#give my dad real armor

[joeloverture]

snowbound | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog | ao3 mirror pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] joel is the only guy you know with four wheel drive in the rarely-snowy state of texas, so it seems like a no-brainer to have him pick you up from work — until his truck breaks down, leaving you two to the classic 'huddle for warmth' solution. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!joel, age gap (assumed 20s/40s), reader borrows joel's coat, but does not wear it and uses it as a blanket, self-indulgent humor & banter, joel has sarah and she's a 15y/o menace which means liberties are taken with the timeline, blink & miss it drug mention, close proximity, unprotected piv sex, vaginal fingering, (mocking) dirty talk & dirty talk alluding to anal but no actual anal, daddy kink, degradation, dom!joel, brat!reader, brat tamer!joel, mild bondage (with a scarf), rearview mirror sex, clit stim, riding, doggy, a few pussy spanks, 2 spanks, truck sex, sort of edging, getting caught after the act [no use of y/n] word count: 12.3k a/n: this fic was a labor of love from a request i received earlier this month. i didn't expect it to be this long but i really enjoyed these two! massive massive massive shoutout to talia, @lovesickonmybed, for putting up with me + advising. this fic was way too much to handle on my own. they're the reason i pulled it off. joel is latino here, but i think game!joel can be interpreted as latino too, so read who you'd like.

“Looking ahead for our chances at wintry precipitation tonight – measurable snow, freezing rain, or sleet. It’s hard to get snow here in central Texas – if only, huh? We’re seeing some strong flurries tonight, turning into snow showers in the early morning. Low chances of any significant build up, but you can expect hazardous driving conditions. Black ice and low visibility will make extensive travel dangerous–”

The radio in Keith’s Hardware is old fashioned, curving around the volume and tuning knobs. It’s one of the ones that still has a dial pointer, which is almost always aimed at 92.7 if Keith’s in the back (country); 96.7 (pop) if it’s just you and the only other girl that works in the carpenter’s wet dream of a store. Right now, though, it’s neither of those stations. The pointer is at 162.4, the weather station.

You’d known you were in for it on the drive into work. Watch the weather and it’s real nasty out there airing from your parents lips on your way out of the house for your eight hour shift. The drive had been a gunmetal sort of gray, clouds streaked through the sky and spitting bullets of sleet at your windshield.

For a little bit, the weather had almost cleared up. You’d sworn you’d seen a splotch of sun when you’d tried to step out for break, just to be driven back in by your too-thin jacket and the cold as balls temperature.

Now, though? It’s fucking freezing, and the flurries that the weatherman mentioned are starting to fall. And as much as you’d told Keith that your shitty two-wheel-drive couldn’t handle it, he’d insisted on scheduling you and Liz for close.

Which is where Mr. Miller comes in.

Joel Miller, your dad’s buddy. Joel Miller, the grumpiest secret-softie you’ve ever met. Joel Miller, a knight in shining armor with his 4x4 Ford F150 instead of a horse. Although, if your fantasies are correct – and you like to think they are – what’s between his thighs certainly makes up for the lack of a horse. But he isn’t bringing you for a ride on his cock. He just so happens to be the only man your dad knows with a four wheel drive vehicle, or at least the only one willing to spare you from spinning out by giving you a ride home. Just thinking about it has a knot pinching in the back of your throat. His hands, big and wide and stretching over the gear shift. One muscled arm dangling over the wheel. Looking over his goddamn shoulder to back out —

Liz hops up on the check-out counter where you’re counting up the last of the cash, a spread of Hamiltons, Grants, and Jacksons. You wouldn’t expect a girl like her to work at a hardware store, especially one in the backstreets of the seedy part of town. Some sort of family emergency had driven her back to Austin from NYU design school, which you’re thankful for. Mainly because you get out of cutting wood panels since she has the better eye for measurements, but also because after years of sulking in Keith’s, you finally have someone to talk shit with.

“Those heart eyes aren’t for fuckin’ Alexander Hamilton,” Liz says, tapping her acrylics on your ledger to get your attention. You cough, flipping her off with your pen still in-hand. Liz hums, pretending to think about it as you put down the last numbers. “Although I wouldn’t be too surprised. You do love a geriatric man.”

“Joel isn’t that old,” you scoff, arranging the bills into slim white envelopes and then licking them shut. “He’s just an… acquired taste.”

“Sure, his jizz probably tastes like prohibition-era booze–”

“What the fuck,” you wheeze, hands going out to brace yourself on the closest display case. Your head dips as your chest shakes with laughter.

Liz stays completely straight-faced as she continues, “You’ll have to have 911 on speed dial because if you clench, his heart’s giving out.”

“It is not,” you say, voice still strained with the laughs that won’t stop punching out of you.

She puts her hands up in defense and crosses her legs at the ankles. “Hey, it’s not my fault you like playing whac-a-mole with Great Depression dick.”

“Liz!” You playfully shove her off of the counter, thrusting the envelopes into her hands. “You’re nasty. Fucking nasty.”

She splays a wounded hand over her heart, fanning herself with the envelopes. “You know you love me.” She slips into the office behind the register. You hear the click of the safe before she calls over her shoulder, “Any particular reason you’re fantasizing on the clock?”

“Not fantasizing,” you refute. Liz pops out of the back with a uncertain look scrawled on her face. “My dad talked him into picking me up today so I don’t drive into a snowbank.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a shitty porno.”

“Don’t give me hope.”

“I’m just saying,” she grins. “You can still come to mine. Only a five minute walk with zero chance of rejection.”

“You have such little faith in me.”

She purses her lips. “Mkay…. Pro-tip: Keith probably has some Viagra sitting around in his desk drawers.”

“Liiiiiiiz,” you say. You’re about to tune her out completely when familiar headlights light up the wet asphalt, beaming through the windows. The engine idles, a soft rumble through the linoleum floors. The truck lights dim, leaving Joel in the buttery shine of the streetlamp. His thick arms stretch across the wheel, and he rakes one large hand through his hair. “Shit, speak of the Devil.” You clip off your nametag, tossing it into your half-open bag. “Can you finish closing tonight? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“No problem, no favors necessary.” She closes the register. You fumble to get your bag over your shoulder, not wanting to keep Joel waiting. “Use protection!” she calls after you, and you make sure to flip her off one more time as the door clangs shut behind you.

A wall of cold hits you like a blade of lightning. Wind unfurls, mauling telephone lines and frosted treetops, rippling your jacket. Not even the worn scarf around your neck seems to be doing its job. Suddenly, every one of your limbs feels like an icicle. Joints almost freezing up, you half-jog, half-penguin strut your way to Joel’s passenger side. You wipe the ice off of the door handle with your sleeve. A few stray flurries dust you as you tug the door open, exhaling in relief as you haul yourself onto the side steps and into the toasty warmth of the Ford F150.

You cozy up in the seat, too preoccupied by thawing your hands with long, winded breaths to notice the affronted look Joel is throwing your way. “Are you tryin’ to catch your fuckin’ death, girl?”

“No death to catch. It’s not that cold.” The way you’re shivering says otherwise. Joel pins you with the raise of his brow.

Before you know what he’s doing, he’s groaning as he reaches over the center console into the backseat. You see a flash of his trucker jacket before it lands in your lap, flannel-lined and heavy. You use it like a blanket, draping it across your torso and wrestling your hands into the inside pockets. The canvas smells like car exhaust and off-brand Dollar General deodorant, two things that are so inextricably Joel. As much as you hate to admit it, the warmth is already inking its way across your skin – or maybe it’s just being next to Joel that’s heating you up. “Thanks,” you grumble.

When you adjust in your seat, the inside of your foot catches an empty Dr. Pepper can on the floor. It rattles when you accidentally kick it forward. You lean down and pick it up, going to place it down in the cupholder, only to find it overpopulated with random Home Depot and Whataburger receipts.

“Tax deductions,” he shrugs. “Gotta eat on the job.”

“And a…” You pick up the receipt and squint at the faded typography. “$3.29 strawberry milkshake is part of that, I figure?”

Joel grunts, “Tommy’s order.”

You smirk. “Sure it is.”

“Quit shit stirrin’ and put on your fuckin’ seatbelt.”

You reach back, fingers snagging it and tugging it down. Groping for the belt between the seats and the center console, it goes on for at least five seconds too long before Joel grabs the buckle and shoves it into the slot. His fingers brush your thigh as he pulls away from you and settles his foot over the gas pedal. The singular touch shouldn’t make butterflies beat at the walls of your stomach, but it does. Everything about him does.

Now that you’re all settled in, everything about him is also settling in. The fact that he’s only wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt now that his coat is off. His sleeves are constricting enough that his muscles bulge below the strip of fabric. Ample scruff dapples his jawline, and his hair is disheveled in the way that you’ve learned you like it. You trail your eyes down his body, his tummy, across the undone drawstrings of his dark gray sweatpants, and no, you move on quickly from there, because you refuse to get riled up in the passenger seat.

He’s slowly peeling out of Keith’s parking lot, arm thrown over the back of your seat. You’re starting to fail at your mission of not getting riled up when you see the flex of his bicep, the way his eyes meet yours as he turns to look through the back window. He turns out of the parking lot and onto the relatively barren, icy streets–

“What the hell are those?”

Joel side-eyes you, brows furrowed. He follows the line of your gaze to his feet, which you’re used to seeing in New Balances or steel-toed work boots, but are instead wearing… fur-lined crocs.

“These here? Yeah, got ‘em recently, good for my days off with all this nippy weather. Sarah told me they’re ‘all the rage’ with the youth–”

You can’t help it. You damn near double over with laughter, clutching at your stomach. Joel’s coat nearly slides off of you, but you hang onto it with your pinkie finger, quickly going dizzy from lack of air. “‘All the rage’? Oh my fucking God– Joel, she was pulling your leg. Those are fucking hideous.”

“Hey, now–” He sighs, pinching his nose bridge with the hand that isn’t dangling over the wheel. “Zip it, I don’t needa justify my shoe choices to ya.”

“Does she do anything other than give you shit these days?”

“You’re one to talk about givin’ shit, y’know,” Joel says. Unfailingly, he smiles. The smile that pulls at the edges of his lips. The smile that he only ever gets when talking about Sarah. It doesn’t matter where – loading up his plate with barbecue, your dad asking him while he’s picking up junk mail in the morning, or on the job. If someone asks him about his daughter, Joel fucking beams.

He sucks on his teeth for a second, and then, “She’s picked up soccer. Goalkeeper. Damn good at it, too, all them other kids on her team can’t match her collapse dive.”

“Of course they can’t,” you say. “She’s got better reflexes than a house fly.”

Joel hunches over the wheel, effectively ending the conversation as he concentrates on the road. The only noise is the rumbling engine and the wagging of the windshield wipers as he attempts to navigate the black ice polka-dotted roads. It shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, seeing him in such a state of focus, his thighs tensed as he manipulates the gas and brakes to stop early, start slow. His arms thickening when he makes a right turn. Thumbs drumming drumming drumming on the wheel and maybe they’d do the same between your legs—

“So how’s work?” you blurt out.

Joel mumbles something that you can’t quite make out.

“Huh?”

“Fuckin’ ‘big shot’ gringos up my ass all day. Goddamn shitshow.” He shakes his head, his lips thinned. “I tell ‘em terraforming is gonna make it look like a Flinstone-owned-and-operated putt-putt course. They say do it anyway. I tell ‘em that orderin’ custom windows is gonna put us months behind. They say do it anyway, then come up jibber-jabberin’ all ‘bout how long it’s takin’. And it’s fuckin’... window madness, not one window in that hellhole matches another. Ain’t had so much trouble buildin’ a house since Sarah had me build her one from Hobby Lobby when she was little. Their architect musta been doin’ lines.”

You think you’ve seen Sarah’s dollhouse before when visiting, just in passing when the guest bedroom door was left open a smidge. You remember stalling in the hallway to look at it, with a fleece of dust growing on the tediously placed shingles and the oakwood front door left open like it’d been waiting for someone to come home. But Sarah outgrew it, and although Joel would never admit it, you know he’s too sentimental to leave it on the curb.

“How bad can building a dollhouse from a kit be?”

“With a five year old yellin’ like a drill sergeant in your ear? Worse than you think. She even made me rig the damn thing with electric so she could have her pink chandelier.”

You pout at him, “Wah wah, I’ll bet you loved it.”

“Was a nuisance at the time. But, uh, she was fiddlin’ with some ‘a the dolls I’d gotten her. Don’t think she knew I was watchin’, had gone to put ‘er to bed ‘cause it was a school night. She was readin’ this book I always read to her. Something about… a stuffed bear with a missin’ button and a girl that was tryna to buy him. I don’t fuckin’ know–” “Corduroy?”

“Yeah, that. Anyway, she was reading, usin’ the same tone I always used with her, tucked her dolls in for the night, and switched off the lights. I don’t think I loved it until then.” There’s a glistening in his eyes at the memory.

You smirk, “Sentimental bastard–”

The truck slides. Or maybe it coasts, skimming across the thin film of black ice. Joel eases down on the brakes, hauling to a stop next to a Minivan with its warning lights on. It’s a long stretch, and you can’t even see all the way down the highway with how thick the snow is. No two snowflakes are the same, but you find it difficult to believe when you’re looking at what must be millions of them. They pirouette, landing on window panes, rooftops, and wind-agonized tree branches. Everything is blotted with white. Red warning lights glare on the ice back at you.

“Shiiit,” Joel says as he squints at the road ahead of him. He scratches at his scruff.

“Tell me you’re not going to drive through that shit.”

“I’m not,” he says.

“Then how the fuck are we getting home?”

“Chill it–” “That’s the last thing I need to do,” you huff.

“I’m takin’ the detour.”

With that, he jerks the wheel — a bit too recklessly considering the weather, in your opinion – and pulls off onto a slippery backroad. The snow seems to have clung to the trees more back here, a sort of incandescent saran wrap over the oaks. At a bend in the road, icicles hang from a yellow sign that says CURVE 30 MPH. Joel takes it at ten.

You’re not checking out his hands while he drives, no, of course not. You’re looking at the gazillion lights on his dashboard display. “You usually have that many lights on?”

“Ain’t your truck, ain’t your business.”

“I’m ridin’ in it, ain’t I?” you mock his accent. 

Joel sighs heavily. “Drivin’ me up the fuckin’ wall.” His hands clench briefly around the wheel. “Auto repair shop’s been price gouging, I’m tryin’ to get Tommy to hook me up with his buddy in San Anton–”

“Won’t be able to drive to San Antonio if your bumper falls off halfway there.”

Joel’s voice is dry as bone. “Ha ha. You get off on bein’ a smartass?”

It’s three words – that’s all it is. Just a throwaway phrase that he probably doesn’t even realize he said. If it were anything more, you’d know. But Joel, saying those words in that order? Damn him, because it turns your blood effervescent. You stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together underneath his coat. You’re about to make another quip that’ll not only distract you, but also surely drive Joel up the wall, one of your favorite activities.

His truck putters from ten miles per hour to eight.

Eight to six.

Six to four.

“Motherfuckin’.... shit,” Joel says again, this time much more urgent as he wrests the wheel to the side. The truck skims over the frosted roads and onto the shoulder, rolls for two seconds, and then falls to a complete, utter stop. The windshield wipers pause while they’re still up. Heat no longer spits out of the dusty air vents.

It’s the loudest silence you’ve ever been in.

“...So do you get off on letting your truck break down or–”

Joel sighs in the way that dogs do. “Thin ice, missy.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls out his phone. “I’ll give Tommy a call.” He stares at the screen for ten seconds. Taps it. Shakes it.

“No service?” you ask.

“No service.”

“Let me try mine,” you mumble, shifting in the car seat. Sure enough, zero bars. Even though you know it won’t work, you press your dad’s contact. It goes straight to voicemail. “Well, shit.”

“Shit,” Joel echoes.

It’s unspoken, but you both know the harsh reality of this harsh wintry night: no phone service, no operational truck, and… no heater.

“Hang tight,” Joel says, reaching over the center console and hijacking his coat from your lap. He wrestles his arms through the sleeves and zips it up. He shoves the door open against the hoarse wind that keeps the trees at a slant, hops out, then slams it shut hard enough for the vehicle to rock. From how hard the wind was blowing, stray flurries dust the truck’s interior.

You can’t really see what he’s doing – the snow’s too heavy, the hood popped wide open for him to investigate the truck’s viscera. You run your hands up and down your thighs, already feeling cold. Without the heater, it won’t be much longer before you turn to an icicle in the passenger seat. The hood bangs back down.

Joel climbs in from the backseat, slams the door as hard as humanly possible, and then scoots to the middle seat. 

You crane your neck to see him as he shakes out his cold-reddened hands before puffing air into his cupped palms. “What’s wrong with it?” You ask. 

He lets out a frigid breath. “Don’t fuckin’ know, snowin’ too damn hard to tell.”

“Ten bucks it was one of the lights on your dash,” you say.

Joel glares at you, still huffing into his hands. His fingertips are bright red to match his ruddy cheeks. Snow is sprinkled through his hair like soot, quickly melting to beads of water on his windblown curls.

“Got some… hand warmers up in that glovebox. Grab the whole pack.”

You lean forward, kneeing it open and rifling through all of his shit. Insurance papers, more receipts, Miller Contracting business cards, a folded pocket knife, lens wipes, and –

“When’s the last time these saw daylight?” you huff out a laugh as you hold up a battered box of condoms. 

Turns out, snow isn’t the thing that makes Joel Miller redder than a tomato. It’s the fifteen year old, very expired condoms hiding in his glovebox.

He clears his throat and averts his eyes. “Jesus. Forgot those were in there.”

You shake the box around and pluck a condom out of it. Looking for the expiration date, you turn it over and over in your hand. “August 31st, 2004. Really that long since you got some, Miller?”

“Put ‘em back,” he grumbles. “Pain in my ass.”

You snicker, replacing the condom box with the box of hand warmers. They’re unopened, still sealed. You snatch Joel’s keys out of the ignition and swipe them across the tape. “Happy?” you toss them over your shoulder.

“No.” He tears open the pack and rubs his hands together around the warmer, sighing when it begins to heat.

“Dick,” you grumble.

More tearing. “Brat.” Another warmer lands in your lap.

“Oughta get comfortable. We’re gonna be here a while,” Joel says.

“And whose fault is that?” You ask as you weigh the warmer in your palms. The front seat already feels cramped, and you’re quick to unbuckle your seatbelt. Your legs and arms fold like pretzels as you climb into the backseat. The curse that leaves you when you hit your head on the roof has Joel rolling his eyes.

“Pipe down. First thing in the mornin’ I’ll make the walk out to that country club a mile out and use their phone. Just gotta ride out the night. You ain’t ever roughed it before?”

You fall on all fours on the backseat, finally pulling yourself upright next to him. “Never had a reason to. Like, what if I have to piss? What if I get hungry?”

Joel shrugs. “Tough.”

The cold is starting to settle into your bones. Even your tongue feels popsicle numb, and your fingers are stiff where they wrap around the warmer. It’s like you’ve been trapped in a snowglobe and shaken up by a handsy toddler with how the wind rattles the truck and the snow swishes outside. You suppress a shiver, leaning against the door. Condensation is already building on the windows. Absent-mindedly, you begin to trace a portrait of Joel in the moisture. Your fingertip squeaks against the glass. Your masterpiece wouldn’t be complete without his signature scowl, so you’re sure to paint a frown on his face and his forehead wrinkles on thick.

“Didn’t know you were an artist,” Joel comments from the opposite side of the back. “Looks nothin’ like me, by the way.”

You smirk, “But you knew it was you.”

Because there’s nothing better to do than burn time, you spend the next ten minutes filling up the window with whatever nonsense doodles come to mind — hearts, stars, trees, and of course, the only one that Joel seems to be fond of: Sarah, smiling and curly-haired.

Reality only settles in when you’re done with the ephemeral illustrations, their outlines starting to dissolve back to regular droplets that streak down the windows. You’re stuck, for God knows how long, on this shady backroad that the Zodiac Killer would’ve loved during his heyday. With your dad’s best friend that you’ve been harboring a dangerous crush on.

And it’d be impossible to forget that it’s freezing fucking balls.

“Joel?” you say into the dark truck.

“Hm?”

Always one to speak your mind, you say, “It’s freezing fucking balls.”

A sound that might be a laugh leaves him. “Here,” Joel says, unzipping his jacket. He tosses it over to you, and you snuggle back up with it, nose burrowing into one of the creases in the fabric. His coat smells like him – like cheap body wash, chewing gum, and gasoline. 

You try putting your hands in the pockets, even going as far as to open up a new hand warmer for each one, but they’re full of loose change and, expectedly, more receipts. When you curl up against the corner between the door and the seat, the hard plastic bites into your oversensitive back. Sitting upright or cross-legged doesn’t work, and when you test drive sitting diagonally with your feet propped up on the console, Joel makes a disproving noise and swats gently at your shin. You prop your forehead up against the window, but it’s cold enough to give you a brain freeze. 

“Jesus Christ,” Joel snorts. “Get over ‘ere, you wuss.” He hauls you over, big hand splayed over your waist, and drags you across the bench to his side. You yelp in surprise, but only for a second before you’re crushed against Joel’s side. “Can’t have ya gettin’ hypothermia,” he jests.

You don’t know where to put your hands, but eventually, you settle on cupping his neck. Touching Joel, hell, even just being near him, is like being by an open furnace. Or maybe the heat is just your stomach doing somersaults at being this close to Joel after years of frivolous pining. His nape emanates warmth, the kind that flows down your arms and wraps comfortingly around your chest.

Joel exhales, the tendrils of his breath curling from the frigidity. He grabs his coat from the side and flattens it over the both of you, a piss poor replacement for a blanket, but all you’ve got.

Still, cold seeps in through the cracks in the doors, spoiling whatever lukewarm air remains. It doesn’t help that Joel had hopped in and out of the truck to play eye spy under the hood. The truck struggles to hold onto heat properly, especially when it isn’t producing more of it.

