#i have finals in like a week and here i am writing shitty fic

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Can you write a college roommate head cannon for miguel O’Hara ( 18+ f!reader)

ik you asked for HCs but I have no self control... my bad, anon!

College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

summary: Miguel is your roommate. And he’s hot. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

warnings: 18+ as fuuuck. F-receiving oral, using toys, masturbation, voyeurism (-ish), grinding, praise, service dom (idk?) Miguel, recreational drug use (reader and Miggy smoke a blunt). Minors DNI

a/n: I am a firm believer that modern day Miguel listens to 90s rnb, back when men were men: unabashedly, unashamedly down so fucking bad for their partners. he just gives me those vibes!!

edit: I'm writing a full fic for this! Rigor Mortis, college au fic, read here.

wc: 6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm thinking you become roommates but he's your last choice. 

Very last minute: you have a big falling out with your now ex-boyfriend, and the plans for flatsharing next semester goes right out the window. 

So all the good places are taken, and you're going apartment-hunting, but everywhere's either too expensive, too dirty, or there's a predatory clause hidden in the lease: shitty landlords and blaring red flags in 9pt Times New Roman. 

When you stumble upon Miguel O'Hara; a student in private accomodation who, lucky you, is in need of a roommate; it feels like a godsend.

Rent is affordable and he's nice enough; refusing to grunt more than a few words to you, but is clean, organised, and from what you can tell, is barely in the apartment. 

You sign onto the lease, desperately, hoping you've just been lucky and trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

You give a thousand mile stare at the blank document in front of you. A bullshit paper due in exactly 12 hours. Yes, you left it until the final stretch, and yes, it's 10k words. Very doable. You're not fucked. Nope.

You blame it on the banging from next door. Paper thin walls; obscene noises. Cries of Yes Miguel and Just like that, daddy have been plaguing you for almost an hour. His stamina must be superhuman, the way the woman in his bed has been howling. Howling may seem extreme, but she sounds like a dying cat: cock drunk and babbling over Miguel O'Hara? 

Your new roommate had been nice enough. Quiet, unassuming, and seemed more than absorbed in his schoolwork. So you didn't expect him to unashamedly fuck the girl he's been tutoring for the past week. It all clicks. The "perfect roommate" turned out to have one teeny tiny little flaw: loud, obnoxious sex, well into the early hours of the morning. 

On autopilot, you're clicking through tabs on your bed. Perhaps you're a prude, but the sex noises are abrasive, excessive, to the point of parody. Persistent, Miguel's low voice reverberates in the walls of your bedroom; making heat pool at the base of your stomach. 

"You want it, hermosa? Tell me…. such a pretty girl… like that?" It's muffled, but his voice is unmistakable. Low, greedy, heavy with want. God, the last time someone's spoken to you like that was… 

You shake your head free of cobwebs. No. You're not rewarding him. You can't . Your roommate is shameless, and inconsiderate, and really fucking annoying . 

The smacking noises increase, coupled with banging on his side of the wall. Resolute, your face hardens. From where you perch on your bed, you slam the wall with the side of your fist. 

"O'Hara! Keep it the fuck down!" 

~~~

He's a biochem major, up to his ass in assignments and he still has time for societies, internships and tutoring. 

The only times he'd be in the apartment really was an impromptu session, and you didn't notice at first, but it became more obvious as the semester went on.

As a so-called tutor, he only seemed to pick the prettiest girls - they would twirl their hair on your kitchen counter and bat their pretty lashes at him when they didn't understand. Favours for a couple of friends, is his only response when you ask. 

It felt like you'd open the door to a new girl every week and you are baffled. Donned in makeup and short skirts, they'd waddle in asking for Miggy, or drop off half-finished assignments whilst craning their head through, trying to catch a glimpse of him. 

The absurdity would make you laugh if it wasn't affecting your sleep. 

Not that he's not absolutely gorgeous, but he's so quiet you would never have thought he had it in him: to have a revolving door of women lining up to lay underneath him. 

This time, her name is Sarah: pretty little thing in Miguel's Advanced Math class.  She perches on a stool, wearing a tight dress that is wholly not appropriate for a tutoring session. She's one of his regulars, if you can call it that, and has been failing for at least 2 semesters. You flash her a smile as you pad through the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a snack. God, she is gorgeous; dolled up for another long session with Miguel, no doubt.

"Where's he gone?" She asks politely. 

You shrug. "I couldn't tell you, sorry."

"It's okay… I'm just a bit stuck." You almost snort and catch yourself. For some reason, you didn't think they actually did any work, merely a pretense for the… cardio later on in the day. 

You glance at her sheet of paper, scribbles in purple pen with large swathes crossed out. Leaning over, you scan the page.

"Right here." You point and she follows with a manicured finger. "You fucked up with this integral and I think… yeah, I think that messes with the whole thing."

Her eyes light up as she follows you, explaining with a piece of cookie hanging out of your mouth. She's definitely smart, just a few little mistakes here and there that you're happy to point out. Thanking you fervently, she rushes to correct it. 

"Ah, it's no problem. I get mixed up with it too." You smile and notice Miguel by the doorway, watching with a strange look in his face. You roll your eyes as you walk past. What a fucking weirdo. 

"Thought I was the tutor?" He croons.

You raise an eyebrow, voice low as Sarah is engrossed in her work. "...I don't want to fuck her, Miggy , if that's what you're worried about."

A little cruelly you push past him, shoulders clashing against one another. Is he smiling ? For now, you blame your perpetual tiredness when you think you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

~~~

You're a light sleeper, and it all makes for a tired, delirious combo. You sleepwalk through the day, scramble to finish assignments and whilst it's not all O'Hara's fault, you can't help but blame him for a lot of it. 

After you successfully get through one long week, you decide to celebrate. That means a couple hours of mindless hedonism: your favourite movie, greasy food…. and your trusty dildo. Not at the same time, of course. 

Miguel's not home, and he's not tearing down the walls with some other girl, for once, so you decide to treat yourself. 

You've been going through a dry patch, and you'd hate to admit it, but he does sound good through the thin drywall. 

It was a joke gift; given to you by a friend for your birthday. An obnoxiously purple dildo with a suction cup at its base. Aptly named Hugh, due to its - ahem - large stature. Standing tall at 7 or 8 inches, far bigger or thicker than any partner you've taken in the past. Sitting around a small diner booth with your friends and opening the bag to reveal him, had been quite the experience, for sure. 

It wasn't your fault you had gone through a dry spell in the past few months. With work, with school, with relationship issues, you hadn't had the time or energy to sleep around. Not that you were desperate for drunk, lackluster sex, followed by an awkward dance of ubers and shitty coffee in the morning. Like many, you preferred to do it yourself. 

Laptop open, you ease yourself onto the toy, already slick with lube. Prepping yourself with your fingers had been quite the task, tabs open to something on a lewd website. It's cheesy, but you didn't really like the bright lights and plastic of usual porn. The moans felt too fake, the sex devoid of any real passion. So you found a couple of independent creators; couples, mostly; carnal fucking with fervour only borne from real love . It's embarrassing to admit it, but your favourite parts are the little kisses and touches in between, or light laughter after a rough session. As if to say: it's okay and I'm still here. 

On your screen now is a longtime favourite video, a broad man bullying his fat cock into his partner. You can't help but think he looks like Miguel, not as pretty but tan with strapping shoulders, and large hands that wrap around the neck of the girl in the video. 

" F-Fuck," You breathe, sinking down onto your toy. You bet Miguel's palm on your throat would be deliciously rough, and you imagine how he'd fuck the brat out of you like the man on your screen. 

What hadn't occurred to you, however, was that the thin walls went both ways. Whilst you were quieter than many of the girls Miguel brought home, you were fairly shameless with the moans and curses that fell from your lips. Headphones on, you were blissfully unaware that Miguel had slipped into the apartment some time ago. The slap of your thighs to the floor, the desperate whine as you roll your hips over the toy - he can hear it all. 

Miguel has a conscience, so he does feel some amount of shame when he slips a hand down his trousers and presses an ear to your shared wall. He closes his eyes and bites down lusty groans, fisting his cock to your pretty noises. Noises he's been wanting to hear from you for months, now, imagining it was you underneath him instead of his usual partners. 

He times it just right, squeezing around his tip in time with the steady slap just beyond the wall. Are you fucking yourself? On your knees, hands flat on the floor, churning up your insides with a toy… or maybe ass up, dildo attached to something…? He almost cums with that mental image, wondering what you'd look like on your knees for him. Is the dildo as big as him? He knows you, knows you'd want it to hurt - for his cock to stretch out your pretty pussy when he cums deep inside you. 

All things he thinks about with a hand around his cock, and he's already close. But he wants to cum with you, listening intently for the signs. 

" Fuck," Your voice comes out muffled, but it makes him buck up into his fist all the same. " Need it… oh God, I-" 

He speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him, what it would take to have you babbling and begging for more. How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length. Or on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God, thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-

" H-Harder, Miguel, please." 

He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes into his boxers. 

" Fuck, Miguel…"

He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool wall. 

~~~

He's hot. He's smart. He's a whore.

A total blindspot for you, and no matter how much you can't stand him; you still find yourself stealing glances whenever he's home. 

And he does seem to be home a lot more, often choosing to study on the dining table rather than his room. It's like he does it on purpose, using the warmer weather as an excuse to wear tiny tank tops and loose gray sweats - showing off the muscles of his broad back and arms perfectly.

Funnily enough, when he's not around those girls, he's bearable - seems to have grown a couple of brain cells in those short few days between sessions. 

You laugh and joke, sometimes, and he surprises you by suggesting a movie one quiet night. 

He offers you his sweater to snuggle into, you eat your weight in greasy takeout, and your roommate seems like an actually decent guy?? 

You had fallen into an easy routine: O'Hara leaves a flask of coffee for you to snatch up in the morning, hair damp from the shower and all, and you meet him with netflix and instant noodles in the evening. A push and pull that works in the little space - much smoother than your rocky beginnings.

After a truly shitty day, you come home to a quiet apartment. Almost sleeping through an exam, forgetting lunch, missing the bus home, and having to trek back through pouring rain in a thin coat. Everything that could go wrong, did, and you are left with the pieces. You trudge through the living room into the kitchen, the wet squelch of socks on laminate floor haunting every step. Shedding your limp outerwear, you lay the contents of your backpack onto the kitchen counter: clumps of loose paper, the damp leftovers of a textbook, bleeding ink. Your main concern, however, is your laptop slick with rain water. 

With baited breath, you put it on the slab, and press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. Your legs almost give out, and you lean on the counter to steady yourself. Half of your life was there; including the final project that would make up a good chunk of your grade. It takes you everything not to collapse onto the floor right then and there. 

"How was it?" You hear the click of a door and Miguel calls out from the hallway. 

You wince."...F-Fine?" 

You hear footsteps, as he gets closer. "Are you asking or telling me?" 

You clear your throat, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. "Fine. It was fine. I'm just… it was fine."

Back still turned, you fumble around with the wet contents of your bag, hoping he doesn't notice. 

"Long day?" He says warmly, head poking into the kitchen. Haphazardly, you spare him a glance from behind your shoulder. He's dressed in a sweater that fits snug around his chest, rolled up to expose his forearms, and loose sweats. In his hands, he drinks from a cheesy mug - your mug, donning a stupid pun. He looks warm. Cosy. Domestic. For some, reason it makes your heart sink even further. 

Long day? "Something like that." You manage to squeeze out. There's a pregnant pause as he comes closer. Rummaging blindly through a cupboard, you try to hide behind its door. If he sees you like this, now, you don't know if you'll be able to hold it together. 

You close the door, and all of a sudden he's there, mug in hand. 

" Fuck, man- " It makes you jump, as he squints and takes a sip of his coffee. 

"You look… wet." 

"That's because it rained, Miguel." Snapping at him, your tone is biting. You're tired, stressed and in desperate need of a cry, but he is unrelenting in his gaze. 

"Are you ok?" He asks, unfazed. 

There's a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod with a tight expression.  His eyes flicker towards the counter and you shuffle, trying to cover up the mess. And then you watch it happen; initial confusion, a flash of realisation, and then worry; all in the space of a couple seconds. 

Gently, he pulls you aside to inspect the damage. "Mierda. This is pretty bad. You sure you're ok?" 

He's got a hand on your arm now,  The dam breaks and you crumple into tears in the kitchen floor. Of course, he comes with you, rubbing your back as you blubber through the details. 

" Nothing's going right for me… and I've got my final project on there… I'm barely keeping up as it is…" All he does is nod, face tight with something you can't quite name. It must seem pathetic to him, you think, shamelessly crying on the kitchen floor, complaining to your poor roommate. He can't leave you like this, because he's a decent person - but internally, he must think you're going crazy. 

It helps, having him there: a steady presence by your side. Slowly but surely, your tears subside. 

"You could've asked me to pick you up." He hands you some tissues off the counter, and watches as you mop up the tears. "I would've come, if you called."

"I didn't… I didn't think we were…" You search for the right word. 

"...friends?" He offers, with a small smile. "You think I let just anyone steal my sweaters?" 

"First of all," It makes you laugh, despite yourself. "You offered. And second, I've seen what you do with your friends, and I don't know if I have the energy for it."

"Ouch." Bashful, he rubs his chest like it aches. He sits a little close to you, knocking your shoulders with his own. "I know this girl who's crazy good with computers. I could ask her to take a look, if you'd like? Might not be able to save it but maybe we could recover the files?"

"...I'd like that, to be honest."

"Muy bien ." He leaps to his feet, palm stretched towards you to help you up. "I'll run you a warm bath or something. You're creating a puddle and it's going to ruin my floor."

"Our floor, asshole. I pay rent here, too." 

~~~

You find that you enjoy being around him, and he feels the same. 

You can't help but compare him to your shitty ex who you were planning to move in with: and even with his quirks, Miguel is better in every way. 

There is harmony in your household, for a while, and you almost look forward to coming home to him after class. Almost. 

It doesn't last long, because of course it doesn't. You'd thought you'd come to a tentative ceasefire, able to casually rib and joke with each other - takeout and B-roll movies aside. He leaves you leftovers from food he makes, you turn down your music when he's studying, and he even woke you up the other day when you had slept through your alarm.

Beyond the wall, his music is loud: a playlist you recognise as the one he puts on to (unsuccessfully) mask the noise of his usual late night adventures. Cheesy love ballads, heady RnB that leaks into your own room. You'd rather die than admit his taste in music isn't horrible, but it usually means a long, long night for everyone around. With finals around the corner, there's no way you can let this stand. 

What kind of person does that? Lull you into a false sense of security with Snakes on a Plane and pepperoni pizza? 

Absorbed in your own work, you hadn't even realised he had someone over; let alone was gearing up for obnoxious sex. You'd bang on the wall, but you feel like you guys are past that: crossed a threshold of intimacy that means you can shout at him up close and personal. 

So you stomp over to the hallway, banging at the door to his room. In the short trip there, you've worked yourself into a frenzy. How many times have you told him to keep it down? That it was rude and inconsiderate to flaunt his sex life in your face; to fuck other women so loud you were practically involved? There was something about the little smile he would give you afterwards, when you catch him shepherding his latest out the door in the morning - like he gets off on it, enjoys it, when you react. Even when you think you're over it, he still manages to drive you absolutely crazy. 

“Miguel? Open the fuck up!"

You're still fuming when the door opens with a click, and Miguel appears in the sliver of the doorway. He opens it so that his frame is half swallowed by the door, top half peeking through with a lazy hand in his hair. And of his top half, he's bare from the waist up, black band of his boxers sitting low on his v-line and loose sweats. 

All the wind is knocked from your sails, and you lose your train of thought. 

"Yeah?" 

"I…" You clear your throat. "I don't care who you fuck, but when I'm doing work-" 

"-I'm not." He chuckles. "There's no one here, hermosa. Just me. And you, I guess…"

There's something about the way he says it, lazily, as if it's his first time saying those words - wrapping his tongue around your name to see how it fits. If it fits, how it tastes. His relaxed posture, the way his hair falls…

"You're high." Your brow shoots up. "... you're high!" 

