#//let's stretch the character development muscles

[total-drama-brainrot]

i now wanna hear your very long character analysis on how the drama machine affected alejandro

Yeah alright.

So I haven't actually watched All-stars, but I did skim through this video to get a feel for Alejandro's characterisation in it, since All-stars is the only canonical material we get from Alejandro post Drama Machine.

And by skim I really do mean skim; I was mostly looking out for signs of his imprisonment's influence, which for the most part seems to be as follows:

His legs fell asleep.

He developed a minor case of agoraphobia, mostly in the context of sleeping in open spaces.

His standards of human interaction have plummeted; something he's aware and accepting of.

Interestingly enough, he doesn't really seem to acknowledge the volcano itself (outside of an offhanded comment) or the injuries he got from the explosion. His focus is solely on his time in the suit, not what out him there in the first place. He even skirts over a memory loss issue, which could contribute to this.

I'll tackle these three points in more detail, and then give examples of how they can be developed into actual characterisation points instead of (for the most part) gags.

Number one; Leggy McLatin and the paraplegia scheme.

Alejandro's inadvertant and unintentional escape from the Drama Machine, and subsequent readmission into the competition (as himself, instead of as the machine) is, for the most part, entirely focal on the fact that his legs no longer work after his year of entrapment. It's a big deal - or, at least, as big of a deal as any injury or ailment can be in the context of Total Drama, considering that he doesn't miraculously get better in the span of an episode. Of course, we learn fairly early on that he's faking the paraplegia, but it's fairly heavily implied that his legs really were asleep initially (and that, in all likelihood, the massage we see him getting from an intern is what "wakes them up").

What's interesting about this particular plotline choice is that it would, realistically, be entirely feasable for Alejandro to have mobility issues after spending a year inside a robot.

Now, I'm no doctor, nor do I have any formal medical training, but I do know that not being able to move your body for an extended period of time results in a serious case of muscle atrophy. We see in canon that Alejandro was essentially locked in a seated position for the year; his arms, head and (assumedly) torso had place to move around, but he couldn't really stretch out his legs. This would explain the "weakness" of his legs in the first episode - i.e. their wobbliness, and the fact that they couldn't hold up Alejandro's body weight. The numbness he cites would be explained by poor circulation - again caused by him being sat down for a solid twelve months.

Or it could be nerve damage from the eruption, but given that Alejandro doesn't seem to have any long-term issues that stem from the volcano itself, it's unlikely.

So it can be assumed that the numbness of his legs was offset by the massage he gets after the first challenge. The masseuse kickstarts the blood circulation back into his legs, resulting in him regaining sensation in them - enough feeling to notice a crab pinching at his feet.

And, if I really want to reach into headcanon territory/realism, the reason he keeps up the "ruse" is because, despite having feeling in his legs, the muscles there are still fairly atrophied and he has a lot of trouble walking, let alone running, for extended periods of time. Though, as it stands, any long-term impact on his health would be entirely headcanon/fanon territory, due to the nature of the show itself.*

Then there's the psychological aspect to consider. Alejandro's a very prideful person by design - that's evident in both the way he portrays himself and the physical standards he holds himself to. Having use of half of his body stripped away from his is bound to be distressing, perhaps even traumatising. Hence why he tries to make himself as useful to the team as possible despite still recovering; he needs everyone to see that he's still capable.

Eventually his legs fully recover, because this is Total Drama and things like "realistic healing processes" and "lasting damage" don't seem to exist in-universe.

Number two; snug as a bug in a rug.

Alejandro's shown to have started sleeping in a sleeping bag throughout All-stars. He even canonically states that he needs to, because of his time in the Drama Machine. He cites that sleeping whilst srpawled out makes him uncomfortable, unspokenly referring to the fact that, for a year, he'd only had the option to sleep in an incredibly cramped position/environment.

This is interesting since, for the most part, you'd assume that someone held in close-quaters captivity would develop claustrophobia instead of a form of agorophobia, and yet Alejandro seems to have internalised the need to be in an enclosed space to sleep. Maybe it's symptom of just how long be was encased for - a year is a long time - or maybe it started out as claustrophobia, but the indefinate nature of his captivity morphed the initial fear into a twisted sort of coping mechanism.

It begs the question; what else can't Alejandro do in open spaces?

Is he perpetually uncomfortable with the openness of the outside world? Does he resort to hermiting himself into closed-off corners and enclosed rooms, just to feel a semblence of normalcy after he escapes the confines of the Drama Machine? Would he take to wearing tighter but more concealing clothing, just to immitate the feeling/pressure of being trapped in a too-tight enclosure?

Is his need for a snug sleeping space indivitive of him missing his isolated imprisonment?

Which brings us nicely into the third point.

Number three; long-term isolation and the effects thereof.

Alejandro explodes out of a glorified toaster and one of the first things he really comments on is Heather's off-putting personality and her facial hair. In a positive manner. He's so starved for human contact that he attaches himself to the first "friendly"/familiar face he sees, which in this case is Heather, and focuses on the aspects of her that make her human.

If he were a "weaker man", I have no doubt Alejandro would be clambering for attention from his team, mostly for proof that he's no longer completely isolated. It's a well-documented phenomenon; people who experience a long time in isolation, or who suffer through long periods of loneliness, become desperate for socialisation (and physical contact), to the point their immune systems and biological rhythyms (from circadian to infradian) start to deteriorate.

Realistically, Alejandro would've come out of the Drama Machine a desperate and sickly mess, riddled with insomnia and paranoia and incredibly touch-starved. But, as established, the show isn't exactly true-to-life when it comes to things like this, so...

As it stands, the fact that he emerged from his prison and immediately jumped back into his charming persona attests more to the fact that his flirtatious act is so deeply ingrained into his psyche than it does to his mental wellbeing. It could be argued that he's using the same act/mask/persona as a tether to his old self and an anchor to normalcy, as he'd likely crumble into an inconsolable mess without the scaffolding of his "TV personality" keeping him upright (metaphorically of course, as Alejandro is in fact not upright in the show. He's upside down for the majority of his time on All-stars).

Or maybe he's just built different? Who's to say.

We don't exactly know what went down during his year away, so it's impossible to make any concrete statements as to whether Alejandro was afforded the luxury of other people's company, or if he really was kept 100% isolated in the machine. The only thing we do know is that he likely had access to a phone, though didn't have the capability of using it without assistance, since he calls Heather out for never trying to contact him but also states the impossibility of him doing the same in turn.

Number four; lava damage and the lack thereof.

It's sort of explained during his scene at the end of World Tour, but Alejandro's whole "being trapped in the Drama Machine" deal - alongside being a parody of the scene where Anakin Skywalker is first put into the Darth Vader suit - is stated to be for his own benefit. He's essentially being locked away into a healing suit. Again, just like Anakin - they both even sport similar burn wounds.

He mentions at the beginning of All-stars that he doesn't really remember being put into the machine, and it's safe to assume that the majority of his time in the contraption is likely fuzzy to him as well; being fully concious of complete isolation for a whole year would be enough to drive anyone completely mad, and Alejandro is decidedly not insane (for the most part). Ergo, it's also a safe assumption that the inner mechanisms of the Drama Machine act as a sort of stoporous healing chamber, keeping Alejandro semi-concious and healing his various lava burns over the course of his concealment.

Sort of like a medical coma. Inside of a robot. A portable medical coma.

The "healing properties" would also justify why Alejandro's whole body hadn't deteriorated from muscle atrophy, or developed any (visible) burn scars from his stint in the Hot Sauce. Of course, as far as burn scars go, unless they're significantly deep they do tend to fade into near-invisibility over time. That, paired with the ~magical healing properties~ of his confinement, likely resulted in his lava burns scarring over into insignificance.

Then again, I once again have to take cartoon logic into account - the show itself likely just didn't consider the semi-realistic consequences of a year of entrapment, and wanted Alejandro to be near-enough the same character he was at the end of World Tour before the consequences™.

The main point here is this; Alejandro doesn't seem to remember the majority of his injuries following the volcano eruption in the World Tour finale, or if he does he's had a year of semi-conciousness to work through his thoughts and feelings on the matter, and as a result he doesn't seem to carry any (reasonable) trauma regarding lava, volcanoes, or other related stimuli.

He does, however, retain some "quirks" from his time in the machine.

Number five; an overview.

Alejandro comes out of the Drama Machine with a surprisingly little amount of visible trauma, both in terms of physical damage/scarring and observable mental changes.

He developed a very minor case of agoraphobia, spurned on by him becoming accustomed to existing in a very small, very cramped space, but otherwise attunes himself to the outside world incredibly fast.

Is this probably related to his social training, as a diplomat's son, and his heavy reliance on a "suave and charming" persona. He's likely battling with a lot of internal issues throughout the season, but squahing down his inner turmoil under his determination to win, which explains how/why he falls so easily into his scheming mindset - it, in and of itself, is a coping mechanism, though not a very healthy one.

*The paralysis of his legs was in all likelihood genuine, and a result of poor circulatory issues and minor muscular atrophy, which was almost immediately treated by the masseuse intern after the first challenge. Realistically (and how many times have I said that word) he'd have some lasting weakness in his legs, and maybe require the use of a mobility aid and/or physiotherapy. This is not the case, because... Total Drama.

There are subtle signs of the mental impact of his imprisonment, mostly in his immediate attachment to Heather (despite her taking away his reproduction privileges the last time they spoke, and her being Heather) and his innate need to prove himself as useful/capable despite his gameplan riding on him appearing pitiable and unthreatening (due to his "sleepy legs"). He's so starved for social interaction and validation that his actions are directly contradictory to his gameplans.