Joel sort of… flickers against your back. You think nothing of it until it happens again, this time in short bursts, and then turns into full on shivering.

“Who’s the wuss now, old man?”

Joel tenses up behind you. “Funny,” he says. With your hands cushioned against his neck, you feel the grate of his voice in his throat. “This is the best you’re gonna get unless you wanna be butt ass naked to share heat.”

It should be a joke. But the way he says it… doesn’t sound like a joke.

You go still, lifeless, not even sure if you’re shaking anymore. Because now, the only thought in your head is being pressed against Joel, his soft cock hardening against you, his palms splayed and rubbing over your stomach to keep you warm. And if his cock needed to get somewhere warmer, too…. Your clit twitches at the thought.

You smother the initial shock in your voice with your usual solution: sass. “So what, we’re gonna fuckin’ huddle for warmth?”

As much as you enjoy the idea, you're already dripping — and that’s just from your body being pressed against his, breathing the same air as him, closer now than you’ve ever been before. With no panties in the way, it’s not a stretch to say you’d be dripping down his thighs. You’d hate to have that conversation.

“Would you rather freeze to death?” Joel asks. You look up at him from where you’re curled into his side and find no gleam in his eyes. This isn’t just some knee-slapper for him. Joel Miller is being completely, irreversibly serious.

“I’d rather something less like Naked and Afraid, Joel!”

“It works,” he says, nose flaring. “They do it in those fuckin’... action movies all ‘a the time.”

“I didn’t know Hollywood was writing survival manuals for pervs–”

“God, you’re a piece ‘a work, ya know that?” His eyes flick down to you, and maybe it’s just the fact that this road is damn near pitch black, but his pupils seem larger than before. “Listen, I ain’t tryna perv on ya. I also ain’t tryna send you back to your old man with four fingers missin’ from frostbite.”

There’s no way you’re actually seriously considering this. You’ve heard of cold temperatures impairing thinking, but not like this. Your dad’ll go chasing after Joel with a pitchfork and a shovel if he finds out the man who was supposed to get you home safe and sound was cuddling naked with you. Cuddling naked with you in the backseat, no less. You’re certain Joel won’t try anything – he’s not like that. No matter how flustered you get in his lap, he’d never take advantage of you. What you aren’t certain of is your ability to stop yourself from asking him t0 take advantage of you.

This is practical. It’s only supposed to be practical. He wouldn’t be suggesting something this drastic if you both weren’t shaking like a rattlesnake’s rattler.

“Fine,” you say, already unwinding your scarf from around your neck. Determined to keep some semblance of boundaries up, you add, “No peeping, Miller.”

Joel makes an exasperated sound as you once again scoot out from his coat and across the bench, working yourself out of your shoes, your cotton zip-up, and then the stiff Keith’s uniform – a blue polo and jeans. Joel’s eyes are respectfully trained on the truck’s floor mats, which you’re only just now noticing has a sun-bleached Lisa Frank sticker tacked onto it. 

Down to your bra and panties, your heart rate picks up. Your fingers are so fucking cold that it’s hard to get your bra straps out of the way so you can unclasp the damned thing, and then it falls to the floor. Your nipples harden in the face of the cold. The only thing you keep is your scarf, which do you do your best to cover your tits with. Scooping up your discarded clothes and tossing them to the front seat, you let out a shaky breath.

Fuck it.

You shimmy out of your panties and get rid of them just as quickly. When you try telling Joel you’re decent, or rather indecent, nothing comes out. Instead, you have to clear your throat with a strained,  “All good.”

“Alright,” Joel says, rustling around. You hear his crocs scrape against the mat, and then his shirt swishing over his head.

He doesn’t tell you to look away, but since it’s implied, you look out of the window. The snowy trees tremble in the wind, and you almost wince when you see a small sliver of his tanned skin reflected in the glass. His crocs clunk on the ground when he kicks them off, and you watch his criminally tight t-shirt go flying over the passenger seat. You casually grip the Jesus handle, hoping that Joel doesn’t notice your fist tightening around it when you hear him untying the drawstrings of his sweatpants. When his sweats and boxers follow the path of his shirt, breathing gets a lot harder than you remember it being.

Just an hour ago, you’d been certain that this would be nothing more than a ten minute drive. Maybe, if you were lucky, he’d call you a casual pet name that would fuel the wriggling of your hand between your thighs that night. 

The tension in the air is thicker than molasses. Each breath you take is fragile.

“I’m ready when you are,” Joel says.

Since you’re already half-naked, and since chickening out is out of the question, you inch over to Joel’s side. The air tumbles out of your lungs in one fell swoop when your bicep meets his. With some fidgeting, you bring your legs up at an angle beneath you, wrapping around his side in a way that has you feeling a little bit like a koala. You talk yourself into keeping your eyes forward and then scrub your palms across your freezing arms.

Joel, more indifferent than you think anyone else in this situation could be, abruptly casts his coat back over the both of you.

And, fuck him, he’d been right. The engulfing canvas of his coat keeps warmth trapped where it can be passed easily between the two of you. Or maybe it’s just being confined and skin-to-skin with Joel that has you heating up.

The silence is cruel – it’s much harder to make conversation about work or dollhouses or whatever the hell else when you’re naked. Only the wind’s sibilance keeps you company.

You can get used to this, you think. Drift off into a somewhat sound sleep with your head on Joel’s shoulder and hope that you don’t drool all over him or moan his name in your sleep. More embarrassing things have happened to you.

But then, as if you’re the unluckiest person alive, the temperature drops even more, and suddenly, you’re shaking like a leaf all over again. Your teeth almost clack together as you try to stammer out to Joel, “C–cold, Jesus fucking… Christ that’s cold.”

Joel pouts down at you, but you don’t miss the way his lip quivers. “Should I call the wambulance?”

“Should I call the r–r–r–retirement home to pi…pick up a ru–runaway resident?” It sounded a lot better in your head than bouncing off of your frozen tongue, you have to admit.

“Drama queen,” Joel mutters into your ear. “Can’t do anythin’ more about it. Sorry–”

“Can I sit on your lap?” you blurt out so quickly that you don’t even have time to think about it. You grimace, partially covering your face with your hands. Shit.

Joel’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

You’re already half doomed. Why not go all the way? “Listen, it’s just fucking… fucking freezing, Joel. Holy shit.”

“That bad?” he chokes out.

“You’d be warmer than the seats,” you defend. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Best behavior.”

Joel seems to ponder it for a moment, brows stitched together while he looks down at you from where you’re furled up against his side. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek before giving you a slight nod. “Alright.” You nod in return, heart in your throat. “–But you better mean it when you say best behavior. Can’t have any ‘a this shit gettin’ back to your dad.”

Another nod. You hold your breath as you shinny your way onto Joel’s lap, mounting him from the front so his chest hits your back. In your attempt to get comfortable, you bracket your legs around his. His soft cock fits at the small of your back, and even though he’s as flaccid as can be, he’s big. Apparently your imagination isn’t too far off. Joel’s sharp intake of breath forms a pit in your stomach, and you know when you’re warming up for an entirely different reason than close proximity, you also know that you need to calm yourself down. Fast.

Think of something awful. Like that time that you had to dissect cow eyes in sophomore year biology. Think about mold. How many murderers you’ll walk by in your lifetime. Expired leftovers. Anything–

You adjust yourself in an attempt to get away from Joel’s cock. Instead, your hips move just so his cock slips between your thighs and bobs against your slit.

You whine.

Your body immediately locks up once you realize what you’ve done. Crawling out of the truck to die a hypothermia-induced death seems like a much kinder fate than facing Joel, but no matter how much you scream at yourself to reach out and unlock the door, your hands refuse to move. You hadn’t noticed how wet you’d gotten, and you have no idea how. It’s smeared across your thighs, and now pressed up against your back after Joel’s dick had dragged through it all.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit–

Chancing a look over your shoulder, you’re surprised to find the tips of Joel’s ears flushed, cheeks cherry ripe. His Adam’s apple bobs when you meet his eyes. Holy fuck.

You’ve flustered him.

For some reason, the thought makes your chest a lot lighter. You look away nonetheless, but this time, with a newfound gleam in your eye. There’s no such thing as a bad accident, right?

Maybe Liz was right about having to call 911, because when you ‘accidentally’ repeat the movement, Joel stops breathing all together. His cock, almost hard now, you’ve noticed, bumps against your clit. You almost swallow your tongue trying to keep your moan down.

“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” he asks, his gruff voice scratching at your ears.

“I didn’t mean to,” you lie straight through your teeth, a smug little grin spreading on your face. Something about his semi-hard cock between your bodies tells you he’s going to say no to your next suggestion. “Maybe you should put the coat between us, instea–”

“Are you outta your fuckin’ mind, girl?” Joel’s voice comes out raspy. He shakes his head, clears his throat. The vibrations rumble up your spine. “And take away the whole point of stayin’ warm? Now quit it. Ain’t that hard to sit still.”

You try your hand at listening – for all of two seconds.

You hike your hips up, fumbling with his coat as you slot his cock against your slit once more, pushing yourself forward. The coat slides right off of you, falling in a dark lump on the floor. Neither of you care — you’re both too heated for the lack of cover to make a damn difference. Joel hisses, a sound like water hitting an open flame. His hands fly down to your waist, anchoring you to his lap. A surprised noise squeaks out of you.

“What, you got rocks rattlin’ around in your brain?” Joel scowls. “You’re real impolite for a cocktease, sweetheart.”

Butterflies flap around in your stomach from his words. It’s enough to make your head tip against his chest so you can look up at him, lips shaped in a perfect pout. “I’m not,” you say.

“Not a cocktease, huh? Not even when you’re rubbin’ all over my lap?”

You gasp as your hands fly down to cover Joel’s, nails etching into where his fingers meet your bare skin. You tug at his wrist, trying desperately to guide him where you so desperately need him.

“Not happenin’,” Joel grunts, yanking your hands behind you and pinning them to your waist like you’re nothing more than a poseable doll. His large, work-worn hands make yours look damn near miniature as he holds you down. The sudden roughness douses your inner thighs with a new wave of wetness. “Jesus, girl. Poor thing, gettin’ all hot and bothered. Don’t blame ya for tryna get me to help out. Can feel ya dripping down my legs, gushin’ like a sprinkler.”

“S–sorry, fuck, ‘m sorry,” you whisper, words sticky with your arousal. Your clit twitches from his words, embarrassment and need doing all the work to keep you warm.

“Nahhh,” he says. “I don’t think you are, baby.” Maybe it’s the condescension he’s purring in your ear, maybe it’s the pet name; most likely, it’s a combination of both that has you convulsing in his lap. It’s like he’s found all of the right buttons to press to get you riled up, getting you back for all of your snide comments earlier. 

His fingers find the fabric of your scarf, luring it off of your neck so he can cord it around your wrists. You squirm when you realize what he’s doing, and a breathless huff of his laughter brushes your cheek. “I’ll be damned if you ain’t gonna be, though.” He draws it tight, tight enough for you to feel your pulses bumping into each other. Joel leaves a fair amount of your unreasonably long scarf loose.

“Joel, what the fuck are you up to?”

“Teachin’ you some sweet southern belle etiquette, darlin’. Such a goddamn troublemaker, grindin’ on me like I’m some kinda… frat boy.” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “Pullin’ that shit with your pops’ friend. Real fuckin’ classy.”

“Like you’re so different. Who’s the one that’s tying me up? Huh, Mil–”

You hear the hit well before you feel it, a firm whack to your cunt that makes your vision blacken and electricity scurrying up your spine. It takes you a second to come back to yourself before a ragged cry pulls its way out of your lips. You jolt in his lap, bound arms bobbing in front of you as your body instinctively lurches for control. You damn near kick your feet, accidentally ricocheting yourself into Joel’s chest. His forearms hold you there. 

“Guess I’ll make it crystal clear for ya, baby, since that dumb lil’ head ‘a yours is havin’ some trouble. My truck, my rules. You’re ridin’ in it, ain’t you?” You nod reluctantly as he turns your words from earlier in his favor. “That was a warnin’, you showoff. Think you can bat your slutty ‘fuck me’ eyes an’ get away with murder.” He fucking tsks at you.

He pulls his hand away from your pussy, and you’re both surprised and not surprised at all to see it covered in your arousal, webbed between his calloused fingers. 

“Got a whole goddamn slip ‘n slide down here…” murmurs Joel. You whine, bucking your hips against him. “Oughta just…” he starts, nudging his cock towards your hole. The noise you make is pathetic. “Stop ya from ruinin’ my seats. Cork you right up.” You tense up, fully expecting the intrusion, but his dick passes your cunt right up, instead sliding up to meet your clit. It taps against your swollen nub, and if his goal was to stop you from ruining his seats, you’re certain he’s already failed with how quickly you gush all over the upholstery.

“But that’d be real nice, wouldn’t it? Givin’ ya what ya want so early on…” Instead of pulling away like you expect, Joel griiiinds the head of his cock against your clit. You moan helplessly, head falling back across his shoulder.

And then he does it again.

And again.

And agai–

“Joooooel,” you whine, knees jerking each time his tip meets your most sensitive spot. Heat spins in your stomach.

He backs his hips up “What? Thought you loved this with how much you were gettin’ at it earlier.”

You shake your head rapidly in the negative, chest rising and falling at a breakneck pace while he teases you.

“So you can deal, but you can’t play?”

“I think you’re just taking your sweet old time getting it up, old man,” you grit out, knowing damn well he’s stiffer than titanium behind you.

Joel hums. “Ah, she’s got jokes.” His cock slips back, quickly replaced by his hand engulfing your mound. Your clit twitches ever so slightly against his palm lines, and you’re almost convinced you could get off from that alone. His palm cracks against your cunt again, somehow even harder than the first time. You cry out, eyes burning from arousal and the slightest edge of pain.

With his thumbpad, he taps your clit like he’s just scrolling through the cable guide with a remote. Fleeting movements that have you wanting more more more. It heals the sting of his slap even if the echo of the hit still simmers in your stomach. Your cunt throbs so hard that it hurts, jumping up to meet Joel’s scarce ministrations.

When he retracts his hand, your hips chase the movement. “See this?” he taunts, fluttering his wet fingers in front of your face. You make a choked noise when his drenched middle finger breaches your lips. He doesn’t even need to tell you; you latch on and suck yourself off of his calloused skin. You’re mostly salty, but a little sweet, and tasting yourself on your own tongue by his insistence manages to make you even wetter.

Joel takes his spare fingers, just as soaked, and smears them all around your chin and lower cheeks. He presses down on your tongue as he does. You gag from the pressure, and you can’t hear his laugh over the roaring of your blood in your ears, but you feel it rattle his chest where it meets your spine. Your slick cools quickly against your burning skin, syrupy as it clings to your face. “Need a bib, baby?”

He pulls his finger from your mouth with a pop and your scarf-wrapped hands spring to wipe yourself from your lips, hoping to save yourself from the humiliation of having your own pussy juice anointing your face. You only scoop up a little before Joel lowers his forearm over yours, but for once, you’re faster than him. You swipe your wet hand over his mouth, smudging as much as you can along the scruff surrounding his mouth.

He wraps a burly hand in the scarf and yanks your hands back into place. All you can do in response is giggle, but the breath is swiftly knocked out of you when he drives his cock right into your clit. “Think you’re funny, don’t ya?” He asks, and finally grunts as he rolls his hip into you. A break in his resolve, a sign that he wants this, or at least the discipline of this, as badly as you do.

You almost weep from the pressure, that rope of pleasure in your stomach that he keeps knotting tighter and tighter and tighter with each stroke of his cock, his fingers. “Joel!” you cry out as he follows it up with another firm swat to your clit. His cock spreads your folds as he softens the bashing, nuzzling his tip against your spasming cunt.

“Really, oughta give standup a go one ‘a these days. Be a real hotshot.”

“Oh yeah?” you pant, light headed and woozy.

“Mhm. If the whole crowd’s drunk.” His cock nudges your nub with a new vigor.

“Assh–”

Right as you’re about to press down and follow the sensation, Joel senses it. His cock gives way through your cheeks, just in time for him to land a ruthless slap across your pussy. It’s harder than the others – makes your ears ring for a second, gives you a sort of visual snow that has you doubling over and gripping at the closest object for purchase, which just so happens to be the metal rods coming out of the headrest. 

“Ain’t what you should be sayin’ if you’re plannin’ on gettin’ what you want, sugar,” Joel tuts. He shakes his head at you. “Don’t wanna hear no lip from ya, girl.”

You open your mouth, argument on the tip of your drool-loaded tongue, but your halfhearted attempt at defiance doesn’t last long. Joel’s hand clamps around your chin, denting your skin into your teeth. He jerks your head to face him, knocking you down a peg with scathing eye contact. “You’re pushin’ it.” He loosens his grip.

“As if, Miller. If those pre-Cold War condoms are anything to go by, you’ve been dying for a chance to get your dick wet. Doesn’t matter how much lip I give you, you aren’t gonna blue ball yourself for much longer.” Satisfied, you raise your brows at him.

Turns out, he is going to blue ball himself for much longer, because he lands six slaps in rapid succession across your sopping cunt. The skin smarts, and you cry out. Your grip tightens around the headrest rod to the point of strangling it. Your eyes water, and you can’t tell if you’re crying. Too consumed by Joel, everything has melted into him – the smell of sawdust perpetually sewn into his skin, his cock sealed against your body.

“How many times are ya gonna poke the bear before you learn your lesson, you cheeky little shit?” Joel’s palm cups the inside of your right thigh, just above the knee. He traces circles with his thumb, and heat trails after him with everywhere he touches. “See, the thing about havin’ ‘pre-Cold War condoms’ is that I’ve had a helluva lot more time to learn self control than you. Can wait as loooooong as it takes for you to get your head on right. Don’t matter if you’re waterfallin’ down my seats or not, pretty girl. I’m giving you exactly what ya deserve.”

You whimper, trying (and failing) to get your magma hot core closer to Joel’s unfairly large hand, still splayed out on your inner thigh. You can’t stop how you squirm in his lap, smearing your arousal everywhere with each movement you make.

At a snail’s pace, his hand begins to inch up your leg. Joel pauses to grope at you as his hand travels upward. Handfuls of your skin, rubbing at your scalding hot thighs. Your patience is wearing thin by the time he gets midway there. You need him to touch you. And that’s just the tip of this impossibly destructive iceberg.

You shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t have let him go down this shitty backroad, shouldn’t have agreed to your dad’s ridiculous idea of Joel picking you up, shouldn’t have asked to be naked on his lap, shouldn’t have gotten naked on his lap, shouldn’t be leaking like a twenty-year-old pipe in a building he’d been hired to renovate. If your dad ever finds out–

“Joel, please, please – plea…” you trail off, dissolving into incoherent whimpers as his hand hovers over your cunt. You’re running hotter than a radiator now, and if you both wanted to be warm, then you’ve got your wish. Although mostly gibberish, Joel has to understand what you want from him. It’s just that the bastard is unwilling to provide.

Joel reaches down to pinch your clit, and your body can’t even discern from pleasure and pain anymore. You react the same to it all, back arching as you try desperately to plant yourself on his cock. “Shhh, shhh, quit runnin’ your filthy mouth. Only gonna get yourself into more trouble.”

You swear you hear angels singing, swear you see the pearly gates when he gives your clit a merciful rub. Melting into him, you exhale shakily.

“See? All nice ‘n quiet when she’s gettin’ what she wants.” You wouldn’t even dream of mouthing off to him now.

“I want – I need…” you gasp out, putty in his hands. Moldable to his liking. Everything you’d pretended not to want.

“Go on,” he coos. “Tell daddy what you need.”

You don’t even hear him say that word. You’re too hooked on begging, begging, begging. “Please – Joel, oh god, please – I need… I need… please please please, fuck, it hurts–”

Joel clicks his tongue. “Nuh uh. Start over. Always such a chatterbox ‘cept for when I need ya to be.”

“Wha…?” you ask, admittedly dazed from the harsh treatment that you’ve come to crave more of.

“Tell daddy what you need,” he repeats, words molasses slow.

You clench, gushing even more all over him. Shit, your next paycheck might have to go to replacing the goddamn seats if you keep up like this.

“D–D… D-” you start stammering out, but you’ve lost autonomy over your body long ago, and apparently that goes for your tongue, too. “Da– Da… pl–”

“Any day now,” he scoffs.

“Daddy!” you spit out all at once. “Please, please, daddy, fuck – fuck me, daddy, please, I want your cock, daddy. Feels so fucking big. Need it daddy, it hurts… please, ngh– daddy!” Tears are burning the corners of your eyes, fueled almost entirely by arousal and partially by frustration. You squirm, cunt crying all over the place. 

“M’kay, baby,” he says. Running a hand down your chest and squeezing your nipple on the way down. He slides his hand down your stomach to cup your mound, giving your clit slow, gentle circles. Your hips jump forward, and this time, he doesn’t stop you. “Daddy’s got ya.”

At the first intrusion of his middle finger in your cunt, you jump. It’s a lot compared to what he’s been giving you, but nowhere near enough. A second finger slips inside. He doesn’t have to do much work to stretch you out — you’ve been seeping out of you since you first got on his lap. He’s all too quick thrusting them in and out of you – the messy squelch of your pussy filling the backseat has you burying your chin against your chest, averting your eyes. The heel of his palm bumps persistently at your clit with each shift of his fingers inside of you.

“I know you ain’t a virgin, but you’re soakin’ like one. Too damn cocksure to ain’t have had a cock in ya before. Prancin’ around like a glorified dick trap.” You inhale sharply when his fingers scrape that spongy spot inside of you that you can never reach yourself. A moan rips out of you. The combination of him talking down to you and rubbing your g-spot has you dangerously close to cumming. Your moan is quickly swallowed up by more of Joel’s condescension. 