With a finger pressed to his lips, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his room, eyes darting around the hallway. 

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone. "

"I won't." You breathe. His face is serious at first, and then you're both giggling. You've never seen him so carefree, and it's nice to see Miguel walking around without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He's still holding your hand, pressed close, and you see him drag his eyes up and down your figure. "You want do something you'll regret…?"

"...I've got a 9am, tomorrow, I really-" 

"-shouldn't?" He finishes, dragging his hand up your bare arm, pupils blown. He gets up to your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ear. It's sinful, the way his touch is gentle but gaze heavy - violent in the way he practically eyefucks you. You feel bare, in little sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

He steps back, lounging on his bed, and makes for a half finished blunt by the adjacent window sill. Sighing, you sit by him, sinking into the mattress. He pats you closer, dangerously close, and you comply. One arm curled by your waist, the other brings the blunt up close and you wrap your lips around it. When Miguel brings a lighter to the blunt, you lean into it, knuckles brushing your lips. 

You take a drag, long, heavy, eyes closed. And when they open, you're met with his own. Maybe it's the weed, maybe it's the heady atmosphere, but you swear his eyes are low and deep with lust.

"Good girl." He rumbles, cupping your chin and tracing a thumb to your lips. He separates, bringin the blunt to his own lips before leaning back to pass it to you. As quick as he gets close, he pulls away; leaning back into the expanse of his large bed. And he looks good, head drawn back and the curve of his tan arm drawn upwards. Tufts of hair from his chest, the trail that leads down suggestively - and without inhibition, you basically drool over him. God, there it is. You feel it kick in and let it wash over you. 

His music, long forgotten, blends into your downy haze. You want to sit in his lap, rest your head on his chest. You get it now: if this is the view all those women he tutors get to have, then you finally understand. 

"Come closer, hermosa ." You barely register the nickname, only focused on the way he says it, the delicious way it rolls off of his tongue. You nod, and shuffle closer. His siren song sounds sweeter, somehow, up close. 

You pass the blunt between you both, and watch it dwindle to the last dregs. Lying down next to him, he clutches your hand and takes the butt between his fingers, letting its flames die as you watch. You giggle and his gaze softens.

"I didn't expect this from you." You look up to see an upside-down Miguel, hiding a smile. 

"Expect what?" He drags himself downwards, to rest his head by your side. 

"All…" You gesture vaguely. "This. Don't even think I've been in your room for this long, before."

His room looks exactly how you'd expect it: tidy and modest, a row of trophies neatly lined up on a shelf, a telescope pointing out towards a window. There are posters by his bed; science related, mostly. You tilt your head in the direction of one of them.

"Is this what they see?" You mumble to no one in particular. 

He manages to catch it, sluggish in his response. "...Is this what who sees?" 

"All the girls you fuck." It tumbles your of your mouth, before you can help it. 

He tilts his head too, looking at the poster and you watch the sharp lines of his jaw besides you. Even at this angle, he's so pretty. 

"Huh. I guess they do." 

"It's not very romantic, is it?" You blink, oblivious. Your question is met with a noncommittal shrug. "What was her name last time? Cassie, Clara-something…"

"Katie." He hums. 

"Katie." Ignoring the twinge of disappointment at his quick response, you hope it's the weed and not jealousy that made you pretend to forget her name. 

You sit up on your haunches, tracing the valleys and mountains of his bare chest with a leisurely finger. You try not to notice the way he shivers at your touch. 

"I could hear everything. Every, 'Yes daddy'," You feign a moan by curling your lips into an O-shape. You bring your other hand to your hair, head tilted back with exaggerated movement. "And 'right there, Miggy, right fuckin' there' ." 

Technically, you're making fun of him and laughing, expecting him to follow. But he doesn't, head back and eyes boring into you - only bringing a hand to press yours at his chest. 

"Thin walls, Miguel." You clear your throat, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Too far, probably. "Sorry, shit. I didn't mean-" 

"I hear you too." He says softly. "I heard you, the other day."

Head filled with cotton, it takes a moment for his words to really click. So he elaborates, lacing his fingers with your own. 

"Fucking yourself, hermosa ." He says it lazily, like the vulgarity of the act doesn't register.

Your eyes widen in horror. How much exactly did he hear?

"...and I heard you say my name." 

"It was…. i-it wasn't like that-" Fuck. You can't think straight as it is: and his voice is low and silky, rubbing circles on your hand close to his chest. Even now, he oozes confidence, the steady thump-thump of his heart giving away nothing. 

"Hmmm? Then what is it like?" You blink at him, unable to answer. "You're a hypocrite. You complain about all these women I supposedly fuck, but then-" 

He pulls you closer, so that your lips almost touch his. "-you lock yourself in your room, touching yourself and thinking about your poor roommate. What am I meant to do with you?"

A pause, and in your daze, you can't breathe. For all your theatrics, it's too easy for him - to prod and tease, and for you to chase after him. You move to kiss him, but he grabs your chin at the last second. "Not quite. I want to hear you say it."

"Fuck- " You crumple, hiding your head in the crook of his shoulder. Even in your haze, the nerves bubble up from the base of your stomach. "Fuck me, please , Miguel."

He places a hand on your thigh, leading you to straddle his middle, other hand wrapped around your waist. He grinds your lower half into his, leaning up to bring your lips together. 

He tastes sweet, greedily lapping up your moans in the clash. You're not thinking, not really, lost in the heat of his body, desperate and eager when you kiss. To contrast, Miguel cups your chin, pulling you away for air whenever you sink too deep. Somehow, he still manages to look smug, taunting you with a flash of his little fangs whenever you separate. If you weren't feeling the effects of that blunt, you may have had the means to be embarrassed at how much you want him - needily grinding against him and pawing at his chest. 

It's too slow, too leisurely, like a punishment; and he refuses to give you what he knows you want. Your whines betray you when he finally slips a hand down your shorts. 

"¿Paciencia, hmm?" He grabs a handful of your ass, clothed cock catching on your clit. It rips another moan from you, which he happily swallows with another kiss. "Patience, princesa."

You hump against one another like teenagers, your hands planted by his head for purchase. Hips moving of their own accord, you chase the relief Miguel provides: with his hands kneading your ass, length catching at your clit, and teeth nipping at your bare neck. 

He licks a stripe up your collarbone, soothing the blossoming hickeys with a hum. 

Fuck, how can he be so casual ? You don't know if it's the weed or something else, but he is in his element, hand dipping down your back to graze at your pussy from behind. He hisses when he realises how wet you are, swiping his fingers down your slit and taking them out to pop them in his mouth. 

Now, flushed and face hot with embarrassment, you look up at him with big doe eyes. It makes Miguel feel guilty for stopping you so close to your climax. Beautiful : lower lip hooked under your teeth, plump and swollen and kissable. He'll make up for it later: a promise he whispers into skin. 

"You're soaked." He cups your cheek to press a kiss to your forehead, and all you can do is whine. His gaze dips down, to the swell of your tits in that thin shirt.. 

"What did you think about when you touched yourself?" It's soft, said in the warm press of your bodies; hook-shaped and hazy and you fit like you were made for one another. The thought lingers, plants a dangerous seed that makes you forget that the man underneath you is your roommate : unrepentant whore, Miguel O'Hara. 

"You." You've seen it first hand, he eats hearts for breakfast; and yours is on a platter for him to devour.

He laughs, deep and rumbling, hands resting on your waist. "I know that, baby. You don't have fantasies? Fuck yourself to the thought of someone touchin' you just right?"

Not just someone, him, you think. Your voice dies in your throat at the way he looks at you. "Just… n-nothing really-"

He hums, grinding your hips onto his. "Speechless, I can't believe it. Is this what I need to do to get some fucking peace around here?" 

You roll your eyes, "Don't be a dick, Miguel. When I shout, it's because you deserve it."

"...there it is." Eyes shining, his face stretches into a shit-eating grin. Wide, unabashed, unambiguous. "You back with the living, sweetheart?" 

It makes you laugh, even though you hate to give him the satisfaction. 

"What do you want?" He kneads your thigh and pleasure pools at the base of your stomach. 

You mumble something begrudgingly.

"Hmm? Can't hear you, baby."

Louder, now. "...want to sit on your face, Miguel." 

Lowly, he groans, shaking his head. "Mierda… of course you do."

Expertly, he helps you take your shorts off, dragging the thin material down your thighs. You clambers upwards, wrapping them around his shoulders, watching intently as he kneads the soft skin. It's tentative, at first, and you place your hands on the headboard to perch just above his mouth. 

He licks, diving in with the flat of his tongue: a long upwards stroke that ends with him sucking your clit. Moaning, your hips jump and he chases your pretty pussy up, large palms pushing you back down. He concentrates on your bundle of nerves, lips around your clit like a man on a mission.

And, God, does it feel good; he watches and learns from your every movement, committing your body to memory. His moans vibrate deliciously, tension building at that spot faster than your mind can register it. Then, you clench around nothing, gushing into his mouth whilst he eases you through it. The noises he makes are obscene; one leg off the bed and a hand snaked under his boxers. He's getting off on it; watching you crumple and sob around his tongue. 

And when you begin to move off, thighs sore, he doesn't relent, sealing his mouth on your pretty little hole. 

"Miguel.. fuck-" After your first orgasm, it surprises you when he continues, tongue fucking you with fervour. He presses you close, impossibly close, and your body fights against his ministrations. Heat, everywhere, and it's too much. The haze of the blunt begins to wear off and you are left with biting clarity. You want more of him, deeper; drunk off of just his tongue. 

You card your hands in his hair, and he moans: deep and wanton, with his eyes fluttering shut. He wants to look, to watch you when you cum on his tongue for a second time. Back arched, the curve of your tits peeking through a tiny top, fucking yourself on his face. He wants it hard , wants you to take control and use him to get off. 

"Right there, fuck… "

Like you can hear his thoughts, you press yourself down harder, riding the deep ridge of his nose for relief. Miguel complies and leans into it. He eats you out like a man starved and the carnality of it all brings you to a second peak. You cum once again, legs wrapped tight around his face. Head back, he laps it up readily. 

You separate with a wet pop, and Miguel looks blissful : fucked out and panting, wiping the slick off of his face with a forearm. Exhausted, you lean back onto the mattress beside him. 

"That was…" He searches for the right word, and it's your turn to finish for him. 

"... good. " Scarily good. So good you won't be able to see him around the apartment without remembering what he looks like trapped between your thighs. 

Gently, he turns to cup your cheek and bring your lips to his. It starts off sweet and deepens rapidly, making that thread at the pit of your stomach tighten, again. He grabs your thigh, bringing it closer, and you feel his length poking your stomach. Fuck. 

"You haven't…?" Your hand makes for his trousers, and he stops you. "I want to, Miguel. Want you to feel good too."

His head sinks into your shoulder. "I know, baby, I know. Not like this. Not yet."

You nod, still wrapped up in his arms. You haven't even fucked, and it feels more intimate than it should. 

"You've got a 9am tomorrow." He smiles with a hand underneath his head. 

"I've got a 9am tomorrow," You repeat, sighing. "...and my life is falling apart. I'm failing half of my classes as it is."

He turns to you, lazily. 

"I could tutor you, if you'd like."

…

"That's not fucking funny, Miguel."

_

_

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings

_

edit: the full fic xx

#i am very very close to making this a full fic #(implying that this isn't alr basically a full fic lmfao) #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #kat_writes😼 #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara headcanons #spiderman 2099 masterlist #spiderman 2099 x reader

[turtletaubwrites]

Bend Until You Break ~ Part 1

Thank you for this request from the lovely @anemptypuddingcup for a Yandere!Law that the Reader goes to for help with a serious health condition, only for Law to take a liking to her... I swear I will write sweet Law one of these days, but for now please enjoy Yandere!Law. This contains !!DARK CONTENT!! so please check the warnings, and skip this one if it may be triggering or uncomfortable for you. This one's for us hypermobile baddies out there. 🥄

Pairings: YANDERE!Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Bend Until You Break ~ Masterlist

Word Count: 2679

Ao3 Link

Summary: You have struggled with mystery pains and injuries for most of your life, and had resigned yourself to suffer after every doctor told you there was nothing wrong. But when a world renowned doctor/pirate comes to town to offer aid in exchange for supplies, you decide to give hope one more chance. Maybe you'll finally find a doctor you can trust.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Dubious Consent, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Yandere, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Hypermobility, Medical Examination, Medical Trauma, Medical Conditions, Chronic Pain, Injury, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Doctor/Patient, Abuse of Authority, Kidnapping, Possessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to be Added, (Reader is described as having hair "above her shoulders" that she can brush)

A/N: This chapter is SFW, but I'm adding in many tags to start out with since this mini series will contain heavy/dark content. PLEASE heed the tags, and do not read this fic if you aren't comfortable with these topics. Some of these medical issues may or may not have come from personal experience 🙃

Extra A/N: I am not a doctor, and this is not meant to be educational, or to contain any health advice. Please seek a health professional. Hopefully you'll have better luck than Reader 🙄

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

I should just leave. He’ll just tell me the same things. It’s a waste of time. 

You were close to convincing yourself to walk away, especially as the discomfort and pain of standing in one place for so long started radiating up your body. 

The line got shorter, and you stretched and bounced, trying to hang onto a sliver of hope.

“Hello, how’s your day going?”

A talking polar bear in an orange jumpsuit waved at you from behind a small table, handing you a clipboard. 

“I-I’m well thanks. How…”

“Good! It’s always nice when the captain can help people. He’s the best! Just fill that out, and he’ll be with you soon.”

Looking at the form brought you out of the shock of speaking to a bear. Instead, it filled you with intense frustration, until you were practically boiling in your skin.

‘Rate your pain from 1-10.’

How the fuck am I supposed to rate all the different types of pain I’m in on any given day?

‘Circle the parts of the body where you are experiencing pain.’

I could put circles over so many things. Might as well circle the whole fucking chart, and have them call me a liar.

‘List your diagnoses, and family medical history.’

I don’t have one, doctors never find anything. Mom has some similar symptoms, but they're so mild that she's never tried to get a diagnosis. You’re the one who’s supposed to figure this out!

You resisted the urge to vent your anger onto the page, bullshitting your way through instead. You tried to write in the most convincing way to get this new doctor to take you seriously. 

This new doctor. “The Surgeon of Death.” A fucking pirate. 

But he was supposed to be the best, and he was here on your shitty little island for a couple of weeks, trading medical treatment for the town's supplies. You had already heard reports of “miracles,” that he could perform surgeries in an instant, that he could fix anyone. 

Please fix me.

This was it. You couldn’t take anymore trying after this. Just trying to get a doctor to listen to or believe you was almost worse than the daily pain. Almost.

“Miss Y/N? The captain is ready for you now. My name is Bepo, by the way,” the bear grinned as he took the clipboard from your clammy hands. At least you hoped it was a grin.

He handed the form back to you as he led you through the dimly lit hallways of this strange submarine. It felt like you’d entered some other realm, an underworld, on your way to strike a deal with a demon. 

As long as he can fix me…

“Here you are,” Bepo motioned as he opened a large metal door. “You’re in great hands.”

Hands. 

Hands were the first things you noticed as you entered the examination room. 

Those hands were tensed over the back of a rolling chair, gripping the thin padding as if waiting for you so he could sit down. 

Long fingers mesmerized you, tattoos etched along the back of each hand. And as you stepped into the well lit room, you saw the word “death,” spelled out across both sets of those fingers. 

The sound of his throat clearing snapped your eyes to his, your skin flushing as you realized he’d been speaking to you. 

As you realized how fucking gorgeous he was. His black hair looked a bit mussed, but it only added to the effect, along with his goatee, and his dark, pretty eyes.

Already more useful than my other doctors. Easy on the eyes. 

“May I look at your form, miss?”