Though in the case of his Heather attachment, he could just be like that. He was also fairly infatuated with her in the latter half of World Tour, and the pineapple scene speaks for itself.

In conclusion; Alejandro is either completely goated and (for the most part) just shrugged off the trauma of being trapped in a tiny box for a year, or he was already so traumatised that the imprisonment was just another needle in his haystack of turmoil.

#I'm partial to the second conclusion myself. Alejandro shrugs off additional trauma because he's already hit his quota. He's immune. #Vaccined against The Horrors thanks to his piss-poor homelife and whatever else he experienced pre-TD. #From a strickly canonical standpoint he gets off pretty lightly - most of the other antagonists are punished much worse by the narrative. #If we're taking headcanons into account? Or even a modicum of realism? He's like 50% invisible scar tissue and 50% PSTD. #I can't really think of a way to justify him NOT being scared of fire/lava without taking the “I barely remember anything” line and-- #running with it. Giving him a little dissociative amnesia to excuse his lack of rational fear. #... That DOES open up an avenue of him rediscovering his volcano-based trauma at a later date... #It's actually a little bit shocking that his character remained pretty much the same between seasons. He was locked in a tiny cage-- #for a YEAR and when he broke out he was IMMEDIATELY back to his old tricks. It's almost iconic. #total drama #td alejandro #character analysis #long post #replies

[shotoh]

❝ SO… ASS, T!TS, OR THIGHS? ❞ feat. itoshi sae

— what’s his preference?

cw + tw. 18+, smut, minors dni, fem!reader, dom!sae, all characters are aged up to over their 20s, sae’s ogling you (respectfully and as your boyfriend), backshots, oral (f!receiving), pet names (sweetheart, love), lowkey exhibitionism, spanking, hinted creampie, brief religious imagery idk i’m putting this here just in case

notes. kaneshiro did not know the demons he unleashed when he decided to tell us sae has an ass fetish...

ass.

sae’s a very straightforward man who knows exactly what he likes and dislikes. and to put it bluntly, he loves your ass. the man has a canon ass fetish and we’re going to respect his tastes to the t.

that isn’t to say he doesn’t have an appreciation for your other assets (i’m sorry) though. he always ensures that every part of you is loved and revered, whether by buying you clothing that emphasizes your beauty in all the right areas or exchanging subtle (and/or not so subtle) touches, ghosting his hand or straight up palming your lovely curves.

but if there’s ever a chance you catch itoshi sae slipping, it’s because of your gorgeous ass.

regardless if he’s able to admit it or not, sae is the reason why you two can’t work out at public gyms anymore. 1.) because he gets recognized way too easily as a world renown professional athlete. and 2.) because he can never stop ogling your ass as you’re working out. and, for an added bonus: 3.) because of what ends up happening after you catch him doing so.

there have been countless times, you’ve found yourself in a squat or pose which focuses on your glutes. while in those positions, your ass looks incredible, and sae is always there to let you know even if he never says so out loud. you’d be hands and knees on your mat, ready to do a few sets of leg kickbacks, and the midfielder will be a couple machines away, sweat clinging to his workout gear as he reaches for the water bottle next to his feet.

when he takes a swig from his hydro, his ocean blue eyes are evidently at an angle. if you draw his line of vision, you’ll discover he’s watching you go through your exercises. it’s almost a ritual for him, to observe and admire the way your butt is accentuated with every stretch, your muscles flexing along your well-developed curves as your seamless shorts cling to you like a second skin. all this is done out of utmost respect, of course. at least that’s what sae likes to think.

you’re not at all oblivious to his wandering eyes, and sometimes you like teasing your audience, angling yourself in a way that allows him a clearer view of your movements. after you finish going through the motions, you stand up from the mat and stretch before turning over to send him a cheeky little wink. to add more oil to the fire, you bring your hand behind you and lift your cheeks, before releasing them to let them bounce before his eyes.

it’s downright hypnotic and sinful, but sae can’t help but indulge in the devil as he swings his towel over his shoulder. then, he immediately drags you in the showers with him to watch your ass bounce some more, pistoning his hips against you and splitting you on his cock under the running waters.

“what did you think was gonna happen when you pulled a stunt like that, sweetheart? such a naughty girl,” he grunts, muttering curses about how well you’re taking him while his eyes are glued on the flesh ricocheting off his thrusts. honestly, he has some nerve reprimanding you when he’s the one who started it with his obvious gawking, but if it means you’ll be blissfully filled with his cum and creaming all over his cock, you don’t have any complaints.

eventually, sae has his own private gym installed in his residence. which is what he honestly should have done in the beginning given all the money he has, but his trips to overseas matches doesn’t grant him many opportunities to use it.

that aside, your prior antics don’t really change, except the two of you are much more shameless since you don’t have to worry about stray eyes or cameras everywhere. usually, you find yourself only a few sets into your routine before sae is bending you over the equipment while pulling your leggings down to your ankles. yet somehow he’s not tearing a hole through them, to your astonishment.

he has some class at least, but that means little when the midfielder prys your asscheeks apart with firm hands, fixated on how your glistening pussy twitches and your flesh overlaps between his fingers. “what do you want, sweetheart?” he asks in a deceptively gentle tone given his grip that makes you feel so exposed.

you crane your head, features flustered and hot. “cock, sae.”

“where?” his stoic expression acts ignorant even when he already knows what you’re about to say.

“inside me!” you cry and you’re met with a quick spank that stings your ass.

“manners,” he reminds you, piercing teal eyes glowing at the mild red imprint he left behind.

your voice is quieter but shaky, “i-inside my pussy, please… i’ll behave...”

“that’s all i wanted to hear, my love.” he rewards you with his lips over the faint mark on your skin, tenderly soothing the pain while worshiping you all the same before he moves away to line himself to your hole. he enters slowly, loving how your tight, yummy walls take him as his length gradually disappears. your nails dig into the leather beneath you, and you rasp a sensual cry as his cock deliciously kisses all the right spots inside you over and over again.

copyright 2023 shotoh, all rights reserved. i do not allow my creations to be published or translated anywhere else so please do not repost this or share my content on tiktok.

#sae x reader #sae smut #blue lock smut #bllk smut #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #itoshi sae smut #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #sae x you #sae x y/n #blue lock imagines #blue lock headcanons

[mayajadewrites]

ghostin

matt murdock x reader

preface: reader is a vigilante, much like matthew murdock. they've developed a relationship and have fallen in love with one another. their future together was seemingly written in the stars - until the blip.

tags/warnings: 18+, established relationship, angst, no use of y/n, eventual sex

notes: i will be mentioning aspects of the main character that are more specific to her looks, but picture her as whoever you please :)

ao3

The sounds of Hell's Kitchen filled Matt's apartment as you finally get out of bed for the day. People talking, car horns beeping, police sirens in the distance. It was a late night filled with vigilante escapades and sex with your boyfriend.

You sit up on the bed to stretch your sore muscles, feeling the aches of bruises from the past week on your skin. You heard Matt stir, a sign that he will be awake soon.

There's no point in trying to be quiet around him. He can hear your heartbeat from 5 blocks down.

"Good morning, sweetheart." You hear Matt's morning voice behind you. As you turn around, you marvel at the man that you share a bed with every night. His hazel eyes have a touch of sunlight in them, the green popping ahainst his tired eyes.

"Good morning Matthew." You press your lips to his pillow soft ones, a place you have grown fond of. His lips had to have been sculpted by the Gods. His face is a Renaissance painting. Only you get to feel it with your fingertips.

"You must've slept well. You added the good in 'good morning'." Matt brought his hand to the side of your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

"Ever since I started staying with you, I've slept so much better." You close your eyes and lean your cheek into his palm.

–

Before Matt, you were a vigilante that was frequently hired by people like Wilson Fisk to take out any enemies, or potential enemies.

The first time you met you were assigned to take out Daredevil. Obviously, that's not an easy task. But you needed the money.

The night was cold, your skin filled with goosebumps as you jumped from rooftop to rooftop. You would hear steps, but never saw him.

Until he striked.

Fisk wanted Daredevil gone, but he is a force to be messed with. You kept running into him, but never having the guts to take him out, and he felt the same as you.

You didn't know he was Matt Murdock until a few months after your first encounter. You were jaded from your past, as was he. Learning to trust does not come easy to either of you.

"Baby, come back to bed." Matt almost whined, his large hands grasping yours to pull you down to him.

"Fine, 5 minutes." You eliminate any space between your bodies and allow your lips to find his.

"Make that forever." Matt smirked against your lips.

"You're impossible." You feel Matt's tongue snake into your mouth, doing a dance you are all too familiar with.

–

The first time you and Matt had sex there was undeniable lust, love, and magic in the air. You both avoided your attraction to each other for so long. At the end of the day, the only people that didn't want to admit that you two were made for each other was you and Matt.

"I can't deny you anymore." Matt said helplessly. "Everything about you is everything I want in my life. Everything you are, I, I-"

You stare at his face as he speaks, his eyes moving to different spaces in the room with every word.

"I can't stay away from you. No matter how much you may want me to, or the world may want me to, I can't." Matt's tongue grazed his lower lip. "I want to fall asleep next to you. I want to wake up next to you. I want to share my coffee with you, even though you're psychotic and drink iced coffee regardless of the temperature outside. So you wouldn't want any of mine anyways. But I want to have the chance to share it with you."

"Matthew, are you going to let me speak?" You uncross your arms from your chest. "I wouldn't mind hearing your little speech for awhile though."

"Go ahead." Matt cleared his throat.