He starts mumbling to himself then, obscenities that make you clench even tighter around his fingers. “Gonna get you all sore baby, make you regret beggin’ for this dick like a horny ‘lil bitch that ain’t ever been laid in her life. Fuck you so hard you’ll be cryin’ for daddy’s cock up your ass instead, turn you into an anal slut, too.” He’s too busy listening to himself talk, too absorbed in his own world to feel you balancing on that razor-thin edge.

The noise you make is inhuman. You pulse around him, doing your best to stave off your impending release. “Daddy–” you warn, but he cuts you off then, too. Joel grinds his cock between your ass cheeks, his precum dripping down your slit to meet your trembling cunt. 

“Ever been fucked here before baby?” He swipes his tip along your asshole, and the way you shudder is answer enough for him. “Don’t get all jumpy, sweetheart. Ain’t gonna fuck ya there right now. Be cruisin’ for a bruisin’.” Still, he replaces his tip with his free hand’s thumb, simply rubbing at the ring of muscle. You fidget in his lap without an end-goal. You just want to be close to him, want to take everything he’s willing to give you. His fingers hook just right inside of you. “Would love to be the first to unlock this pretty backdoor. If this tight ‘lil pussy’s anything to go by… Christ. You’d look so pretty squirmin with my cock in your ass, baby–”

“Daddy!” You scream as your orgasm guts you. His fingers and his voice rip your climax right out of you and your cum streams down your inner thighs and Joel’s hand, still smacking against your clit with each thrust. Your cunt spasms around his flexing fingers. He has to fold an arm over your chest to keep you from sliding off his slippery lap entirely.

All the way through the aftershocks that make your limbs quake, Joel holds you upright against his body, still bumping his palm and fingertips against your clit and g-spot. You swear you can feel him smiling against your shoulder.

“Didn’t tell ya you could cum, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, flicking his cum covered finger across your clit. You wince in overstimulation, a whine catching in your throat.

“‘M sorry, daddy,” you pant. His hands go up to 

“‘S okay, babygirl. Pretty pussy couldn’t help it when I was talkin’ ‘bout fuckin’ your ass, huh?” His hands rove up your stomach to play with your tits, palming and stroking, getting his hands all over every carnal part of you.

You hum into his bicep, “Mmmm.”

“That’s alright. Don’t mean you’re gettin’ away with a slap on the wrist though. C’mon, up,” he guides with a small slap to your thigh. You adjust, bringing yourself onto your knees so he can enter you from behind. You look down at his sturdy thighs, flexing as he adjusts himself between your legs. He gives you one more teasing thrust through your thighs, poking your oversensitive clit one more time before reaching down to spread your folds.

You moan as he presses against your entrance, and it’s not the best time to have a come to Jesus moment, but – Joel’s size was in no way over exaggerated between your legs. You stiffen in realization, and Joel, attentive as always, notices. He guides your chin to face him and nuzzles his nose up against yours, mouth tracing down to your lips. Your breath mingles, stagnant in the long-forgotten chill. A cushion of softness against all of his spiky edges that showed up tonight. “You’re on top, baby. Take it as slow or as fast as ya want.”

Nodding at the reminder, you find yourself that you don’t want to take it slow. You want to be as sore as he’d promised, want to feel him for days and be reminded of this every time you look at the winter morning’s frost on the shingles outside.

Sinking down over his throbbing length yanks the air out of your lungs as you seat yourself with him bottoming out and going balls deep in your cunt simultaneously. He grunts against you in surprise, softening the blow of your heady moan. “Attagirl,” he huffs into the crease between your neck and shoulder. It’s a stretch, searing up your thighs and to your lower back. You’re brought back to yourself when Joel rolls his hips into you, making the pain liquefy into mind-numbing pleasure. You spend thirty seconds waiting for him to fuck up into you in a way that changes your philosophy around the world, but instead, he’s still and solid inside of you.

“Go on,” Joel coaxes, placing a steady hand just shy of your mound. “Gotta prove you deserve to cum again.” He taps your thigh as if he’s telling you to giddy up, and the shame warms the back of your neck better than any heater ever could.

You whimper. His hands coast up your thighs, squeezing your hips tight before falling to grip the seats below. You’re still weak from your last orgasm, shaky legs struggling to hold yourself up as it is. “Daddy… I can’t…” 

“Ain’t no different than fuckin’ y’self on that vibrator or dildo or whatever the fuck’s in your nightstand. Girl like you, gotta have a wimpy ‘lil fucktoy somewhere.” His words make you clench around him, and he groans into your neck. Joel looks up at the front window, now covered in snowflakes. He smirks when he spots the rearview mirror. “Oughta make you watch yourself. Show a pathetic, cockstarved slut what happens when she bites off more than she can chew.” At that, you mewl, grinding yourself down. The chuckle he lets out is lined with cruelty.

Joel pins you to his chest with one burly arm and leans forward with a hash of grunts from effort. He reaches out towards the rearview mirror, lowering it to face the middle seat that you’re both braced on. He sinks back quickly, and it almost gives you whiplash before you make eye contact with yourself. You can see everything. Tremors travel up your legs and into your arms. Your body is getting freezer burn from how cold and hot you are at the same time. Pleasured tears threaten to spill over your waterline. Joel’s smug fucking face as he murmurs endlessly at you. 

Your mouth is parted as you take yourself in, truly a pathetic, pretty little picture as you pant. “C’mon,�� Joel coaxes, squeezing your ass. “You can do it. Make daddy proud. I’ll even give you a boost.” Joel reaches to your tied hands and quickly undoes the scarf, letting it drop to the floor. You flex your fingers and then reach out for the chairs ahead to get a good grip.

You prop yourself up on your knees, anchoring yourself to the two chairs in front of you. Using a combination of your upper and lower body strength, you rise halfway off of Joel’s cock before your body gives out. His balls slap wetly against your clit. He laughs, still not touching you at all. Your head flops forward as you look down to where the two of you meet, and then at the mirror where his cock is buried deep inside of you. You whine in dismay.

He wasn’t lying when he said he was going to get you sore. You can only moan. It’s pleasure like you’ve never had it before – too much, not enough, painful, so good. “Please, Joel – I can’t… can’t handle it.”

“I’ll decide what you can handle,” he says.

“You’re– you’re so fucking mean,” you rasp.

“Gets you this soaked, baby. Don’t see your pussy complainin’. You love bein’ treated like a piece ‘a meat. Like a little fleshlight for men to fuck.”

You clench, tight. “Ah!” Joel fucking sniggers behind you, but a rush of confidence spills through you at the underlying moan in his throat.

Determined to get what you want, you tighten your grip on the front seats. Haul yourself up, almost so that the tip slips right out, and then collapse back onto Joel’s cock. And, shit, it’s a lot. You doubt you could handle his cock in missionary, but being made to ride him in such a compromising position, sprawled out across his shitty backseat? That’s an entirely different animal, one that you hadn’t expected to have to handle.

You focus on doing just enough to please him and just enough to keep yourself intact. You repeat your movements two or three times, rising and falling. Little moans and whimpers, some pained, some good when he nudges your g-spot just right, slip in and out of you.

“Mmmm, yeah, that’s it. Daddy’s ‘lil wannabe pocket pussy. Doin’ a ‘lil better baby. Keep doin’ that. Jus’ keep doin’ that.”

You’re shaking like a leaf on his cock as you somehow manage to lift yourself another time before fucking back on him. “Daaaddy.” Your lips quiver as you form the word. A single tear runs down your face from overexertion, and he’s quick to wipe it up with his thumb as if it was never there. You look truly whorish and pathetic, just like he’d wanted, bouncing on his cock with the last of the energy you have left in you.

His tip jabs against that goddamn spot again, and you double over on the center console. You take heaving breaths, making eye contact with yourself in the mirror, desperate to please as you attempt to keep humping him with the change in angle. You’re letting out strings of disoriented words, but barely can tell that you’re talking.

“I fuck you dumb already? Slutty little girl. Told ya you were in for it. Ain’t ever had much of a knack for listenin’. Gonna dick you down now, sweet girl.” He drags your legs into the crook of his elbows, holding you upright for him as he shifts to his knees between your legs. Braced on the center console with your pussy settled on his cock, the new angle makes you cry out. You hold yourself up on your elbows, giving shallow rolls of your hips in return as Joel gets settled inside of you.

The first thrust makes your eyes roll back so far that you see black. “Feel good?”

“So… so fu–fucking goo… good daddy,” you whimper into the console, gripping the sides of it just so you have something to hold onto.

“Swallowin’ daddy’s dick whole in this greedy cunt. Goddamn, drippin’ down my fuckin’ balls. Such a masochistic slut, all after a poundin’ from an old man. All up in a tizzy for this cock.”

You moan your agreement, completely submissive to Joel’s wills. You move like a ragdoll for him, letting him yank you back on his cock while he meets you there, thrust for thrust. He pulls out, a small mercy, but when he sheathes himself back inside of you in full, it’s the beginning of a punishing pace.

You don’t even notice yourself drooling all over the console until Joel says something about it. “Droolin’ from two places. Yeah, baby, you needed this. Daddy’s pretty cockslut.” You whine especially loudly when Joel drags you back across the console, damn near fast enough to give your stomach rugburn. 

Hands framing your spread legs, Joel hooks them both around his torso, using the leverage to plow into you. You’re boneless beneath him, mouth frozen in silent moans. His hips meet your ass with each shove of his cock in your sloppy cunt, the obscene sound of slap after slap pealing out within the truck. “Damn lucky we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Joel growls on another thrust. “Someone woulda been knockin’ on the window long time ago with how loud you’re bein’.”

“Mmph,” you gasp when Joel tosses one of your legs up and over the passenger seat. You hold yourself there as he digs his fingers into your other thigh, shifting his spare hand to your mound.

“Daddy please please please plea–” you start panting like a broken record, desperate to feel his hand on your clit, which throbs with inattention on the console. You grind frantically on the edge just in case he denies you again. 

Joel laughs above you, fully smudging two fingers across your clit in a blur of indescribable pleasure. “Ain’t gonna make ya beg this time. Can’t wait to feel ya creamin’ ‘round me… maybe I’ll make ya lick that up too. Nasty bitch.”

“Joooel, oh fuck, please…” you whine as he continues railing you, this time fiercely tweaking your clit in-time with his movements.

The new position has his thrusts meeting your cervix, and you scream, pleasure corkscrewing through your body. There’s nowhere for all of it to go with how viciously it burns in your stomach – all you can do is take it and whine for him. “Takin’ it real good. See what happens when ya behave? You get this fat cock splittin’ your whore cunt in two, jus’ like you were askin’ for.”

He grips your hip tight, clearly expecting an answer. You slur, “Mhm, daddy!”

Joel rubs faster circles around your clit, spouting filth while he drills your pussy. You can tell he’s chasing his own release, too, hips frantically fucking in and out of you, his cock twitching every single time you clench. You’re burning up as he jackhammers your pussy. Your second orgasm of the night brims low in your stomach, “Come on, baby, know you’re close. Feel this slutty pussy squeezin’ me. You gonna ask permission like a good girl this time, or are ya gonna go back to your defiant little slut self?”

“No, daddy,” you whimper, suspended in thin air over orgasmic bliss. He’s rubbing your clit erratically, doing everything he can to hold you in place. “P-please daddy, can I come?” You practically scream it out.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Come for daddy’s, come allll over daddy’s cock.”

The band snaps. Your back arches, and you feel time stop in the second before you fall slack on the console, spasming from the best orgasm of your fucking life. Your clit feels like there’s fucking pop rocks on it, something that not even your vibrator has ever achieved. “Thank you daddy!” you cry out, repeating it as you lose all feeling in your bones. You hardly have any control over your body anymore – it’s just Joel Joel Joel Joel. Sated and weary, you just lay there, letting Joel fuck into you.

And fuck into you he does – roughly, helping you ride out your orgasm as he pursues his. “That’s my girl,” he says, and you swear that alone could make you cum all over again. “Lettin’ your daddy use this juicy, well-fucked cunt to get his own.” He can’t hold back his moans, that’s how you know he’s close, grunting and gasping as he rocks his hips into yours. His hand lands on your ass in a sharp smack, and your pussy clenches in exactly the way that he expected. He lets out a particularly ragged noise, folding himself over you to nip at your neck and rest his forehead against your shoulder blade. “Daddy’s close, where do ya want me, baby?”

“Tits,” you whine. It’s a miracle you can even get that one word out, but somehow, you manage a few more. “Come on my tits, daddy.”

“Fuck!” Joel shouts, yanking himself over you. You help him roll yourself over and sit up on your elbows, and he jerks himself once, twice, before spraying his load all over your tits with the loudest groan yet. His brows fold together as he cums, eyes drooping and his mouth parted as he takes deep breaths.

You sit there for a handful of heavy minutes, listening to each other’s jagged breathing and the sawtoothed wind outside. You’re both so fucked. Literally, and figuratively. Stuck in the buttfuck middle of nowhere, you with your dad’s proclaimed bestie’s cum drying on your tits, and said bestie staring at you with post-coital puppy dog eyes and your cum all over his balls.

You’re the first to speak up, still winded. “That was… that was good.”

Joel nods mindlessly, tongue swiping out to lick his lips. He beckons you closer, and on trembling legs, you bring yourself to the backseat. You return to your previous position, huddled up and curled next to the door. Joel fumbles around under the back bench for a little until he comes up with a small, sunbleached pack of princess-themed pocket tissues that have to be as old as Sarah is. He dabs at your chest before stuffing them into the closest empty cupholder, and then brings you closer to his chest.

You don’t notice yourself falling asleep when all you can feel is Joel.

There’s better ways to wake up than a furious rapping on the window, but that isn’t the first thing you notice. You blink your eyes open groggily, only to face an egg yolk sun cracking wide open over the treeline and snowmelt bleeding out from every given surface. Joel’s behind you, nose in your neck, snoring softly with his arms wrapped around your middle. You take a moment to admire him – his sun kissed skin and his peaceful expression. It takes you a moment to remember you slept with him. You slept with Joel, and it was the best fuck of your life.

You’re stretching, on the verge of a yawn, when you see the familiar head of black hair over the window. “Shit!” you shout. Joel jerks to life behind you, mumbling something that sounds a lot like ‘what?’. 

You scramble to pull the coat over the both of you from where it fell off of you in the middle of the night, covering your naked bodies. “Get dressed!” you hiss to Joel, searching for wherever the fuck your panties ended up last night.

“What the hell’s gotten into ya–” he starts, and you feel the exact moment that he realizes Tommy Miller is outside of the truck. “Motherfucker,” he curses, swaying towards the front seat to snag his clothes. You see him almost put his head through his T-shirt armhole three times before he gets it right. His sweatpants are next, which he tugs up his bare legs without even searching for his boxers.

“Joel?” Tommy shouts outside. “Wake up, sleepin’ beauty!” He knocks on the door again, the windows blurry from melting snow. You have that to thank, at least. It buys you enough time to tug your polo over your head, but not enough time to button it all the way up.

“Fuckin’... dumbass,” Joel huffs as he clips the lock on the door and kicks it open, looking at least somewhat composed. You take deep breaths, looking between the two of them. “How’d you find us?”

Tommy looks Joel up and down, scrutinizing him. “What happened to southern gentleman manners? I came out here to save ya from Mt. Everest, brother! Least you could say is ‘thank you’.”

“Thank you,” you fill in for Joel, even if the last thing you’re feeling is grateful.

“Her daddy threw a hissy fit, y’know? Told him you were fine and we’d go lookin’ for ya in the mornin’. We saw all that backup on the highway, I went this way, he went that way, turns out my gut was right. ‘Course my dumbass brother would take this route… hey, you’re truck’s a fuckin’ mess.” Tommy sinks his hand into the closest cupholder, pulling out a wad of tissues that have been soaked in his cum. You hiss as if you’ve been scalded with boiling hot water.

Joel starts, “Tommy–”

“What the fuck is this shit?” The realization seems to dawn on poor Tommy when he’s peeling apart the tissues, and he drops them like they’re a thousand pounds. You can’t even bring yourself to scold him for littering as the wind carries them away. “Joel. You dirty dog!” He says, eyes flitting between the two of you like it’s the most impossible thing in the world.

Your heart picks up to a speed that can rival most NASCAR drivers and your face burns like hot asphalt. You look pointedly down at the ground.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel seethes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Get outta here, you little shit.”

Tommy’s hands go up. “Hey now, I ain’t doin’ anything. That is not a conversation I wanna have with her daddy.” He clears his throat, effectively clearing the air along with it. “So, uh, truck break down?” Joel grunts in affirmation.

“Been tellin’ ya you need to make a stop at the auto shop… C’mon, I’ll get y'all home,” Tommy says, jingling the keys to his own truck. “Call a tow on the way.”

Joel drags his feet all the way to Tommy’s passenger side. You get your wallet and jacket together, winding the latter around your waist. The sun almost blinds you on your way out, and Tommy stops you.

“I hope you didn’t let ‘im stick it to ya with them prehistoric condoms. You’re smarter ‘n that.”

“God, no,” you huff out.

“I dunno what’s stupider, lettin’ my asshole brother hit it raw or gettin’ a UTI–”

“Okay!” you announce, hands going up as you round the back of Tommy’s truck. “Conversation over.” You’re still smiling playfully at Tommy as you clamber into the back of the truck, sighing when the air conditioner hits.

Just like that, back to the same old same old sunny, shithole state of Texas. Joel looks at you in the rearview mirror and winks at you. You guess not everything has to stay the same these days.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader #joel miller/f! reader

[leonw4nter]

(Second) Prettiest Fairy Princess

Dad!DI!Leon x F!Reader

“Say ‘bye’ to momma!” Leon beams as he holds his daughter, Aurora– or Rory, as you two lovingly call her.

“Bye momma!” the little girl in his arms beam. One hand wound around his neck and the other raised up, a tiny hand waving at you.

You say your own share of byes too, pressing a kiss to your 4 year-old’s cheek before giving Leon his own kiss to his lightly chapped yet still pink lips. You get in the Uber Leon picked up for you, shutting the door and heading to the mall where you will be having a girls’ day with Helena and Hunnigan, your former coworkers. Despite retiring because you were going to become a mother, you still stayed close with the two.

As soon as the car is no longer in his sight, he heads back into your shared home. Rory asks to be put back down so Leon does as she wants, bending down with a slight groan and making sure she’s standing upright before he lets go and bends back up, another groan escaping his mouth along with the faint pops of joints. My age is definitely catching up with me now, he thinks to himself though he doesn’t mind if it’s you he’ll be aging with.

“Daddy! I want to play!” Rory excitedly says as she takes Leon’s hand with her tiny ones and drags him to the stairs, heading for the direction of her room.

“Alright, alright, kiddo. Let’s head up, no?” he asks with a pleased smile. There’s dishes waiting in the sink and laundry waiting to be folded but they all could wait if it means spending some time making his daughter smile. The sight of his daughter’s grin and the gold wedding band that flashes a bright gold beam whenever the sunlight hits it is something his former self didn’t think he could ever experience. Back in ‘98, he was certain that the farthest length of meeting the greatest love in his life and starting a family would stop at dreams and wishful thinking but he was wrong.

He didn’t even realize they had reached the top of the stairs as he almost trips, engrossed in the sweet monologue he had going on in that head of his. His daughter’s tiny arms push him into the pastel yellow and pink room before shutting the door and proceeding to yank out tutus and tiaras from a toy basket.

“Sit.” she sternly says as she points to the carpeted ground right beneath Leon’s feet. Not one to disobey a lady’s orders, he promptly sits down with crossed legs and looks at her with genuine interest. Not too long after, Leon is dolled up to look the part of “a pretty princess for a tea party but you’re only the second prettiest because I’m the first one”, which earns a small laugh from him. Even to himself, he's second to everything because he always keeps his girls at first.

Rory hands him a small mirror so Leon can see the sparkly splash of pink, green and orange on his eyelids as well as the most pink blush he’s ever seen. His lips are the brightest shade of red ever making him look real goofy but if it means making his daughter’s day, he doesn’t mind; she’s the princess and he’s just the jester (and the occasional knight in shining armor). She swiftly puts her own play make-up on, her own lids smeared with different sparkly shades of pink and her lips in the same red shade as Leon’s.

“Your highness, let me get the tea and cookies.” she says in a wonky British accent.

“Alright, my beautiful princess.” Leon says, though he doesn’t put on a fake accent.

“Daddy, no! You’re supposed to also say ‘and please give me the sugar plum tea’! Again!” she says with a hand to the hip, dropping the accent.

“Okay,” he softly mutters with an amused smile. She definitely got the sass from her mother. “Alright, my beautiful princess, please give me the sugar plum tea!” he repeats.

She smiles brightly and excitedly announces that it’s coming right up. She walks out of the room, occasionally coming back in to take some more cups, plates, spoons, and bowls. Wait? Bowls? The princess is putting her heart and soul into this so-called “sugar plum tea”. Because the princess was brought up with manners and polite etiquette, she served Leon some cookies and cakes as he waited, along with a Beanie Baby that her uncle Chris got her (insisting it’s a snack, providing no further explanations). Playing along, he loudly made chomping sounds while she walked out of the room and busied herself with the tea. After a few minutes, she walks back inside with a tea pot and tiny cups filled with water.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, madame. My chef ahem is new to the kitchen so I had to tell him how to prepare tea the princess way,” she apologizes as she sets the cup in front of Leon with a complementary saucer.