‘Oh, of course,'' you stuttered, thrusting the paper toward him. “I’m Y/N.”

“Dr. Trafalgar. You can take a seat.”

Well, his bedside manner seems pretty standard, you thought with a small sigh, sitting down on the familiar crinkly paper covering the exam table. 

He circled behind you to close the door, and what sounded like a lock clicking into place had your heart rate spiking. 

“Stand up, please,” he said firmly, your form still unseen in his hand. 

“Oh, sorry. I thought you said–”

“Walk to the corner, and sit back down, please.”

His voice was unreal. You would have jumped through hoops for him anyway, praying that any doctor would listen. 

But his command seemed to curl into your brain, and you followed it immediately. 

“Why are you favoring that hip?”

“Oh, it…” 

Here’s where your credibility would fall apart. Your nails dug into your palms as you willed him to believe you.

“Sometimes if I stand too quickly, it feels loose. Sometimes it pops, and is so painful that I can’t put any weight on it.”

He stared at you for a moment, and you fought not to recite a list of excuses, to try to explain why it hurts when you’d never been injured before. 

“And your right knee?”

“Oh, it’s not bad right now. It used to swell sometimes, and was really painful. But it’s not as bad as it used to be.”

“Did you sustain any injuries?”

“N-No. None that I can recall.”

His lips quirked a bit before he reviewed your chart.

Believe me. Believe me. Believe me.

“You’ve reported your shoulders as being your most pressing concern. Why is that?”

His eyes were almost painfully sharp as he scanned you, focusing on your face as you answered him. He’d sat backwards on the rolling chair, his arms folded across the back with his legs spread wide to either side.

“They’ve been acting up recently. They often feel… loose. That’s how it feels to me. Sometimes if I move a certain way it almost feels like they pop out of place. But I can still move them after, it’s just incredibly painful. And then it’s weak, and I can barely hold anything.”

“What are some of the activities that have caused this to happen?”

He was impossible to read. But you couldn’t lie. He wouldn’t be able to help you if you lied.

“Um, brushing my hair. Taking off a jacket. P-Putting a sports bra on.”

“Did you used to have longer hair?”

“What?”

“Do you keep your hair above your shoulders to prevent shoulder pain? Or does brushing it still cause issues at this length?”

“Oh. Yes, actually. I used to have much longer hair.”

“I imagine you’ve adjusted many aspects of your life to cope with this pain.” 

Warmth flowed into that deep voice, and you shivered as you watched him steeple his fingers against his lips for a moment. 

“If you are comfortable, I would like to run through a few simple movements to check your flexibility. Many of which you can do on your own, but I will check in again if you are comfortable with me touching you for the others. You can always let me know if you would like to stop.”

“Okay.”

The doctor dug through a drawer to pull out a clear measuring device, almost like two rulers connected at one end. He adjusted it, creating an angle before setting it aside. 

He never picked up the device again, and you fought not to shake. He looked at your elbows, your knees, your thumbs, your pinkies, frowning slightly as you followed his instructions.

“Now, please bend over, and try to touch your toes. Just go as far as you– hm.”

Your palms were flat on the ground, just as they’d always been able to go. You could even put the back of your hands down, and stretch them along the ground behind you if you wanted to. 

“Doctor?”

“You can take a seat.”

Wincing as you sat, you shook out your legs, feeling his eyes as he watched your every movement. 

He stood, towering over you as he came close.

“For this next part of the examination, I will be touching you with my hands, and in some cases leaning or holding parts of your body against mine so that I can check the range of motion in your joints. I may also massage certain tight muscles to help you relax as we move through the problem areas. You have quite the list for us to get through, but if at any time you wish for us to stop, just let me know. Do you understand?”

“I do,” you breathed, your face angled up to meet his.

“Do you consent to me touching you?”

His voice came out softer once again, and you couldn’t hold in a shiver as you consented.

Those fingers…

His long fingers were so gentle as they crept across your body, testing, pushing, pulling. You fought to listen to his commands, pushing against or holding your body how he told you. 

“I imagine that seeking treatment has been challenging for you,” he rasped as he leaned over your face, his fingers gently massaging your shoulders. 

The pain and pleasure of his hands testing you had brought up a strangely emotional pressure, almost like tears in your throat.

“It has.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It must be incredibly difficult to suffer so much pain, and not be believed.”

You started to nod to keep your voice from cracking, but he pressed his fingers into your skin just a bit.

“Can you keep still for me,” he whispered, and it sounded so close that you opened your eyes.

“Just relax,” the doctor soothed as he stepped away, pulling a few tissues out to press against your cheeks and temples, catching the tears that had spilled when you’d opened your burning eyes.

“I’m sorry, doc–”

“No need to be sorry, Y/N. You have been suffering, been living with pain for years. It’s all those doctors that left you like this that should feel ashamed.”

His fingers had returned to your body, still relaxing, and testing.

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Please, call me Law.”

He was pressing gently along your collarbones as his name rolled over you, a small sound escaping your throat as you melted beneath him. 

“Do you have a good support system? People in your life that can help you with this?”

“I mean, my mom and my boyfriend help me. They’re supportive.”

He took those fingers away, and you mourned them, wishing you could feel that soothing touch forever.

“I’m going to test your hips now, Y/N. Please tell me if you experience any pain.”

“Okay,” you agreed, feeling self conscious of your breathy voice. His words just kept pouring over you, his voice so relaxing, so good. 

“How does that feel, Y/N?”

“Fine.”

He had your leg stretched along his torso, your foot dangling over his shoulder. You clamped your eyes shut. The sight of him between your spread legs, pushing your leg toward you, had you biting your lip, trying not to make any more embarrassing noises. 

“How’s this?”

“Fine.”

He hadn’t gotten close to your limit, but he went agonizingly slow. You could feel his firm abs warming your thigh through your clothes, his thin shirt not doing much to keep the press of him at bay. 

“You said that your mom and your boyfriend support you. How do they do that?”

“Oh, uh,” you shook your head, trying to focus on the question, and not the gentle rocking motion he’d started as he pushed you even further.

“They help me when… They help me when I’m having bad days. They listen. They both do little different things when things are bad.”

“How’s this?”

“Still fine.”

“You can go further?”

“Yeah, I can–,” you had reached for your thigh, planning to pull it toward your chest to show him, but his eyes above you stopped you before his voice did. 

“I’ll get you there, Y/N. You can hurt yourself if you rush. Can you take it slow for me?”

“Perfect,” he praised when you nodded, still gently rocking your body forward and back as he pushed, finally reaching the limit. 

“That is quite the range of motion,” he noted, carefully laying that leg down to move to the other side. “May I?”

He set himself up again, moving slow as he used his body to stretch you.

“You said that they help you on bad days, is that right?”

Meeting his sharp eyes, you took a minute to understand.

“Yes, they do.”

His face tilted a bit as he pressed closer. He started that gentle rocking motion, almost thrusting against you to help your body relax. 

“But Y/N, from what I’ve seen today, it seems like all of your days are bad. Aren’t they?”

“I…”

“All these years with no one to believe you. It must be hard to believe yourself sometimes. Do you think they really believe you, Y/N? Do they believe how much pain you’re in as you struggle through each day? As you stand up too fast, or brush your hair? Do you think they understand?”

He’d pushed closer, looming over you as he held your thigh against him. 

“Why are you–”

“I need to make sure that my patients have the support systems they need.”

His voice had smoothed back now, from almost heated to cool and detached.

He’s the only person that’s ever seemed like they understand. He must believe me. Of course he would be passionate about it, he’s a doctor. A doctor that believes me.

Closer and closer, his eyes watching yours.

“Do they believe you?”

“I think,” you started, eyes wide as you fought more tears, “I think they try to believe me. They just… They don’t know what it’s like. They don’t understand.”

“How’s this?”

“It’s fine.”

“Alright, last push.”

Your thigh was pressed between your bodies, and he stayed there.

“Does this hurt, Y/N,” he rasped, his breath warming your face. 

“No.”

He helped you stretch your leg out on the table, sitting backwards in the rolling chair before he told you to sit up.

“I believe I understand the cause of your pain, and why you’ve had a difficult time obtaining a diagnosis.”

“Can you fix it?”

Your thrill of excitement got caught in your throat at the look in his eyes, his palm up to halt your questions. 

“I believe it may be a connective tissue disorder, which would explain your hypermobility, as well as the complications you’ve had with many parts of your body. You've already met the criteria for one type based on our examination today. I would like you to come back tomorrow so that we can review more of your symptoms to be sure, and to discuss treatments.”

“You can do surgery, right? Can you fix it?”

You had gestured to him, your body panicking with failing hope. A gasp left your throat as those tattooed fingers caught your hand, his thumb rubbing over your skin as his voice went low.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. This is not a condition that can be cured,” he confessed, squeezing your hand as your body slumped. “Connective tissues run throughout our entire body, and if I am correct, yours may be weaker than most. 'Loose,' as you said. Unfortunately, there is no known way to repair or replace those tissues.”

A weight fell over you, and you found yourself not quite in your body. Your body that you’d fought so hard to fix.

That can never be fixed.

The doctor pressed your hand between his, smoothing over and warming your fingers until you were present enough to meet his eyes.

“It may not be curable, Y/N, but it can be managed. You don’t need to suffer alone in such pain like you have been. I’ll do everything I can to ensure that things are better for you. Do you trust me?”

There was something so intense about his face. The way he looked at you felt heavy, like he really did see the weight you’d carried all these years. You sank into those gray eyes, and realized you did.

“I trust you, Doctor.”

“Please. Y/N,” he hummed, releasing your hand, “call me, Law.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Welcome to my frustration with the health care system 😅

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel

Part 2

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

#cw dark content #cw yandere #cw doctors #trafalgar law smut #eventual smut #trafalgar law x reader #one piece smut #reader insert #fem!reader #x reader #turtletaub fics #one piece x reader #trafalgar law fanfiction #fic requests #use of y/n #cw chronic pain #cw medical #smut

[justwonder113]

Showering Hyunjin with affection

Bang Chan; Lee Know; Changbin; Han; Felix; Seungmin; IN;

Summary: you just had to show your drama queen of a boyfriend how much you love him. word count:2.5k

Warning: lot's of kissing, reader is gender neutral, both of them are whipped, appearance of 3racha, predebut Han almost making an entrance, Hyunjin is drunk and a drama queen, overall soft stuff. Please tell me if I missed something

A/N- I'm back with another fic, this took me a while but I'm kinda really satisfied with it, I really hope you all like it. I will try to write the next part as soon as I can. I wanna finish these series as soon as I can, first of all because I'm all excited and can't wait, also I'm excited to try out new tropes, I was thinking of challenging one bed trope after this, with various different dynamics. The requests are open, if you want me to write something I'll gladly accept the challenge. Also feel free to share your thoughts with me, I absolutely adore interacting with y'all.

After sighing for the nth time you finally forced yourself to turn off the shitty netflix show you were watching to spend time. You had nothing to do and were bored out of your mind, but not to that context to sit through another minute of this. It was almost 3 am and any normal person would be asleep by now, but here you were wide awake, feeling nothing remotely close to sleepiness.

You sat up straight after laying for couple of hours and boy you regretted it. The dizzy spell you got was nothing to joke with, maybe you should check your iron levels. Also your poor muscles felt so sore you would surely feel all stiff tomorrow. Your back was killing you, and, not to be dramatic but, you would marry anyone on the spot if they managed to massage the knots out. It was safe to say, you desperately needed some good spa day.

Speaking of marriage and partners, you were curious on how Hyunjin was doing. Even a mere thought of your amazing boyfriend bought a smile to your face. You couldn't believe you two were actually dating after pining over him for so many years. You sure were lucky tho, to have a sweetheart like him as your boyfriend. Your one year annivercary was coming soon and you couldn't surprise wait to surprise him. You've been planning everything for weeks now and you made sure everything would be perfect. Well you had to share some of your plans with him, so that you could plan your day together but you still had major card up your sleeve and you were sure he would lose his mind when you showed it to him. Two days, you only had to wait for two days.

You couldn't help but sigh, you missed him so much. Even though you saw him two days ago it felt like centuries had passed. This boy made you feel so many so foreign emotions you were never sure you would get to or actually could experience. He always went above and beyond to make you feel like the most special and cherished person, and the fact that he also did so even before you two started dating each other. He was always so sweet and gentle with you. You always felt like a hero of a romance novel. Also you adored how being with him was so fun and exciting but at the same time bought peace to your heart and mind. You might be rushing into things but day by day, second by second you were convinced he was your soulmate, your other half.

A sudden buzzing of your phone startled you out of your daydream, you were curious who in their right mind was calling you at this hour.

Seeing the contact name had you even more confused. Why would Chan be calling you at 3 am? You knew the boys were out having fun night for themselves. Did something happen? You hoped he called you for other reasons, because it would really suck if their rare chance of having fun got ruined by something unplanned. You sure hoped everything was okay tho. Quickly as you could you grabbed your phone and answered it mentaly preparing yourself to hear anything Chan had to say.

Chan's call of your name bought you down to reality from another spiral of unnescesary thoughts.

"Hey Chan what's up?" You tried to sound as calm as you could.

Chan cleared his throat, "I'm sorry, did I wake you up?" You quickly denied it," no I'm awake, what's up? Is everything okay?"

Chan chuckled and it made you relax a little, so nothing bad had happened, "yeah, yeah everything's fine , nothing to worry about, it's just your boyfriend is getting a bit fussy." You couldn't help but mirror the last word, you heard Chan chuckle. "Yeah alcohol must've got to him. We were about to go home, but he refuses to cooperate. He says he wants to go at yours because he as he quotes "misses his baby so much he can't take it anymore!" He dragged the words mimicking your boyfriend, you couldn't help but chuckle.

"Where are you guys, I can come pick him up." You suggested while searching for your keys with your eyes.

"No, no it's okay, we can bring him at yours. Binnie and Han are with me too so I don't think it will be much trouble. I just couldn't knock some sense into him, I told him to call you but he said his phone died. At some point he even ran towards your house or that's what he thought I had to tackle him before he could get lost. I don't think he can tell left from right in this state" He paused for a second, you heard someone talking but you couldn't hear anything, " I'm getting off track sorry, so it's good to bring him at yours?" You were full on chuckling now, what a silly little man.

"Yeah, it's totally fine. I'm sorry he's being trouble."

"No it's fine, it's kinda endearing to see him this whipped. All he talked about was you and how amazing you are." Your cheeks hurt from smiling this wide, God, you loved that idiot. "Okay I won't bore you anymore, we'll be at yours soon."

"Okay I'm waiting."

After finishing the call you made sure you looked decent enough for your taste and that your apartment looked neat. You also prepared clothes for Hyunjin to change into from his drawer and some water and painkillers for tomorrow.

It didn't even take 20 minutes for the boys to arrive. The second you opened your door Hyunjin tackled you into a hug, almost knocking you over, thankfully Changbin and Chan caught you two before you could manage and break your necks. You giggled at your boyfriends eagerness, before frowning when you saw how swollen and red his eyes were. "What happened baby?" You cooed at him and moved his hair out of his face. Hyunjin sighed and hugged you again, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You heard collective sigh of boys and turned your attention to them, looking at them with confused eyes, hoping they would tell you what was up.

Han decided to break the silence-"don't worry he was just bawling his eyes the whole ride, crying how amazing and perfect you were and how there is no one like you." He said and rolled his eyes, you huffed out a laugh, you knew he had nothing against you, but he must have had enough of this. Hyunjin frowned and glanced at him, his hold on you tightened, you were not sure if he felt possesive or just couldn't keep himself straight. "You're just bitter cuz you're single!" Hearing your boyfriends grumble Han's eyes widened and for a second you were afraid predebut Han would return. "Oh I'm gonna beat his ass!" Han leaned in but Changbin held him back by his collar, Changbins gaze then turned to you and you noticed how tired he seemed. "Good luck, he's your headache now."