"I want you too." You take a step closer to Matt, taking a closer look at the bruises that mark his skin. "I want to learn how to play poole for you. I want to sit on your rooftop and take in the sounds and smells of New York with you. I want to kiss your lips first thing and the morning even though you probably have nasty morning breath."

"Aren't you just a romantic." Matt followed your lead and took a step closer to you. "Tell me to stop." He took another step towards you.

Silence.

Then another step.

And another.

And another.

Matt was now in front of you, his nose grazing yours, his hands hovering over you. "Tell me to stop."

You stare at him, silent.

His hands pressed against your hips, dragging along your curves until he grips your ass. His forehead presses to yours, like the world was finally aligned.

Matt's lips found yours, moving slowly and deliberately. His mouth was starved from yours for so long that he wanted to savor this moment. He palmed your ass gently as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, pushing your body against his once more.

"You are addicting." Matt broke the kiss briefly. He lifted you from your hips to wrap your legs around his waist, kissing you as he brought you to his bedroom where you would spend hours in the sheets.

–

"I'm gonna brew your coffee, baby." You plant a kiss on Matt's lips, his palm on the back of your head as you pull away. The pad of his thumb stroked your hair as you pulled away. "You never make getting out of bed easy."

"I never will."

As you brew Matt's coffee, you go through the mental checklist of what needs to be done for today. Grocery shopping, a jog through the park, and to clean Matt's apartment.

You pour the hot liquid into Matt's favorite mug - it's nothing special, but it's big enough for two cups of coffee so he loves it.

You pour a splash of creamer into the cup, stirring it with a spoon. You smile at your reflection in the liquid, unsure of how you were so lucky to live this life with Matthew.

"Be careful, it's hot-" You look up from the mug to see the bed empty.

You didn't hear Matt move from the bed. The bathroom door was never opened. You could still see the silhouette of his body tangled in the sheets.

"Matt?!" You said loudly. "This isn't funny." You opened the closet door, then the bathroom.

Nothing.

You hear people outside screaming.

"She was just here!! Where the hell did she go? She just... dusted away." You heard someone say outside the window.

"I was just talking to him and then he was evaporating before my eyes." Another worried voice screams.

Your heart fell to your stomach. You run to the bed, running your hand over where Matt's body just was.

It was still warm.

#matt murdock #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x reader #marvel mcu #marvel #mcu #daredevil #daredevil x reader #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fanfic #daredevil born again

[chubs-deuce]

Hi!! Love your artwork and your Charlastor AU with Dawn!!

I was wondering if you think Alastor would make any dawn-themed dad jokes and puns in your AU, and if he does, what would Dawn and Charlie think of them? I can’t really think of any off the top of my head right now, but I know ‘a brand new dawn’ is a phrase he could maybe use!

Again, love your art!!! If you don’t mind answering questions about it, do you have any advice for artists who want to improve their drawing or any practices that have helped you develop your skills? And are there any particular artists that really inspire you?

You’re one of my favorite artists and I don’t know how to explain it but your drawings have so much life in them!! 🌟

sdlksdflkj thank you so much omg!!!

I'm so glad you're enjoying them ;W;

And he would be insufferable with them lmfaoo, especially because I'm sure Charlie would hop in on a few of them and add to the pile as well xD

One more I can think of rn is "Oh, I was wondering where the sun went!" whenever Dawn enters a room, because the implied punchline is "but then it Dawned on me" or something? XD idk I'm not good with puns sadly

Now regarding the art advice!! This one got HELLA long so I'll hide it under a cut for everyone's comfort lmao

I know it sounds shallow and like worthless advice, but a huge huuuuge part of getting better at art is to just... make art! Practice makes perfect - it develops your motor skills, gives you somewhat of a muscle memory for certain basic shapes that are a necessity to have a good feel of for good foundation sketching.

Practice also develops your eye for compositing and for how color theory actually applies in practice, it basically helps you develop a more consistent grasp on art as a whole :D

There are some things I've learned over time that definitely helped speed things up though xD

here's some rough sketches I did just to demonstrate what my rougher drawings can look like - also a little diagram (on the right side of the image) of things I keep in mind for the average proportions of a human body!

I tend to sketch very loosely and try to capture the overall vibe and silhouette/rough shapes first before I even think about adding details - there's a certain flow, squish and stretch to everything that's just much easier for me to get a good feel for when I use quick, loose brush strokes and as few lines as possible to convey a concept.

Repeatedly sketching humanoid characters of various shapes, builds and sizes for years genuinely helped enormously in getting not only faster but also more consistent with it!

I'm fairly well practiced with hands and expressions especially at this point since I like to focus on those in my art often, so those come fairly easily to me as well now!

Something I learned along the way about keeping a certain liveliness to my artworks is that sometimes you have to forego anatomical correctness a bit if you want to fully express specific emotions - if you try too hard to keep everything perfectly proportional and realistic, it can make the outcome look stiffer than you might've aimed for - this is something I actually struggle with in my cleaner artworks :'D The ones I do proper lineart for, since a lot of the flow of the original sketch gets lost in the process haha

As for artists/artstyles that inspire me...

There's @/southpauz for example!

Her artstyle is unbelievably expressive and her eye for compositing and her use of shapes is SUBLIME - it inspired me to let loose more with my expressions, exaggerate features a bit more and to push the way I try to vary facial features :D

Then, back when I had that massive Rise of the TMNT phase, the artstyle of it has actually greatly influenced how I draw today!

It manages to be detailed and highly recognizable despite its deceivingly simple style - it exaggerates shapes and uses it to communicate personalities, emotions and action super effectively and taught me a lot about utilizing those more efficiently myself :D

And last but not least Ishida Sui - the mangaka behind Tokyo Ghoul (which used to be a highschool obsession of mine)

His striking use of colors, textures in abstract, yet symbolically heavy ways and his courage to be rough and expressive rather than looking polished, yet also having such a solid understanding of realism blew me the fuck away as a teen and still does now!!!

His art may have less of an influence on my style today than it used to back then, but I think in my more exagerrated, more horror-esque drawings you can kind of see it still :'D Either way I greatly admire him as both a writer and artist.

-----

I'm genuinely so so flattered that you enjoy what I do enough to give me such high praise, thank you so much for writing me such a wonderful ask <3 I'm glad I got to gush about some of my favorite artists/artstyles for a bit haha

If you have any more specific (digital) art related questions don't hesitate to reach out!! I love giving pointers about a subject I'm so passionate about, we don't gatekeep helpful information in this house!!! <3<3<3

#chubs answers #charlastor fankid #chubs ocs #dawn morningstar #art inspiration #art tips

[squintyeyedjoel]

Through Your Eyes | Part 1 - Hit the Ground Running (Joel x Reader)

A/N: Ahhhh! This is here!!! So. This is just an idea that I had, and I literally texted my friends screaming about it, and it’s been nonstop for the last few days, it just kept developing. It’ll be multi-part, unsure yet how long, it keeps growing. I’ve always loved Jackson Joel, his relationship with Ellie, and I’ve wanted more of their dynamic since day one. So here is a weird hybrid of both the game and show universe, but mostly game. I haven’t decided where exactly this will or will not deviate from canon yet, so bear with me. Here we go!

I do not own The Last of Us or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, and Joel is a warning in and of himself in this one. Canon typical swearing. No specific age specified for reader, aside from her remembering life before the outbreak, so I leave that up to you. No use of Y/N. Mention of loss. (Spoilers if you haven’t watched the show/played the game.) Ellie is a menace and having a Hard Time™️. Arguing? Banter. Some of Joel’s Texan accent. (You’ve been warned.) I guess kinda sorta spoilers for TLoU 2? Like if you squint? And not really???

Word count: 8,885

Thank you to @fordo-kixed-rex and @grippingbeskar for your endless hours helping me over goodness knows how long since I started this, for reading this over for me and letting me know I’m not crazy, and screaming with me about this man that captured our hearts first in the form of pixels.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Next

Xxx

The door slamming below made some trinkets on your shelf rattle. That’s the third time today. A soft groan drifted up to you through the floorboards, coated in frustration and anger.

When you’d arrived in Jackson, the only new, private space available had been a spot above somebody else’s house. Technically in somebody else’s house. And technically it wasn’t even a place. When you arrived, you realized someone had literally volunteered their attic, spacious as it was, with several windows and a private doorway leading down through the home.

A mattress had been tossed in the middle of the floor, and it’d been so long since you’d seen a real, honest to goodness mattress, you didn’t care about the rest of the place. It suddenly felt like a castle.

That first night you’d flopped down on the fluffy padding on the floor, smiling as your body bounced a few times from the impact, the springs inside whining in protest, before you promptly fell asleep.

Sunlight streaming in through one of the windows early the next morning woke you up, making you blink bleary eyes open when it danced across your peaceful features.

With a stretch and heavy sigh, you didn’t move a muscle, but simply darted your eyes around your new small space, fully taking in the barren walls and the pile of junk leftover from whoever owned this house before the world went to hell. Curiosity got the better of you, pulling you to the pile like a magnet, on a search for something, you weren’t quite sure what yet.

Several hours later, you were lost deep in thought, the tip of your tongue sticking between your teeth in concentration when someone clearing their throat just off to your side made you jump. “Fuck!” You hissed, tossing the little metal toy you had in one hand in surprise, the screwdriver from your other hand being clutched in your grip like a vice, reared back and ready to be thrown at the intruder.

“Just me,” the man from downstairs mumbled. What was his name again? “Sorry.”

Sighing, you deflated, letting your hands fall to the mattress below you with a thump, your face scrunched in pain. “Shit, I bit my tongue.” Reaching up to rub your jaw, you glared at the man. “Maybe knock next time?”