With a sharp eye, he looks at the water and sees that there isn’t anything floating on the water; the water doesn’t look cloudy too and it’s impossible for her to have gone downstairs and taken water from the dog’s bowl so he deemed it safe to drink. After all, she did exert some effort into actually “making” the tea. He hooks his fingers in the loop of the tea cup, making sure to emulate the sticking out pinky finger just like Rory is doing before taking a sip. “The water doesn’t have an odd taste. Okay, she definitely wasn’t fooling around,” Leon quietly observes. He gives her a bright smile, complimenting the tea and calling it “the most delightful beverage to ever tickle my taste buds, a true drink fit for the prettiest princesses in this kingdom”, which prompts the little girl in front of him to giggle and start complimenting the “chef” who prepared the “tea” (the “chef” is, in fact, the Djungelskog that Leon got for you when you were 6 months into the pregnancy and very much emotional every time you saw the bear at IKEA’s window or online site). Apparently the chef is French and has worked with Barney and the Little Einsteins, according to her. This entire moment is too silly and wholesome so Leon decides to take a selfie, making a mental note to send this to you later on.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

The tea party carried on for a few more minutes until she got drowsy, prompting Leon to get up and carry her over to her bed. Grabbing a few sheets of wipes, he removes the eyeshadow and lipstick on her face before unclipping some clips from her hair and taking her tutu off. It doesn’t take long for her to fall asleep and Leon picks the toys up, pouring the water out of the pots and cups and wiping them dry before putting them back in the basket. He takes this chance to finally get back at the chores waiting for him but not before he sends the picture to you. Opening the app and choosing the contact named “my Y/N”, he sends a short message asking how you are and detailing the sweet playtime he had with your daughter along with the picture. After an hour or two, he finally finishes doing the chores– even sweeping the floors and polishing the dining table, as well as bathing the dog. He gets in the shower and freshens up, remembering the tender moment hours ago and finding himself smiling wider each time.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

It’s now quarter to 6 and Leon finishes setting up dinner just as the bell rings. He practically skips to the door, his face lighting up with joy when he sees you. He takes your bag and slings it over his shoulder, undoing the strap of your sandals and asking about how your day went. As you step out of them, he takes the heels and places it on the shoe cabinet and puts your bag on the couch. Rory jumps off of the couch, excitedly walking over to you and hugs your legs with the brightest smile you’ve ever seen. She tells you about her and her dad’s day, tiny hand gently holding your wrist as she leads you to the dining table for dinner. You were just about to reach over a piece of food and cut it up into smaller pieces for her when Leon places a hand on yours, telling you that he’ll do it.

“C’mon honey, you were out walking all day. Just sit and have dinner, I’ll do it this time,” he softly says. You don’t argue against him, letting him do the cutting. Rory does all the talking, which you are thankful for since your social battery is nearly drained.

Dinner tasted amazing as usual and now your entire family is in the living room, watching The Little Prince on the TV. What Coco does to Leon, The Little Prince does to you; you’ve never finished the movie without shedding a few tears and laying on Leon’s shoulder for some comfort. Though you both know it’s a movie that has you reduced to tears, you still choose to put it on because not only is it genuinely good, it’s a movie Rory loves. While waiting for the movie to finally load, a question pops up in your mind.

“Sweetie, where’d you get the water for your tea from?” you ask. Leon doesn’t mind, probably guessing that she got it from the water bottle you forgot to bring downstairs in the morning.

“I got it from the fish tank!” she beams. Your smile swiftly drops and your head turns to Leon; you swear you’ve never seen the color drain that fast from his face. The movie finally loads but Leon feels slightly off, the food in his stomach making him feel a little odd. He’s that weak for his little girl; he’s a seasoned agent trained to read people by their mannerisms but his daughter’s devious giggling made it past his normally highly-perceptive gaze.

NOTE - I whipped this fic up right after @agent-dessis-posts asked me if I write dad!Leon and I immediately got that burst of motivation. There was this book called "Make A Wish" that I read around mid-November and the dad matched ID/DI!Leon's description so the whole time I just pictured that version of Leon whilst reading and it was AMAZING (the dad in the book is a single dad to a nine year old which made it even more amazing for me). Anyways, you guys seem to really like my fics which I appreicate a lot so thank you so much!!! I'll post the directory to my blog soon, I'm just making things look cuter :)

The heart dividers are from @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

#fluff #leon kennedy #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy fluff #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #biohazard #death island leon #resident evil death island #dad leon kennedy #dad leon s kennedy

[its-time-to-write]

Can you write a Jamie Tartt request where he and the reader are in the "between lovers and friends stage" and they finally get together when he has her sleepover at his place after finding out her ex was loitering by her apartment?

I’m alive (mostly!) and I’m starting to go through the asks in my inbox again! Sorry to all y’all who have been waiting. I love you!😇😍

p.s. I’ve been obsessed with the song “Margaret” by LDR, which is where the title comes from

(oh also I barely responded to this prompt so that I could write this dumb fic that’s been on my brain forever. so. apologies for that too)

maybe tomorrow you’ll know

It goes like this: boy meets girl, they go to the same primary school, girl kicks around football with boy and sneaks into his room to hug him when his dad’s a prick, boy moves away to become a Premier League footballer and girl cries her heart out because they’re best friends.

Fucking typical.

And yet, he still picks up every phone call. Still answers every text you send. He’ll never say the word “love,” especially not when he’s with Keeley Jones and their faces are all over tabloids and instagram. But you’ll feel it in the way he’s a prick to everyone but you. It’s in the way his voice goes soft when you call him at 2am crying about being dumped by your first boyfriend.

He doesn’t visit, doesn’t phone his mum, but he’ll send you a quick voice message when he can. Usually not saying much, just a snip about training. First it’s all about Pep and the lads at Man City, then it’s about some gaffer named Cartrick and the fact that he’s teammates with Roy fucking Kent.

Jamie never tells you that Roy absolutely fucking hates him, but you know anyway.

Jamie also doesn’t call you when Keeley breaks up with him. In fact, you don’t even find out about it until pictures of Roy and Keeley surface online. You call him as soon as you can, and in typical Jamie fashion, he picks up on the second ring. 

You don’t ask him about Keeley, just let him talk about football and the new manager from America, and the fact that maybe Richmond isn’t so bad and maybe he can let his armor down just a little bit.

He’s sent back to Manchester the next day.

The bonds of childhood friendship run strong, because he’s on your doorstep in no time at all, and though it’s been years since you’ve seen him in person, there’s a part of you that feels like he never left. 

It never goes beyond friendship with you two. You don’t allow yourself to consider him in any other light because this friendship is special and important and neither of you will let anything ruin it.

It’s so strange sometimes to see him on tv or in an interview, eyes sharp and mouth full of barbs. Always on the offensive, always cutting others down before they have a chance to do the same to him. You have a hard time believing it’s the same boy who’s on your couch staring at the ceiling as he fiddles with the hem of his sweatshirt.

He’s never spoken that way to you, and you have a hard time believing he ever will.

So you feed him and make him smile and go to as many matches as you can (he leaves tickets on your kitchen table so you won’t protest) and give him a house key so he can come and go as he pleases.

But then he’s gone again, it’s the off-season and he’s on some tv show and you’re watching him flirt and seduce and pull at people’s heartstrings like they’re marionettes, and you realize (perhaps for the first time) how deep the damage has gone.

He gets absolutely shredded online, called all sorts of names by fans of the show and football alike, and you wonder if you’re the only one who can see what’s happening. That it’s all a show and that person, that Jamie Tartt on the screen is not the Jamie Tartt who used to throw pebbles at your window to come see if you wanted to ride bikes together.

It’s different than when he went to the Premier League. He doesn’t answer your texts.

It’s fine though, because your life doesn’t revolve around him. You have other, real friends and a boyfriend and a nice little flat and a good job. So he can go do what he wants and when he needs someone to pick up the pieces, you’ll go because you understand that sometimes this friendship is a one-way street. 

You miss him, though.

You don’t watch his season of Lust Conquers All until your boyfriend calls you and says, “Hey, it’s been fun, but I’m just not feeling it anymore, thanks for understanding,” and then you binge every episode right up to the current one. 

So now you don’t have a boyfriend. You’re glad it hadn’t gone too far, but his words still stung. But you drown your feelings in ice cream and shitty tv and it’s alright because another episode airs in an hour, so you can see more of Jamie and hope he’s doing okay.

He’s not. He gets voted off and you think that’s stupid but also maybe a little bit good.

—

Jamie just thinks it’s stupid. He’s kicked off his only lifeline, and then Man City flat-out refuses to take him back and he has to find out on live television for fuck’s sake. And then he has the brilliant idea to ask Ted Lasso to come back, because of course Ted will take him, what with his yeehaw can-do bullshit. Except Ted tells him no, and now he has nothing.

He’s cut out every friend, every family member and is resigned to life as a has-been before he’s even twenty-five years old.

Now, he’s at home with the blinds pulled. He’s not even sure what time it is anymore because it’s all meaningless, innit? So when there’s a knock at the door, he has to blink a couple times from his place on the couch before turning off FIFA and going to see who it could possibly be.

He hopes it’s you, even though he knows there’s no way. Not after he ghosted you for months. He ignores the uncomfortable flip-flop in his stomach at the thought of seeing you, and the way his heart beats a little faster when he thinks of holding you. 

He won’t cross that line. Your friendship (if it still exists) is too important. 

So he opens the door, ready to see who the fuck is bothering him. 

It’s Ted.

Ted asks, “Can I come in?” but he’s obviously not going to accept no as an answer, so Jamie steps back to let him inside.

Ted’s just standing awkwardly in Jamie’s kitchen, not even pretending that he isn’t shocked by Jamie’s decor. 

Jamie isn’t going to defend his choices to Ted of all people. Nor is he going to do anything to lessen his awkwardness. Finally, Ted clears his throat and says, “Well Jamie, it seems we need to revisit our last conversation.”

Jamie stares at him, refusing to speak until he’s sure what Ted is saying, so Ted continues. 

“I think I was a little bit too hasty when I said you couldn’t come back to Richmond. I’ve been giving it some thought, and we’d love to have you back.”

Jamie looks at Ted, all rumpled in his sweatshirt and shorts, hair as undone as it’s ever been, and is supremely unsure of what he’s supposed to say. 

Yeah, I’ll come back to Richmond. 

Fuck off, you’re too late.

He’s saved from saying something stupid by the sound of the front door rattling as someone punches in the code. 

“You expectin’ someone?” Ted asks. 

Jamie shakes his head, equally puzzled. “No one has the code, except-”

The door is shoved open and you burst through in a flurry of motion. You call, “Jamie?” but you can already see him in the kitchen so you make a beeline to his location and launch yourself into his arms. 

He’s solid as always, smelling like day-old Lynx. His arms are tight wrapped around you, body warm as you press your cheek against his. 

He sets you down after a moment, and brushes away a stray strand of hair from your face. 

“What’re you doing here?” he asks softly, still not quite letting you go. Ted notes that this is a new tone for Jamie. Or at least, the Jamie he’s interacted with. It’s not a performance, not something designed to make people love or hate him, it’s what Ted suspects is the most authentic version of Jamie. Whoever you are, you must be important. 

“Wanted to make sure you were ok. I saw your interview.”

Jamie makes a face. “Fuck’s sake, has everyone seen that shit?”

You shrug. “Hard to miss it. Your mum sent it to me. She’s kind of why I’m here, actually.”

“You know Jamie’s mom?” Ted asks, surprised. It’s only then that you notice he’s in the room. Your face heats up because you wouldn’t have been that grabby with Jamie had you known he weren’t alone.

“Hi, I’m Ted,” he says reaching out to shake your hand, “Seems to me like you know this one from a while back.”

“Uh, yeah,” you reply. “Which is why I figured something was wrong when he ghosted me for fucking ever.”

Jamie winces and Ted takes his cue. 

“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” he says. He points a finger at Jamie. “You let me know what you decide, son.”

“It’s a yes, Coach,” Jamie calls as Ted heads out the door. You crane your neck in time to see Ted pump his fist in the air before the door shuts behind him. 

“So,” you say, arms crossed, “you have a big fucking excuse for not answering my calls. But you better never fucking do it again, or I’m showing back up here with Georgie and she’ll kick your ass.” 

Jamie grimaces. Sure, Georgie was never violent with him, but there’s something particularly terrifying about the way she says Jamie Tartt you have got some explaining to do, while her eyes do that thing where they flash and stare straight into his soul. 

“Right, yeah, I’m really sorry,” he says and he’s lucky that his tone backs up his words because if he had one ounce of prick in his voice, you’d make him really sorry. I mean come on, who ignores their family?

The thought passes through your mind just long enough for it to freak you out before Jamie’s tentatively reaching out to hug you again. 

You let him rest his head on your shoulder as you scratch his the back of his head. 

—

You’ve been on Jamie’s couch for the better part of two hours, talking and letting him pretend like he’s not on the verge of tears because at least he’s being open and honest for once, when he shoots up and says, “Jesus Christ, fucking Kyle.”

He turns to you, eyes wide as he asks, “Isn’t he gonna wonder where you are? Shit, and you’re with me. He’s not gonna like that shit at all.”

You shrug infinitesimally while you examine a spot on the wall. 

“We’re not together anymore,” you answer as casually as possible. 

Jamie sighs and settles back onto the couch. “Shit. Glad you finally dumped that prick.”

You glare at him. “I didn’t. He dumped me. And then I found him lurking in my fucking bushes yesterday like a total creeper.”

Jamie’s up again off the couch, this time heading for his car keys as he yells, “For fuck’s sake, love, you should’ve called me.”

“I did!” you shout back. “I did, and you didn’t pick up, did you? Anyway, it’s probably not going to be an issue anymore.”

Jamie returns to the living room, face ashen. “Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit. I’m so sorry.”

You shrug and say, “It’s not a big deal. He decided that he liked certain body parts he owned more than he liked intimidating me. 

Jamie grips his keys so hard that his knuckles turn white as he says, “Right, you’re sleeping over tonight because no one fucking treats my girl that way.”

Then he freezes. 

You’re not frozen, because a single shiver has worked its way up your spine. 

My girl.

It came out so naturally. 

And it implied ownership? But of the mutual sort? And in a way that two best friends simply did notbelong together. 

The entire house is so silent, you swear you can hear Jamie blink. Well, that is, if either of you actually moved a muscle as opposed to staring at each other across the room. 

“What-” you start, but your throat is all weird and tight, so you clear it and try again. “What did you say?”

It still comes out much lower than you anticipated and Jamie has a split second to assess your body language and make a choice. 

You’re fully angled toward him, eyes wide. You’re not giving him a look that says, shut the fuck up right now, Jamie Tartt, so he takes it as permission. 

Permission to take one step closer, then another, then another until he’s standing right next to you. He slowly sinks down on the couch next to you as his says in a low, gravely voice, “I said, ‘no one fucking treats my girl that way.’”

Ah. So this is where over a decade of friendship has gotten you. On Jamie Tartt’s couch as your lips crash against his, both wondering why you hadn’t made a move sooner. 

But it doesn’t matter, you’re here now and you’re sure you won’t waste a single second. 

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

[figscigfigs]

my favorite moments from episode 11 of fantasy high junior year!!:

“is that’s a problem”

“riz? do you need to go to the eye doctor????”

finally addressing all the angry npcs

“even you fabian”

the identity spell giving SQ meeting gnosis

“should we go start minor disturbances around school and see if we get beat up?”

adaine’s classic scooter

aelwyn and adaine being sisters!!!!!

“tell kristen not to come back, the children were very rowdy after she left”

fig invading ruben’s dreams as kelpflower corncob (rad as hell)

gertie x kristen!!!! (honeybees?? maybe)

devil’s honey is so fucking rad

“my friends no longer want to see me naked” “i do”

all the parents!!!!

telemaine’s elf racism was silly but also made me a lil upset (“was that supposed to be my name?” “no i was doing a different word”)

GILEAR!!!! MY CHOSEN ONE HAS RETURNED!!!!(“this may tickle you to watch my life become suddenly amazing against my will”)

fig and hallariel continue to bring me joy (“hey! it’s me! from the phone!”)

“how did she bring winter??” “how did she bring winter???” “how did she bring winter??”

“we really gotta talk up bee girl”

fig and sandra lynn’s conversation got to me truly (i need sklonda and sandra lynn to start a support group for mothers parenting children working for the applebees student presidential campaign mpcwaspc for short)

fabian and gorgug arguing over who’s carrying the gravestone and “the ball do you wanna-“ “too small”

princess nara (i love her im sorry she’s too real)

in fact all the kristen/nara/tracker energy was absolutely perfect for lesbian exes (“WORLDSTAR”)

ALL OF SECRET SYLVAN (i genuinely shed tears cried bc they all love each other so much)

things about adine: 1. blonde 2. wizard 3. elven oracle

riz/murph immediately taking charge and running secret sylvan is so deeply in character

(attempted tearing noises)

“stop showing hole and make ‘em!”

and as we all know the last 20 minutes were the most insane thing that’s ever happened to me but god fig watching the illusion of herself she conjured morph into her dad and get fucking impaled by the armor that he wore to save her from her own illusion not even a year ago is devastating.

#im sorry there are so many this was an absolute motherfuck of an episode #dimension 20 #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #fhjy spoilers #fhjy ep 11 #a very merry moonar yulenear #brennan lee mulligan #emily axford #ally beardsley #brian murphy #lou wilson #zac oyama #siobhan thompson #fig faeth #kristen applebees #riz gukgak #fabian aramais seacaster #gorgug thistlespring #adaine abernant #sklonda gukgak #sandra lynn faeth #gilear faeth #telemaine lomenelda #hallariel seacaster #tracker o'shaughnessey #princess nara #aelwyn abernant #secret sylvan #gertie bladeshield

[mishwanders]

god ive just been sitting here "man i need to workout" cause im not fit and I WANT TO BE 😭😭😭 all i can think of rn is chain reacting to someone who has a damn sleeper build, essentially they dont look like they have muscles until they pull up their sleeve/stretch/flex cause there's this buff girl on tiktok and MY GODD 😳 also go wild w your headcanons with Time on this cause He's also my fav 😌

Absolutely felt, oh my god I feel this in my soul

Characters: The Chain (and others) x GN!STRONG Reader

A/N+Warnings: canon typical violence, safe for everyone. Written by Mishwanders - pls do not repost.

Time:

Time is super observant, but considering you are covered in your traveling clothes, he sees you as someone who needs to be protected, put more into the center of the group when shit hits the fan.

BUT WHEN THIS MAN SEES YOU HOLD YOUR OWN IN A FIGHT?! Mad respect for you. He watched you straight up pick up a monster by its ankle and sling it across the battlefield like it was one of Wilds broken weapons.

After that he definitely keeps you to the front of the group when things start going wrong.

Warriors:

DEFINITELY underestimated you at first

Does not underestimate you any more once he gets ROCKED by you body slamming into his shield during a duel.

You are one of his favorites to train with because of how strong you are and you work together on optimize your abilities 😤

Sky:

Also loves to train with you - mainly because he’s fast on his feet and learning how much strength you have teaches him how to stay grounded if he’s hit (as much as he can be).

His eyes practically pop out of his head the minute he sees your arms out of your knights armor - your arms rivaling that of Twilights. (Hearty eyes hearty eyes)

He might ask to take a nap by being held by you please for the love of Hylia, LET HIM!

Twilight:

Another one who gets very surprised by your strength when you straight up tackle him or show off the gun show.

Might sumo wrestle you - actually no, HE WILL SUMO WRESTLE YOU IF YOU JUST GIVE HIM THE CHANCE

Also will ask you to help with gathering firewood for camp because it makes it easier if the two of you do it instead of Legend or Wind (for example).

Wild:

HELLO NEW HUNTING BUDDY

You WILL be carrying the caribou he takes down once he knows you can lift it and also helping strip the skin because oh my god does that take a while and he needs all the help he can get.

Will ask to sit on your shoulders to get a better vantage point to figure out where you all are.

Legend:

Not impressed (yes he is, don’t listen to him, he’s just salty)

Speechless when he witnesses you toss a wallmaster into a wall but tried to cover it up sarcastically saying “I could do that”.

Softens up to you when he’s injured and your carrying him/ripping some of your own clothing to make a bandage because they’re all out of potions.

Hyrule:

FORAGING FORAGING

HELP THIS GUY DIG UP THOSE PLANTS THAT ARE REALLY ROOTED INTO THE GROUND - HE NEEDS THEM FOR SPELLS AND POTIONS!

Fawning over you for real, he loves it.

Four:

1000% utilizing your muscles for making weapons (especially trying to make one for Wild)

He really admires your strength and your ability to keep up with everyone.

May ask to ride on piggy back on occasion.

Wind:

This kid is hanging off your arm like a jungle gym.

Attempts to do pull ups with your biceps.

Will ask for you to carry him via piggy back up the mountain because his legs hurt.

Bonus -

Fierce Diety:

Proud Dad

Cue the training music montage - another who likes to train with you - might even attempt to do curls or bench press you. You are his new apprentice now, there’s no escaping it.

Malon:

Malon is a STRONG woman herself and so she appreciates the extra muscle when it presents itself around the farm.

Definitely has you helping with heavy lifting around Lon Lon ranch.

Ravio:

1000% throwing his bags onto you and taking you to the markets, he loves having a strong person to go shopping with (Sorry Legend)

Practically swooning over you and appreciates you.

#linked universe x reader #linked universe #linked universe headcanons #the chain x reader #lu fierce deity x reader #Lu malon x reader #Lu Ravio x reader #sfe #writing: the chain #sorry if there are typos

[luv4fandoms]

Please note that I do not take requests. I simply take story suggestions. I have to like/be inspired by the idea to write it.

The Lost Boys Masterlist

Had to make a separate Lost Boys Masterlist cause I couldn't put any more links on my main Masterlist lol.