Chan looked at you" Do you need any help with anything?" You smiled at him and shook your head. "I can handle him. Do you guys wanna come in tho? Do you want something to drink?" After hearing the last word you could see all three of them shiver.

"We're fine. It's late too we better head home." Chan reassured you after glancing at Changbin and Han for their opinion.

"Okay, thanks again for bringin him. Tell me when you're home, it's really late."

You said your goodbyes and turned to hyunjin who looked at you with dazed, sparkling eyes. "Let's get you settled pretty boy." You took his hand and started leading him towards your bedroom. Hyunjin eagerly followed you, you were amazed how pliant he was being, usually he loved being a brat but he must have been too tired now to act so.

After helping Hyunjin get ready for bed, you quickly got changed too and got in bed next to him. turning to him you noticed that he looked at you with wide eyes, nowhere near sleepy now. You leaned in and removed hair from his forehead, "I thought you were sleepy baby." Hyunjin looked at you for a second or two and opened his arms, "wanna cuddle." His words were slurred but you still got what he meant, you smiled and immediately snuggled next to him his arms finding solace around you. Based on how content he looked, if he could he would start purring any second now. How was he so cute and lovable? You knew you were whipped for him but you could swear he looked extra yummy right now.

You spent couple of minutes like this, and based on his even breathing you were sure he was asleep now, but you were proved wrong when he huffed while glaring at you and then changed sides so that you were now facing his back. To be honest you were a bit dumbfounded.

"What's wrong sweetie?" You couldn't help but pry, you had no idea what could've brought this behavior from him. Hyunjin just huffed. You sighed for yourself, you had got to use the big guns. You leaned in closer, amused at how he tried to get away from your touch, as if he had much space to run off to, and soon, not really to your surprise you had him trapped in the corner of your bed. You wrapped your hand around his stiff body and leaned in closer so that you could sweetly whisper against his ear. " Please tell me what's wrong my love" you dragged his nickname as sweetly as you could knowing it made him weak in the knees, and it did break through him. Hyunjin sighed and laid on his back, you glued next to him, his lips were pouted and his eyes a little bit glossy, you rubbed his side to ease him into talking .

"You don't love me" he whined quietly, you expected to hear anything but this from him if you were honest. You blinked at him confused, trying to gather your thoughts, you were both perplexed and also hollering from laughter inside. He was so ridiculous sometimes. You took a deep breath and moved your fingers to play with his soft locks, Hyunjin immediately leaned into the touch.

"My love, I love you so much I don't think you can even comprehend it! What brought this up?" Your voice was soft, you wanted him to know how sincere you were. Hyunjin sighed and put his hand on your waist, successfully bringing you closer to him, your fingers migrated and now were gently scratching his nape. Hyunjin hid his face in the crook of your neck and quietly grumbled "you didn't kiss me even once since I got here, we haven't seen each other in a while tho." No matter how hard you tried you couldn't hold it in and started cackling, this adorable as hell drama Queen! He had you worried for nothing! You even thought for a second you did something wrong.

Noticing your shaking figure, Hyunjin looked up at you with doe eyes, and his pout deepened when he saw you that you were wholeheartedly laughing. "Stop laughing I'm talking from my heart here!" His comment made you laugh even harder. "I should've gone home, you hates me" noticing how sad he sounded you got reminded that he was drunk as hell and was feeling more fragile, you wondered tho if he would remember any of this in the morning? Was it too late to grab a camera? Pouty Hyunjin was adorable.

"I'm sorry my love, you know I love you the most." Hyunjin rolled his eyes, and you knew he was playing with you, his eyes glimmered with mischief, well, two could play this game. You lowered your voice so you sounded almost sultry "Why don't you let me prove my sincerity to you then? Are you gonna let me?" You carefully watched as Hyunjin's eyes widened for a second, the big gulp and careful nod of his head.

This was all the permission you needed, you leaned in and carefully sealed your lips together, your boyfriend basically melted against you. You just loved how soft and pillowy his lips were, you always felt like you could kiss him for eternity.

The kiss started out soft, with you gently caressing his lips, his hand firm on your waist, holding you as if you were going to go away. Everything went quiet, you could only see, smell, taste, feel, hear him and so much more, he was the center of your universe. It was just you two right now, you didn't care about anything else. You had one goal only and you were dedicated. Everything about him was driving you crazy, you were sure he couldn't even grasp what, or how much you were feeling.

Your kisses quickly deepened and apart from gasping for air from time to time you two were inseparable, like two magnets pulling on each other.

The second Hyunjin leaned back for a second for some air, you decided to continue your little attack on his jaw, then his cheeks, absolutely loving the feel of his soft skin on your lips, then came his forehead, his eyelids, his beautiful nose, his chin, his neck... You wanted to cover every inch of him in kisses, to show appreciation to whichever god or gods crafted him, to show appreciation that this walking perfection was yours, his soft sighs and whines making you go even crazier.

You littered every part of skin you could reach with kisses until your lips were so numb and buzzing you got afraid they would fall off. Although, it didn't sound that bad, knowing the last thing they did was to kiss the Hwang Hyunjin senseless.

Looking at him, he looked at you with so much love and adoration, his face and neck all flushed, his breathing was quick and shallow,his hair all disheveled, his beautiful hands held you so tightly, your heart started fluttering all over again. He looked absolutely breathtaking, you wished you could engrave this moment into your mind for eternity. You smiled at him and softly grazed his cheek. "Are you satisfied with my answer my precious?" Your voice was soft, Hyunjin gleamed at you and eagerly nodded his head, and the next thing you knew you were on your back on the bed, Hyunjin above you, hugging you as tight as he could, his lips softly kissing your collarbone. "Absolutely, I love you so much beautiful, you have no idea" he pressed another kiss on your neck and then your lips with so much love and passion you just knew your feelings were returned with the same passion and vigor.

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #skz x reader #skz #stray kids imagines #skz fluff #skz imagines #stray kids scenarios #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin imagine #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin skz #hyunjin stray kids #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #stray kids hyunjin #skz hyunjin

[ladamedusoif]

able

(Joel Miller x disabled F!Reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

Summary: "I just don't think she'll be able for patrol". But then it's just you, Joel, and your trusty walking stick in the middle of nowhere...

Content/warnings: Reader is disabled (she has rheumatoid disease/arthritis in addition to panic attacks, she uses a walking stick as necessary); Reader had a sister; Reader is an art teacher; strong violence; blood; description of panic attack; references to impact of chronic illness and disability; references to medication; references to disease and death; non-canon compliant; Jackson!Joel; strong language; ableist language and abusive language

Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: ~3.7k

A/N: After making a plea earlier in the week for people to actually write disabled Reader fic, as opposed to forcing writers to feel they have to tag literally everything in an able-bodied Reader story, I knew I had to put my money where my mouth was as a disabled, neurodivergent writer with various mental health things going on here and there. And this one-shot is the result.

This one is a little personal. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid disease about ten years ago, and Reader’s experiences are informed by my own (though, thankfully, I haven’t had to contend with an apocalypse that meant I couldn’t access the medication that has kept me going). She’s also inspired by @agentjackdaniels, who acted as consultant extraordinaire on walking sticks and panic attacks, and suggested the Joel picture for the moodboard. Thank you, Luce, for this, for fighting the good fight for representation in fic - and for beta-ing the story. 

(A note on terminology: rheumatoid disease/arthritis are sometimes used interchangeably. ‘Arthritis’ often sounds like it’s ‘just’ osteoarthritis to people who don’t know the difference. Rheumatoid, unlike osteoarthritis (which is shitty in its own ways), is a systemic, lifelong, chronic illness and an auto-immune disorder that affects the entire body, not just bones and/or joints. So personally I use ‘rheumatoid disease’ as it conveys more of the impact of the condition. It's also often seen as an 'old person' disease but this simply isn't true - not that this stops mobility aids being modelled by people in their 80s all the time...)

Please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to stay up to date with my work.

Dividers by @saradika - moodboard by me

You weren’t supposed to make it.

Twenty-odd years in the apocalypse with your fucked-up joints and no steady supply of the meds that kept you going, pushing through the cycles of fatigue, and fighting off your own goddamned immune system as much as you were fighting clickers and raiders. 

You really weren’t supposed to make it. But you had Annie.

You were sharing an apartment when the outbreak happened, a quirk of shitty personal circumstances - she’d just broken up with her long-term boyfriend - that probably helped save your life. Annie was the all-action sister - the kind of person who thinks there’s nothing weird about spending your weekends doing triathlons and “Tough Mudder” challenges, who had a perfect bill of health your entire lives, who bounced out of bed in the mornings while you cracked and creaked and stiffly manoeuvered yourself into being. 

The good days generally outweighed the bad in the years between your diagnosis with rheumatoid disease and the initial outbreak - or maybe you had just gotten used to the aches and pains and the occasional flare-ups of fatigue. You invested in a walking stick to help on those days when mobility was particularly bad: solid, heavy, and carved in a pale yellow wood. It felt like a comfort in your hand, more a sign of strength, to you, than of weakness. 

Annie helped you through the panic attack that consumed you on outbreak day, working with you to regulate your breathing and relax your tense muscles until you could finally say what was on your mind.

“My meds. What am I going to do without my meds?”

Nothing a quick smash and grab at the local pharmacy couldn’t fix. It was the first of many, stockpiling the little yellow tablets you relied on and taking as many packs of over-the-counter painkillers as you could carry. Useful currency in the apocalypse, as it turned out.

All-Action Annie was never going to cope with life in a QZ. She got the two of you out after months of planning, nights of whispered talk about a town out west that was normal - or something close to it, anyway. She hadn’t entertained your protestations about you slowing her down, holding her back.

“You think I’m leaving behind a girl who’s so handy with a weapon?” she’d teased, pointing to your walking stick. “Be real. We’re busting out together.”

The infection took hold in her about three days from Jackson. Fuckin’ barbed wire, tearing a jagged line through Annie’s hand and leaving behind an old-fashioned kind of threat to life, the kind penicillin had mostly dealt with. But that was then. This was now. 

She died in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, you holding her hand until the end, talking to her about your childhoods and trying to keep smiling until she closed her beautiful eyes. 

It took all your strength to dig her grave. And then, somehow, you found more.

You weren’t supposed to make it. But you did. 

Jackson stands before you. 

He sees you for the first time in the community dining hall, talking animatedly to Maria as you hungrily devour the food set in front of you. Eyes wide, face grubby, clothes ragged. Half-wild, he thinks, like most of the new arrivals. Like him and Ellie, once upon a time. He returns to his bowl of soup and his own thoughts - at least, until he’s interrupted by Maria.

“Joel? Want to introduce a new member of the community, just arrived.”

He doesn’t quite know why he’s surprised when he realises you’re leaning on a sturdy hand-carved walking stick in a solid, light yellow wood. Maybe it’s because he knows how physically hard it is to get here. Maybe he just assumed folks who needed a stick wouldn’t have been able to manage the journey. 

For a second he can hear Sarah’s voice in his head, chiding him for focusing on what a disabled person can’t do instead of what they can. 

“Joel?”

He snaps out of his reverie and looks from Maria to you. “Uh, hi. Sorry, just…sorry. Forgot my manners.”

“I was just saying how glad we are to have someone who can offer some art education in the town, isn’t that right, Joel?”

Your eyes are warm and mischievous as you meet his gaze, silently conveying your amusement at Maria’s rather brusque manner. It’s all Joel can do not to laugh.

“Sure is. You’re an artist, then?”

You shake your head. “Not a real one. I was an art teacher, before. Long time since I created anything, though, so I hope I remember how.”

He smiles softly, his gruff exterior receding a little. “Bet it’s just like riding a bike,” he says, before his face falls as he looks at your walking stick. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean… Shit. Hope I didn’t offend.”

“As it happens, I can ride a bike, Joel. The apocalypse just doesn’t give me much cause to.”

You leave him with a smile and a wink as Maria ushers you to meet other townsfolk. He watches you as you walk away, the tap-tap-tapping of your stick beating out a new rhythm in the heart of Jackson.

You think of Annie every morning when you wake up in the little house you’d been assigned. Sometimes, as you potter around the kitchen, still revelling in the novelty of making yourself morning coffee for the first time in two decades, you even talk to her. You tell her about the town, the townsfolk, your work in the community vegetable garden, your art classes. 

“Honestly, An, you wouldn’t believe how popular they are,” you tell the Annie who, in an alternate universe, is sitting at the kitchen table with her own mug of coffee. “I’m setting up extra sessions to cater for demand.”

There’s something uplifting in how hungry the people of Jackson are to make art, no matter their experience or existing skill level. They’ll draw stuff from memory, they’ll dutifully work on a still life, they’ll even traipse outside with you, wooden sketching boards in hand, and make rapid-fire sketches of the goings-on on Main Street. 

Joel doesn’t join a class - but the teenage girl Maria refers to as “Joel’s kid” does, all potty-mouthed and enthusiastic and pretty damned talented, to boot. Ellie tells you how she’s pinned up the drawings she’s proudest of in their home, “like our own fuckin’ art gallery or some shit.” 

You pull up a tall stool and sit beside her, resting your stick over your thighs. “Joel’s got his guitar and those dumbass model figures he paints,” she continues, leaning around her easel and squinting at the woman who’d volunteered to act as a life model for this week’s classes. “But this shit? This is real art.” She adds a little highlight to the woman’s sweater and leans back to assess the work.

“You probably got exempt from patrols, I’m guessing. On account of the stick, an’ all.”

“Maria asked, and I signed up happily. I got all the way here, didn’t I? I’m sure I can manage patrols. And it’s the least I can do - they’ve even found me some of the medications I need.”

Ellie nods, somewhat convinced, and returns to sketching out the contours around the model’s jaw.

The day of your first patrol arrives. You bundle up and set out early for the stables, allowing extra time to get there on account of the flare-up you’d been experiencing the day before. 

You arrive early - just in time, in fact, to overhear a heated conversation between Joel and Maria.

“She’s doing enough, ain’t she? I just don’t think she’ll be able for patrol.”

“You’ve seen her out and about, Joel. She’s mobile. She’s competent. She’s good with the horses. She got all the way here, the last stretch on her own. What more proof do you need?”

“You’re seriously gonna send a woman with a walking stick out on patrol?”

“I seriously am. Sent you and your bad back out, didn’t we?”

“That ain’t the same and you know it.”

“Just saddle the horses, Joel. And, in case you’re wondering - yes, I paired you together deliberately, just until she gets settled.” You hear her footsteps recede as she leaves him.

You had misjudged how much your already-limited grip would be further impeded by the gloves you’re wearing. The stick clatters to the ground.

“Who’s there?”

You emerge from the shadows. “Me. Sorry.”

Joel rolls his eyes and gruffly points out the tack and supplies.

The first patrol passes in silence. You wonder what happened to the softer man you’d caught a glimpse of the first day you arrived.

On the second patrol, you ask him questions about himself. On the third patrol, he asks (fewer) questions about you. By the fourth, you’re having something approximating normal conversation. 

“Sarah loved to make all kinds of stuff,” he ventures, leading the way on his chestnut horse. “Those beaded bracelets, that girly Lego in the pink and purple, all of that. My girl had enough Magic Markers to supply a whole elementary school. Maybe two.”

You can hear him smile, even without seeing his face. His shoulders relax a little as he recalls the memory.

“So she was a creative kid?”

“Creative, sporty… she could do anything. Made the school soccer team, she was so proud. Just a…” He pauses. “A great kid.”

There’s a few beats of silence, punctuated only by the sound of the horses snickering and the steady rhythm of their hooves on the ground. 

“What about your sister, was she arty like you?”

You’d told him about Annie on the last patrol. This was the first time he’d asked about her explicitly.

“She was the sporty one. I think that’s why I survived so long, truth be told. She was so strong and fast and tough as fuck.”

He chuckles, the burr of his voice resonating in the cold air. “Sounds like a good balance, though.”

“It is - it was. Was.” Your voice grows quieter as you repeat the word to yourself, chest starting to tighten. The horse slows, responding to the tension of your body, as Joel continues to trot on, not realising you’ve come to a halt behind him. 