He stared at you for a long minute, his eyes watching as you cradled your face, mumbling forlornly about your tongue. “I did,” he finally said lowly. “Twice.”

“Oh.” You heaved another sigh, this one heavier than the last, before plopping back on the mattress behind you, wincing and reaching under your back to pull out the plastic action figure that had poked you in the back. Looking at it, you grinned softly. “Was that your gun, or were you just happy to see me?”

Something between a scoff and a snort left the man still standing awkwardly by your door, pulling your attention back to him.

Everything had been so rushed when you’d moved in, something about a patrol spotting clickers nearby and the lack of space giving everyone a headache, you’d barely caught a glimpse of your housemates as someone ushered you past them, up into the attic late last night. You’d also made a point to stare at the floor as you walked past, not wanting to see the ire of the people who’d been woken up to open their home to you.

With no desire to dwell on your time before Jackson, you focused on the man in front of you, taking in his curious eyes and weathered features. The tilt of his brow told you people tended to run from him, his jaw set in a stern angle as his eyes darted around the room.

“Sorry, I know it’s a mess, I’ll clean it up.” Pushing up onto your elbows, you tossed the action figure to the side. “I assumed that pile was from before the outbreak, I hope I didn’t-”

“It was. All that was here b’fore Ellie and I moved in. Seemed a shame to waste it, and didn’t bother me none to sit in a corner, so….” Taking a few steps, he picked up the little metal car you’d been scraping at when he walked in, smiling fondly. “I had one’f these.” His expression darkened. “‘till my brother broke it.” After staring at it a moment, he looked up at you, handing it back to you gently. “What were you doin’ with it?”

“Oh.” Flustering a bit, being caught out for something you usually kept relegated to your home wherever that happened to be, you took a minute to think, staring at the chipped blue paint on the little car. “I…. I like to restore things. Bring little pieces of what we lost back. Especially toys. I remember as a kid…. As a kid the joy of just one new toy was….”

“Nothin’ like it,” he agreed softly.

You nodded, meeting his eyes, the kindness you saw hidden there catching you off guard. You’d expected judgment. In this world nowadays frivolous things weren’t usually accepted so readily.

“That yours?” He pointed to the little fanny pack overflowing with various tools, the contents spilling over the mattress.

Eyes darting over to the bag, you nodded again before looking at him with a soft smile. “Yes it is, kind stranger.”

This time his scoff was decidedly amused, and he rolled his eyes, making you grin.

“Joel.”

“That’s right!” Setting the car down, you got to your feet, dusting the back of your pants off, then your hands, before you extended one for him to shake. “Nice to finally meet you more than a passing face in the ‘welcome to Jackson’ shuffle.” He nodded as he shook your hand, his grip firm and warm. “Thank you. Again. For your attic, I mean.” Dropping his hand after holding it longer than you should have, you turned to look around at the space.

“Tommy said you needed your privacy. Didn’t say why, but I can respect the need.”

You turned back to him, hands on your hips where they had settled as you’d looked around. “That’s not by choice.”

His features darkened. “What’d’ya mean?”

“Oh! Nothing like that.” You waved your hands in front of you. “Nothing weird, I swear!” Chuckling nervously, you shifted your weight to one side. “Because I tinker, I often…. People don’t like the noises…. The smells….”

He just stared at you, silently waiting.

You looked down to your feet. “I’ll just pack up. I’m sorry, I’ll be out of your-”

“No,” he cut you off, reaching for your elbow gently but firmly. “No,” he said again, a bit softer. “Just explain a little less…. Vaguely, please.”

“It’s very hands-on. Lots of tools like hammers and whatnot, sanding…. And then if I can find it, paint thinner for some, or just paint for others…. And it doesn’t always help, despite all the windows being open, but I try to keep the place ventilated…..”

“People complain about a day job?” He sounded upset for you. 

“They get upset when I do it when I can’t sleep.”

He hesitated. “How often is that?”

“Whenever the nightmares come.”

Understanding flickered in his eyes. “Well people are stupid.”

You blinked before a laugh burst out of your mouth.

“I used to be a contractor, and I’ve been doing some odds and ends here since moving into town. I don’t mind some smelly noise.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at you. “Let’s just try to come up with a schedule of some sort, maybe nothing too loud after nine at night or somethin’. Not for me, I don’t mind, but the neighbors might, and I dunno about Ellie. Girl sleeps like the dead, so probably….”

“Ellie?”

His smile grew brighter. “Come downstairs for breakfast.” He gestured behind him with a tilt of his head toward the stairs, his body beginning that way. “Maybe she’ll say hello between bites.”

Xxx

Walking down the stairs, you looked around in the daylight, trying to discern what was your host’s and what was left behind twenty odd years ago. 

Outlines where pictures once sat on the wall, faded by years in the sun now decorated the outdated wallpaper, a layer of dust along a line of decorative trim halfway up. A fancy carpet was tacked to the stairs, worn in the middle most of the way up, zagging to the sides near the top, and you watched as Joel carefully stepped in the threadbare bits without thought, one of the steps squeaking under your weight when you didn’t follow suit. 

Noted. 

Once you were at the bottom, an open door down the hall showed a small little workshop, tools strewn everywhere. You smiled, glancing up at Joel to see him follow your gaze, realization dawning on him as a hand came up to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment. 

“Stay here,” he mumbled softly, holding up one finger before he jogged toward the door, pulling it shut. “Sorry about that. Had a, uh…. Last minute request.”

“My ears are burning. Are you talking about me again?” A young female voice yelled amusedly from around the corner behind you, a girl in her early teens stepping out with a plate full of food in one hand, a fork loaded in the other, and a mouthful as she continued. “Yeah, you were. It’s me. He’s talking about me. I asked him to fix the hole in the ceiling,” she looked at him pointedly, before turning back to you, “like fifty thousand times-”

“Since yesterday,” Joel murmured, making you chuckle.

“It only showed up yesterday,” the girl said unamused.

“I’m just sayin’,” Joel held up his hands in surrender before walking around the girl and into what you assumed was the kitchen. “Point was, I got right on it.”

Rolling her eyes, the girl set her plate down before wiping her hands on the front of her jeans, coming over and introducing herself. “Hi, I’m Ellie,” she spoke pointedly over her shoulder, “since grumpy in there didn’t feel the need to introduce us.”

Some dishes clattered and quiet grumbles were heard  as you smiled at the girl, introducing yourself. “If you ever need any help around here, just ask. I’m pretty handy, if I do say so myself.”

“Finally,” Ellie groaned, “Someone besides that lug who can help me out!”

You leaned in closer to her. “Why, you got bodies to hide, or somethin’?”

She leaned in as well. “You have no idea.”

“Time for food!” Joel called loudly, placing a steaming pile of scrambled eggs and bacon on the table. “Ellie made ‘em so I’m not makin’ any promises-”

“Hey!” You smiled at her protest.

“-but it’s nourishment, so…. Good as any.”

“I’ll have you know,” Ellie began, looking down her nose at Joel as you all sat at the table. “Tommy’s been teaching me how to cook.”

“Then we’re all doomed,” Joel deadpanned.

“Tommy, I met him last night. He’s….”

Joel and Ellie spoke at the same time.

“Oh no, what’d he do now?”

“His baby brother.”

Silence hung between you as you looked back and forth between the two of them, Joel’s eyes shut as he let out a sigh.

“He’s my brother,” he amended, adding quietly, “so you can tell me what idiotic thing he’s done now.”

“Joel,” Ellie warned.

“I’ve heard it all, just lay it on me.”

You shook your head. “Nothin’. Was just asking how he knew you two.” You gestured between them with your fork. 

Joel tucked into his food after a moment of silence, staring down at his plate.

“I tried to tell you,” Ellie muttered, shaking her head as she cleaned the crumbs off her dish. 

“That accent I keep hearing pop through, is that…. Texas?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel kept his eyes down, slowing his eating just a bit.

“I thought it sounded like home,” you smiled, the corners of your mouth pulling higher when his head shot up to look at you.

“You’re from….” 

You nodded. “Born and raised. Ain’t nothin’ quite like the Lone Star State, is there?”

“No, ma’am,” Joel grinned.

“What do you miss the most?” It was an honest enough question, you expected something like barbecue, late night drives down country roads, or the smell of bluebonnets each Spring….

But the joy on Joel’s face fell ever so slightly, just enough that you could see, the light in his eyes dimming, as his shoulders rounded forward just a bit. He stared at the table top for only a moment, lost in thought. You could have sworn his eyes flitted to the watch on his wrist briefly before he shook his head, lifting it back up, his gaze meeting yours and smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Too many things to mention. What about you?”

Holding his gaze for a moment longer than you should, you smiled softly before turning back to look at your plate. “Gotta say I feel the same.” Stabbing a bite of egg, you brought it to your mouth, chewing thoughtfully as you pondered what had just happened. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“Please do,” he said softly. 

More silence filled the space, Ellie heaving a sigh after a few minutes. “Well this has been fucking amazing-”

“Ellie,” Joel chastised.

“But I’m gonna go-”

“Sit,” Joel said in the most authoritative voice you’d heard yet. Gesturing with his fork, you caught the smallest smirk crawl up his face when Ellie groaned before plopping back into her chair in a graceless heap.

She stared at him in some sort of bored challenge before grumbling, “What?”

“I need your help before you go and skedaddle-”

“‘Skedaddle’? Is that even a fucking word?”

“Yes,” you answered before biting into a piece of bacon, smiling sweetly at her when her eyes flew up to meet yours.