(Please note that I only write Female!Readers and Female!OCs..(afab))

❤️=Fluff

🌶️=Smut

💧=Angst

The Rut series

David

Dwayne

Marko

Paul

David

(Headcanons)

David used to be a gunslinger 💧

Modern!David song headcanon 💧

Song that makes Modern!David think of his past

(Stories)

Can you do mine too? (XReader)❤️

Dwayne

(Headcanons)

Dwayne with a short S/O ❤️🌶️

(Stories)

When you're unaware (xReader) ❤️

Christmas Surprise (xReader) ❤️

Don't blame me (xReader)💧❤️

Santa brought us snow! (xReaderxLaddie)❤️

Christmas Angel (xVampireReaderxLaddie)❤️

Santa is real! (xVampire!ReaderxLaddie) ❤️

Private time (xReader) ❤️🌶️

Best Christmas Ever! (XReaderXLaddie)❤️

Marko

(Headcanons)

Marko is Italian 🌶️

Calling Marko an Italian Stallion ❤️🌶️

Marko and his mate's son wanted to try drag ❤️

Marko has a sensitive (to touch) stomach ❤️🌶️

(Stories)

Biker Dad (xVampire!Reader) ❤️

Touch me (xReader) ❤️

Trust me (xReader) 🌶️

Ti amo (xReader)❤️

Take me away (xReader)💧❤️

Pop rocks (xReader)❤️

Knight in shining armor (xReader)🌶️

Paul

(Headcanons)

Paul is the group's hair stylist

(Stories)

One chip challenge (xReader) ❤️

All

(Headcanons)

Coming up behind you and sniffing your hair/neck

Earring headcanon #1 (What they look like)

Earring headcanon #2 (Origins)

Earring headcanon #3 (They give you their matching earring)

Order that they were turned, and a bit about their past lives.

"I'm so tired of men and their slutty little waists"

The boys trying to move their mate into their sleeping area

You gain characteristics of whoever sired you.

(Stories)

Incorrect Quotes

#1

#2

#the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys x you #the lost boys #tlb #tlb 1987 #marko tlb #marko the lost boys #dwayne tlb #david the lost boys #paul the lost boys #the lost boys dwayne #tlb david #david x reader #dwayne the lost boys #dwayne x reader #david headcanons #gunslinger david headcanons #tlb dwayne headcanon #dwayne headcanon #the lost boys marko #marko x reader #tlb marko x reader #tlb marko headcanons #marko headcanons #paul x reader #tlb paul x reader #paul headcanon #tlb paul headcanon #paul tlb

[solaneceae]

imprint

a team bolas oneshot. q!baghera centric (read on ao3) hurt/comfort, found family

Day Five is technically one of the good ones, because their minds are not drowning in bloodlust and fog-mist, Foolish is making great progress on the castle off in the desert, and the other teams have been leaving them alone for the most part.

Doesn’t mean it’s a good day for Baghera, though. “My body’s so far away,” she whines, rummaging through the chests in search of iron armor and food. “You need help getting back to it?” Phil asks. The duck shakes her head, because she refuses to make him waste twenty minutes just chaperoning her as she stumbles around the map looking for her corpse. “I’ll be fine,” she sighs, picking up a diamond sword and fastening her mask onto her face. It requires some adjustments, with her having a beak and all, but she makes it work. “I’ll be okay.”

(Ten minutes later, her eyes open to dark cave ceilings and glittering gemstones, body tingling from respawn. She wants to scream.)

Phil is back with more resources, and Baghera feels strange. Not bad, just… strange.

It’s a feeling that’s been lingering even since they all fell into Purgatory, growing stronger or weaker in no discernable pattern, always somewhere at the back of her skull. Like a voice almost, not also not that, because there are no words being whispered, only vague drives. And right now, as their fearless leader busies himself at the crafting table, she gets the uncontrollable urge to get his attention. Hello, she chirps, walking up to him. He hums, but doesn’t acknowledge her further, too focused on his task. Her hindbrain gives unhappy. Hi, hi, she tries again, getting into his personal space and jumping around him and what is she doing? “Phil, Phil,” she quacks, look at me, pay attention to me! She forgot what she needed, what did she need? Hi, flock, dad, dad! 

“You’re— Jesus Christ,” Philza bursts into laughter, evading her smaller form as he moves to a nearby chest. “You’re getting in the way, Baghera.”

“Do you have a boat?” she asks, and right, that’s what she needed. He cocks his head, an amused smile on his face. “Do I have a boat.”

“Yee.”

“I don’t— I mean, sure, I can make you one.” She makes a happy sound, bounces off her heels as he gets to work. Flock, dad. Hello. “I’m not, you know I’m not gatekeeping crafting shit,” he laughs as he hands her the boat and she magicks it into her inventory. “You could make your own.” And yes, that’s true, she could. But she likes it when Philza hands her things, like earlier when he dropped food onto her when she was stuck in that hole. It makes her brain happy, somehow.

It only hits her later, when Phil has gone off somewhere, that she had started to truly associate him with that hindbrain-thrum of dad, not as a bit, but something way too real for her taste. She resists the urge to crawl into a hole and shrivel away, and decides to make one last attempt to recover her old body.

(It fails, as things tend to do today. But at least she got distracted.)

***

The silence is deafening. She can hear the occasional grumble in Portuguese coming from her earpiece as Cellbit works on the maze inside the castle, and she wishes she was there making traps instead of getting dirt all over her wings. “I want to kill some people,” she huffs as she digs through rich soil to plant yet another tea sapling. At least farming she could do without messing things up. “I wanna just— run at them and scream.” Can she have that? Can she have this one thing, can she have a little bit of fun today before her timer runs out?

Cellbit hums into her earpiece. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says, and she can feel another part of her wilt at his final tone. “Death counts too much today, you know?” (You will die, his words twist in her tired mind. You’re weak. You can’t be left alone. You’ll drag us down.) “And Phil did so much for us this morning, I don’t wanna disappoint him.”

Well I already did! she wants to scream. I’m just a dead weight, and I waste everyone’s time and don’t accomplish anything on my own! “...Okay,” she replies instead, whisper-soft, and just keeps planting.

(She misses the rest of the family-flock. She misses Jaiden, and Charlie, and Carré, all asleep inside the nest with no sign of waking up anytime soon. She wishes she could join them, put an end to this cursed day already — but she clings onto her fear of letting Cellbit down even more than she already did, and presses on.)

Cellbit renames Iris after a commercial mascot, and that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. And she knows she shouldn’t be mad, because he doesn’t know she’s just spent twenty minutes having a breakdown over them and imprinting like crazy, but she just feels so dismissed by that. So she buries herself somewhere in the desert and screeches out her frustration where he can’t hear her, comms off.

***

“Baghera?”

Her ear feathers twitch. She looks up from the little cozy spots she had made for Iris (they’re gone now. Probably with Cellbit, helping him withe the maze. the maze she wanted to help with. She wishes Charlie had woken up earlier, so they could commiserate over their shared feelings of inadequacy.) “Phil…?” she sniffles, quickly rubbing at her cheeks to erase the evidence of her breakdown. Didn’t the crow run out of time earlier today? She hears a ch-ch-chrrrrp, and she mimics it without thinking, hindbrain buzzing with something soothing. Philza Minecraft appears from behind a corner, and his eyes are soft  or maybe he’s just tired. “Come here,” he beckons, and she finds himself getting to her feet and stepping up to him. “Something wrong?” she cocks her head at him, and he chuckles lightly. “Nah, mate. Just come over here.”

He leads her out of the alcove and into their… sleeping quarters, which was just another part of the cave with their nest in the middle. “Kay, sit down,” the crow says, patting the side of the nest, and part of her panic with the childish fear of oh shit, am I in trouble? “You’ve got sand in your feathers. Lemme help you get that out before you bring it with you in the family pile, yes?”

Oh. She glances at her comm, realises she only has about twenty minutes before it knocks her out for the day. She clacks her beak in frustration — she had accomplished a whole out of nothing today. Fais chier. “...Okay,” she sighs, because at least a little preening sesh would be a decent way to end this shitty day.

“I noticed you were having a rough time,” the crow hums, carding his claws through the down on her arms to dislodge a few pebbles. “Thought you could use some TLC.”

She blinks owlishly (duckishly?). “I don’t know what that means.”

“Ah, like, just taking care of you a little. You felt sad and frustrated all day.”

She deflates, ear feathers drooping. “Didn’t think it was that obvious.”

“It’s not. I just notice this shit better than most,” Phil hums, dislodging more sand that drop outside the nest and digging his claws further in. Baghera closes her eyes — it feels nice. Her wings had been so itchy all day. “Especially when it comes to other avians.”

Right. Philza had retained more memories of his time outside the island than most of them, that made sense. “I’m sorry for calling you dad,” she blurts out, before she loses the nerve to. “I know everyone… I know everyone did it, for the joke, but I think I forgot it was a joke.” (“Dad, are you proud of me? I killed a silverfish!”) 

She remembers Charlie belting out a ‘papa!’ when Phil came back with apples and berries two days ago. She remembers Jaiden calling him dad when he bandaged her left wing after a bad fall, Cellbit’s whiny ‘daaad, when are you gonna come pick me up?’, Carré jokingly moaning out a ‘gracias papi!'. Foolish is the only one that didn’t follow the pattern at this point, probably because he, too, is an immortal being… and the only one free of daddy issues and trauma, apparently. “I don’t mean to,” she breathes out. “My brain’s been all weird since we came here, and I don’t… I don’t mean when we get all starved and murder-y.”

Phil hums, plucks out a loose feather. “Yeah, same. Something about this place is fucking with our code I think. Mob code, specifically. That’s why they’re buffed to hell, It’s not your fault.”

“But it’s,” she groans, struggling to find the right words, both because of the language barrier and her own messy feelings. “You already have kids. I’m an adult. I can’t force that role on you, but my stupid bird brain keeps screaming at me. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s natural, Baghera. I don’t mind. And… forgive me for pointing it out, but if what you said yesterday was true, then you’ve never had an older avian to imprint on as a child. So it’s no wonder your instincts are going crazy now.”

She freezes. “...Oh,” a quiet realization, shame, regret. “You, um. You understood that.” You took it seriously. You remembered. Somehow, that makes her feel… a bit better. Seen. Despite the fact that she just blurted out her deepest darkest secret as a bit, and lo and behold, consequences. Phil shrugs. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t think anyone else did,” he hums, smoothing out her left wing with a satisfied croon. “Gimme the other one? Good, nice.”

“You’re not mad?” she asks, so quiet and hesitant Philza stops and looks up at her. “That I’m a clone. That I’m… Federation property.”

“Don’t say that shit,” he bares his teeth, puts his hands on her shoulders to squeeze them tightly. “They don’t owe you. It doesn’t matter if they made you or whatever, you’re not them. If anything, you’ve got even more of a reason to hate them as the rest of us.”

“I don’t know…. I don’t know what they did, to me. I don’t even think I’m a real avian.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’m not like you. Or like Jaiden.” she gestures to her left wing. “I have a bill, you have… human face. Mostly human.” She makes a strangled sound. “Your wings are on your back, mine are just my arms, they’re just this. And even if— even if they weren't clipped, I couldn’t fly with those, only glide, maybe. I know that. They made me wrong.” Her eyes well up with angry tears. “They all… my siblings, they’re all dead, Phil. They all died, and I’m the only one left, and I’m not even good. I’m defective. Maybe that’s why I mess up everything. Maybe that’s why I’m such a burden for you guys.”

“Dude, stop.”

Philza closes his mouth before he can protest, both pairs of eyes turning to a sluggish Charlie, sans glasses, pushing himself up from his blankety prison without rousing Jaiden or Carré. “That’s… that’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard you say. And we debated about human milk cheese and the ethics of eating your own eggs, so that’s saying something,” he mutters, more serious than the duck has ever seen him. The effect is a little diminishes by his squinty, smaller-than-usual eyes (she was so used to seeing him with her glasses permanently stuck to his face) and the yawn that drowns out the end of his tirade, but it still makes Baghera’s breath hitch and her throat close up with emotions. “Charlie…”

“Okay look— I barely feel real right now, yeah? I just woke up, and I haven’t got a modicum of context here, but I’m not letting you talk shit about yourself.” The slime hybrid hauls himself up with a wince, the corruption on his arms and face buzzing and writing angrily for a second. “G-ah. T-Thisssss is gon-gonna b-be a bad, ba-aad day, hu-uuh.”

“Slime— wow, mate, maybe you should lay back down and wait it out.”

“S-Sorry d-aaaad, I’m going th-through mmmmy rebell-bellious phase.” Charlie staggers up to them and sits across Baghera movements stilted and visibly uncomfortable. The duck hybrid opens her bill to tell him off — no no stop it, you’re hurting yourself — but he wraps both arms around her and rests his forehead against her shoulder, the tingle-freeze of his codified parts stunning her into silence. It doesn’t hurt, and she’s not about to refuse a hug from a constantly touch-starved Slime, but it does sting a little. Like static shock, but not quite. “You’re so fucking great dude,” the man says, corruption leaving his voice as the glitches diminish in intensity. “I never told— never told you this, but the first day we met. The wedding? That was the first time in a while that someone was willing to go along with my bullshit.” He squeezes her a bit tighter. His face feels a bit wet agaisnt the feathers of her shoulder, and Baghera lets out a string of hurt? hurt? no, flock, clean. “It felt good. And— hey, not only that, but you were also the only one where who didn’t have pity, or scorn, or, or distrust written all over your face. But maybe I just didn’t know how to read duck body language at the time, haha.”

“I wasn’t pitying you,” Baghera murmurs, trembling arm coming to rest against her friend’s back. Words feel like jagged rocks going up her tight throat. “I didn’t know anything about you. I just found you funny, and you listened to me when we talked about the elections. You kept making sure I was being heard, and… and you were nice to Pomme on her birthday, too. That was enough for me. You know?”

Slime chuckles wetly. “Yeah. She’s a great kid. We’ll fucking get her back, okay?”

“I hope so…”

“Hey. Listen.” He draws away to cup Baghera’s face, squishing it slightly between his hands. Her feathers puff up as a result, it’s funny. “Listen well, Baghera Jones. My—” a sharp intake of breath. “M-My Flippa’s fine, yeah? She’s just waiting for me back at the island, she’s not in danger. But your kid is. And if… haha, if I can be sappy for a sec. With Jaiden, you’ve been the closest thing to a real friend I’ve had for a long time. So I’ll help you get Pomme back, alright?”

The duck’s green eyes well up with tears, some of which start painting dark streaks down her face. “Of… of course I’m your friend,” she sniffles, and she keeps making low chirp-trills Charlie doesn’t understand. “And you’re mine too. I care about you, Charlie.”

“I know. I… I know. And I won’t have you saying bad things about yourself either. You’re litterally so fucking cool, and you put up with my bullshit like nobody else, and I feel safe blurting out the most unhinged crap on God’s cubic Earth because I know you’ll just double down and make me question my sanity, in the best possible way.” He giggles, an unsteady, wild little thing slightly cut up by a stray glitch. “Or whatever’s left of it.”

Baghera’s comm beeps, startling the three of them. Philza approaches (had he moved away to give them space? Aw.), scoffs, glares at the bright red numbers on her wrist. “Fuckin— stupid-ass time limit,” he curses. “We don’t have much time, but we can end your day on a good note, okay?”

The duck hybrid glances at Philza, then at Charlie, pupils so wide the green can barely be made out. She takes a deep breath, thinks of the team. Of her children, waiting for her somewhere. Of everyone else that they lowkey hated right now. And she nods.

***

“Do it Baghera, do it!”

“That’s right, fuck ‘em up!”

“I’m doing it!” the duck woops, pouring the final bucket over the structure and watching it roll across the soil and crops who quickly start to catch on fire. “It’s working, it’s working!”

“Baby’s first lavacast,” Phil coos fondly from his roosting spot, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “I’m so proud.”

He and Charlie watch as Baghera cackles madly, her eyes alight with the fires of war, staring down at her handiwork. “They are so gonna know it was us,” Slime hums, a huge smile on his face as he marvels over Blue’s farm being covered in ash and cobblestone. Phil shrugs. “Yeah, there’s no way. Worth it though.”

“So worth it,” the slime hybrid nods approvingly — Baghera was finally having fun, and seeing her smiling was definitely a highlight of today. “Oh we’re gonna get fucked in the ass tomorrow. No lube, all diamond sword just like God intended.”

Philza bursts into mad, crow-like cackles at that, hitting the slime hybrid’s shoulder to push him off the perch. Charlie falls with an indignant, high-pitched scream that makes Baghera laugh even harder. “How much time left?” the Crowfather calls out at her, and she turns to him with a mad ducky grin. “Eleven seconds!” she quacks back, and Philza’s eyes widen. “What?!”

“Yepp! Gonna pass out now see you tomorrow catch me or let me die I don’t care I have nothing on me!” she sing-songs rabbit-quick, pulling a little jig on top of her dirt tower before her body seizes with a gasp, her comm shocking the literal daylights out of her. Slime lets out a loud oh shit and takes off in a mad sprint as Philza jumps down as well, managing to cushion the duck’s fall with his own goopy, goopy body. “Ow,” he whines, voice muffled by the loose dirt he’s faceplanted into. “My sometimes-existing bones.”

“You good mate?” Philza reached them both, kneeling to check on Baghera — not a single heart of damage on her, her face neutral and peaceful in electronically-induced sleep. “Good catch.”

“Thanks.” Charlie lets his friend roll off his body with a grunt, pulling himself back together quickly before, hauling his friend on his back. “Mission accomplished, Crowfather Phil! Now let’s skedaddle the fuck outta here before Tubbo or BitchBoyHalo shows up.”

“Yeah, time to dip. Back to base, Bolas!”

“WOOOOOOH YEAAAAH! LET’S FUCKING ROLL!”

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory #team bolas #baghera jones #q!baghera #philza #q!philza #slimecicle #q!slimecicle #fanfic #listen listen #it was hard watching baghera's pov that day #literally nothing went right #so this is catharsis in a way #also her and charlie's friendship is so important to me #both in and outside the server #i have never seen charlie so legitimately gobsmacked by another person before her #she's another level of chaos and one i aspire to reach lmao

[icey--stars]

Vanserra Brothers (Headcanons)

Headcanons for each of of the Vanserra brothers. All 7, including the ones who passed in the Spring Court incident.

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

Day 1 of @erisweek2023 (Brotherhood / Family)

a/n: welcome to Eris Week 2023 everyone! I have a couple headcanons coming toward you that will include the headcanons that Born for Tragedy is set in as well as other future stories about Eris or Lucien! So... if anyone starts wondering about my headcanons, bOOM. I had too much fun with this one.

So… let’s start with family/brother headcanons. (post-beron’s death because fuck that guy) also I added a bit of dad!Helion in this because in my hopeful heart, I want the Vanserra brothers to have a real dad.

WARNINGS: MENTIONS ABUSE/TORTURE, VERY ANGSTY, TRAUMA DISCUSSED AND BAD TRAUMA RESPONSES

I hope you enjoy it regardless though! This was actually quite fun to make because I can use it for my other stories when I talk about the Vanserra brothers :)

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

So, Eris has 4 brothers that are still alive. I’ve already named them in Born for Tragedy, but I plan to use the HC across many different stories, so let's talk about them.

Jax is the second eldest Vanserra. He’s probably the one who got abused the least because his personality and stoicness is exactly what Beron wanted for a son. 

However, he is widely regarded as having snails for brains, so Eris still got the general position while Beron lived because Eris was more apt in strategy and getting people to do what he wants.

Jax likes to fight and while not too impulsive since his teen years, he tends to be always looking for a fight.

If anyone was going to get him a gift, he’d probably most appreciate armor/weapons. However, make it fancy because he likes to be well dressed and look the most wealthy compared to everyone else.

Jax is the brute warrior of the Vanserras with very little ability to do anything court-related.

Normally, he has quite the cold heart and Eris has struggled to have any sort of relationship with him.

Of course, Eris actually was jealous when Jax was born, as he got more attention than Eris during those times, and Eris wasn’t completely mature enough to realize that the fact he kept seeming to reject Jax, hurt the poor boy more.

So, Eris has the worst relationship with Jax of all and Jax is too standoffish and holds grudges so long that they just can’t find any sort of relationship with each other.

But Eris does keep in mind his brother’s preferences though because he eventually realized his mistake when the now dead, third-eldest Vanserra, Fynn came along.

Now, before we go on about Fynn and perhaps how he died while chasing Lucien to the Spring Court… Jax does know that Eris tries. He does, but he’s salty. That’s all. Salty motherfucker who’s virtually emotionless, but probably the least traumatized of all the brothers.

He was one of the 2 brothers to help Eris chase Feyre into the Winter Court.

Nothing much changes for him when Eris finally becomes High Lord. It’s just a change of seasons for him.

Now, Fynn was kinder than any of the previously born brothers. Beron resented him for it and often punished the boy when he was found being kind to a servant.

So Fynn hardened and by the time he was an adult, he was rageful and absolutely miserable to be around. Such a short fuse and a big boom to go along with it.

Fynn constantly was angry. At Beron, at Eris- not too much at Jax because they mostly ignored each other. Fynn was jealous of Eris.

Eris never did manage to apologize for the whippings that Beron forced him to give Fynn before the brother died.

But in all honesty, Fynn had been broken beyond repair. His kindness cost him and he was angry and rageful all the time. At everyone.

Some say it was a good thing that he died when he did.

The boy was smarter than Jax, but Beron still prized Eris for his manipulation tactics, so of course, Fynn was salty about that as well.

Eris and him often fought, but it was always Eris who cut it short and dismissed his brother. Yet another reason Fynn was so rageful.

He was ignored. A third born meant nothing to everyone. Eris was the prized first born Vanserra. Jax was close enough that they didn’t care. But Fynn meant nothing to them. And worst yet, he was weaker than most of his brothers and had less control over fire than any of them.

In the Spring Court incident, he was one of the two brothers besides Calix (6th born) to die. The third brother chasing Lucien under Beron’s order was Kuhn (5th born). Killed by Tamlin- his rage was at last quelled.

The next brother is Hue, 4th born in the Vanserra line.

By the time that Hue had been born, Eris had managed to get his head out of his ass and swore to protect his youngest brother, helping his mother to raise them in secret and helped his brother deal with Beron’s beatings.

Hue was as kind as Fynn, and he was intelligent as well. He was fascinated by everything. However, Beron called him his “failure.” The boy acted more like a scholar than anyone else in the Forest House.

