted that if Bucky was alright with it, he wouldn’t budge.

“I spoke with Pepper. You have two options: Let me find you a date who I promise will not leak anything to the press, touch you without permission, or annoy you until you feel like swallowing a bullet.”

Bucky blinked at him, eyebrows scrunching. Stark getting him a date? Bucky didn’t want to date any of Stark’s past flings or strangers he might pull off the streets. The rational part of his brain understands that this person will be vetted and practically stalked, but it’s the irrational side that’s telling him this person might just hurt him. They could convince the world they’re the most innocent thing ever, but when he’s alone with them that mask could easily fall off and reveal eight tentacles and a flaming skull.

“Or,” Stark enunciates, standing from his incredibly low chair. He blew a fast raspberry before saying, “You and Sam attend together, or you and Natasha.”

Okay, that seemed like the better option. He trusts both Sam and Natalia, trusts them to keep their hands to themselves and protect him. Yeah, that was obviously the better choice—

But Sam wanted to ask Natalia. Sam has been wanting to ask her a million things before the Ball was ever a reality. His friend had all this insane amount of exhilarating excitement when he even thought about the red head.

Bucky couldn’t take that away from him. Even if his own comfort was the victim in this situation.

“This… person. Will they be an escort?”

Stark’s eyes widened momentarily before he steadied himself. “Yes, and maybe no. They’ll be the person I believe can be most trusted. Are you okay with the possibility of taking a hooker to the Ball?”

Bucky grunted, “Don’t use that word.”

“It’s the 21st century, Barnes. Hooker means prostitute, prostitute means sex worker, and sex worker has a positive connotation nowadays.”

“Just say escort.”

Stark grumbled beneath his breath, turning to a nearby computer and typing something into the search bar. “Jarvis, make sure this web search is wiped from the center of the earth after I’m done with it.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Tony.” Stark knew that when Bucky used his first name, it was a call to turn around and look him in the eye. So that’s exactly what Stark did. “A sex worker expects sex, don’t they? I’m not giving them that, so how can you expect me to be fine with it?”

Stark tapped his fingers against random keys, deep in thought. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding offensive. Jarvis, help me out. How do I say, ‘You don’t have to fuck the person, you can just pay them,’ kindly?”

“We will be searching for people who have voluntarily enrolled in sex work, Sergeant Barnes. Any meeting you set up with them is consensual. And the beauty of consensual sex work is, without a doubt, the freedom of choice. So think about it like this, Sergeant Barnes: They will not touch you if you do not ask. You are investing time, and they will accept the money without a kiss exchanged if that is what you wanted.”

A companion?

Bucky had only ever had Steve and Sam after he returned to the compound. Only ever hung out with them outside in the real world, too. A random person entering the compound and pretending to be his date seemed a little extreme, no? Like he couldn’t make friends of his own.

But wasn’t that the real reason behind all this? Bucky didn’t have many contacts or love interests to take to this damn Christmas Ball so he was being punished for it. Forced to interact with a stranger and the stranger forced to interact with him.

“I can do a proper search of these websites with Jarvis’s and Hill’s help and get back to you in the morning, okay? Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“I only have to meet them tomorrow and that’s it?”

Stark wobbled a flat hand in the air. “Kind of. Spend one day with them and tell me if you think you can last a whole night with them as your date. I don’t want you to be paired with someone I thought was great but you find repulsive.”

Okay, that was somewhat considerate. But a whole day? At best, Bucky will last a few hours before wanting to run under a hill.

“Okay,” he surrendered.

Stark sighed, “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable, Barnes. It’s just… Maybe it’s not the ideal way, but meeting new people isn’t always a bad thing, you know?”

“Oh?” Bucky replied sarcastically.

“Oh. You think I didn’t suffer the same thing? People I knew since birth betrayed me. I’ve got trust issues too, my man.”

“We’re not comparing sad little tales, Stark.”

“Find it in your ice cold heart to be compassionate, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “So, tomorrow then?”

Stark nodded. “I’ll do my best to find you a hot piece of ass.”

“Stark!”

“Sorry! I joke. I kid. I jest.”

Bucky watched Stark toy with his experiments for ten minutes more before bidding him a good rest of his day.

Maybe a companion wouldn’t be so bad. He’d have someone to talk to after all. Text, get coffee with, watch movies with. He could do all those things with Steve and Sam but they were busy. Busy with work, busy with life, busy with everything Bucky avoided for good reason.

And even though his body is physically repulsed by the idea of being in close proximity with an absolute stranger, perhaps someone who was forced to be nice to him wasn’t exactly a lousy idea.

Maybe it was necessary.

~

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes fanfic #holiday fanfic #bucky barnes au #pretty woman au #avengers au #marvel fanfiction #mini-series #captainsimagines #by Moni

[infamous-if]

i just know Rowan constantly torments the band (and Orion) by reciting the "have you seen me without this stupid hat on" line from Riverdale every chance he gets

Rowan would most definitely do that lol!!!

No but honestly he never takes that beanie off. I actually have no idea of the reason why I wrote that particular character detail but it just suits Rowan that he never shows his hair for some reason lmao...

Meanwhile Iris always wears maid dresses and considers it peak styling.

Actually there's a pretty funny (now deleted, of course) scene in which Iris is sitting on Rowan's lap in the car and he sort of gets fed up with their funky styling LMAO

"Did you really have to wear the biggest skirt you own?" Rowan complains, pushing away Iris' frilly black ruffles from his face. "Not to mention how heavy it is with all these chains and shit. Why can't we just be normal for once? What happened to jeans and a t-shirt?" Funny Rowan mentions that considering he's wearing a large shirt made of chain mail.

"I refuse to let you stifle my creative expression," she harrumphs, grabbing a handful of her skirt to hold it in her lap.

"You're so dramatic."

#rowan hart #iris de luca #reference #i guess #inbox #snippet #i swear i shared this snippet before but not sue #sure* #edit: typo oops