“Just checking,” she grumbled, slumping further back into her chair as she heaved a world weary sigh. 

“As I was sayin’,” Joel pushed back from the table with both hands, leaning back in his chair so that the front legs left the floor slightly, balancing on the back two. “I need your help gettin’ a bed frame upstairs for her, and a few other pieces. Tommy’s droppin’ them by in a few here.” He checked a clock hanging on the wall, making you knit your brows in confusion as you glanced to the watch on his wrist. Closer inspection showed it was shattered with what looked like a bullet hole, making your eyes widen slightly. Suddenly his reservations about missing something in Texas made a bit more sense.

“Joel,” Ellie whined, going practically boneless in her seat, limbs draping behind her like a broken starfish.

“We should be able to handle that without her, don’t you think?” You mused, pushing your empty plate away and settling into your seat with a satisfied sigh, arms crossed over your chest. 

“Yes, totally, bye!” Ellie sat up so fast you got whiplash. But she didn’t make it completely out of the seat before Joel was saying her name again, and motioning her back down with just his eyes. 

“Sorry. I tried,” you shrugged, giving her a sad smile. “You should just listen to your dad and-”

The two of them interrupted you in tandem.

“I’m not her father.”

“He’s not my dad.”

Joel cleared his throat. “Now, I’ve asked you to stay and help- nicely, I might add- and unlike you, I don’t ask twice, let alone fifty thousand times,” he looked at her pointedly.

“Ugh, fine!” She threw her hands up, letting them slap back down on her thighs before pushing her chair back all the way, the scrape of the feet against the floor making you cringe. She finally got to her feet before she froze, looking at Joel with an exaggerated look you couldn’t quite place.

“What?” He asked after a long silence in a tone that said ‘why did I ask’.

She pointed to the other room. “Can I go this time? I mean….” Joel sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. “Every other time I’ve tried to execute my rights as a human being and leave this fucking dining room, you’ve stopped me. So, before I get too far and have to backtrack again, I wanted to-”

“Just go,” he waved a hand.

“Thank you,” she called, climbing the stairs, expertly missing the squeaks, a door slamming shut a few seconds later.  

“But be ready to help in-”

“Yeah, yeah,” her muffled voice came through the door before some 80’s song began playing softly. 

You chuckled, Joel picking his head up from where he’d cradled it in his palm to look at you with a raised brow. “I got food and a show.” His head fell back into his hand. “I’m teasing.” He grumbled something unintelligible into his palm. After the chorus of the song played, you stood up, taking the empty dishes over to the sink.

“You don’t have to-” Joel protested from his seat.

“I’ll never get used to hearin’ music again,” you changed the subject as you turned on the water, running it over the plates as you wiped them clean. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it. I’ve always loved music. It’s just…. After so long in the silence, coming here and having a teenager drown you out with a synthesizer, it’s so….”

“Normal?”

Looking over your shoulder, you smiled at him. “Yeah. And after everything, that’s just….”

“Not normal?”

You snorted. “Exactly.” After you turned the water off, you flung the stray droplets from the tips of your fingers before drying your hands on a dish towel. “I appreciate all the help, I really do. But, you don’t have to go outta your way for me.”

“It’s not outta the way. It’s just upstairs.” He looked proud of himself, the pleased grin pulling higher when you made a face of disbelief at him.

“None of that allowed up there.” You pointed toward the ceiling where the attic extended to. “That is a bad pun free zone.”

Joel shook his head ruefully, leaning his chair back even further on the rear legs, propping his boots up on the corner of the table, one ankle crossed over the other as his hands slowly came behind his head. “Darlin’, this whole house is one giant pun.”

You arched a brow, leaning back against the counter, your hands braced on its top at your sides.

“Ellie tries, she loves her joke books…. But me….”

“Bad dad jokes without being a dad?”

His whole demeanor deflated, just slightly, but enough for you to see. The light behind his eyes dimmed, his smile faded, and his arms dropped almost imperceptibly. “Something like that,” he mumbled, before the smile renewed, just a bit too tightly. After a brief moment, he dropped his feet back to the floor with a clatter, the chair coming back onto all fours with surprising delicacy. “Well, let’s get up there and take some measurements before the furniture gets here.”

Xxx

Joel had followed you up the steps, mumbling a “Lady’s first,” as he stepped out of the way, gesturing forward with one hand.

You arched a brow. “Oh, fancy.” He pulled a face, making you laugh softly. “Nice to know chivalry didn’t also die on outbreak day.” Starting up the stairs, he sighed as he fell in behind you.

“Oh, it did. I’m bringing it back.” Glancing over your shoulder you saw a smug look on his face, making you roll your eyes as you turned back to the task at hand, making sure to avoid the squeaky parts of the steps, sticking to the worn tread of the carpet. An amused hum buzzed out of Joel’s chest when he noticed, making you smirk. “Fast learner.”

Pushing open the door to the attic, it let out a mighty squeak. 

You grimaced. “Not quite fast ‘nough, it seems.”

Joel knit his eyebrows at the door as he reached out, swinging it back and forth, the hinges protesting loudly each time. “It just needs to be tightened up.” Stepping closer, he examined the brackets with a more studious eye. “This takes a….” He turned to you, before glancing at your pile of tools still on the bed where you’d left them. “It’s a specialized screw head. Used to use them all the time before the world went to shit. Surprised they already started complainin’. Normally they last twice as long-”

“Everything complains around you, Joel,” Ellie grumbled as she walked past him, going straight for one of the windows, her forehead falling against it with a dramatic thump before she just stared at the city below.

Joel scoffed, staring at the teenager for a moment before rolling his eyes. “I have one down in my shop in the garage. I’ll go grab it.”

“You got a screwdriver that can turn that musty old shop of yours into a kick ass room for me?” Ellie called after him as he took the steps two at a time. As his heavy footfalls disappeared below, she turned back to look out the window.

“What do you mean?” You asked against your better judgment. “Don’t like your room?”

She sighed. “I just want my own space. Why does he need a room for just his tools? They don’t need privacy! They don’t go through at least one crisis a week, or have to deal with him, or have music they want to play super loud. They’re fucking tools.”

“Well, hey, we could trade? I could take your room, share the garage and tools with Joel, and you could be up he-”

“No,” Joel’s tone was final. You hadn’t even heard him come in. 

“I think it’s a great idea,” Ellie started. “I mean, she’s offering, and-”

“I said no, Ellie.”

“Joel-”

“No!” His grip on the door handle tightened. “We aren’t having this conversation again. Drop it.”

The two of them stared at each other with loaded looks, an unspoken conversation being exchanged between them. 

“We’ll compromise.” Joel’s attention snapped to you, Ellie’s following soon after. “You ever need a place to ‘get away’? You can come up here and keep me company.” Ellie smiled. “That goes for you, too, Joel.”

“Why you gotta be like that?” Ellie mumbled, smiling when you arched a brow at her.

“There’s a catch.”

“Fuck,” the teenager moaned, turning back to look out the window, her head thumping against the frame.

“You have to help me with my projects while you’re up here.” Your eyes flicked between them. “Deal?” When neither of them agreed, but neither of them protested, you moved on. “Good. Now,” stooping down to pick up the various toys and tools that had taken over the floor the night before, you turned to Ellie. “I noticed during breakfast that you like to draw.”

“How-”

“Sketchbook on the counter by the oven. Next time wait until after the bacon is done. You got grease stains all over the pages.”

“I had an idea, I couldn’t wait….”

“How are you with paint?”

She shrugged. “Never…. Never really had the opportunity to use it. I’m sorry. What the fuck is that?” She pointed to the bag around your waist.

Looking down at the fanny pack you’d zipped your tools back into before putting it on, you lifted your gaze back up to her. “My fanny pack?”

“Ellie….” Joel warned, seeing the girl’s face begin to morph in a way he knew all too well.

“It’s called a….” She started snickering before she cleared her throat. “I’ve never seen one before.” Ellie’s eyes shot over to Joel, her features schooled into something almost professional, but it quickly melted into something more sarcastic.

“Very handy,” you said slowly, watching her through narrowed eyes. “Anyway, as I was saying, I’ll get my hands on some paints, and you can help me finish some pieces.” You turned to Joel, brows raised expectantly.

“I’ll ask Tommy when he brings the stuff,” he mumbled, leaning on the door and causing it to squeak again, pulling his attention back to the traitorous hinges.

“For now,” you focused back on the teenager, hands on your hips, “help me clean this place up a little before they get here? Maybe go grab the towel off the kitchen counter to dust off the windowsills?”

Ellie nodded with a small, sweet smile, but you didn’t miss how it twisted into a smirk as she walked past you toward the door. “On it, Miss Fanny.”

You stared after her with wide eyes, noting she had waited until she was a few steps down the stairs before saying it so you were less likely to retaliate. Smart.

Flicking your eyes over to Joel, an amused expression pulled at his features as he pointed toward the bag on your hip with his screwdriver. “It’s because of the….”

“Yeah, I got that,” you snarked. “What I don’t get is why she called you grumpy.”

“It’s kinda obvious,” he drawled, turning the screws on the top hinge.

“You don’t seem grumpy to me.”

“Give it time.”

Xxx

After the door no longer moaned, the hinges good as new, Joel took some measurements around the space while he talked about how he’d been meaning to build some shelves and stuff for storage up here anyway. It’d take a day or two, but he’d have them up and be out of your hair in no time. He also stepped out of one of the windows onto the roof, making you and Ellie exchange a confused glance.

“Joel? Last I checked, the attic was strictly inside the house,” Ellie asked cautiously.

His head appeared around the open window frame, scowling at the both of you. “I’m looking to see if I could put a doorway in here for a private entrance.”