At one point, Beron ordered Eris to take the boy during some constructive early teen years to a cabin and raise him. Eris had mastered seeming as cruel and manipulative as his father by this point. Eris kept his rage down and followed orders.

Eris fostered his brother’s scholarly heart, but trained him well to never show that weakness to his father. Hue was a more lanky brother, and while training was enjoyable, he preferred reading in his rooms.

But in any battle (which he has been in many, as he was the other brother helping to chase Feyre with Eris), he is very fast. The quickest reflexes.

He’s one of the more emotional brothers, but hides it well.

He enjoys the finer aspects of magic. The beautiful parts– not burning someone’s face off, but using it to make a piece of artwork.

Hue is fascinated by shiny little trinkets that he can collect and either hide or put on his bookshelves to decorate them. His bookshelves are a mess.

But he also enjoys art. Drawing, painting and other various options are some of his favorite pastimes as he tries to capture the beauty of a very simple scene in a canvas.

So, if you were getting him a gift, the best option is a bunch of little trinkets, a lifetime supply of books (which is exactly what Helion does as he gains Hue’s trust. He gives him little trinkets maybe with a little bit of magic from his libraries and then gives Hue free access to said libraries whenever he wishes for it) and maybe some art supplies, but Hue doesn’t need much. He just needs a canvas, pencil and then some paints to be happy.

When Eris becomes High Lord– Hue is very happy when he allows him to explore any and all interests he has. And Eris is very proud of him 🥹🥹🥹

The next Vanserra, the 5th born, is Kuhn. Kuhn is similar to Jax in ways, as they both have quite broad shoulders and enjoy training. Eris is more lanky than Kuhn, but no matter for either of them. Kuhn gives better hugs that way.

Now, seeing as Hue was such a “success” when being raised by Eris, as soon as Kuhn was able to be fed solid food, he was whisked away to the cabin.

Eris promised his mother to care for his brother. Kuhn grew up very similar to Hue– free from Beron’s wrath, but trained to avoid it, and not get either of them in trouble when they return to the Forest House years later. Beron was pleased with how Kuhn acted so warrior on the outside and actually rewarded Eris for his efforts.

Kuhn is like a mix of Jax and Hue at the same time. He enjoys training and is quite apt in his bow skills, but at the same time, he’s also fascinated by particular things– namely animals and the stars.

So… when Helion is giving out gifts, he gives Kuhn a little trinket that shows the view of the stars in the Night Court from the top of some mountains and makes sure to get an invitation for them both to the next Starfall in Velaris. (Kuhn was very happy)

Kuhn enjoys helping Eris with his hounds when he can, learning at least their names and offering advice when Eris off handedly mentions some issue, or that some hound got injured

When Eris is High Lord, Kuhn and Hue are some of the most useful when dealing with the lords and other annoying things.

Calix is the 6th born Vanserra, and according to canon, the last of Beron’s sons. One of the perished ones.

Beron did the same as he did with Kuhn and Hue– have Eris raise him. Calix didn’t seem scholarly at all though and was quite the violent child. But he was better than Fynn, and that was for sure. But they were similar, but Calix lacked the “loss of kindness” that Fynn had.

Calix was inherently violent, often killing frogs and other creatures just for fun and then throwing their bodies around for fun.

Eris did his best to “train” Calix, but the boy was unbothered and ignored him.

So, when it came time to go back to the Forest House, Calix was punished harshly, and with him, Eris. Calix didn’t understand, however, that it had been his fault that Eris was so cold toward him afterward.

Calix looks like almost an exact copy of Eris, so Beron had been hopeful, but quickly found that Eris was much more well trained and so Calix was resented, but not nearly as much as some of the other brothers.

Calix is the other brother that is killed by Tamlin. Beron basically taken the two sons most desperate to please him to chase Lucien to the Spring Court. Calix had been quite desperate, and Fynn, and Kuhn had simply been ordered to go along, as Beron considered him one of the more pleasing sons. Eris, since he refused to go along despite being ordered, was punished severely.

So, Calix and Fynn died, and Kuhn returned with gouges from huge claws in his back.

Hue was banned from helping either of the injured brothers and was barely even allowed to grieve his other two. (Hue had cared for them despite them mostly hating him for being more well-liked by their father)

Now, naturally, Lucien is the last brother we talk about. He was born before the Spring Court incident, and Beron was practically raging at the fact that Eris had failed at raising Calix as he did with Kuhn.

However, Eris managed to convince Beron to give him a chance with Lucien and his mother didn’t even wean Lucien off her milk, she just sent Eris to get him in a panic.

Eris found out why the panic soon after when Lucien was laughing with joy in a cradle in the cabin. The boy was glowing.

So yes, in my mind, Eris did know that Lucien was not Beron’s son, but treated him all the same.

Before Lucien could remember anything though, Eris found a spell to lock that Day Court magic inside the toddler before he burnt down the house with all the heat pouring off of him. After all, Day Court and Autumn Court abilities were similar in that way– heat. And Eris didn’t have a damn clue how to train Lucien to control his Day Court powers, so he locked them away and managed the fire instead.

Lucien was different from any other brother Eris had managed to raise. He was smart, could fight very well, but he was… different. Emotional and very quickly bonded with anything. Animals, most notably. When one of Eris’s hounds accidentally bit the boy in play, Lucien had acted so rejected.

Eris tried his best, and it paid off… mostly. They were ordered to return early from the canon and Lucien wasn’t vicious enough yet and Beron punished them both, finding the smallest excuse to do it to Eris.

Lucien resented Eris after that, and Eris never did try to mend that relationship, nor did he find the time when Lucien fell in love with a lesser fae female. However, he refused to hunt Lucien after he ran for the Spring Court. In the few minutes he had before Beron came after him, he made sure his littlest brother would be cared for and sent a letter to Tamlin.

Also, as an added note as to why Lucien believes Eris is so cruel: he thinks Eris was the one to report Jesminda to Beron- purely to make gain off of it (acceptance from Beron being the goal)

I’m not going to go too much farther into Lucien, as we know a lot about canon past that point and there are other times to talk about all my HCs for Lucien. This is about Eris and his brothers.

Now, if you notice, I’ve done all the Vanserras except the first born. Eris. Poor, tortured Eris.

In my mind, Eris is one of the most traumatized Vanserras, with Hue, Calix and Fynn coming close in second. He was the first to learn of Beron’s cruelty, the first to face it, and the one to face it the longest.

He messed up a lot too. Beron wanted cruel, wicked and manipulative. Eris was none of those things as a child. He was curious, loved cuddling with his momma and loved playing with the hunting hounds people brought around. He loved riding horses-

Basically, Eris wasn’t that way. But he quickly learned to be. Permanently changed by Fynn to be exactly who his father wanted because he was desperate to avoid the whip and the fire and the pain. However, he still managed to keep the pieces of his fractured heart, even if they were slipping between his fingers.

That is probably the only reason he was able to raise his brothers the way he did. Hue and Kuhn care for him deeply in that way, and he is the same way. But they never show it. However, the little fist bumps or secretive gifts were enough for Hue and Kuhn to know that Eris still cared even when he was forced to whip them by Beron’s command.

Oh yes… Eris wasn’t just the abused. He was also the abuser. Even if he didn’t want to be. But he always managed to show enough pleasure in the act to placate his father, because sometimes it was a good feeling. He felt in control, despite not being in control in the slightest.

But without Beron’s command, he always felt guilty for it and knew that in some way, his brothers did hold something against him for it. I mean, honestly, who wouldn’t though? Eris truly seemed like he enjoyed it. And he never came to check up on them afterwards. (He sometimes wanted to, but refused to risk his father’s rage again)

His brothers (especially Lucien because Beron knew he was different than the other pale red heads that were his sons and was punished more, and much more by Eris himself) think him cruel. Even if they saw a softer side when they grew up, he was still vicious with training. Sometimes heartless. And he can't help this because of how he grew up. He's sort of like Fynn in those ways.

Eris isn't completely kind though. Some (like his mother) like to paint him as damaged, but even while he is damaged, he is still not absent of cruelty. After all, Beron drilled it into him. The pleasure in whipping was surely evidence of such.

But he does truly hate Beron. He knows his father is a cruel male- crueler than he. Willing to kill lovers of his own sons and lords whenever. He hates Beron- for everything. For what he did to Eris, for what he did to the Autumn Court, for what he did to his mother, and what he did to his brothers. There are of course, many more reasons, but those are the main ones.

Even after becoming High Lord, he didn’t show much more emotion or care, but he did allow his brothers more freedom and they lived with less fear. It would take a millennia to repair the damage done to them all though.

So, to say the least, the Vanserra family is fucked up and there isn’t much repairs in sight. Even when Helion tries to get closer to them, it's hard. They are traumatized asf and often, lonely because lonely=safe in their mind because there is nobody to report them to their father.

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

Btw, feel free to ask more questions about the headcanons <3

TAGLIST HERE! - see post for specifics <3

Tagged in all ACOTAR Stories: @bunnymallowo, @officiallyunofficialperson, @margssstuff, @rebloggiest-reblogger, @inpraizeof, @graciereads, @eos-princess, @bubybubsters

(please let me know if you'd rather not be tagged in Eris Week or would like to!!)

#erisweek2023 #eris vanserra #eris acotar #vanserra brothers #lucien vanserrra #lucien #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #high lord eris #pro eris vanserra #headcanons #mywriting

[reashot]

Happy Mother's Day! Feat. Jaune's Future Children.

Ruby: You know Yang mother's day are coming...

Yang: Do you want to visit mom's grave afterward?

Ruby: Yes, I would like that...

Blake: (Damn this is getting dark all of a sudden. Where's Weiss when you need her.)

Then out from nowhere a girl around their age appears suddenly behind Ruby to loudly proclaim herself.

Scarlett: Hi mom it's me your favorite daughter! 😆

Ruby: Scarlett! And how do you even get here? 😮

Scarlett: Heh, heh... Trade secret. 😉

Ruby: So anyway. What brings you here? 🤨

Scarlett: We're here to meet you all, silly. 😜

Ruby: We, what do you mean by we?

Aurum: I think What little sister meant is that she's bringing us to celebrate mother's day.

Yang: OMG you remember about Mother's day. You're Aurum right. You're supposed to be my son from the future?

The man she's talking to tower over everyone in presence, much older than the rest of the group and encased in golden armor.

Aurum: That's right mother how have you been?

Yang: Oh fine... Shoot, I don't know how to act around you. You're supposed to be my son and all, but you're older than my dad.

Aurum: Ha, ha. I get that it would be confusing. But worry not Honored Mother. *kneels* No matter how you treated me I will always regard you with the up most respect.

Yang: Ah, please stop you're embarassing me...

Blake: Wait if Aurum and Scarlett are here then that means. My Dusky Wusky is here too!

Dusk: Mommy!!! *glomps on Blake*

Blake: *Squee* How is my beautiful baby girl. Your mama miss you so much!!!

Dusk: I miss you too mommy but please stop it. You're hurting me.

Blake: No I will not. Because you will just leave me again. Mama will never let you go. I will love you and cares for you for the rest of your life!

Dusk: Umuh...

Ruby: Okay... So what brings you here. Or is it when? Ah it's confusing I don't get how time travel sentences works. 😵

Scarlett: We're here for Mother's day!!! 😇

Ruby: Wow okay, but I though we already established that we are not really your Mother. We're from different timeline. So you don't have to celebrate it for us. 😞

Blake: Fuck That! Dusky Wusky is my baby and no one will take her away from me again.

Aurum: Lady Blake. Hold thine tongue! There's children here.

Yang: Blake out burst aside. Why are you celebrating with us. Should you go celebrate it with your real mom?

Scarlett: Well we did that already. But seeing that what we been through last time. We all think it just felt wrong not to celebrate it without everyone....

And speaking of which where's dad? I mean, where's Jaune?

Wow that's super weird calling my dad by his first name. I mean his other version's name. Oh I hate how parallel reality works! 😩

Ruby: Jaune? Oh we haven't see him much lately. Whenever we tried to approach him. He Immediately ran away from us. Can you believe it? 😢

Yang: Can't say I blame him. After everything that just happened. It would be weirder that he acted like nothing happened.

Blake: Whatever it is we should give him some time to process what happened. If he doesn't want to see us anymore then it's fine. We will respect his choice...

Scarlett: I understand. But anyway to get back on topic we have present for everyone here. 😎

Ruby: Present! Well why didn't you start with that. Of course we would like present. 🤯

Scarlett: He, he. For Ruby Rose here is a beautiful Rose from my brother and me. 😘

Ruby: Oh it's so beautiful. I love it. You and Aurum shouldn't have. 🥰

Scarlett: it's not from Aurum, silly. It's from MY brother. You also have a son too mom. 🤭

Ruby: 😮

Dusk: And I also want to give you this mommy.

I made it with daddy with crayon and macaroni.

Blake: *Gasp* it's so beautiful... I have the greatest mother's day gift known to Faunus and man. *cry*

Aurum: And "mother" dearest from me. I do not know what you like but you did use to tell me that when you Were young you used to like to ride on your bike. Something bee? Any way I have for you a brand new motorcycle.

Yang: Oh my gods! Oh my gods! Oh my gods! A brand new bike. I can't believe it. You made all the their mother day's present look like trash I love you Son!....

Uh, I mean. It's not what the present that count but the thought that matters...

Blake: Did you just said my daughter Mother's day present is trash!

Yang: Hey it's not a competition. Although if it were a competition. A Motorcycle beat Macaroni art hands down.

Aurum: Mother please. You're making things worse.

Lady Blake. I would like to apologize on my mother's behalf. I meant no disrespect with my gift to my mother.

It's just that I have so many siblings that I felt I have to match it in size.

Yang: Wait, many siblings. How many are we talking about?

Aurum: Ah, only around 12 with me included of course.

Blake & Ruby:

Yang: 12 Children! Curse my great child bearing hip.

Ruby: O-okay please stop! This is too much new informations to take. I can't. Wait a second isn't there supposed to be four of you?😱

Yang: Yeah the somehow even whiter version of Jaune. Victor. Weiss' son from the future.

Blake: As if that even possible. Jaune is pretty much as white as it can get.

Ruby: If this is a slander on my future baby's daddy then I would rather you keep it to yourself. 😠

Aurum: Not to worry Victor are also here to give his Mother's day present.

Yang: Didn't he tried to kill her the last time they met!?

Aurum: He gave me his word that he will not harm her.

Yang: H-he said that. And you just believed him?!

Aurum: Of course. He promise me after all.

Ruby: Wait. Where's Weiss?

Meanwhile

Victor: This is all your fault!!!!

Weiss: *choked* (Please someone save me. Ruby. Please save me Jaune...)

----------------------------------------------------------

Anyway here is my sorta sequel to my last fic. Go ahead and read it you want.

Part 1:

Part 2:

Oh yeah and Scarlett have an older brother. And no I didn't just add him out off nowhere. He had an unnamed cameo in an intermission fic I made a while back when I still have 40 followers:

If anyone asking what he is like think Jaune but with none of his insecurity and self loathing. Also he inherited Ruby's silver eyes. Nothing I'm sure.

And I know that someone will be asking where is Jaune in all of this and why is he avoiding team RWBY?

Well the answer is....

#jaune arc #ruby rose #lancaster #lancaster rwby #rwby #jaune x ruby #ruby x jaune #rwby lancaster #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #weiss schnee #whiteknight rwby #dragonslayer rwby #jaune future children #knightshade rwby #jaune x yang #yang x jaune #weiss x jaune #jaune x weiss #blake x jaune #jaune x blake

[mighty-ant]

Not Superhero Material

ao3

Honker shifted on the mat, staying on the balls of his feet as he circled his opponent. His gloves creaked around the handle of his sword, and through the slats in his helmet he watched the eyes of the taller dog across from him. 

There, a flinch. 

At the same moment his opponent lunged, Honker darted to the side. He turned, planting one foot forward, and let out a battle cry that would have shocked anyone who hadn’t seen him in the dojo before. 

With a practiced thrust, he struck the top of his opponent’s helmet. 

“Yame!” Sensei Enaga barked, raising her hand. “Second point, red. The match goes to Muddlefoot.”

Honker and his opponent stepped back from one another, until they were at opposite ends of the mat. They bowed to each other, and only then did the rest of the class erupt in applause. 

“Whew!” Across from Honker, Dusty pulled off his helmet to reveal his great canine grin, his fur matted with sweat and sticking up in all directions. “You didn’t let up for a second!”

Honker smiled shyly as he took off his own helmet. “Your harai-waza almost got me the second time.”

Dusty scoffed. “Don’t even try that false modesty sh–stuff! I obviously need more practice before I try and take on the reigning champ again.” Despite the challenge, there was no malice in the doberman’s face, just a friendly sort of fierceness. It was such a juxtaposition from his classmates’ treatment that it still gave Honker mental whiplash. 

“You all need more practice,” Sensei Enaga interrupted sourly. “But not today. Training is done, everyone go home.”

The class broke up into laughter, already more than familiar with their teacher’s short, sharp, and to the point nature. With that, order dissolved as kids broke off into groups, gathering their belongings, and heading out the doors. 

Dusty stopped to fistbump Honker before moving off to the side to take off and store his gear. 

Honker moved much more slowly to do the same. Mom was at her book club and Dad was with his bowling league, and the bus he took to get home wouldn’t arrive for twenty minutes. He had time to think. Though, Gos would probably call it brooding . 

He’d just started taking off his gloves when Sensei Enaga ambled over to him. He respectfully hopped back to his feet, but she just waved him back down; he took her leave to keep putting his armor away as she spoke. 

“Not to give you a big head, but you are doing very well, Honker. You’re more than ready to test yourself in a real competition.” 

Sensei Enaga had a way of speaking where everything she said, even her opinion, sounded as if she was stating fact. It didn’t stop the heat from flooding Honker’s cheeks. 

“Th-thank you, Sensei,” he mumbled as he pulled off the padded fabric protecting his throat, neck and shoulders. “But…I don’t know if I am ready for something like that.”

Honker risked a glance. Sensei was so short that only when he knelt were they of a height. He found her pristine, white feathered face screwed up in a frown.

“Why not? Your strike is the fastest I've seen in ten years of training hapless children, and your defense is next to none. I’m lucky if I can land a hit on you.”

He looked away again, undoing the straps of his breastplate. “My…friends don’t think I’m strong enough for stuff like that. All they see when they look at me…all most people see, is this little, helpless geek who can’t take care of himself.” Honker didn’t mean for that to come out as bitterly as it did, but in the darkness behind his closed eyes as he pulled his armor off and over his head, he let the ball of frustration in his stomach roil and churn, just for a moment. 

When Honker reopened his eyes, Sensei Enaga was across the room, standing beside the racks of wooden weapons on the walls. 

“All people saw when they looked at me was a small, weak shima enaga,” she said thoughtfully, taking a katana-sized tachi off the wall and weighing it carefully. Short or not, in her black keikogi and hakama, holding a blade twice her size, she looked like a deadly spirit from one of Mr. McDuck’s stories. “But I trained, I strengthened myself, and I proved them all wrong.” She pointed at him with the end of her bokken.  

“You must show your friends what you are capable of.”

Honker struggled to speak, as usual. “I…maybe. If I ever g-get the chance.”

Sensei Enaga scowled, dissatisfied. “Hmph. Well right now, you’re getting a chance to practice your kata. Up, let’s see how you’ve improved with bokken.”

—

Honker had so little to do in the command center when the team went on patrol that he’d spread out his physics homework across WANDA’s console. 

Gos liked to joke that he was her ‘guy in the chair,’ and sure he was good with computers, but WANDA was a literal supercomputer with top-of-the-line artificial intelligence. There was nothing he could do that WANDA couldn’t do better. As long as access to opposable digits wasn’t required. 

Of course, he’d just started to settle in with Bernoulli's principle when the ‘Something’s Gone Horribly Wrong’ alarm sounded (Gos was also responsible for that name). 

He was so startled he almost fell out of his chair, scattering his notebook with all the loose papers he kept meaning to put into a proper folder. 

“What’s going on?” he yelled over the alarm, pressing one hand over his ear while he stooped to gather his papers with the other. WANDA silenced the racket almost as soon as he raised his voice, making sure his shout sounded extra loud in the ensuing, ringing silence. 

But as the words left his beak, he understood why things had gone horribly wrong. 

The comm channel that the team always left open during patrol was choked with interference, harsh static rendering everyone’s voices nearly unintelligible. The signal was being jammed, and for it to interfere with WANDA’s comm lines, it had to be deliberate. 

Through the interference, the team was shouting, Gos louder than the rest. 

“It—trap!”

“Quiverwing?” Honker cried, his stomach swooping in alarm. 

“FOWL is here! Oh crap—”

“Arrow!” That was Darkwing. “Call—anyone but Gizmoduck—”

The line went dead. 

Honker stood frozen at the console, hands poised uselessly over the keys. Blood rushed through his head, deafening him, and his heart pounded with sickening fervor, as if it was about to leap right up his throat and out his beak. 

Despite his panic, his mind was racing. 

The team was just supposed to be out on a stakeout, breaking up a minor arms deal between local gang leaders. Nothing too dangerous, per Darkwing’s own words. But still enough not to let him join them. 

For FOWL to be there, it meant they had to have been lying in wait. Waiting for Darkwing Duck and his team. 

There was no love lost between Darkwing and the tattered remains of FOWL, especially their new shadowy figurehead, who they strongly suspected to be Taurus Bulba. He’d escaped from prison some months ago with the help of Steelbeak and a few dozen Eggheads, and promptly disappeared (but not before trying to take Gos with him and almost drowning Honker in the ensuing fight). 

The best course of action, the smart course of action, would be to call the ‘We’re Not All Ducks’ Justice Ducks for backup. FOWL was a threat worthy of Darkwing Duck, Gizmoduck, Penumbra. Not three and a half foot tall Herbert “Honker” Muddlefoot with a stutter and deadly nut allergy.