And then the tell-tale snapping of a twig, the sound of footsteps, and the realisation there’s someone else there, emerging out of the woods. Two someones. 

Raiders. 

The panic attack that has been building inside you gives way. An innate fight or flight response kicks in as you roar his name. 

Joel turns and charges back towards you, just in time to see you take out one raider with a crack shot from your pistol. He slows the horse and readies his rifle, staring at the other man who is now trying to haul you off your mount.

“Get the fuck off me, motherfucker!” You flail against him, desperately shifting your weight to the other side of the saddle to try to shake him off. 

Joel takes aim. 

You think you’ve kicked the raider off. And that’s when you hit the ground.

He can’t take the shot now, not with her half-hidden from his view and audibly fighting off the man who’s dragged her to the ground. Joel is still a little distance away, slightly too far to see exactly what’s happening. 

Why didn’t he hear her slowing? Why didn’t he realise she was further behind than she ought to be? Why did she slow in the fuckin’ first place?

Joel quickly dismounts, rifle in hand, moving closer so he can get a clearer shot at the guy who’s now standing over her. The horse’s elegant neck obscures the raider’s hands from Joel’s vision - he has no idea if he’s pointing a gun at her or not. 

He thinks he has a clear sight on the guy’s head, provided he stays in the same position. He readies the rifle. 

Suddenly, the raider disappears, letting out a primal roar before he hits the ground. 

“You fucking cunt!”

Joel can see she’s standing now, the man prone before her. As he rounds the horse he sees her lift her cane, hands securely gripping the pointed end of the stick. 

She brings the solid, weighty handle down on the raider’s leg with a sickening crunch. Even Joel recoils a little at the sight and the sound.

“F-f-fucking…c-c-cunt!”

Thwack. The other leg. 

Fuck. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

”Keep calling me that, and I’ll keep the blows coming.”

Holy fuck. Who is she?

”C-c-c-cripple.”

”Excuse me?”

The raider props himself up on his arms. “I said, cripple. Fucking crippled cunt.”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Joel cocks his rifle. 

The stranger sneers at Joel. “Awww, he’s actin’ the big man now. Weren’t too quick gettin’ back down here to save your cripple woman, were ya?”

Before Joel can react, she swings her stick over her head and brings it down on the man’s skull with a furious scream that seems to come from the very depths of her being. 

She screams and screams as she hits him, over and over, eyes wild in her blood-spattered face. Joel recognises this: in himself; hell, in Ellie. It’s the moment when the floodgates open and all those years of pain blend together and zone in on this convenient target, an avatar for everyone and everything who had forced loss and trauma upon you. 

He roars at her to stop, but knows she can’t hear him. It’s just her and the raider, now: her rage and fear and grief finding their expression through a walking stick turned cudgel.

A single shot ends it. She turns sharply, as if snapped out of a trance, and sees the smoke leaving Joel’s pistol. 

“Hey. Hey. You alright?” His broad hands grip your biceps as he looks into your eyes.

Yes, you tell him, yes. You’re fine. But Joel keeps asking. 

“Talk to me. Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Please, just talk to me.”

You are moving your mouth, but no sound is coming out. The familiar vice is tightening around your chest. You look down at your blood-stained hands and you struggle to breathe. 

“‘M dying, Joel. Can’t breathe. All the blood. So much. Why can’t I breathe?”

Oh, he realises with a pang. She gets these things too. And I know how to help.

“You’re okay, you hear?” He’s rubbing your arms gently, keeping his gaze on you. “You’re alright. Breathe along with me, okay?”

It’s difficult to find the rhythm, at first. Joel’s hands find yours and squeeze them in time with his breath.

”In through your nose, that’s it. Slow and steady. Now out through your mouth.”

He can see your muscles starting to visibly relax. A wave of relief courses over him.

”Yeah, that’s it - you got this. You got this, good girl, you’re just fine. Gonna be alright.”

When he’s confident your breathing has settled and the panic attack receded somewhat, he gently guides you away from the body of the dead raider, one hand holding your horse’s bridle and the other holding yours. 

“Why don’t you have a seat for a minute, huh?” Joel gestures to a long, low tree trunk lying near the forest’s edge and opens his saddlebags, rummaging until he finds a cloth, a battered hip flask and a bag of dried apple slices.

”Here.” He wipes the blood as best he can from your hands and proffers the flask, settling his substantial frame beside you on the log. “Have a sip or two, just to relax you a little bit more. Got a snack, here, too.”

You flinch at the taste of the liquor, but take a second sip regardless. The apple slices barely taste of anything in the afterburn of the moonshine. Joel nibbles on some jerky and stares into the middle distance. 

You take a break from patrol, agreed with Maria, and a few days off your art classes. It was tempting to keep going, to return to the light and airy studio and to your students. But you feared a relapse.

And your body needed to recover physically, too. You ached from head to toe, fingers and toes puffy and swollen and movement seriously restricted. You ration out the supply of medication you’ve secured since getting here, and use hot water bottles and plenty of rest to try to ride out the flare in your arthritis.

Three days after the incident, there’s a knock on the door. You hobble to answer it, leaning on your trusty stick for support.

”Came by to see how you were doing. Got you some things if you needed ‘em.”

Joel is standing on your front porch, holding a jute grocery bag. He pauses, as if waiting for you to give him permission to say more.

”That’s so very kind of you, Joel. Come in, won’t you? I was able to set a fire so it’s nice and cosy.”

He watches as you lead the way into the living room, noting how much slower you were today. Guilt laps at his conscience. He said she shouldn’t go on patrol. He knew.

”You want me to bring these into the kitchen for you?”

“That would be a great help. Thank you.” He’s glad to see you smile, after the trauma of the patrol. “If you want a drink, I’ve got some tea and coffee in the cupboard just to the left of the sink.”

He pops his head back into the living room. “What would you like?” 

“A tea would be perfect. Mugs are in the cupboard to the right.”

You wrap yourself back up in your blankets on the couch, making room for Joel when he returns with the drinks and a couple of cookies, sent over by Ellie as part of his care package for you. The mug feels like a comfort in your aching hands, its heat assuaging the inflammation ravaging your joints.

He sips his coffee and you sit in silence for a little bit, watching the flames dance over the firewood. 

“Have you, uh - you been okay, doing okay, since…”

Joel stares into his coffee cup and then looks at you, a little awkward. You smile, hoping to reassure him.

”I’ve been okay. Just the physical pain and exhaustion, mostly. And - well, you saw it. The panic. It can leave you drained.”

He nods and takes another swig of his drink. “I know. I - I’ve had times like that, too. Real fuckin’ scary, when you’ve never gone through it before.”

You study his face for a moment or two, noting the little scar on his temple, the lines on his face, the stern expression completely undermined by the warmth of his deep brown eyes. For an instant, he seems so vulnerable, this strong, tough man sitting on your little couch. 

“I haven’t had an attack like that in a while. But then, I hadn’t done anything like that in a while.”

This time Joel turns to look at you properly. “Not your first rodeo, huh?”

You giggle at the turn of phrase. “Not quite. Let’s just say my stick did a lot of work over the last twenty years. He wasn’t the first to feel the brunt of it.”

Joel nods, and you feel strangely relieved that he doesn’t seem surprised. “Doesn’t get easier, though, does it?”

“It does not. Which is why it’s better to avoid having to do it.”

”I agree. Gotta say, though, I - I was worried you wouldn’t be able for patrol, y’know?”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “I know. I overheard you, remember?”

He blushes. “Aw, shit. Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want anything happening to you, what with your - condition, and all.”

You sigh softly, not really noticing the affection in his voice. “Most of the time, I’m fine. Y’know? I’m slower, but I do okay. I get tired more easily, but I manage. I didn’t come here to be a drain on the community.”

”You aren’t.”

”I know, but I want to keep it that way. I want to pull my weight. I’m able, Joel.”

He huffs in agreement. “Not like I’m a perfect specimen these days, either. Knees, fuckin’ back, deaf in one ear…” 

You chuckle. “And you thought I wouldn’t manage patrol? Anyway, you’re not doing so bad, are you?”

He gives you a little smile, but that constant sadness still haunts his eyes. He stares at his coffee for a moment.

“You knew what you were doing, though.”

”I did. But I didn’t feel like I could stop.” You sip your tea, swallowing hard. “And I’m scared that makes me some kinda monster. You know?”

Oh, he knows. He knows it too well.

”You aren’t a monster.” Joel resists the urge to put an arm around you. “You just… something snapped, I guess. All that - well, all that hell you’ve gone through. It… it changes you. But it doesn’t make you a monster.”

He realises you’re crying before you do, spotting the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. He finds a clean handkerchief in his jeans and offers it to you. 

Fuck it. 

“Can I - can I put an arm round you? Just for some support?”

Your eyes light up, tears or no tears, and you nod enthusiastically. Joel is warm and comforting, his broad chest and strong arms a kind of anchor in the emotional storm. You nuzzle against him, and he gives you a little squeeze on the arm.

”You’re a really brave woman, you know that?”

His voice is quieter, more intentional. You look at him quizzically from under your lashes, unused to praise of this kind. For an instant you think about asking him what he means. But the safety you’ve found in the broad arm draped around you is all you need right now. 

You nuzzle a little against his chest, and watch the fire dancing for the rest of the night. 

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x disabled f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #soft joel miller #disabled f!reader #disabled reader fic #hbo the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedrostories

[itsjusthockey]

Hung Up - Quinn Hughes

He's a captain. I’m so happy.

This was supposed to be a happy fic 🧐🤔

I will probably write something happy for him because I am currently living for him

Enjoy and submit requests

w.c: 889 (credit to gif maker)

You finally dip into the realm of the unconscious when your phone begins buzzing on your bedside table. The loud noise, coupled with the bright light of your upward-facing phone, makes you cringe. You debate ignoring it; you should ignore it. Yet, that little voice in your head makes you roll to the side and look down to see who is calling you this late in the evening.

When you see the contact, you want to throw your phone at the fucking wall.

Of course, it’s him.

The buzzing continues, and you stare hard, hoping if you focus enough, the contact will change. You know the simple thing to do is ignore it, but when it keeps ringing, you finally grab the device and click answer.

You’re met with a seemingly dead line when you pick up. He’s never been great with words or emotions, for that fact, so neither of you speak. Instead, you both sit there for another minute before he finally breaks the silence.

“I got it.”

The three words are rushed, but you know exactly what he’s talking about.

“I got it, just like you said I would.”

As he finishes, he lets out a shaky breath, and you can hear him shuffling around.

You don’t know what to say; you really don’t. If it were a month ago, you would have cried happy tears, flown to Vancouver, and partied until the break of dawn. Now, you can’t even find a word to express what you’re feeling. And if you’re being honest, you don’t know what you’re feeling.

“(Y/N)?” His voice is small, and you cringe at the softness of it.

“Yeah, um, that's amazing, Q,” you pause to breathe out. “You deserve it.”

The conversation dies again, and you find yourself staring into the darkness, wondering how the hell you got here. You should hang up, knowing you should remove every aspect of him, but you stay on the line.

Minutes tick by until he speaks again.

“Luke and Jack told me you’ve been ignoring them.”

The mention of Luke and Jack sparks a fire within you, breaking the uneasy silence.

“That’s not fair, Quinn," you retort, your voice edged. "I haven't been avoiding them intentionally. It's just... it's complicated."

There's a tense pause on the line, and you can practically hear the hesitation in his voice as he responds.

“I know. They're just worried about you, about us.”

You let out a soft I know and take a deep breath, trying to collect any of your scattered thoughts. You feel millions of emotions, and you wonder why he keeps doing this to you. Every time you feel okay, he drags you back. Suddenly, you feel one specific emotion: anger.

“Why did you call me Quinn?”

He stammers for a second, and you continue.

“I am trying my best to move the fuck on here. I have finally got my shit together for the first time in weeks, and suddenly you wanna talk? Pull me back just enough so I can keep thinking about you?”

Quinn's silence on the other end is deafening, and you can almost feel the weight of your anger hanging in the air. It's a valid question, and you need an answer.

“I promise I’m not trying to mess with your head, (Y/N)," he finally admits. "I just... I wanted you to hear it from me. It felt wrong not to tell you."

Your anger begins to subside, replaced by a mixture of frustration and sadness. You do know Quinn, better than anyone else, and you know he's not intentionally trying to hurt you.”

“I get it. Every day I want to call you and tell you about the shitty day I’m having. But I stop myself.” You pause. “You can’t keep doing this to me. I'm trying to move on, to heal, and every time you call, it makes it that much harder."

There's a long pause, and you can almost hear Quinn struggling to find the right words.

“I'm sorry, (Y/N). I don't want to keep dragging you back. I just... I miss you. I miss us.“

Tears well up in your eyes as you hear the vulnerability in his voice. Despite the anger and frustration, you still love him more than anything.

“Please, Quinn, just stop. I can’t hear this right now.”

“I know, (Y/N). I know I'm hurting you, and I hate myself for it. But I can't act like I'm not dying without you."

He’s not being fair, and you want to punch him. You have to protect yourself and not allow him to pull you back. Not until you both figure out what went so wrong in the first place.

“I love you, Quinn," you admit, "But we are not doing this. Not now.“

There's a long pause on the line. “I know, (Y/N). I just... I can't let you go. You’re all I can think about.”

You wipe away a stray tear.

“Then find something else. I’m not ready to do this. I need time. You need to leave me the fuck alone, and when I'm ready, I’ll give you a call.

You hear him start to speak and begin to plead his case again, but you’re done. He’s hurt you enough.

You hang up the phone.

#hockey #hockey boys #imagine #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey x reader #nhl hockey #nhl x reader #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes #captain canuck #canucks hockey #vancover canucks #hockey blurb #jack hughes #luke hughes #captain hughes #nhl #nhl fic

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

“let me love you!” “i’ll never hurt you.” “you’re easy to love.”

from the prompt list with Billy please 💗

(in my head this time it's reader that needs to be told this because she is insecure, i see a lot of hurt/comfort fics about billy being comforted and while i absolutely love those, i feel like the idea of reader being the one that needs to be taken care of not is not explored enough in the Billy fandom 🤍)

am I projecting ? - yes absolutely

Thank you for this request! Literally loved writing this! I hope you like how it turned out :) I'm pretty sure this is gender neutral but if it isn't please let me know

Is this billy? no. Do I care? no. I love writing billy as a fluffy man and if you don't like that, that's okay <3

This week has been rough, honestly things have been rough for a while now but this week has been the worst of the worst.

All you wanted to do was crawl into bed and stay swallowed by the blankets. You didn't want to deal with anything or anyone anymore for a hot minute. And as you drive home you can feel the waves of emotions finally starting to wash over, you when you pull into your driveway your vision starts to blur. You slowly trudge up to your front door and immediately start to undress before crawling into your bed, ready to sleep the day away.

You fell asleep without even noticing. You slept through the seven phone calls Billy left you, you slept through Billy unlocking your door with the spare key you gave him, and you slept through him calling for you as he wanders into your home.

"Babe??? I'm starting to actually worry here!" He yells out before reaching your bedroom. He is about to yell your name again but he freezes seeing you buried under all of your blankets. "Fuck babe..." He kicks off his boots and crawls next to you in bed.

"Baby...come on wake up for me sweetheart" he whispers to you as he moves your hair out of your face gently. You slowly open your eyes and smile once you're greeted by the sight of his bright blue eyes. "Hi baby" you greet him sleepily and snuggle into his chest slightly.

Normally this would melt his heart, however, this time his heart fills with worry. To anyone else, they may have missed how your eyes seemed dull, or they would've shrugged it off as you being tired but he knows better than that, he knows you better then he knows himself.

"Want to fill me in here? What happened today?" Asking this question broke down your walls again and tears started filling your eyes before you could stop it. "I--well it was um..." You clear your throat trying to stop the feeling of it closing in on itself.