“That’s not-” but he doesn’t let you finish.

Disappearing back around the window frame, his voice drifted back somewhat muffled as he turned away. “It’ll just make things easier. Once you get tired of the two of us, you can come in without having to look at our ugly mugs.” Ellie shot a sideways look at you, making you stifle a small laugh, tucking it into your hand as you looked away. “Could even make a little deck up here at the top of the stairs, good sun, you could plant somethin’ for eatin’. Plus it’s a good spot to,” his feet shuffled on the roof before stopping again. “It’s a good vantage point if things go sideways…. Again.”

Stepping up to the window, you went to poke your head out but had to step back as he hopped back in. “Joel, you don’t have to do all that. It’s-”

“It’s my house, and I want that vantage point,” he huffed, dusting off his hands before turning to close the window.

“The Contractor,” Ellie hissed in an eerie voice with a smirk, drawing out the words in a ridiculous way.

“Knock knock,” a voice said behind you, making you jump slightly, turning to find Tommy. “Sorry,” he said quietly, having the decency to look sheepish. As he pushed the door open a bit wider, it squeaked softly, pulling his focus to the hinges. “You need to fix that, Joel-”

“I-” The older brother looked at the younger, dumbfounded. It quickly melted into annoyce as he whispered an exasperated, “What did you do?” Stepping quickly toward the door.

Tommy stepped back slightly. “Nothin’! I just got here, big brother! So just hold your horses and don’t jump-”

“He just fixed those a few minutes ago,” you offered softly, understanding dawning on Tommy’s face.

His eyes shifted to his brother, wide and somewhat worried. “Now, Joel, I didn’t do nothin’. They’re old, like you, and-” he turned his eyes down to the floor when Joel’s head snapped up to level him with a menacing gaze. “-and,” he repeated pointedly, “before you jump up my ass about somethin’ I didn’t do….” He lifted his head just enough to look at his brother again. “Can we please talk about this like the grown men we sometimes are now?”

Joel simply stared at his brother for a loaded moment before turning back to the door, wiggling it back and forth, making a sour face as it squeaked again softly. “You had to’ve done somethin’….”

“I guess not then,” Tommy sighed, hands that had been held up in surrender falling down to his sides in defeat as he sent an unimpressed glare toward his brother. “You’ve gotten meaner as your hair’s gotten greyer.”

Joel rolled his eyes, turning to inspect the hinges more closely, but reached up a hand to run through his hair after a moment, bringing it down to rub at the back of his neck in what looked like embarrassment as he kept his back to the room.

Ellie strolled over easily toward the two men. “You’re an old man, Joel. That’s how it’s supposed to happen…. I think. I mean, look at Santa Claus….”

Joel slowly looked at her over his shoulder before he let out a strangled grunt of frustration, cleaning his throat to try and cover it up as he shook his head, turning back to his task in an attempt to hide.

Ellie went on as if nothing had happened. “I mean I think that’s how it works.”

Tommy snickered, tucking the lower half of his face into his hand, pointedly ignoring Joel looking at him through the crack of the door by the hinges.

The teen turned to Tommy. “You’re an old man, you tell me. Am I right?”

The hand fell from his face, and Tommy immediately stopped laughing, glowering at Ellie while Joel lost it, a series of growing snickers falling from his mouth as he turned his face into the wall to try and subdue the sound.

You looked on, watching the whole exchange with a smile. Joel may not be her father, but these three were every bit a family unit. They teased and called each other names, but it was all in fun. All from love. You had no doubt that when push came to shove, they’d be there for one another in a heartbeat, and probably be willing to sacrifice close to anything in the name of that bond, that thing they shared but they didn’t dare put that name to. For family.

Joel was still chuckling into the wall, his forehead pressed against it as he rocked it side to side in disbelief. “I swear I didn’t tell her to say that.”

“Fuck you, Joel. I say what I want,” Ellie proclaimed.

“Ellie,” Joel groaned, finally turning to face the room with a sigh, as Tommy snapped a, “Language!”

“Oh, bite me,” she mumbled, turning and meandering slowly to the window to begin dusting again.

“So, Tommy,” you began, clasping your hands in front of yourself. “I hear you have furniture for me?”

His eyes widened in recognition. “Shit! Yeah.”

“Language!” Ellie mocked him from her spot across the room.

“It’s downstairs. Why don’t you come with me, take a look and see what all you wanna bring up while Joel finishes on this door.” He turned to his brother, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Come down when you’re done, we should know by then.”

He nodded, fiddling with the screwdriver in his hand. “Give me five minutes.”

“I used to work with you, Joel,” Tommy called, starting down the stairs. “We both know it’ll take you ten.”

Joel laughed humorously. “Fuck you, Tommy!”

“Language!” Ellie yelled again. 

Following the younger Miller, you smiled. He stepped on every squeak in the steps, almost like it was on purpose.

Once the two of you were downstairs, Tommy stepped out onto the front porch, showing you a small array of furniture leaning up against the outside of the house. 

You were about to start pointing to some of the pieces when he began talking to you about something else altogether.

“So how’s it been today? They been treating you okay?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you tilted your head back to look up at him, holding his serious gaze. His eyes were kind, and you realized he was asking just as much from a place of worry for them as for you.

“Yeah. It’s been great so far.” He looked relieved. “Ellie cooked eggs and bacon for breakfast.”

He smiled proudly. “You have me to thank for that.”

You couldn’t help the grimace tugging on your features. “So I hear.”

Tommy scoffed, hands going to his hips, making you chuckle.

“Ellie called him grumpy earlier, but I haven’t seen any particular reason why.” His eyebrows shot up near his hairline. “I asked him about it and he said to ‘give it time’.” 

He rolled his eyes with a muttered, “Sounds like him.”

You lowered your voice, taking a step closer. “Am I missing something? If he’s not always sunshine and rainbows, that’s fine, I get it. This world we live in now ain’t always deserving of it. But still, I’d like to know what I’m getting into.”

Tommy took a deep breath, but before he could speak, Joel stepped out the front door.

“What should I take up first?”

Turning and pointing at the bed frame you knew for sure needed to go up, you smiled. “Definitely that, please.”

Joel nodded, grabbing the headboard and footboard. “Tommy, will you grab the rest of the frame? The girls can be putting it together while we take up the rest.”

The man beside you nodded, staying silent until his brother disappeared back in the house.

“Joel’s not always the easiest to get to know.” You scoffed. “It’s true. I’ve known him my whole life, and I still have days where I wonder why he’s so prickly. He has his reasons,” Tommy looked up toward the attic windows before looking back down at you. “And I’m sure he’ll tell you them eventually, I can already tell he trusts you more than most others here in Jackson.”

With a shake of your head, you chuckled. “You’re crazy. He just met me. I’m sure he-”

“You saw a side of Joel right out the gate some wait a lifetime to miss.”

Staring up into his eyes, your own wide, you saw nothing but sincerity.

“Tommy! Come on, man!” Shaking his head, Joel picked up the rest of the pieces of the bed. “And you say I’m slow.”

The younger Miller held your gaze as he spoke. “That’s because you are slow, big brother.” Lifting his eyes to follow the older man, they narrowed playfully. “Come on, come on, lift those feet!”

“I’m gonna hit you,” Joel grumbled as he passed back over the threshold of the house, Tommy hot on his heels. As Joel continued to complain, Tommy stopped, looking back at you pointedly before turning and heading inside, shouting something you couldn’t make out up at his brother.

Xxx

Once a few of the pieces were set up around the attic, you dug some things out of your backpack to put out, get settled in. Pulling a chair up to the small dining table, you got your screwdriver out of the pack on your hip and began scraping at the paint on the blue metal car from that morning.

“What’cha doin’?” Tommy asked, pulling another chair up and swinging his leg over it, sitting on it backwards. He rested his chin on his wrists on the back of the chair as he stared at the toy in your hands.

Not stopping, you answered him. “I restore things, especially toys.”

Your eyes flicked up to find his face twisted in confusion before darting back to what you were doing. 

After a moment he asked in a quieter voice, “Why?”

You shrugged. “Why not?” Pausing in your efforts, you looked up at him. “It makes me happy, and it makes others happy. And if there’s something people need more of these days, I’d say that’s it.” You turned back to your project.

“Toys?”

You froze, your hands flopping onto the table as you lifted your gaze to look at him flatly.

“Happiness, dumbass,” Joel grumbled lowly from across the room, tightening the screws on one of the window sills.

“How would you know?” Tommy sat up straight in the chair, glaring over at his brother. “You wouldn’t know happiness if it bit you on the ass.”

“Oh, I think I’d be plenty happy if someone bit me on the ass-”

“That’s not-” Joel’s chuckle cut his brother off. “I like how Ellie said it earlier. Bite me.”

“Okay. But not on the ass.”

“You know what….” Tommy pushed away from the table, turning toward his brother.

“Even if I don't, I know you never do.” Joel turned to face his brother, screwdriver once again in his hand. “You’re not the brightest-”

“Boys!” They both turned to look at you, startled, Ellie jerking awake from her spot on your bed where she’d been napping for the last hour. “Enough!”

“Yeah, shut up,” Ellie grumbled, rubbing her eye with the palm of her hand. “I don’t even know what you were arguing about, but I know it was stupid.”

“How would you know?” Joel turned his head slowly to look at his brother, his eyebrows knit in disbelief that he was arguing with a teenager.

She stilled, her hand falling to her lap with a plop. “Because I know you.” She turned to you, speaking over a yawn. “What were they arguing about?”

“That toys and happiness aren’t necessarily important nowadays, and that devolved into name calling.”