Honker moved his hand over the console, over to the series of switches that would tap him into the Justice Ducks emergency line. But he didn’t press any of them yet. 

He still had the team’s last known location locked on the GPS. If he hurried, took the underwater tunnel and borrowed Dr. Bellum’s experimental winged jetpack she’d loaned to Gos after Darkwing lost one in the bay and Launchpad crashed into various buildings with his….

This was such a bad idea. This was such a potentially disastrous idea. 

Still standing in his frozen tableau, Honker glanced over his shoulder to where he and Gos had dumped their school gear a few hours ago. He’d taken to carrying his kendo armor and uniform with him when he left the house; he didn’t trust Tank not to find and destroy it in some new, creative way. He was extra grateful for his paranoia now.

Honker didn’t have the ill fated Arrow costume anymore, thanks gods for that. Instead, he borrowed one of Darkwing’s masks and slipped on the breastplate of his armor, as well as both kote, adjusting the long, thickly padded fabric gloves to make sure he could still grip his new bokken. It was specially made by Fenton under the guise of it being for Darkwing. 

Yes, he’d lied to Gizmoduck. He tried to think about it too much. 

Strapping on the jetpack and hoping he didn’t explode, Honker glanced over at the screen they all considered to be WANDA’s digital ‘face.’ 

“WANDA, if you don’t hear from me in an hour, please contact Gizmoduck.”

WANDA affected the sound of a sigh. “You’re about to do something needlessly dangerous, aren’t you?”

“Uh…yeah.”

“You superheroes are all the same.”

-

Honker knew that the team meant well, not letting him join on patrol. They weren’t like Tank, or the kids at school who singled him out because he was smaller than them, smarter than them, and apparently hatched with ‘bully me to feel better about yourself’ stamped across his forehead. 

The Mallard-McQuack family had welcomed him wholeheartedly, and it wasn’t their fault that he’d needed rescuing when he met each of them. 

Even though they lived on the same block, he and Gosalyn didn’t meet until the second week of sixth grade, when a pack of eleventh graders tossed his backpack into a tree and stomped on his glasses. Gosalyn raced down the sidewalk screaming her head off like a banshee and chased them all off with her hockey stick. 

A week later, Launchpad met him on a rainy afternoon when his parents forgot to pick him up from school, and Gosalyn was just getting out of detention. He sat in the backseat of their dented minivan, shivering and sneezing, swallowed under Launchpad’s huge jacket. 

About two weeks after that , Mr. Mallard walked into his kitchen one afternoon in full Darkwing Duck getup to find Honker sitting at his table with a black eye and a bloody gash over his eyebrow, courtesy of Tank, who’d bounced a basketball off the back of his head and knocked him face first into the concrete. 

Launchpad had cleaned the cut over the sink and given Honker a napkin to staunch the bleeding while he went to ‘hunt down the real big band-aids.’ Mr. Mallard was actually sporting similar injuries: cuts on his cheek, already bandaged (from the glass of a store window exploding in his face), and singed feathers, plus an impressive bruise blossoming on his temple. 

For an endless, surreal minute, as brilliant sunlight spilled through the window and reflecting off the tile backsplash, they stared at each other in increasingly stunned silence, Honker’s confusion growing as Mr. Mallard’s horrified expression became more and more dire. 

Honker finally dared to ask, “Are you…”

“A cosplayer!” Mr. Mallard blurted too loudly. “That's right, uh, strange kid that’s in my house. I’m way into cosplay! Made this Darkwing costume myself.”

Honker frowned, unsure what to do. He knew better than to call an adult out for lying, but that was a bit much, even for him. 

Launchpad then breezed into the kitchen behind Mr. Mallard, carrying an almost comically oversized first aid kit, with Gosalyn in tow. “C’mon, DW, the kid’s not gonna buy that,” he said, nudging Mr. Mallard as he passed. “Honker here’s a real smart cookie.”

Gosalyn latched onto Mr. Mallard’s arm, laughing at him as he sputtered, “Who –Honker? What’s this kid doing in our kitchen?”

“Daaad,” Gosalyn drawled, long-suffering as she swung back and forth. “Honker, my friend from school? The one I told you was coming over to hang out today?”

Mr. Mallard scowled. “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

Launchpad had opened up the first aid kit on the kitchen table by then, and he glanced over his shoulder with a breath of laughter. “I’m not surprised, babe. Calendar Cluck clocked you good around the noggin. I told you to get some more rest.” He refocused his attention and reassuring smile on Honker, moving to take the makeshift wound dressing above his eye. “Now, I’m just gonna take a quick look, okay, Honk-man? See what we’re dealing with here.”

Gosalyn let go of Mr. Mallard and crossed the kitchen to sit next to Honker. Under cover of the table, she reached out and silently took his hand. 

Even with Gosalyn’s steadying presence, Honker had to swallow and take a few shaky breaths before he nodded at Launchpad, his mouth gone dry with nervousness. He lowered the napkin, and Launchpad leaned forward to look closely at the cut, not touching, his face scrunched up in its utmost seriousness. 

After another endless handful of seconds, Launchpad’ expression broke into a smile. “Good news! It doesn't look like you’ll need stitches.” He turned back to the first aid kit, pulling out butterfly bandages, gauze, and antibacterial ointment. “I’ll just patch you up, okay? Won’t hurt a bit.”

Honker nodded again, relief nearly making him lightheaded. The last thing he wanted was to convince his parents to take him to the emergency room. “Thank you.”

Launchpad shook his head. “No thanks needed, little man.”

Mr. Mallard stepped into the kitchen proper then, lowering himself into the chair beside Launchpad with the careful movements of someone nursing various aching limbs. “You’re in luck,” he said, the calmest he’d been since he appeared in the doorway. “LP’s the best nurse there is.”

Launchpad scoffed, slanting Mr. Mallard a wry, fond sort of look as he gently nudged him with his shoulder. “Nah, you and Gos are just trouble magnets.”

Before now, Honker had only ever seen photos and video footage of Darkwing Duck in full costume, his face obscured by a mask and the shadowed brim of his hat. Mr. Mallard leaned forward then, barefaced and hatless, but his shoulders were broad beneath the fall of his cape. Without anything to hide it, Honker watched the lingering smile in his eyes melt away into a far steelier expression. 

 “Who did this to you?” he asked, resolute in all the ways high-strung Mr. Mallard wasn’t. This was the superhero talking.  

“Uh, it was my brother, Mr. uh…Darkwing,” Honker stammered.

Mr. Mallard’s eyes widened, the superhero staunchness dropping as quickly as he’d donned it. “I’m not—” he started to backpedal.

Launchpad interrupted with a quick smile over his shoulder. “You can trust him, Drake. Right, Gos?”

“Heck yeah!” Gosalyn said at once, squeezing Honker’s hand that much tighter. “Honk’s the best at keeping secrets.”

Drake fixed her with a look, though the suspicion was tempered by a quirk of a smile. “That so? Any of them have to do with the call I got from your school about a pig in the boys’ bathroom?”

“Uhhhh, no?” Gosalyn replied unconvincingly. 

It took Honker an embarrassing amount of time to stop staring at the way Gosalyn interacted with her father, all comfortable jibes and open affection that was utterly foreign to him. He was lucky if he received a blank stare from his parents when tried to tell them about his day. 

He glanced up at Launchpad instead. The pilot had his tongue sticking out of the corner of his beak as he concentrated, spreading antibacterial ointment over Honker’s cut with a sterile Q-tip. When he turned to pick up the butterfly bandages, Honker mustered his courage enough to whisper, “Is he really…? I mean, is Mr. Mallard actually…?”

Launchpad smiled, with an understanding in his eyes like he’d been in the same place Honker was now. “Welcome to Team Darkwing, Honk-man,” he said with feeling. 

The moment would be further cemented when Gosalyn slapped a bag of frozen peas over his face to, quote, ‘deal with his messed up eye,’ while her fathers yelled over each other for her to be more careful.

That was then. 

But now, months later, after megalomaniacal moles tried to sink St. Canard, evil doppelgangers emerged from a rift in space-time, and Gos recruited him as her sidekick just in time for Taurus Bulba to break out of prison, one would think that they’d trust him as a full fledged member of the team and not just some innocent they had to protect. 

Gos had been on his side at first—even coming up with his sidekick name, which Honker honestly could’ve done without—but Bulba’s return had scared her badly. Where before she’d try wheedling her dad to let Honker join them on patrol and missions, now she agreed with Mr. Mallard and Launchpad when they shut him down.

“But-but you let Gosalyn go with you!” It was utterly unlike Honker to raise a fuss, much less argue with an adult, but the hypocrisy was galling 

As ever, Launchpad tried to play the mediator. “Gos has got training that you don’t. Give it some time. Right now, Honk-man, you’re just not ready.”

Mr. Mallard was more circumspect. “Honker, I appreciate where you’re coming from, but you never should’ve been involved in the first place. It was an accident that you discovered my secret identity, one I won’t have you paying for.”

After living through the terrifying ordeal that was Bulba’s attempted kidnapping, Gos clung to his arm, her green eyes almost painfully wide and for once doing nothing to hide the depth of her fear. 

“We need you here, Honk,” she’d muttered, staring like she expected him to be wrenched out of her hands. 

Honker knew about her grandfather and the part Bulba had played in his disappearance—at this point, maybe even his death. He didn’t want to be another person Gos was afraid of losing. He’d never had a best friend before, and he didn’t want to hurt her. 

But he’d seen what Darkwing Duck could do. What all of them did: saving lives, helping strangers, trying to make things better. 

Seeing real superheroes in action, not just a man in a high tech suit of armor, awakened something in Honker. A desire not to be helpless, maybe. A glimpse into what his future might look like, perhaps, outside of his brains and bookishness. A calling greater than he’d ever known before, when he watched Darkwing force himself back to his feet, fists raised, no matter how many times he got knocked down, when Launchpad stood in front of someone who couldn’t defend themselves and refused to be moved, when Gosayn donned her own mask and hood and rappelled through the air with her grappling hook, proving there wasn’t an age requirement to be a hero. 

Only superficial rules, apparently. 

He’d practiced kendo for an entire year before he met Gos, after stumbling into Sensei Enaga’s dojo while running from his usual gang of tormentors. But the thing was…the team didn’t know. About any of it. Not the competitions he’d won, the first and second dan he’d achieved. When he left for practice, he told them he was going to Geography Club. 

At this point, he’d lied about it for so long he was resigned to lying about it for the rest of his life. Or at least the rest of middle school. 

Though, after tonight, there might not be much of a secret to keep anymore. 

-

Honker landed on the roof of a brick warehouse across the street from the team’s last known location, stumbling a bit as the jetpack’s engines cut out. It had been a jerky, terrifying flight from the Audubon Bay Bridge, but at least Gos and her family had only ventured as far as the south dockyard and not the opposite end of the city. 

Clipped to his belt were a set of night vision goggles, and he put them up to his masked face. Laying low, he searched for any sign that the tall warehouse across from him was guarded. 

Because the goggles were certainly a Gearloose invention, they also displayed heat signatures, and a handful immediately popped up around the warehouse perimeter. Whatever material the building was made of, it was too thick for the goggles to get a reading through it. But judging by the way moonlight bounced off a portion of the roof, there seemed to be a skylight he could use to get a look inside the warehouse. All he had to do was get past one, two…six Eggheads without any of them raising an alarm. 

Easy peasy, right?

He gathered a handful of small rocks from the rooftop, snuck over to the opposite side overlooking an alley directly in front of the warehouse. He threw a few at the dumpsters below, knocking over a garbage can with a clatter. Like he’d hoped, two of the Eggheads peeled out of the darkness and went to investigate the disturbance. 

The last four were in pairs of two, too, but so separated that they were nearly on opposite sides of the warehouse. Honker engaged the jetpack and rose over the heads of the two facing the north side. He’d taken more than goggles from Darkwing’s endless supply of gadgets, and dropped two pellets of knockout gas from fifty feet up. They struck the Eggheads in a cloud of clear mist and they slumped over almost at once. 

The two Eggheads on the west side heard the hiss of the gas escaping, or maybe the thump of their bodies hitting the floor, and made to engage with their guns raised. But Honker was already hovering over them.

He descended rapidly, throwing a smoke bomb as he went. In the confusion, with his night vision goggles still on, he was able to strike with unerring precision. His new bokken, made of titanium, unfolded smoothly to its full length, and was more than a match for the Egghead’s unprotected stomachs, knees, and the backs of their ugly armored heads. 

All that remained were the two Eggheads just barely leaving the mouth of the alley, and Honker tossed down another smoke bomb before launching himself at them. 

The first he downed with a swipe at their ankles and a blow to the top of their head. The other came up on him with fists rather than a weapon, and Honker swung out one arm, his bokken shattering their visor. 

They fell on their back with a startled swear, and Honker stood over them, ready to deliver the blow that would render him unconscious. 

The Egghead sneered at him, fury in their exposed eyes, but Honker didn’t feel a lick of fear. “Who’re you supposed to be?” they spit out, deriding. 

Honker tilted his head to the side. “Not sure yet.” With a neat little swipe, he knocked out the last Egghead. 

Or at least, the last one that was outside. 

Beneath the skylight was a web of catwalks that Honker took ruthless advantage of. The only lights in the warehouse were the ones pointed straight down in the center of the building, and when Honker disabled the night vision setting on the goggles and zoomed in, he saw the whole team tied together against some rusted canning machinery. 

Relief swam through him intense enough to leave him lightheaded. Even if closer on inspection Gos was more bruised than he last saw her, and Darkwing had a bleeding cut over one eye, at least they were all conscious. Honker supposed that needed to be the case, for Steelbeak to monologue at them like he was. 

 As he tallied up the number of Eggheads, he wondered if Steelbeak was still under the effects of the Intelli-ray. Honker’s intuition told him no, because no smart supervillain would make the mistake of monologuing for so long. 

Honker counted twenty Eggheads. Too many for him to take on without help. 

Fortunately, help was located down below. They just happened to be a bit tied up at the moment. 

Stealing his nerves, he pulled another gadget out of his pack: a set of bolas. Calculating the angle he would need, he positioned himself and swung, letting the bolas go flying out of his hand in a blur. They knocked out the lights with a smash, hailing broken glass on the unsuspecting FOWL agents below. In almost the same moment, he reactivated the night vision setting on his goggles. 

With assistance from the jetpack, Honker rose in the air as chaos exploded on the ground, only made worse by the smoke bombs he tossed at various clusters of Eggheads. He spotted Steelbeak furiously waving his arms through the smoke, coughing and shouting, “No! No way! No way there’s any more of these bozos hanging around!”

Honker descended rapidly with his bokken fully extended, batting away a cluster of Eggheads nearest to where the team was imprisoned with a series of precise strikes. 

He hurried over to the pile he recognized as Gos, Darkwing and Launchpad, the three of them bound together and already struggling to free themselves. But with them pressed that close, Honker knew that Darkwing wouldn’t be able to activate his buzzsaw cufflinks. Instead, he pulled out his own swiss army knife, a gift from Mr. Mallard for his last birthday, and set to sawing through the knot binding them to the old equipment. 

When all three of them went abruptly quiet, Honker quickly raised his head to make sure they were alright. 

He met three identical stares of bewilderment. 

“Uh. Thanks for the save,” Darkwing said slowly. 

“Seriously!” Launchpad added. 

“But who the heck are you?” Gos demanded. 

If Steelbeak and a whole host of Eggheads weren’t about to pounce on his head, Honker might’ve burst into laughter. All that time insisting he couldn’t join them on missions, and they didn’t even recognize him. 

He went back to sawing through the ropes. 

“Let’s just say,” Honker said, knowing his nasal voice would give him away in an instant. “I got tired of being the guy in the chair.”

Gos’ beak dropped open. “Keen gear,” she breathed. 

Darkwing sputtered incoherently, but beside him, Launchpad was grinning. “Sorry for saying you weren’t ready. That was my bad.”

“When it comes to solo missions, you might be right,” Honker huffed, tugging on the rope. “I’d rather be out here with all of Team Darkwing.”

#ant writes #ducktales 2017 #honker muddlefoot #dt fic #ducktales #darkwing duck #launchpad mcquack #gosalyn mallard #drake mallard #welcome honker to the bad childhood havers club we have matching jackets

[padawansuggest]

Okay so I just got an idea for a hilarious AU. Instead of Boba and Fennec showing up first on Tython, they are NARROWLY beat out by an imperial fighter that crashes. Din gets there just as Boba and Fennec are getting out to investigate too, cue dramatics of course, only for, whomst??? Tag and Bink and Cal to all crash out of the fighter, Cal throwing things at them for turning imp- they couldn’t help it they were just Little Guys and Anakin was so nice not to murder them! Cue more dramatics of Cal yelling that they had been in the same clan as him and they are BRETRAYERS- yes Din is confused and Boba is standing there like :[ real awkward and finally Cal turns to see him, rock in hand and lobs it at his head saying Boba never even told Cal he was still alive and what a bitch! Anyways, Din asks if any of them are Jedi and Boba laughs his ass off as Cal and Tag and Bink give him this look like :/ well no technically all of us flunked the first try for that one, but technically Cal————— anyways. Tag and Bink see little baby Grogu on the seeing stone and are so excited that’s little crechling Grogu remember all the pranks he pulled on the creche masters??? What a guy! And Din is all ‘I need someone to teach him’ and Cal vibrates into the next dimension in excitement and Boba is all ‘hey can I have my armor back’ and then the imps show up and they fight but Grogu stays cause Tag and Bink get kidnapped by them instead (they know important secrets and the Imps can’t lose them against or they’ll get fired. Out of a canon. Into the sun.) and now instead of rescuing Grogu Luke shows up to save Tag and Bink and is so freaking confused when they say his dad was a real great guy but super ugly in the end lol wtf.

Anyways. Grogu gets playmates and Cal tags along with Din to teach the baby and Boba wanders off in confusion and asks Fennec if she wants to kill Fortuna finally lol she’s down for murder. Nobody seems to notice when Tag and Bink are carried off by a Bantha and not seen again for a full month. Wtf.

#star wars #the mandalorian #din djarin #cal kestis #tag greenly #bink otauna #tag and bink #book of boba fett #boba fett #boba is so amused till cal and Din turn on the charm at the same time then he’s a mess #Grogu #Jedi reunion #Jedi finding each other in the wild is so funny to me

[damianbugs]

steph and bruce fic recs :0?

oh anon u have made my week with this request. my month. my year in fact. bruce and stephanie is a duo that is so special to me and i am not normal about them at all, and so of course i have only the best recs to give you. they are soooo complicated, but that's what makes them so interesting and so personal. i hope you enjoy these!

STEPH AND BRUCE FIC RECS ON AO3

Permutations and Hinterlands by cabezas_de_vaca

She and Bruce are complicated (not bad complicated, not wrong complicated, just complicated, because he isn’t her father and will never be her father and yet he sort of also is) but he cares. It gets lost sometimes, under the demands of Gotham, but it’s there. And so, she just asks him. “Do you want to go to Colorado with me?” Or: Bruce, Steph, and a road trip

MY NOTES: some very heavy but very good stephanie introspection, along with a great take on her relationship with bruce. also, who doesn't love a good road trip fic?

Have I Told You About Minnie by Hinn_Raven

After you’ve known Matches Malone long enough, you get used to him telling you about his kids. Not that his kids know about it.

MY NOTES: i am physically incapable of not recommending this fic regardless of the ask. it must be shared and it must be read. a real feel good and fun fic, bruce is so silly, and steph is so fun. lovely inclusion (without actually including) the other kids too!

I Used to Be an Adventurer Like You, Then I Took an Arrow to the Knee by audreycritter

Stephanie was just on patrol and now she’s stuck somewhere, sometime, with Bruce. They bleed and bond and mostly try to keep each other alive— you know, just a Tuesday.

MY NOTES: im fairly certain i have recommended this before on here, but i have also reread it at least ten times, so who's to judge. one of my favourite time travel fics, also one of my all time favourite bruce and stephanie fics. the end is especially my favourite since it develops a specific part of their dynamic that i really treasure. must read!

we’ll have a feast of all the things we love to eat by smallzita

The story has always gone like this: Batman exists because of guilt and purpose, but mostly guilt. The story is going like this: it's four-thirty in the afternoon and Bruce Wayne is wearing a dress.

MY NOTES: girl dad bruce. baby steph. as the author notes say 'Bruce Wayne being a foster parent can be something very personal actually.' what more do you want? what more is needed??!?!

it's just a question by Magpietrove4 🔒

this one doesn't have a summary, or any tags, but it might just be one of the best stephanie introspections i've read. the conversation with bruce really ties it all together. must read!

Under Armor Over Armor by LeantheBean

"Fridays don’t always go my way but someday I hope they’ll all be fine." In which, Stephanie Brown gets ready for patrol.

MY NOTES: ohhhh this one is so special to me. imagine me sobbing crying screaming as i say this. it's so melancholic and. yearnful. a wonderful thing that connects steph and bruce is also the thing they will never talk about with each other. so good.

to brighten up even your darkest knight by Nokomis

While filing Batman’s paperwork as punishment for an unfortunate incident with the Batmobile, Steph discovers a momento from an early Cluemaster takedown.

MY NOTES: this one is sooo cute and so sweet. i love when batman is batman.

boston market by almondrose

batman & robin enjoy a mid-patrol snack.

MY NOTES: this one is also so incredibly cute. until it isn't. tears in my eyes forever. have read it so many times because it is just so real. must read!

#bruce wayne #stephanie brown #batfamily fic recs #saki batfam fic recs

[acewitch-writes]

My last snippet stirred up some interest, so here's another piece of that same story! This snippet is the prologue. Once I have more written, I intend to post it to AO3.

...

“Are you sure you want to go in there alone?”

“He won't talk if anyone comes with me,” Remus responds, ducking away from his father's smothering hands clamped to his shoulders. “I'll be fine. Just trust me.”