"Do you think I'm hard to love?" once those words were out in the atmosphere you squeezed your eyes tightly in hopes that if Billy did hear you that you closing your eyes tight enough would make you disappear. Billy did hear you though, he heard you loud and clear and that broke his heart in two.

"You're easy to love." He says matter of factly, leaving no room to argue. "Let me love you, Let me prove that what you said is so wrong." His brows furrow as anger started to flow through his veins. Who said this to them? Who put those thoughts into their beautiful mind? How long have they been thinking this? As these questions started to flow through his mind more anger started to flow through his veins.

You shake your head not wanting to think about this anymore. "I'm just so tired. I'm tired of feeling hurt, of getting hurt, of being let down. It's been such a shitty week. Been such a long, exhausting week." You ramble on before Billy makes you stop. "I'll never hurt you." Billy says in nearly a whimper. The thought of hurting you in any way destroys his soul and if he ever did hurt you he truly believes he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

"I'd never hurt you. Anyone that has hurt you are the worst, most stupidest group of people to ever live let alone breath. I don't know if you know this, if you realize this, but I...god I really love you and that isn't easy for me. If I ever hurt you I'm done for."

Your eyes filled with tears for a whole different reason. You've never seen Billy so vulnerable, you've never felt so loved before either. From how you were laying on his chest you leaned up and kissed his chin softly. "I love you too Billy, more than you'll ever know" He smiled softly and kissed your head as you rest your head on his chest one more time before falling back to sleep. As you sleep Billy starts to play with your hair and continues to whisper how much he loves you.

#stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #billy stranger things #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove #billy x reader #billy fluff #billy hargrove stranger things #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargove imagine #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fluff #stranger things imagines #stranger things fanfic #billy hargrove fluff

[quickiesgirl]

Vampiric Mistress - Eddie Munson

Paring: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Warning: 18+, Smut, Dom/Sub, Switch!Eddie Munson, Handjob, Guided Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex, Breast Fixation, Praise Kink, Mistress Kink, Reader Wears Corset, Halloween Costumes, House Party, My Shitty Writing.

A/n: October has gone by so fast, and I can't believe Kinktober is already over. I've really enjoyed posting these shitty little fics out into the world so thanks for reading.

Kinktober 31 - Breasts Fixation

Eddie’s eyes were on you throughout the night, unable to keep his attention off you when you were dressed in such a risky outfit. You took the role of the vampiric mistress in your tight, red lingerie corset with silk, maroon-colored lace in the back, and a long, tattered skirt with a gothic make-up look. 

He was dressed as her victim, clothed in a vintage renaissance-looking pullover, ruffled and laced in the front, and wearing a pair of black trousers. Fake blood smeared on the collar directly below the prominent bite mark on the side of his neck. 

You’d been collecting pieces for your couple's costume for weeks, up until Halloween day, when it finally came together, it was tastefully revealing on your gorgeous frame, exactly as you imagined. The second your boyfriend got a proper look at you, a lustful yearning began growing deep within. 

The teasing aspect of it all was your favorite, making your partner a submissive, needy mess throughout the night. You made little remarks that drew attention to your body, and “accidentally” brushed your ass against his crotch, listening to a small grunt fall from his lips which he quickly tried to cover up with a cough. Knowing his trousers were becoming increasingly tight and restricting further into the night. 

Between the loud, popular hits of the decade playing through the household, the boozy drinks, and dancing people, he still found moments to show you just how hard you’d made him, and what looked like giving a loving hug from behind was him purposefully pressing his strained cock into your ass.

With an excuse, you and your boyfriend began heading upstairs. He was dying to have a moment alone with you. You lead him into the unoccupied bathroom, hips swaying confidently ahead of him, feeling his dark brown eyes burn holes into your body. 

The music on the costly stereo below muffles when the door shuts behind you, only feeling the sound of the base vibrating within the floor. 

He put his beer aside and leaned back into the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, watching you in the mirror. Fixated on those gorgeous breasts while you stand there, looking at your reflection with the counter-pressing into your midsection, back arched forward, and ass pushing out teasingly. 

“You’re okay, enjoying the party?” You asked, checking in on Eddie, knowing he wasn't the biggest fan of parties. 

“Y-yeah, I’m glad we’re here. Your friends are cool,” Eddie excused his needs for a moment and reassured you so sweetly, “and I am especially happy to be dressed up with you, my beautiful, vampiric mistress.”

You glance back at him, noticing that the last part said in his slow, sexy Dungeon Master voice, the same one he uses when narrating the quest of his campaign, making a mischievous smirk creep across your face, “Mistress, huh? I think I could get used to that,” 

Silence consumes him as a flustered look spreads across his face, the bulge in his pants twitching noticeably. 

“You seem a bit distracted, my love. Something on your mind?” You asked, stretching your neck to the side, massaging your exposed shoulder, before delicately strolling the tips of your fingers down with a feather-like touch, sliding between the crease of your cleavage over the material of your corset, watching as the pretty, metal-head becomes flustered by your actions. 

You spin around on the tips of your toes and take a few steps towards him, laying a hand on his stomach as the other brushes the hair from his shoulder, leaning in to slowly kiss the uncovered part of his chest and neck. “Don’t be shy, baby, you can tell mistress.” 

You held a steady, dominant tone in your voice, seducing him with every last word, not to mention that name rolling off your tongue, Mistress. It felt sinfully right to hear it coming from your mouth. 

A quiver rolled through his body, practically melting in the palm of your hand while he felt you mark him with a bruising hickey above his collar for everyone to see. 

“You know what’s on my mind. I’ve been horny all night just from looking at you. All I’ve been able to think about is removing that corset and using my mouth on those gorgeous breasts down to that beautiful stomach of yours.” 

A smile curls on your lips, moving back to position your hands on the counter and rise to seat yourself on the cool felt surface, thighs widening with a very tempting invitation. Your fingers glide across your round, lifted bosom, “So, why don’t you start making that mouth useful then.” 

Eddie obeys at a moment's notice, attaching his full lips to your breasts, which were practically jutting out of your corset. With admiring eyes, you look down as he lays soft, lingering kisses along every inch of your skin. 

Submissiveness was a natural part of him. Sure, he enjoyed being dominant from time to time. But sometimes, nothing felt better than being dominated himself, soft or rough, getting ordered by his partner, being your personal fuck toy on occasion, getting topped, and fucked senselessly. 

You reach behind and pull at the laces that bind the material to your chest, removing your top. The head of his dick begins to throb, watching your breast spill out. 

“Holy shit…” He said, gawking at the sight of your body on full display, licking his lips instinctually before leaning forward, hovering his mouth over your erect nipple, and slowly tracing the areola until he finally wrapped his warm, silk-felt lips around your bud. 

Eddie Munson had been blessed to have a well-skilled tongue used in all sorts of pleasurable ways. He could have your chest heaving within seconds and hips squirming at times just by stroking himself along the sweet spots of your body. He’d studied where every single one of them lay. 

The tip of his tongue applies a few kitten licks, nose brushing into your skin before releasing with a suctioned pop, cursing to himself silently as he stares at your glistening nipple. His fingers graze along the sides of your body, feeling your skin prickle from his touch. 

“You’ve been such a good boy, waiting so patiently. I’m very proud of you,” You praised, driving your hand through his dark brown curls while the other cupped the nape of his neck, “This was everything you wanted, wasn’t it? You were so quiet and reserved, knowing you’d get rewarded.” 

“Mmm, yes.” Eddie lets out, completely infatuated with your seductive-sounding voice in his ear. He trails lips across your chest, finally giving some attention to your other nipple. 

He gently nipped at your bud while his dominant hand slid up your stomach to cup your breast, squeezing at the soft flesh weighing in his palm. His spare hand remained on your lower back, keeping your body arched into him. You rolled your shoulders back and let out a teasing moan that forced out an audible reactive grunt from him. 

 “F-fuck, I won’t last like this…C-can I - stroke myself, mistress?” He begged, watching your eyes examine before permitting him to do so. 

He swiftly pushed his pants and boxers down to his thighs, sighing with relief when he freed his restricted cock, which had been tucked into the waistband of his trousers since earlier in the night, blood pumping to his swollen, enlarged penis with a slight tingling sensation, desperately waiting for your attention, which he got the second he pulled it out. 

Your lecherous gaze ogles his erection, held firmly in his grasp, watching the way his thumb swipes over the pinkened tip, spreading his pre-cum around, making you nibble on your bottom lip. 

“Rub your palm against the head of your cock. I want you to touch yourself, just like I would.” 

Sweet little moans and whimpers began to fall from his lips as he massaged the head of his dick, his spare hand, once holding you nearly moments ago, snaked into his boxers to fondle his heavy balls, pretending that his large fingers were your small, nimble ones. 

“Mmm, best keep quiet, or someone may hear those slutty little noises.” You warn, raising his chin and pulling his bottom lip down before feeding your fingers into his mouth, feeling puddling warmth wrap around you. His soft moans vibrate around your digits before you draw out and line his swollen lips, making them wet and glistening with saliva. 

You raise the front of your dress to reveal your clothed slit and swipe your panties aside, rubbing your clitoris in languid circles, forcing him to watch. Still holding that devilish gaze, giving him a look as if you were the apex predator and he was just another helpless piece of meat for your enjoyment. 

He looked down, completely fixated on your sweet-looking cunt, glistening lips with your manicured nails rotating around the hood of your clit, applying a bit of pressure.

All of these thoughts went to the head of his cock with a pulsating sensation while everything around him, the muffled sound of music and people conversing below, completely faded out, almost in a lustful, hazy blur. 

“M-may your good boy cum, mistress?” 

“I think you’ve waited long enough. Where do you want it, or- should I surprise my sweet boy?” You questioned, tilting your head and hopping off the counter. Your heavy plat-formed shoes beneath you made a loud thumping noise when you dropped. Hopefully, it wasn’t as noticeable for the people below. 

You wouldn’t want to get caught taking care of Munson's needs in your dear friend’s bathroom, or maybe it was the risk of it all that turned the two of you on so much, the fact that you were getting off your submissive boy at a Halloween party, all because of a little costume that turned him on. 

“I-I uhm, s-surprise me, please?” His voice rose with a slight tremble, not so subtly eyeing your body, warmth spreading over his face, paying attention to your chest. He had a fixation, after all. 

A grin merely spreads across your lips before he slides his hands back, lacing one around the base of his drooling cock while he watches you kneel to the ground. The wood flooring, hard on your knees and likely to leave bruises as a reminder of this moment for later.

 You look up into his eyes seductively and grab his thighs, placing a single kiss on the head of his penis before rubbing your tongue back and forth across the glans, coating your taste buds in precum.  

He moaned breathily, watching you aim his cock at your breasts and finally give permission to jerk off. He only gets a few strokes in before strings of his hot, sticky cum are painting your chest beautifully. 

“Oh fuuhck, ’m cumming-” Eddie alerted before being cut off with husky grunts and moans, knees weakening and head pressing back into the wall, milking himself as much as he could physically handle.

When he finished, he loosened on his softening cock, and eyes glanced down, watching you wipe the beads of cum with your finger and lick the mess away as he came down from his high. 

“Jesus, I think I’m seeing stars.” He let out a slow exhale, still trying to regain his breath. 

“Good,” You chuckle softly, standing up to press your lips to his, tongue driving past his warm wet lips, making him moan into your mouth, getting the taste of his own bitter yet sweet cum. 

It looked so disgraceful stepping out of that bathroom together. Eddie's neck was covered in lip prints and hickeys while your lipstick smeared slightly with a few additional love bites across your bosom, only adding to the erotic effect of your costume.

Eddie Munson Smut Taglist: @sunflowerharrington @madmax-thewise @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @rottenstyx @cantthinkofauserlololol @natashamacimoff69 @zestychilli @luna-munson83 @chaoticcancer @ruinedbythehobbit @emxxblog @emsgoodthinkin @jjmaybankswifes-blog

Taglist Form | Message if you want to be removed <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #sub!eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things netflix #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4 #quickiesgirl writing

[vdoesstuff]

Fic #9 (Zosan)

(An au in which by writing on your arm, you can communicate to your soulmate)

————————————————————————

Sanji always liked writing to his soulmate.

She was a fun person. It made him happy whenever they talked.

Right now, Sanji was sitting in the corner of the dungeon cell, pen in hand, writing to whoever his soulmate was.

He had been telling his soulmate about his current… situation.

The heavy iron mask pushed against Sanji’s face as if to remind him, “Hey, I’m here too!”

“Wait. You mean you’re in a dungeon right now with an iron mask on? That’s terrible.” Sanji looked down at the writing on his arm. It was a new feeling, having someone care about him.

“What’s your name?” She wrote.

“I would never tell even the girl of my dreams.” Sanji wrote. In truth, he didn’t want her to know that he was the prince of Germa. He worried it would change the way she thought about him.

Sanji expected a reply, but… it seemed like whoever it was on the other end hesitated. “But, I’m not a girl?” Sanji was confused. That means, she is a he? He thought. And my soulmate is a guy? But that doesn’t make any sense. Sanji didn’t like the feeling he felt.

So he didn’t write back.

For ten years.

———————

Sanji stepped aboard the Going Merry. Nami had been rescued from Arlong. All was well. He was finally fitting in, and making friends. He was…

happy.

Zoro was suspicious. The way this man talked, the way he held himself, his energy…

it reminded him of his soulmate, from all those years ago.

His soulmate, who had stopped writing after learning that his soulmate was gay.

His soulmate, who had been through so much, being so strong, but couldn’t handle the emotions he felt.

Zoro decided to test it out. He pulled out a pen, and wrote in his arm for the first time in ten years.

“Hey. I know we stopped talking. But I think I know who you are now. If I’m right, I’m the one with the green hair and three earrings.”

——————

Sanji could feel the familiar tingling on his arm. It couldn’t be, after all these years? He hesitantly raised his arm, pulled back his sleeve, and there it was.

Written in that familiar blue black ink.

His soulmate was Zoro.

Sanji didn’t know how to respond. So naturally, he panicked.

How could this be real?

After all these years?

How did he know?

What should he do?

He decided to go to the rest of the crew. He had felt a bond with them right away, he knew they would know what to do.

“Dumbass.” Nami glared at him. “You’re telling me that just because your soulmate turned out to be a guy, you stopped talking to him for ten years?”

“That’s about right.” Sanji stared off into the distance.

“I mean. He can’t possibly be THAT bad.” Nami flicked her hair over her shoulder. “I mean, my soulmate turned out to be a girl with blue hair and a giant duck. I haven’t met her yet, but she seems pretty ok.” She shrugged. “Just go talk to him. He can’t possibly be THAT bad.”

“Yeah!” Luffy exclaimed. “I don’t think I have a soulmate, because every time I try to write, no one ever writes back.” He smiled. “So I’m gonna help you find yours!”

“And why would you help me? We just met, like, a week ago.”

“Because we’re crew!” This made Sanji smile. He hadn’t had anyone care about him like this since…

back then. Writing to his soulmate. He decided he probably should write back.

“And just who do you think I am?” Sanji wrote.

“I know exactly who you are, shitty cook.” Oh god. He was right. He DID know who he was. He walked up to Zoro, face red. He could hear Luffy and Nami giggling in the background, watching them. Evidently, Zoro had noticed them too.

“Come on. Let’s go inside.”

Zoro leaned against the kitchen counter. “So.”

“So indeed.” Sanji said. “You’re my soulmate.”

“Guess so.” Zoro smiled.

“Is it true?” He asked.

“Is what true?”

“Did he really…lock you up?”

“Yes.” Sanji hesitated. Tears formed in his eyes. “Why do you wanna know?”

“Because I cared about you.” Zoro’s eyes looked full of concern. “When you stopped answering…” he hesitated. “I thought he had killed you.” Sanji was taken aback. He didn’t know he had worried him so much.

He cried.

He felt all the pain from back then, and new pain from now.

Zoro looked like he didn’t know what to do. Hesitantly, he approached, and…

hugged Sanji.