Ellie nodded. “Sounds right.” She looked at the two men. “Grow up.” She arched a brow right back at them when they lifted theirs at her. “I babysit for the kids across the street, and if it’s one thing they are severely lacking, it’s toys. We watch the movies down at the town center or a video Joel brings back from a run, and they won’t shut up about all the toys and stuff. They don’t care about the animals or the songs, I mean they do, to an annoying degree, please, somebody, explain how giving children that age singalongs was a good idea, but I digress-” she took a big breath, the corner of her mouth twitching up when you failed to suppress a snort of laughter. “Anyway. Some toys around here wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“I’d be more than happy to restore toys for the kids here in Jackson. But up here there isn’t really enough space for that type of output, plus the noise and smell would eventually bother you, despite what you say, Joel.”

Tommy looked at his brother who shrugged. “We talked about this earlier. Briefly.”

“I see,” Tommy mused quietly, turning back to you with a smirk.

“Would you mind sharin’ your garage?”

Joel grimaced.

“Come on, Joel,” Tommy teased. “Be a big boy, and-”

Joel rounded on his brother, getting close to his face. “You don’t stop talkin’, I’m going to-”

“Okay, so that’s a no,” you chuckled.

“The old book store,” Joel’s voice had calmed, and he turned to look at you. “It’s empty, is filled with shelves to display stuff, and has a wide showroom in the middle you could convert into a workshop.”

“Are you sayin’ she opens a toy shop?” Tommy asked, his voice tight with disbelief.

“Why not?” Joel looked at his brother before turning to Ellie for her input. “Like she said, it’s a need in the town, would boost morale-”

“How?” Tommy scoffed.

“Happy kids, happy parents.”

Joel made a gesture after Ellie spoke, like a ‘there you go’ as he turned his attention back on his brother, smiling as understanding softened the other man’s features.

“A need, morale,” Joel turned to look at you, a playful curl of his upper lip as he went on, “and I get to keep my garage.” The mock disdain melted into a smile and a wink before he turned back to his brother. 

“For now,” Ellie muttered under her breath, her face instantly schooling into something sweet and innocent when Joel whipped his head her way. 

Xxx

With a sigh, you set one of the things on your shelf back upright, looking at the blue metal car that sat beside it, fully painted and restored. It was one you weren’t willing to get rid of, and it held pride of placement on one of the shelves Joel had built not long after that conversation about the shop.

You’d opted to stay out of these arguments, letting them sort their differences out on their own, but something felt different this time. The weight of Joel’s sigh hurt just a little bit more, felt a little bit heavier, and at breakfast this morning, his eyes seemed…. Sad.

Walking to the door that led downstairs through the house, you opened it, smiling when it swung without a sound. Making sure to step on the proper parts of the steps to stay silent, you walked almost all the way up to Joel before you finally cleared your throat to get his attention.

He’d been cradling his head in his hand, but he snapped up to look at you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

He stared at you for a long moment before shaking his head, looking at the floor. “No, no, don’t worry. Am I in your way? I’ll move, just let me-” 

“Joel.”

At the sound of his name, he relaxed, slumping back against the wall with a sigh, scrubbing his hand down his face as he looked up at the ceiling. “I know.” He shrugged slightly, tilting his head back into the wall with a soft thump, rocking it back and forth. “I don’t know what it is. I can’t….” He looked back down at the floor for a second before his face screwed up. “Goddamnit!” His hand moved up to thread through his hair, tugging at the ends in frustration. “I don’t know what I’m doing. It was so much easier with-” Joel stopped with a shuddering breath, his eyes wide and frantic as they flew to you.

He’d done this a few times, started down a train of thought about someone or something in his past, but always stopped just before actually naming them. You couldn’t tell if it was a decision made out of pain or a desire to maintain privacy. Either way, you didn’t push it.

“She’s just being a teenager, Joel. That’s what they do. They drive you crazy, it’s kind of their job.” The corner of his mouth twitched up just slightly, but just as quickly fell back into the frown that twisted his face so painfully. “Didn’t you have teenaged girls in your family? Nieces? Distant cousins?”

He let out a wet laugh, swallowing roughly before he answered in a raspy voice, “Somethin’ like that.”

You leaned on the wall across from him, sliding down to sit on the floor, knees pulled tightly to your chest.

“Did you need something?”

His question pulled your focus back up to his face from the pattern of the weave of your jeans you’d been staring at.

“Yeah. I mean no.” He tilted his head in question. “I needed to come down and check on you two.”

He swallowed again, nodding. “Thanks.”

“Want me to go after her? We’re still learning each other, but we get along well enough. She’d probably listen to me. Maybe.” You grimaced. “I mean I hope so.”

Joel laughed softly. “Don’t do it on my behalf, you don’t need to villainize yourself, too. She needs to trust ‘least one of us.”

“She doesn’t think you’re a villain, Joel,” you groaned, getting back to your feet, taking his outstretched hand he offered in help.

“She sure don’t think I’m a hero,” he said lowly, his hand holding yours longer than it should, his thumb tracing your knuckles as he held your gaze. 

As you studied his face, eyes tracing the laugh lines by his eyes, the scars here and there, the strong angle of his jaw and light smattering of facial hair, you found yourself wishing he never actually had to let go. “I think you’d be surprised what people see when they look at you, Joel.”

He let go of your hand, taking a step back. Somehow you’d both gotten nearly toe to toe as you talked.

“I just need to get my jacket from upstairs then I’ll go look for her.”

He nodded, leaning back against the wall as you went back up to the attic.

Once you were back inside, you spotted Ellie at your desk, painting a little model plane you’d been working on. Looking over at the private entrance Joel had installed, you saw the door was not quite shut all the way. Smiling softly, you set your jacket you’d taken off the hook on the back of a nearby chair, then you walked over, shutting the door softly, clicking the lock into place. Closing the last few feet left between you, you leaned your hip against the edge of the desk as you watched her detail the left wing. 

It was weird to see her so subdued. Normally she was such a spitfire, something sarcastic or sassy coming out of her mouth at all times. You laughed every time she opened her mouth.

Keeping your voice quiet, you finally asked, “Wanna talk about it?”

She didn’t answer at first, but when she did it was as quiet as you had been. “Not really.”

You studied the way she painted the lines meticulously. “That’s fine.”

Pulling up a chair, you sat beside her, arm braced on the desk, head cradled in your palm as you continued to watch her in silence. 

The sounds of the town below you slowly drifted up through the open window. A songbird flitted by. Crickets began to chirp as the sun went down, and a lone owl hooted across the valley as the stars began to shine. One by one they started their march across the sky, twinkling in their dance with the moon, a slow procession of light for those of you left down below.

After a few minutes, you handed her the cup of water to rinse the brush. “He’s trying, you know.”

She rinsed and dried the brush, switching to the next color. A few more minutes passed before she answered. “I know.” 

After the wing was done, she rinsed the brush again and spoke while she dried it on the towel. “We need more paint. We’re running low on these basic colors. I could mix some of the others to make more, but they wouldn’t be quite right.”

“Okay,” you agreed softly. “I’ll see what I can do. There’s not much here in town, but I know there’s a lot out there left over from before.”

She whipped her head toward you, eyes wide in excitement. “Maybe you and I could go together to find some?!”

“No, no,” you didn’t even let her finish before you began objecting. “It’s not safe out there for you. You’re too young.”

She looked back down at the plane, her features immediately turning sour. “You sound like Joel.”

“Well, he and I agree on this.” Picking up the paintbrushes and moving them to the side, you leaned forward on both forearms, trying to catch her eye. “Do you trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Leaning back a little bit, you sighed. “You always have a choice, Ellie. You know that.”

“I know,” she grumbled. “I just…. Yes, okay? Yes, I trust you. Why?”

Pushing the chair back, you got to your feet, going to the door back downstairs. “Because I have a plan.”

“What is-”

Turning back to her, you raised one finger and wagged it at her. “Ah ah ah! You said you trusted me. Now do it.”

Opening the door, you stepped through, laughing when you heard Ellie’s muffled voice call through as you shut it, “This sucks!”

Making your way back downstairs, you found Joel at the dining room table, nursing a whiskey. 

“Do you trust me?”

“You know I do, why?”

Smiling, you sat in the chair beside him. “Ellie’s doing really well with her painting, isn’t she?”

His brows narrowed in question, but he answered. “Yeah….”

“Problem is, there isn’t a lot of paint here in Jackson, and she’s already running low on some of the basic colors.”

“I noticed. She was complainin’ about it last week. I was gonna look for some on my next run for her.”

Sitting forward in your chair like you had at the desk with Ellie, you leaned on your forearms as you started in on your idea. “Well, where I stayed before coming here is about a week out. I had a stockpile. All different colors, types, whatever she could want for a long, long time, it’s all there.” Joel’s eyes were wide, you could see his wheels turning. “If we could each take a horse, maybe even a small cart or something, we’d cut that time in half, be there in a few days, and we could go raid my old supply. I had some real specialty stuff, stuff she’d love. Craft brushes…. I just need someone to come with me to keep me safe. I know what I’m doing, but once everything is loaded, the horses will be slower and I need someone to watch my back. Whaddya say?”

He started to smile. “You had me at ‘stuff she’d love’.”

Xxx

The day to leave had come. You’d be leaving tomorrow to get your old stash while Joel watched your back.

You were about to close up the shop for the night when someone came in. 

Smiling up at the woman, your features softened when you saw the tired expression on her face. “Can I help you?”