Lyall sends an uneasy glance to his wife, Hope, and she nods. “Let him go, Ly. The boy couldn't hurt him even if he wanted to.”

Lyall hesitates a moment longer, chewing on his lip, before exhaling in defeat and standing back. “Alright. Alright. Just… just make sure Protego is enabled. Full coverage, nothing less. Stay back at least two feet from the bars. And shout if something goes wrong. Understood?”

“Yes, dad,” Remus mumbles.

“We'll be right here on the other side of the door.”

“I know.”

“Be careful.”

There's no need, Remus isn't in any real danger here, but he nods anyway. “Of course, dad. Always.”

The Sentinel at the door, clad in the trademarked black robes fitted with leather braces, winding belts, armored chestplate, and sturdy knee-length boots, waves his wand when Remus steps forward, unlatching the magical locks. The door creaks open on metal hinges.

Remus walks inside, trying to keep his head inclined in a show of bravery. But when it clanks shut behind him, he can't help jumping slightly. 

A voice chuckles from the shadows. “You're like a cat.”

In spite of everything, Remus feels his heart perk up. “Symptom of a bubble-wrapped childhood,” he responds to the shadows, eyes scanning the room before him. There is a metal holding cell taking up just over half of the room, bars humming softly with anti-magic enchantments. Huddled on the floor in the corner of the cell, Remus finally spots him.

Sirius. He's dressed in traditional black wizard's robes that must have belonged to his father because they appear to be a size too large. His long black hair is loose and disheveled, dull strands framing his tired, beautiful face. He regards Remus with wary silver eyes from his seat on the stone floors.

“They let you come in alone?”

“Not without a massive fight,” Remus admits. “My dad didn't want to let me.”

“I'm sure he didn't.”

“He thinks you're too dangerous.” Remus says this with a hint of accusation.

“Maybe I am,” Sirius says flatly. He looks down at his hands, secured tightly with silver manacles. “How long has it been?”

“Three months.”

Sirius nods distantly.  “My parents?”

Remus frowns. “Already sent away for reconditioning.”

Sirius’ expression darkens. “Regulus?”

Remus’ heart suddenly starts racing. “Him, too,” he lies. “They'll be assigned jobs soon.”

“Jobs,” Sirius scoffs without emotion. “Call it what it is, Remus. Your mum can't hear you on this side of the door.”

“It's better than death,” Remus points out.

“No, it's not. I'd rather be dead than sent to one of those horrible labor camps,” Sirius snaps. “And if you had any magic of your own, you'd agree.”

“You know that I agree,” Remus retorts. “But you went rogue. I don't know if I can get you out of this.”

Sirius pulls himself to his feet and limps over to the cell door. “Then break me out.”

“I can't.”

“All I need is a Spellcom,” Sirius insists, leaning against the bars imploringly. “Give me yours and tell them I nicked it.”

Remus takes a step back. “Sirius, I really can't.”

“Yes, you can. Just give me the damn Spellcom.”

“You murdered 12 people,” Remus bursts out, unable to contain it any longer. “Their families are outside right now calling for your head! One of the victims was a ten year old girl, Sirius. She was at the zoo with her granny, and now they're both dead because of you!”

Sirius’ expression turns to stone, hands slowly lowering from the bars. “That wasn't my fault,” he mutters coldly. “Dragons are meant to be dangerous and wild and free, not locked up in an enclosure to be gawked at by crowds of muggles. Their own disrespect for the beasts is what got them killed.”

“You let them out! As far as the law is concerned, their blood is on your hands.”

Sirius laughs with harsh contempt. “Godric, listen to you. Always the coward. I knew you were too soft to do what needed to be done.” He returns to his shadowy corner and eases himself back to the floor with a grimace. “Just go. You're worthless to me here.”

This stings. Remus swallows it back, resolve crumbling. “I wanted to help,” he whispers. “I thought we were going to do this together.”

“You would have just held me back,” Sirius says heartlessly. “You're too weak and spoiled. You wouldn't know courage if it slapped you across the face.”

“That's why you left me in the dark?” Remus guesses, heart splintering. “You didn't think I could handle it?”

“If you could, you'd hand over your Spellcom right now,” Sirius responds challengingly. He holds Remus’ gaze for a long moment, waiting, before snorting derisively. “See? You'll watch them ship me away before you ever grow some semblance of a fucking spine.”

Remus feels helpless. He wants to do it. He wants to reach into his pocket to hand over his Spellcom like Sirius is demanding. But there are so many Sentinels outside, he would never make it. And when he finds out that Regulus didn't survive, he'll get himself killed before ever letting them bring him back here alive.

Sirius is a ticking bomb, prepared to blow himself to bits if it means he'll at least get to die as a free man. Remus can't let it happen. He can't live in a world that doesn't include Sirius. Why couldn't Sirius have realized that before he did this stupid thing without him? 

Remus can't think of any other way out of this now. Sirius dug his grave too deep this time. Even with all the power and influence of the Lupin family at their disposal, they can't make this stain vanish. 

There's no other solution. Remus can't let Sirius live out the rest of his days in a labor camp, and he can't let him get himself killed in a violent escape attempt. Which leaves him with only one option.

Remus turns to leave without another word. He knocks on the door, and the Sentinel posted outside opens it at once. As he steps through the threshold, Sirius jeers one final insult at his retreating back. “Pathetic.”

The door slams shut. Remus feels the word curling around his chest, settling there along with all the vitriol and contempt with which it was uttered. Searing him from the inside.

“Are you okay?” his father frets straight away, eyes darting all over his son's body for any sign of damage.

Remus waves him away and lifts his head to face his mother with grave determination. “I would like to have Sirius Black reconditioned into my own personal Sentinel.”

#multiverse #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #my writing #acewitch snippets

[l3visthighs]

Hey lovely Alyssa ✨

I hope you're doing well!

The Leviana fanarts you post are always amazing & I wondered if you could tell us more about your OC Ilyana? I'm really curious about this cutie!

Smooches 😘

Val, hi! 💕 how’re you doing?

Thank you so much for your question about Ilyana. It makes my heart so happy when people show an interest in her.

I have a little story I’ve been working on for a while for her & Levi. It’s just never seen the light of day because I don’t have a lot of confidence in my writing/storytelling. So it’s been more of a project just for me. :’)

I’ll insert a few paragraphs of it here though just to give a little more insight about her (her background, her personality, etc) <3

Year 843: 

That day had finally come; the day that Ilyana Hoover dreaded every single day since her adopted brother, Bertolt, had told her that he wanted to become a warrior. Today was the day she watched him inherit the Colossal Titan.  She couldn't believe it, she didn't want to. Thirteen years. Thirteen years is all she had left with him. For years she had tried to talk him out of it. But here she is now. Watching him train for his upcoming mission in Paradis with the now Armored Titan and Female Titan. She's going with them on their mission. She had already decided that long ago; she told herself no matter what the outcome was today that she would be there for him. She knows her brother. He's emotional, sometimes weak, and anxious. No matter what role they decide to give her in the mission, she would do it, she would go. If only to protect him. 

"I really don't think you should come along, Ilyana. It's going to be dangerous. We don't know what these island devils are capable of. Stay here and look after mom. She needs you." He pleads with her that evening. 

"You're really lecturing me over it being dangerous? Bert, you're scared of your own shadow most of the time" She sighs. "If I don't go with you and something happens to you, I wouldn't be able to live with that. I already made up my mind. I don't trust Reiner to protect you, either. You and I both know how hot headed and emotional he can be at times. Mom will be just fine. She's got dad here to watch over her. You know he'd never let her roam the streets alone." 

He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. She's right. He knows she is; and he knows there's no convincing her otherwise. His sister has always been stubborn. A bit hot headed herself at times. He knows she just wants the best for him. She's always been protective of him. But he can't help but wish she'd believe in him, just this one time. He knows he can handle himself. He's been through the training, he knows what to expect; what he's getting himself into. 

Ilyana always knew she was different from the others of her kind. Born a Marleyan but adopted at a young age by an Eldian family; the Hoover family. They’d found her alone on the street one evening and decided to take her in; a few years later came Bertolt. She never knew her real parents, nor what had happened to them. Every Marleyan here was disgusted by the Eldians. She had watched her family be talked down to, pushed around and spit at walking down the streets. But growing up and living in an Eldian family made her feel much differently towards them. She had read the history books, heard all of the rumors; But she refused to believe they were all as bad as the people of Marley had made them out to be. She loved the Hoovers. They had always treated her like their own. The least she could do in return for everything they'd done for her is watch after their son, her brother; blood relation or not. She would protect him with her life. 

————————

TLDR: Ilyana Hoover is a Marleyan; she was adopted by the Hoovers at a young age. She’s extremely protective over her brother, Bertolt. She finds herself feeling super sympathetic towards all Eldians; including the ones on the island. Shes confident, not afraid to hold her own ground/speak up for herself; but can also be extremely hot headed & rash. (Which causes for some bickering with Levi later on in the story) she travels to the island with the Warriors as a spy.

(Also all artwork of them is done by the lovely @/catyypss)

#moots <3 #val✨ #y’all if you read this please be kind it took a lot for me to post it #disappearing into the void now

[hoeforhao]

Hello!!! Your work is amazing, I love it a lot! Sooo... I have been thinking about Junhui as dad?!! Like god-it will be the death of me because just look at him he is so good with kids!

ㅤㅤㅤ ｡˚ 𓂋 🍵 . Woven by Fate﹒✦﹒✿ ˚

𑁍pairing: step-dad!junhui x g.n!reader

𑁍warnings: none, just some little bit of heavy topics ig? and just pure bliss of jun as a dad, explicit language, mention of pregnancy, mild angst, soft fluffy ending

𑁍author's note: thanks anon for giving me baby fever now!!!!! svt as dads is my weakest point. also i added some real life experiences of mine into this piece hehe...hope y'all will like it ♡*literally wrote this in 30 mins at a starbucks*

my taglist and asks for drabbles or fics or headcannons are always open ꒦꒷new smut soon꒦꒷

Taglist : @joonsytip @tommolex @tara-drabbles @meowmeowminnie @qkrcjstk @chwenott @mewheree @cinnamoroxie

"Yah run slow A'Jun" a soft chuckle parts your lips as your two year old daughter sprints towards her dad, arms wide open and face plastered with the loudest giggles.

"You missed dada princess?" the two tone haired 'prince charming' asks your babygirl, while swinging her up into his arms, showering her stature with a year's worth kisses. "But dada missed you more love. Now that I'm here, you better not stick by mommy or I'll be angy, hmph"

Oh what a sight! Seeing a 26 year old man pout like an absolute babie, infront of his toddler daughter, or should i say step-daughter.

Yes A'Jun, wasn't Jun's biological daughter. You had her with your asshole ex, who 'lost feelings for you' while you were literally pregnant with his child. Being someone who grew up without any male presence or help, you never ever felt the need for getting any man involved in your daughter's life anymore, until....

Jun was really what they described to be a 'prince charming' in children's tales and your daughter's knight in shining armor. But for you? He was just Junnie's kindergarten teacher, until that one day, that one destined ptm when your girl was curled up in a corner, throwing tantrums at you 'bout why everyone was there with their fathers, and she wasn't.

You knew this question would taint your daughter's lips for the rest of her life, and honestly? you now blamed yourself for not being able to give her a proper childhood. And boom, that's when Jun walked in. Would you say it was a fairytale epilogue? For sure it was. Cuz the way he just came out of nowhere and picked her up into his embrace, wiping off her tear stained face with wet kisses and going " Who said you don't have a father sweet potato? Who am I then? Huh?Dada is shad now". Yes a grown ass man, who was in no way related to your child was now baby talking with her, paired with cutest pout you've ever seen on a man.

And that's how your story started. A story of a perfect, small yet contented family. Something you've always dreamt of, but never ever hoped of living. You sometimes think whether it was really meant to be? Why? Cuz ain't it too much of a coincidence that you named your daughter after her 'would be dad' whom you had no idea of? Both of them being born on the tenth day of June, aka your birth month!! Maybe this family was actually woven carefully by the universe, one thread at a time, with the finest of muslin.

#kpop #seventeen #svtcreations #kpop scenarios #fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen x y/n #kpop fluff #seventeen fluff #seventeen fanfic #wen junhui #moon junhui #junhui fluff #junhui drabble #junhui scenarios #junhui x reader #svt junhui #junhui imagines #svt flick fic #svt creations #kpop imagines #kpop drabbles #jun seventeen #svt jun #svt x y/n #svt x reader #svt drabbles #seventeen drabbles #drabbles #svt fluff

[survivalist-anon]

Log 13: Concerning Wolves

Sitting in Jame's office is a strange mix between having a candid conversation with an older friend and being in trouble I'm the principal's office.

"Young lady, I trust you know that you're about to embark on a rather tumultuous experience right?", his drawl was a bit more serious than usual. "This ain't like the movies where you know how things will turn out either.....things can go so far down south right into hell now that the Astartes are involved."

Remembering what had happened the night before, the circumstances of Grandpa's murder, and what I've seen, I had no excuses to ignore the dangers. "Yeah, I can see...... listen if it's about Jeff....and Fjord tossing the patrol car, he was trying to protect me. I didn't ask him to throw the car at Jeff a-", Jame's eyebrows arched up.

"He did what?", apparently he hadn't been told about that.

"Fuk. Well anyway....Jeff pulled his gun on me thinking I was someone trying to attack on him or something and Fjord reacted to protect. He was just doing his duty.", I could tell James was already going to reiterate the responsibility. A heavy sigh slide through his lips once more.

"It's ok, however Fjord's going to have to be kept on a tight leash and control himself around folks or he's gonna have to stay home. Do you understand me?", his tone felt like there was something else underneath.

"Ok...I understand sir....also....how....long you've known about all of this?", I ask only of curiosity...if he wasn't willing to tell me than that fine too.

James relaxed his seriousness and mellowed abit, taking out a photo album. "They've been here far longer than I have kid, in fact Aldercon was my great grandfather's Astartes. Way back when folks had come here for free land. He told me that Aldercon had come from the sky, landed squarely in the heart of the Wyoming wilderness. He was shellshocked, covered head to toe in blood and dirt....I remember stories of my grandfather and Aldercon, as wild as the tales of Paul Bunyan and Babe. The two had become folk legends out in the ol' West."

He opened the book to show me the first page, it was a collection of aged, photos from the late 1800's. One of the pictures was of Jame's grandfather, he really did come from an American lineage of cowboys. He was far more rugged than James however... I glanced at the tall, stockier man in a much more humble looking uniform, same black fist on his pauldron too. "Holy shit, this can't be him...for one he's smiling, and second, I thought -", I could see James giving me a look that said 'but you didn't '.

I could see a tiny difference between him from this photo and now. I can tell his hair was darker, I can definitely see that thousand yard stare of a man who's seen war, and his armor was slightly different from the Marines back at the fort.

James turned the page, this was one was a genuine surprise. "Even your great grandfather, had one.", next to him was a man fresh off the boat from Eastern Europe, my Great grandfather, dad for some reason or another was reluctant to tell me his real name...he kept calling him "Big George", after the Butcher Boy George from Hungarian folk lore. Then right next to him, probably helped bag a rather ominous looking bear, was Sten. That white stripe on his head wasn't present, he didn't change as much as Aldercon. This picture was even more older than James's granddad's photo.

"You see Lorey, they've been around for a while now....lord knows for how long though.". He began to reminisce about the past.

The implications of these Marines having been around is giving my inner history buff a massive concern. "Well....it would be extremely stupid to try to bargain the fact I thought they joking, but I'm starting to see...I take it this will be more complicated?".

He looks up at me, "Yes ... because just like with basic folks like us, there are bad folks....that big black one your grandpa wasn't lucky with....is one of them...there seems to be at least five or so kinds out there based on my sources.....one of them is out there right now reeking havoc near highly populated campsites..... Aldercon told me Sten and Toke will be in disposed of for the next week.... meanwhile have Fjord keep a sharp nose out for that one...it's the fastest I've seen of these ones....I'm not too familiar with the either...so I'm giving you a very special assignment. I need you to put your research training to go use."

He handed me a small leather bound journal.

"Keep track of them, now....let's go have some grub.", he gets up from his chair and pats my shoulder.

I sat there feeling something complex in me, I'm....going to catalog them? I open the journal and I SWEAR James has been screwing with me at least to this point....this journal aestheticly looked a DnD character sheet of it focused on identifying and profiling. I place it in my inner jacket pocket. "What the shit....", I still wasn't too sure of my role in all of this....I could understand why now.

I'm just part of a lineage of....marine handlers? I don't know.....

As I leave the room, I see the Fjord was getting a lesson in paper football from one of the volunteers.

James takes the desk bell and rings it to call the attention of everyone in the center. "Ladies, Gentlemen and folks. I would like to make an announcement, as of now. Be on high alert for any unusual activity. Anything and everything in regards to disappearances of livestock and or people, property damage of unexplained or unusual nature, and any purported sightings of creatures of unknown origin...I.e...NOT BIG FOOT.... We'll have to be reported to me, Lorey and Ronnie for the time being.

I figured Ronnie also got the information, I look at him and he was a little more on edge than I was.

Fjord, definitely knew what this whole deal was about.

With a ringing of the doorbell to the nursery, Shelly has brought in some new little guests.

"Oh guys come and see! The babies are opening their eyes!", Shelly, Ronnie and I have been researching the local wolf packs in the area and monitoring their behavior. One of the females under our care have recently gave birth a few days ago.

I check in the box as Shelly laid it on the table, 5 beautiful cubs. In their state, they're roughly two to three weeks old. As helpless as human babies. "Fjord, would you like to see them?"

He was a little curious, he walked over to see the five cubs. ".... they're so....small.... they're...just wee little things...".

I could see he was trying to piece together something....not certain what, but from my perspective he was wonder struck.

As the cubs peeped and whimpered, as all cubs do, one has just opened it's eyes. Showing a pair of smokey blue irises. Than, Fjord did something I wasn't expecting him to do. He gently placed his hand next to one of the cubs. "... interesting...."

"Oh careful please, they're fragile little ones.", Shelly had all the right to worry. These may have been wild animals, but even young wild animals need to be treated carefully.

His finger alone dwarfed the cub, he was so still and so focused. By this point I completely lost in what could he be possibly thinking. A little cub wiggled right on top of his finger, using it as a heated pillow.

Fjord, let out a soft but eerily convincing howl, low enough that it could be considered an indoor voice, but it was very real. All the cubs let out their first howls, right there, all with varying skill and ability. But every single one had howled for the first time in their lives.

The room was quite, understandably, this was extremely weird for everyone.

Anderson decided to break the moment, "ugh...yeah I'd like to report something.".

"Anderson hush.", James to the rescue. "Fjord seems to understand these pups pretty well.

Shelly was mesmerized, "Oh my gosh, they all just did that at the same time. In all my years here, I have never seen something so amazing before."

I kept looking at Fjord, if I could read minds, this would be a great time to use it.

After a few hours of everyone enjoying their food, drink and few games. I sat with Fjord in the back of the room.

I sipped the last of my ginger ale, I still couldn't get his expression out of my mind. "Fjord. That thing you did with the howl ....can...you explain that to me?"

He sat there, lips wrapped around a rib bone. "Oh, that....it just...why are yeh wolves so small? I mean, I seen some out there in the forest and yonder ....I'm use to the wolves back home. Ferocious and mighty beasts, equivalent to Astartes! Strong enough to bare us and ride into battle. The cubs from thosd wolves are just a wee bit smaller than your fully grown ones. They're born with their teeth already out. These ones.... they're.... just wee bairns...".

I still didn't really get it. "Ugh, you mean...you're confused on why they're small.....?", I ask.

He takes out the bone from his mouth, "I mean....why do they remind me of mortal children? Small, helpless.... fragile...".

The tone he took had felt familiar, it was the same tone I used when my expectations would be challenged. "Wait...are you telling me you're disappointed by our wolves?", I satirically question him.

"No lass, it's just.....they remind me of....well....me... before I became an Astartes. The wee one ....it had blue eyes....I ....use to have the same eyes.", that last comment took me a little to figure out he was actually feeling.

It was self reflection. I just gave this guy a massive 'thing' to think about.

"well, all wolf pups have blue eyes when they're born, than as they grow, they change colors... mostly to yellow, amber or green.", looked to the room watching everyone enjoying themselves.

I suddenly felt him gently pull the side of my jaw, making me face him directly.

"Interesting....you have green eyes.", he bluntly stated.

I could feel my heart pounding by this point, we just both intensely looked into each other's eyes. I didn't know what it was, but something about the way he kept looking at me, just burning into my soul, felt strange...yet I liked it...it wasn't human either....

"ugh....this feels a little bit....um.", I didn't want to be mean about the situation by calling it 'cheesy' or 'corny'.

"----Hey you guys want t-", Jonas broke the tension for the both of us. "oooooh you two were?", she gave a cheeky grin.

"Jonas! You scared me.", again I had no idea what to say but hey it was something.

Fjord snapped out of his stare and looked to Jonas, "oh hey lass, to do what?"

Jonas chuckled a little, "it's almost time to close up the station and let the night crew in. We're heading down to the bar tonight actually. Why don't you bring your kegs too, Franky doesn't mind it."

I had completely forgotten about those two kegs, if Fjord sticks to the. He could save me a little of money.

"Ah I could use a drink, I've been parched for some for a little while lass.", he looks to me as a way of asking for approval by this point.

"ok fine.", I lean in to whisper in his ear. "Please behave yourself, Aldercon's orders."

He looks at me was a smoldering look, leans into my ear, "I'll do my best.".

I have no idea why, but the way he whispered into my ear shot the best feeling in the pit of my being.

End of log 13

@kit-williams @barn-anon @egrets-not-regrets

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @walking-natural-disaster

@squishyowl

@starfrost740

#space marine husbandry #warhammer 40k #space marine #survival log #space marines #space marine husbandry sentience #space wolves