It startled him. He didn’t expect it. Especially not from someone he had met a week ago. But it felt good. He felt safe, for the first time in a while. Sanji hugged him back.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” Zoro asked.

“Is it true? About your friend?” Zoro hesitated.

“Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry.” Sanji embraced Zoro harder. Tears rolled down Zoro’s cheeks.

And they both stayed like that for a while, crying in each others arms, until at some point, Sanji lost his mind.

He didn’t know what he was thinking, or why. It just felt right. He leaned up, and kissed Zoro.

————————————————————————

thx so much @tired-dragon22 for the idea! Totally citing you in this it was a great idea!

WHOOOOOO ALRIGHT MUFUKRS WE DID IT POST #200, FIC #9!!! WE MADE IT Y’ALL

Hey guys so like I know this kinda contradicts other fics a lil bit but this one is unrelated to my other shit but just roll with it ok 💖

#one piece #roronoa zoro #sanji #nami #monkey d. luffy #zosan

[deejadabbles]

My ding-ding-dong (Fives x Reader) Humor

Summary: after a bad week at work, your boyfriend just wants to make you breathless.

Rating: T+

A.N: Everyone please go read A Question of Seman-dicks by @dystopicjumpsuit it's hilarious and reading it this morning got me into writing gear to pop this insanity out! @freesia-writes I'm determined to help you make this kind of fic a thing 😂

Word Count: 962

Songs to ~set the mood~ Ding Dong Song by Gunther and Bad Touch by bloodhound gang

Warnings: crude humor, cursing, Fives being Fives, suggestive situations

“I swear to the maker, one of these days!”

Fives watched as you cleaned up the kitchen, putting dishes away in the most aggressive manner he had ever seen as you vented about your week. He wanted to reach out and rub your back in comfort, but the way you slammed the cabinet shut made him think better of it.

“And I know why he’s decided to start drama with me,” you continued, grabbing the knife you had used to cut up dinner, “it’s because I stood up to him, because I didn’t take his condescending, mansplaining, bantha-shit attitude and put him in his place when he tried it on me.” Despite being nowhere in striking distance, Fives still took a step back when you kept the knife in hand as you raged. “So now he’s determined to make me look bad- well game on, bitch! He hasn’t even seen my ugly side yet!”

Fives half expected you to impale the knife into the counter like a declaration of war, but thankfully, you just tossed it in the knife drawer and slammed it shut. Finally, when you ran your hands over your tired face, he closed the distance between you and put an arm around your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, babe, he’s a shithead and doesn’t deserve you as a coworker.”

Warmth filled his chest when you leaned into him, melting at his touch as you blinked up to meet his eyes. “No, I’m sorry,” you let out a defeated sigh, “your shore leave just started and here I am whining about work when I should be focused on you.”

He kissed the top of your head, “Stop that, mesh’la, you needed to vent, you were under a lot of stress this week. I would have held you sooner, but figured it was best to wait til you weren’t armed with serrated kitchenware.”

That made you chuckle a little and the warmth in his chest grew. He wanted to hear a proper laugh from you, a real one that might melt your troubles away.

Oh, that could work. He could practically see the light bulb that went off over his own head as an idea came.

“Hey,” he mumbled as he kept kissing the top of your head, “want me to make you forget your shitty week?”

You turned in his arms, an interested, knowing smirk on your pretty mouth, “Oh, I’d love that, handsome.”

Making sure to put on his best smolder, he took your hand and guided you across your apartment until you got to the bedroom. “Just lay back, beautiful, I’m going to make you howl,” he said, choosing his words very carefully.

The way you raised a brow just a little said you caught it, but you sat on the bed all the same. He followed, pecking your lips as he gently pressed your back to the mattress.

"I'm gonna make you feel soooo good, sweetheart," he said running his hands up your sides in a way that had you biting your lip.

He couldn't wait to have you gasping from the words his mind was thinking up. Just a little more teasing to set the mood...

Fives trailed his mouth down your neck, then back up to your ear, nipping it before he whispered, “Are you ready?”

“Yes-”

“Ready for my trouser snake?”

You choked instantly.

“Wut?”

Fives leaned back, smile bright as he rolled his hips dramatically, “Come on, baby, my man meat is right here.”

That’s when the nervous chuckles started, “ ‘Man meat?! What are you-?”

“My love sausage is ready to serve.”

“Oh my god!”

He rubbed his thighs in a mock of a seductive pose, “You know my little soldier is standing at attention for you!”

That’s the one that had you busting out in a full laugh, double funny considering there was nothing ‘little’ about Fives.

“You can ride my disco stick aaaalllll night!”

Your hand flew up to cover your face as the laughter became more ragged, the other hand holding your side. Oh, Fives wasn’t done yet, not even close!

He started fumbling with his belt in exaggerated movements, “Let me just unleash my custard launcher.”

“Custard- Fives STOOOOP!” it came out a wheeze, and he saw some tears of joy collecting in the corner of your eyes.

“What?” he leaned over you again caging you with his arms as he looked you over, “I thought you loved my massive king kong dong!”

You couldn’t form words anymore, just slapping weakly at his chest as you tried to draw breath into your lungs between strained laughter. Now to move in for the kill.

“My tallywacker,” he leaned in closer, dropping his voice, “my wiener,” then lips to your ear and in his most seductive tone, “my ding-a-ling.”

When you shoved at him, Fives pulled back, smiling at his handy work as you rolled over, clutching your sides and trying to breathe through the delighted wheezing. Well, you certainly weren’t thinking about work now, and Fives thought a smug ‘mission accomplished’ to himself as the fit continued.

He watched as your breathing started to even out, a few happy tears wetting your cheeks, smile bright, eyes alight.

“Damn, you’re beautiful when you laugh,” he said and this time, his tone was completely genuine.

Now that you could finally form coherent thoughts again, you rolled onto your back again and grinned at him, “Then I guess it’s a good thing I have a man who makes me laugh.”

He couldn’t help it, he dove in and kissed you, long and deep this time, loving, doting. Kriff, he adored you.

“Thank you,” a content whisper against his lips, “you always make me feel better.”

“Can’t be a perfect boyfriend without skills like that,” he hummed, then, “now, are you ready to get breathless for a whole different reason?”

You threw your arms around him giggling as you pulled him in for another kiss, “Please.”

.

Tag list: @blueink-bluesoul @anxiouspineapple99 @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @commander-sunshine @dystopicjumpsuit @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @arcsimper5

#I couldn't stop laughing while writing this so I hope the humor comes through XD #I'd die if my man did this during sexy times lmao #fives x reader #arc trooper fives x reader #arc fives x reader #fives x you #deeja writes #deeja being stupid lol

[penguin--rat]

cardiomyocytes and connective tissue @nopanamaman

I’ve wanted to do a fic like this for some time now, a ‘thank you’ letter to PAFL and its community of sorts. I’m happy I finally got around to writing it:) 

I wasn’t sure whether I should do this or not, but, hey! It might make someone feel a bit better!! Or, reading the fic will. That’s enough reason, I think, and you don’t have to read this, of course, no matter who you are.

First of all, I want to talk about PAFL a bit.

The first PAFL song I listened to was PiP. I saw its thumbnail when listening to some other music youtube, and so, I listened to it. Oh boy am I glad I did:) I remember thinking how cool it is that someone's making songs for their OCs and that people are interested in them. I could see so much love for the characters in it. I was so happy when I discovered there were more songs like that!! This was around when Comfort Zone had first come out, a week or two after at most. That was two years ago. I’ve been obsessed ever since.

I love PAFL. I genuinely love that songs haven’t been coming out much lately. Like, there’s media that comes out weekly and sucks shit. I’m glad Ferry is taking their time with this!!! Even if all we get each year is one song, that’s cool, because the community is wonderful and we also get doodles and art and now patreon stuff.. yippee yay… !!! And even if we didn’t. who the fuck caressss!!!!! I love coming up with AUs and OCs and theorizing with my friends!!! the time between songs gives us time to do all that:)

The characters are so charming. Every member of the cast has been a fave of mine at some point or another. They’re all so, real! I love them! I love how they fuck up and I love how they get fucked over and I love how they get exploded and killed and shot and hugged and saved and helped!!! They’re human… might not make sense, but i rlly do like them…

It’s so neat looking back at older songs and seeing how stuff’s changed. The art style, the music, it’s all so nice to look back on. Even if I wasn’t there for it.

And don’t even get me started on the worldbuilding..  Everyone say thank you to Boris Strugackij and Arkadij Strugackij for making roadside picnic and inspiring Ferry to make this… so lovely and neat. wonderful. I have not read it myself, but I might, just to be able to make my own pafl OCs more swagger..

So. This fic.

I can’t mention two years ago without at least mentioning my depression.

I can’t remember most of last year, speaking truthfully. Parts of 2021 are also fuzzy. Depression and anxiety are terrible, would not recommend. This feels cheesy to say, but it does get better!!! Slowly, unsteadily, it gets better!!! I don’t mean for this part of the post to be a ‘feel bad for me’ thing at all. Do not. I am safe and healthy now and I couldn’t be happier to be here right now.

Is life good now?? Sorta, but what matters to me right now is, I’m happy!!! It feels so surreal. I never thought I’d be like this. A part of me wants to be angry, to get depressed again about how I could have been happy all this time. But I won’t!!! Because then I’d spiral and forget another year, and, I don’t want that!

Which is so cool!!! I can like, fucking, do stuff now!! I can throw away the bad thoughts, embrace the good ones, encourage myself!!! I do things!!! I go outside and goddd dude that’s so good!! I go outside!!!

I’m doing stuff! I’m drawing, writing, cleaning my room, taking care of myself!!! If I didn’t stay alive to enjoy these small joys, what am I even here for?? 

And I’m alive!!! I’m here!!! I made it, I’m here, writing this on 10th november, 2023, and I’m ALIVE!!!! How cool is that??? 

And yea, the world is shitty, it sucks ass, but, my friends don’t!!!:3 and that’s more than enough for me… SHOUT OUT TO MY FRIENDS!!! I LOVE YOU DUDES!!!

Moving on:

It doesn’t feel right to say that I’m here now only to PAFL. But, what I can say is that it’s been a wonderful crutch for me!! It’s been something to focus on, something silly, but also something I can relate to, and something that inspires me to make my own stuff! I’d most likely still be here, were it not for these silly songs.. but, not sure I’d be as alive as I am now! Unsure if my heart would feel right in my chest! And I wouldn’t have met my amazing friends!!!! Everyone here is so nice.

Dima may be a bit OOC in this fic, and that's because! This fic is based on my own experiences, which, i don’t think is bad…

I could talk here forever about how it gets better. Butttt to be quite honest I don’t wanna lol. I just wanna say, Thank you! to Parties are for Losers, for being cool. 

(Though I also wanna say, don’t put Ferry on a pedestal, they’re human, we all make mistakes, all that stuff.)

Ok time to go back to my manly Sergei ways and never talk about emotions ever again. or as anya would say: FUCK IT WE BALL!!!!!

#pafl #parties are for losers #fanart #fanfic #DOUBLE COMBO #anyway. love you guys #mwah! #pafl dmitry

[ineffabildaddy]

Hi sam! since the new year is approaching rapidly, i wanted to ask my favorite creators (that includes you! your fics and your posts delight me) how they look back on their 2023 tumblr year and which blogs made them happy to be here. i am very happy to follow you and hope you'll have a great 2024! 💘

hi!!! thank you so so much for this, a few months ago i couldn't even imagine being so active in the tumblr community again, let alone anyone's favourite anything!!!!

i've been very fortunate to receive the warmest of welcomes back to tumblr after a 7-year absence, and i've received so much support for my writing (and my shitposts lol) that this whole experience of finally joining the good omens fandom has genuinely given me a newfound confidence in my creative self, and in myself as a whole💙

in terms of the blogs that make me happy to be here... they are many!!! i shall put the rest of this post under the cut

@raining-stars-somewhere-else thank you for being my first go friend and now one of my closest buddies!!! i can't wait for us to finally write that fic together (lol) and for us to get up to some irl london shenanigans at some point✨ ur hilarious and kind and so correct about literally everything and i love u. literally everyone needs to read ur posts bc they're so well-thought out and unique. also your fics are really moving and human (even though they're about crowley and aziraphalekldfjgjl) and i adore them

@sad-chaos-goblin we literally just Get Each Other, same brain and all, and i absolutely love it!!! i couldn't ask for a better horny consultant bc after all it is Our Pornography™. you're also just an extremely understanding, open and lovely person, not to mention very fun and exciting to be friends with hehe. ur headcanons are so fucking interesting (and sometimes sad, how dare u do this to me) and i'm looking forward to hearing more when u eventually get round to writing all those fics you've got ideas for<3

@foolishlovers i'm really really happy we've got to know each other better over the past couple weeks!!!!! your xmas fic is one of my absolute favourite fics ever and i'm in awe with your skill and craft, i hope to write something as well-rounded and enjoyable as that someday<3 also you're one of my favourite posters, so fucking funny and u just make points left right and centre. i hope we can share our writing and our thoughts about life in general more in 2024!!!

@crowleyslvt i'm very happy i barged my way into your dms to be horny on main bc i definitely wouldn't've explored half the things i've explored in my writing if not for our discussions and your encouragement!!! i absolutely love talking writing and sexy headcanons with you, but above that i love that i'm now mates with such a talented, considerate, hilarious kiwi lad. i am honoured to be one of the little guys in ur phone who gets to hype up u as an exceedingly great porn writer but also as a legend in general

@voluptatiscausa no one understands my feralness for michael sheen like you do. i can go batshit insane in the dms over ms and dt with u and that space is important to me dlgkljdgldfjgl. i'm really glad i started reading ur writing this year bc it's very enjoyable, but it's also healing for me as a person who's [whispers] a traumatised and cripplingly shy person in terms of sex lmao. thank you for bestowing it upon ao3, and by extension, upon me!!!! also tho, you're a really nurturing and interesting friend to have, not to mention a Very Cool one so continue to be that pls and thanks

@bowtiepastabitch i've felt very honoured to hear about parts of your life as you share them with me - Knowing The Lore is so important to me and i'm humbled that you've trusted me with some of the stuff that's been happening in your world<3 on another note, your fanart may be quick but it's never shitty, it's always so expressive and fun and gets my brain Thinking Thoughts. i can't express how wonderful it was when you made a wee bit of fanart for one of my fics, and i hope i continue to see ur creativity shine✨

thank you to my favourite blogs for Existing Throughout 2023 (some of whom i know i can call friends, and the rest of whom i'd like to call friends in the future!!!) @sabotage-on-mercury @crowleys-bentley-and-plants @ineffableigh @celestialcrowley @queer-reader-07 @crowleyraejepsens @teddybearbutchh @crowleyholmes @ineffable-rohese @createserenity @quoththemaiden @procrastiel @sentientsky @genderqueer-hippie @beelzzzebub @lineffability @fellshish @greenthena @brainwormcity @opscuritas @tangerine-ginger @iammyownproblematicfave @crikey01 @crawley-fell @vroomvroomwee @bildads-shoes @shoemakerobstetrician @romansmartini @wraithee

i know i'll have forgotten people so i'll add em as i remember em hehehehe

#kinda good omens #personal #asks #ineffabildaddy

[msmargaretmurry]

i wanted to write some fandom-related new year's reflections down and this felt like the best place for it! i miss livejournal every day!

i don't generally do formal new years' resolutions, mostly because i am always too busy around the new year to really sit down and think and reflect about what they should be and how i would want to measure them, but i do think the new year is a good time for a little mental reset regardless and i have been Pondering over the past few weeks about what i would like that to mean for me...... i have always complained that tumblr as a platform is terrible for making friends and i stand by that (i have met good friends on tumblr but the friendships flourished when we took the conversation elsewhere) but i do think this past year i have been #blessed in obtaining some really lovely mutuals and acquaintances On Here in a way that has made me feel more connected to hrpf fandom at large, which has been really nice ❤ so that is something i would like to continue in 2024. i hesitate to be like "i want to spend more time on tumblr" because i probably do not need to do that lmao but i do maybe want to try to be a little more proactive about making/maintaining connections and loose ties. my dear pal kasper @moregraceful has talked about fandom as community and that always resonates with me, because it can be so easy to feel like you are feeding Content into the Content Machine for people to Consume and honestly that is so miserable! i don't want that! maybe 2024 will be the year i finally post my thoughts on the interminable "bookmarks comments are for readers, not writers" discourse.

anyway. i know a lot of the actual fandom ~conversation these days happens on discord, which is am afraid of, but idk maybe i'll try to have more of an open mind about it this year. but maybe i won't. making no promises to myself there 😂 i am trying to be realistic about how much free time i will have for fandom in the midst of work and grad school and real life social life so i think the upshot here is wanting to be thoughtful and deliberate about how i spend the free time i do have for this stuff.

on the fanfiction front...... i came into 2023 in a pretty shitty mental place about writing, mostly due to how lonely i felt about writing-as-community in 2022 — it's just not fun to feel like your friends are having fun without you about things you thought you'd be included in! — and spent most of the year trying to pull myself out of it, with middling success. like, i enjoyed the head above water ficlets i added to that universe but i do still feel a little crappy that those were the only things i was able to finish writing. i have so many stories i want to get out! so i am also trying to look at this new year as maybe a chance to give myself a clean slate and say that no matter what writing goals i set for myself i will also try to be gentler with myself and focus on enjoying the writing process regardless of the end product. but i would also like to actually finish some real fics this year, lol. i might set some measurable goals, but that will not be happening until i get home next week.

in conclusion, idk what i want this year to be yet! a friend of mine recently mentioned the joys of using the julian calendar for her winter celebrations means the new year isn't until january 14, so the first two weeks of the year get to be kind of a "soft launch" of the year to figure out what works best and i did immediately steal the concept even though i am a gregorian calendar girlie. so i am still pondering, still percolating. if for some reason any of you actually read all this and have your own fandom- or writing-related new year's goals/resolutions, i would love to hear them ❤

#2023 roundup

[kaliii-is]

The stars above us

Pairing: Regulus Arcturus Black x reader

Summary: After all sneaking out isn’t that bad.

A/n: First fic that i ever post!!! Tell me what you think, i did my best writing this. If there’s any mistakes pls lmk💕

The corridors always tend to get silent at night, especially on a school night, reason is the students get scared of getting caught. But there always will be some little rebels who think of themselves above the rules, and you definitely weren’t one of them, well that’s what you tried to convince yourself as you were currently drawing in the astronomy tower.

The previous day had been a particularly, let’s say stressful one,as your O.W.Ls were approaching, everyday seemed to get busier, and of course shittier, every week was getting more tiring, more exhausting, you practically reached your limit. And deep down you knew that if you continued at that rate, you would surely be the death of yourself.

So after such a day, you found it only fair if you dedicated some time to yourself without having to worry about what you would do next. After what you thought was 30 minutes, you finally checked your watch, realizing that it has been 2 hours, and even though you would’ve loved to continue the drawing that you started, you followed your better judgement and decided that it was finally time to go back to your dorm.

You packed your stuff and went down the endless stairs that led to the tower, you then were silently walking through the corridors, doing your very best to not draw any attention to yourself, and you succeeded, you were finally able to perceive the door of your house’s common room, and just as you were about to open the door, you felt a harsh tug on your wrist, making you turn around. You searched for the person’s eyes, and when you did find them, you were met with grey eyes. Very uncommon right? Well that definitely wasn’t your first thought, the first thing that you noticed was their undeniable beauty. No living creature could resist those gorgeous eyes, it’s like they were the perfect mix -

- What are you doing here at such an hour?

- I’m sorry?

- What are you doing here? It’s practically one in the morning, you should be in your dorms. Is there a party somewhere or something?

- A party some-? No no, i am alone, look i’m so sorry is there any possible way that i could get my way out of this?

- Really? That’s the best you can do?

- Look i’m not one to usually sneak out-

- But you did it this time, which gives me full power to either take out house points or give you detention.

- How about none?

- This really is your first time huh?

- I told you!

- Look, i’m feeling quite generous right now,so just tell me why you snuck out, and if the reason is good enough, i might let you go with no consequences.

- Really?

- Hurry up i might change my mind.

- Fine, okay , i had a very shitty week, and i didn’t have much time for myself or for anything other than studying actually, so i finally had some time to draw, and i used it. But i can only draw when i’m in the astronomy tower for some reason.

He seemed to consider wether or not he should let you go, but after what felt like forever he finally said.

- Okay, fine , but -

- Oh come on!

- Let me finish or i’ll send you in detention; he stopped waiting for an answer, you obviously gave him none; like i was saying, i’ll let you go if you give me your name.

- Really? That’s it ? Perfect! My name is Y/n L/n. What about you?

- Regulus, Regulus black.

I do not see Timothee Chalamet as Regulus in this fic, first because i want to give total freedom to the reader, and second due to his latest announcement about the ongoing war in Gaza ( he made a joke about the war). It may seem futile to some people, but when you know that no one dared to make a joke about the war in Ukraine, and that 10 578 people have died during the last month. It’s not funny, it’s cruel.

#regulus black x reader #regulus black #harry potter #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts legacy #harry potter x reader #golden trio era #fanfic #romance

[everestica]

♫ - Hi! I know this really isn't my normal content and I am very sorry for that but every year around the first week or so of the new year I go back and think about everything in the past year that's happen to me and things I'd like to change etc. As much as I love my tumblr friends and community there was some pretty shitty things that did end up happening during the year and instead of talking it out (like a normal person) I have decided that instead I would use all those emotions and turn them into writings. So for my first piece of the new year it will be a Dazai x Reader, that might or might not make you cry. (almost made me cry tbh) But before you read there are some warnings listed below!!

⚠ WARNINGS ⚠ - This fic is based off the October 1930 Dazai Suicide (The IRL one) so their is quite a few suicide mentions and reader does end up dying if you did not know about that. There is no mention of readers past and you can interpreter how you like. There are refrences to No Longer Human (The book) and to Dazai in the show (BSD).

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK AND PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING!

Imagine you and Dazai finally decided to commit, but only you died, the love of his life and he was still stuck in this hell. Alone.

This was finally it. The thing that Dazai had dreamed about for years on end. The thing he wanted to accomplish ever since he could remember, and here you are, the person that Dazai loved so much even after getting to know you past you saying that you would commit a double suicide with him. It had all started with him meeting you on a mission and getting down on one knee asking for a double suicide, you had already had a past and wanted to escape it in anyway you could and so you agreed, shockingly to Dazai. It was the first person that had ever actually said yes? Of course he had to make sure you weren’t joking so he got your number and had talked to you countless times, and he ended up falling in love, much to his astoundment. It had been a couple months before it was finally in both your interests to go through with it, for Dazai and his port mafia background and even before that, and you, with your personal issues that you never really brought up, keeping them separated from the world. Well, the world besides Dazai. So here you were, at a beach in Kamakura, ready to end it all. You had taken the first step thinking about everything, your whole life relieving itself as you made it to the water. Did you really want this? Or was this just an escape..? Whatever it was you didn’t have time and no matter how many times Dazai looked over at you, it was all behind you. It didn’t matter now. The water keeps getting higher until at your neck, that’s when you finally saw it. The reason for living. 

It had brought you back as you felt the water finally reaching up. Dazai Osamu. That was your reason for. 

Too late. 

It had been years, now aged 22 for the man. Atsushi had went out to go find him as he was blowing off a meeting, once again. He checked the usual places, but yet he wasn’t there.. It wasn’t until he got an update that Dazai had boarded one of the trains heading towards Kamakura. It was about an Hour before he finally found Dazai, standing at a beach of all places..? It wasn’t until he got closer that he found him putting a flower by the ocean, letting it get picked up by the waves. He looked as if he was almost crying? 

Atsushi: Uh Dazai..? 

Dazai: Oh.. Atsushi. What are you doing here?

Atsushi: Kunikida wanted me to come find you. We were having a meeting but it’s probably over by now.. Um if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing all the way out here..? You’re not committing suicide again are you?

Dazai could only slightly laugh and turn back to where he had placed the flower, which was long gone by now, where only the waves could tell. 

Dazai: Afraid not. 

Not long after they left, heading back on the next train to Yokohama where Dazai had just mentioned somebody special was there, no more, no less. Of course Atsushi wanted to know more but it was the first time that he had almost seen Dazai cry and didn’t wanna press anymore then he had been. 

But what he’ll never know is there, on that beach in Kamakura was where he also lost the love of his life. The once who not only made his life less shameful, but one who finally gave a purpose to this thing we call living.

♫ - Please if you are going to repost any of my works anywhere else, ask permission first! There will be almost a 100% chance that I will say yes as long as you just ask and give credit! Thank you for your understanding!

#bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd #bungo stray dogs #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #dazai #dazai angst

[chickycherrycola]

(no place like) home for the holidays

Its Christmas Eve! Which means its FINALLY TIME for me to unveil the very special project I've been working on! I got a Christmas-y, holiday-themed idea in my head several weeks ago that started out as a few loosely connected scenes, and eventually spiraled into a whole-ass novel 😅 and today I am so pleased to present my most recent labor of love to the Soul Eater fandom: (no place like) home for the holidays. Its centered around Soul and Maka visiting Soul's family for the holidays, and its fluffy, its sappy, its pine-scented, and its so so mushy. I really hope that if you read it, that you enjoy 💝🎄

As always, I gotta give a special shout-out to @moriohpissky for all of her assistance bringing this fic to life. Thank you Leah for the beta read, the idea bouncing, and the assistance with the lovely moodboard! 💕

I'll be posting a chapter a day until the end of the year, starting with Chapter 1 today!

Rating: T

Summary: After a bit of convincing from his overzealous but well-meaning older brother, Soul returns to his hometown in upstate New York for Christmas with his meister in tow. It's been more than ten years since he's been home, and along the way, he'll have to contend with more than just a long-buried past - travel delays, shitty motel rooms with less-than-ideal sleeping arrangements, Wes's horrible ugly sweaters, and, perhaps most daunting of all... his feelings for Maka.

Preview of Chapter 1 under the cut, or read the whole chapter on Ao3!

Ch 1: All I Want For Christmas Is You

His phone rings just as he’s realizing he might be the slightest bit inebriated.

Incoming Call…

Wes

The only reason Soul picks up the phone is because he's on his fourth cup of eggnog - or is it his fifth? Truthfully, he's lost count at this point - and he'd woefully underestimated the potency of one sixteen-ounce pour of eggnog, let alone four or five of them.

(A rookie mistake, honestly, given that this year's Christmas party libations had been supplied by Black Star.)

Before he can think twice about it, he's swiping the green answer button and pressing his phone to the side of his face.

"'Sup?"

It's perhaps a bit too casual a greeting, considering he hasn't spoken to his brother in… months, now.

"Well, color me surprised," Wes chirps through the speaker, and Soul can't help how he cringes in response. "Is that you, little bro, or do my ears deceive me? I suppose I’ve simply forgotten what your voice sounds like, after all this time."

"…Should've sent you straight to voicemail."

"Oh, yes, voicemail, I love leaving those,” Wes hums thoughtfully. “Do you know, I’ve even taken to writing out my messages before I call you. Pity, I was quite excited about this one.”

Soul removes the phone from the side of his face and holds the top of it against his forehead as he draws in a long, slow breath, in part to dredge up his quickly dwindling patience, and in part in an effort to stop the room as it perilously spins around him.

Goddamn eggnog. Goddamn his brother.

When he holds the phone back up to his ear, he asks, as evenly as he can:

"What do you want, Wes?"

“I should think it's fairly obvious,” comes his brother’s reply. “I want to talk to you, Soul. If the fact that I continue to call you once per week despite your insistence on not answering doesn’t make that clear enough.”

"Alright," Soul leans backward against the kitchen counter and crosses one leg over the other. "So talk. Here I am."

Against all better judgment, he brings the red solo cup back to his lips and takes a hearty sip from the spiked eggnog sloshing around inside.

If he must converse with his older brother, maintaining his current level of intoxication will at least make it a tolerable experience.

“Jesus, Soul,” Wes laughs. “Don’t make it sound like talking to me is a death sentence, I just want to chat. What’s new, how’s life, how’s the… what is your title again? Death Knife?”

“Death Scythe.”

“Right! Silly me. How’s the Death Scythe thing going? No ulterior motives, I swear.”

Soul narrows his eyes in suspicion.

“I didn’t ask if you had any ulterior motives.”

Read the rest on Ao3!

#soul eater #soul eater fanfiction #soul x maka #soul eater evans #maka albarn #christmas fic #cherry writes #an evans family christmas

[bropunzeling]

for the never have i ever meme: slow burn!!

god a real true slow burn is my white whale, concept wise; i want to write one SO BAD. obvi there are some pairings where that is easier than others (brady/anyone, ducklings could also make a great slow burn but probably more stupid than swooningly romantic lol) but i keep thinking about matthew/leon as like, a personal challenge. like, ofc i have written them fucking and falling in love [redacted] times but a version of them where they don't fuck and still fall in love??? now that's a CHALLENGE challenge

for more realism points, you could have some future fic wacky trade shenanigans, and perhaps someday i will write somethign with those so i will selfishly keep them to myself until i know more. but a thing that i am not going to write (but think about often) is my version of "both of them get drafted by the kraken in the expansion draft (and no one knows how edmonton or calgary could've let that happen)"

because the thing is, the kraken are gonna be shit. everyone knows this. seattle isn't vegas, they're not going to be going to the cup finals their first year out the gate. ron francis has time to build up the franchise. they won't be good. and that eats at leon, because like, when in his life has he ever been satisfied with not being good? never. and now he's stuck on this shitty team just starting out and got abandoned by his franchise and what the fuck is he supposed to do now.

and the other thing is, 2020 was not all that long ago. and yeah, leon never actually hated matthew tkachuk, not in the way it got spun up, but that doesn't mean they're best friends. not even buddies. they are teammates, and they have a job to do, and leon doesn't need to get along with the guy except on the ice.

except a week into the preseason, he and matthew go for some pr thing to a local brewery, and in between tasting beers that are disgustingly hoppy and eating too many pretzels, matthew hisses across the table that look, he knows leon doesn't like him, that leon isn't his biggest fan, but doesn't he want to work together? doesn't he want this to work out? and when leon glares back, matthew adds that he at least wants to prove his old team wrong.

well. leon can't argue with that.

first season is shit. the way everyone knew it would be. but it's not - absolute shit. they get a lot closer to the playoffs than they have any right to. leon and matthew and mccann are producing. and - turns out matthew isn't so awful, once he's out of calgary. turns out he's down to do whatever - team bonding experiences, checking out new restaurants. and half the time, leon gets roped along. he stops protesting after a while.

second season, though -

they're better. they're a lot better. francis made some solid moves; they managed to snatch up a first overall pick at fourth. matty beniers is here from ann arbor, and yeah he looks at matthew a little like matthew hung the moon, but that's mostly funny instead of annoying. the ntdp really is a cult. matthew and leon aren't always on a line, but when they are, they click.

and matthew hasn't stopped being down to do whatever. has continued, in fact, to insist on doing things. exploring the city. becoming regulars. they'll get lunch after practice. drinks after games. on the road, more often than not, when leon's making plans, he's making them with matthew.

halfway through the season, they're on track to at least get a wild card spot. maybe better. during their bye week, they join a group of guys going to cabo. at the bar, matthew orders them both drinks in flat midwestern-accented spanish, clinks his shot glass against leon's. leon spends half a second staring at matthew's hand around the tiny glass, then his mouth, wet and red, before he remembers to take the shot.

when leon takes his shot, he opens his eyes to find matthew looking back at him, eyes dark and heated and unmistakable, and oh, this is not something leon wanted to know that he wanted. not now, when they still have so much to prove.

#ask meme #something something they make the playoffs and THEN fuck