The woman sighed, the most exhausted sound you’d heard in a while. “Yes! My daughter is sick, and I want to give her something to cheer her up. I can trade you some bread for it. Fresh made this morning.” Flipping a towel back on the small bundle in her left hand, a golden loaf of bread came into view, making your mouth water, the shop filling with the yeasty aroma and making your stomach growl softly.

You would have done it for free, given the circumstances, but since you were leaving the next day, the bread would be handy. And damn did it smell good. “Sure! How about something soft for her to hold while she’s laid up in bed?”

She smiled gratefully. “Sounds perfect.”

Pulling a basket down from a shelf that was filled with a few teddy bears Tommy and Joel had found on supply runs and you’d cleaned up, you set it on a table in front of the woman.

“Beautiful day today,” you said offhandedly, looking out the front window and smiling, your grin growing when you saw Joel appear across the street and wave at you through the window. You waved back, making the woman in front of you look over her shoulder to see what was going on. 

She heaved another sigh, rolling her eyes before turning back to the basket. “Don’t bother. That one’s never gonna crack.”

Your smile faltered, hand falling down to rest beside the basket as you looked at the woman in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She scoffed. “He’s a tough ass. I don’t think he’s ever smiled in his life. Probably made his mom cry when he was born. Something is just off about him.”

Snorting a laugh, you shook your head. “That’s crazy. I live with him.” You paused, ignoring her raised brows as she looked at you through her lashes. “Well, above him. In his attic.” Turning your head just slightly, your face twisted at the way that sounded, too. “But not, like, in a creepy way. His brother set it up.” You tilted your head to the side, staring out the front window, before turning to look at the woman point blank. “I’m renting a room from him.”

The woman looked up at you in pity. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not so bad.” You shrugged, reaching out to straighten the ear of one of the bears.

Resting her hand on your forearm, she gave it a gentle pat. “That’s the right attitude.”

After she picked her bear and you had the bread, you locked up and walked across the street to meet Joel. “Got some extra food for the trip.” You held up the loaf with a grin.

“Good. We’re gonna need it,” he grumbled, his face a sour expression, hands in his pockets as you both turned toward the house.

“What bit your ass?”

“Tommy mentioned to Maria about our little trip. The council didn’t want to lend us the horses for ‘just paint’.”

“Okay. So now what? We walk?”

“No,” he ground out. Turning the corner by the stables, you found a group of people buzzing around, preparing bags and supplies for them and their horses. When you looked back up at Joel, he sighed, speaking lowly. “We have company.”

Xxx

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[senorabond]

Rumor Has It: Chapter 3 Peña x f!reader x Pike

Pairings: Javier Pena x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Pena x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 3 Summary: After a bit of a brainstorm, you decide it’s finally time to call Marcus and get his opinion (he always has the right words). Javi has opinions of his own on the matter.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: no use of y/n, masturbation (f!reader), fantasizing (f!reader), drinking, Javi is a tired grump

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem!afab; No mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color.

Words: 4k

Author’s Note: A big, big thank you and all the hugs and kisses to @kilamonster for being my beautiful beta reader.😘 It is so fun to write Marcus and Javi! Even though they’re both very different characters, I think in some ways they’re actually quite similar. I’m really enjoying how the different dynamics between Reader and Marcus/Javi are developing. I can’t wait to get these three in the same room!!

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

Present Day Texas “Thank you for being such a good girl for me, sweetheart. I had to taste you at least one more time before you leave...” Reality falls over the room like a weighted blanket, and you let your engaged muscles go slack against the lit surface of the table, suddenly harsh and blinding. You feel exposed instead of exhibited and you squeeze your thighs together as the final flutters of your orgasm subside. 

“Hey, come back to me,” you hear Marcus murmur, and feel him turn your face to meet his. He kisses you slowly and deeply, and you taste your tang on his plump bottom lip. He presses his forehead against yours and you share a couple of breaths. 

“I’m not done with you yet.” 

~~~

You lay on your bed, panting, muscles loose and heavy after coming down from the incredible orgasm you just gave yourself. That memory from your last time with Marcus left you dripping and clenching around your fingers. It was still one of the most erotic experiences of your life. Marcus had a way of making the rest of the world disappear, with an intensity focused solely on you and your pleasure. It could get overwhelming at times being the center of his attention. Old insecurities could easily flare up, making you feel unworthy of that kind of devotion. 

Not ready for that level of self-awareness, you turn your attention back to the case file contents spread across the other side of the bed. Some of the papers were strewn about the floor – they must have fallen off the bed while you were otherwise occupied. Before you could refocus on the case you decide to take a shower and wash away the distracting memories. 

In your effort to rid your mind of Marcus’ mouth and hands, your sex-soaked brain brings up thoughts of Javi’s mouth and hands. Standing under the cascade of water, you imagine what it must feel like to have Javi’s hands running over your wet body, soaping up every inch of you, kissing and sucking at your neck and hardened nipples. You become engrossed in thoughts of what kind of lover he must be.

Javi likes to be in charge; that’s already apparent from your observations and the brief interaction you shared earlier that day. If you were his to enjoy, he’d push and pull, testing and stretching your limits he already knows you can handle. He likes to dance on the edge of temptation, prolonging the inevitable fall until you’re both drunk with desire. Javi wouldn’t take what isn’t willingly given; but, once you finally succumb, your mind and body would be consumed in his own immolation. He could get rough – all hands, lips, teeth, and cock – but not out of any desire to inflict lasting pain. Instead, Javier Peña loses himself, fully giving over to the raw physical sensations of your bodies moving together. It’s that utter immersion in one another that whites out the mind and drives the primal urge to take and be taken.

The shower turning suddenly cold is what jars you from your reverie with a slight shriek. Thankful for the snap back to reality, you carefully finish your shower with minimal exposure to the freezing water. You hated to think how long you’d been lost in thoughts of Javi. One interaction with the man was enough to drain your water heater – you hated to think what this case was going to do to your electric bill. 

Back on the bed in underwear, tank top, and a comfy sweater, you spread the case notes around you in a semicircle. There’s something niggling at the back of your mind, and you pick up the wiretap transcript again. The phrase “just a bunch of splattered paint” leaps out at you again, and you huff a laugh through your nose. You’d shared their sentiments about contemporary art not too long ago. You might have even considered it relatively simple to create a fraudulent painting, not knowing enough about the real deal to spot the difference. You know better now, after that little art lesson from Marcus, but… what if? 

The gears are turning a bit more quickly now and your gaze lands on Marcus’ t-shirt thrown haphazardly at the foot of your bed. This idea feels good - solid, but you don’t want to go spouting off half-baked schemes to Javier fucking Peña, not on your first real shot at making an impression in your new job. 

“Fuck it,” you mutter to yourself, and grab your phone before you can chicken out. Dialing the number from memory, it starts to ring and you nibble at the rough edge of your thumbnail. You’re about to give up hope when the fourth ring is interrupted and you hear rustling on the other end of the line.

“Hello?” His voice is a husky whisper, and something in your stomach coils at the same time as something else inside you releases.

“Marcus…hey.” The noise on the other line stills for a brief moment. 

“Hey, it’s uh-….” he clears his throat. “You okay?” He’s speaking low, almost in a whisper, and you hear more rustling, as though he were getting out of bed. Stricken, you look at the clock on your bedside table and see the glowing red numbers say it’s nearly two in the morning - your time. Which means it’s nearly three in D.C. 

“Shit, Marcus, I’m sorry.” You groan and drag a hand through your half-dry hair. “I didn’t mean to wake you up, I didn’t even look to see what time it was. I’ll let you go back to sleep–”

“No! No, really it’s okay.” His voice is closer to a normal volume now. “Everything good? Settled in alright?” 

You feel like an asshole. This is the first you’ve bothered to call Marcus since getting to Texas, and it’s to ask him for help on a case. In the middle of the night. 

“Uh, yeah. You know how it is, endless paperwork, getting to know my place in the pecking order, drinking the same shitty coffee.” He chuckles softly, and you realize how much you’d missed just talking to him. 

“Must’ve been on special,” he replies, and you can hear the smile in his voice. A brief, but comfortable silence fills the air, and then you both start talking at the same time.

“Listen, Marcus, I’m –”

“So what’s on your–” 

Both of you stop, then share an awkward laugh. 

Before you can lose your nerve, you blurt out, “I’m sorry I haven’t called.” 

The briefest of pauses, then, “Nah, you’ve been busy. I get it.” The guilt twists tighter in your gut. 

Marcus - ever the standup guy - had called a few times to check in on you since the transfer. Of course you wanted to talk to him, you just didn’t know what to say. After how you left things, what could you say? So, like a coward, you listened to his messages and missed them when they stopped coming a few months ago. 

With a heavy sigh, you lean back against your headboard, shame prickling at the backs of your eyes. This is why the transfer was a good thing after all, for both of you. Marcus deserves better than this, and deserves more than what you have to offer.  

“So, listen… I’ve got this case.” Talking about work makes it a lot easier to pretend like nothing is wrong. Clearing your throat, you launch into a brief overview of facts of the case and your ideas. Marcus is mostly quiet while he listens, chiming in occasionally with affirming murmurs and encouraging words. 

Once you’re done, you ask, “So what do you think?” 

“I think it’s a great idea.” The smile is back in his voice. 

“Yeah?” 

“Of course, I do. You’ve always had great ideas and insights, you’re smart as hell. That DEA agent is lucky to have you on the case.” A small smile spreads across your face at his praise. 

“Thanks, Marcus,” you say softly.

Marcus always had the right words. Listening closely, you can hear Marcus breathing gently and rhythmically, and wonder if he’s nodding off. A look at the clock shows that you’ve been talking for over an hour.

“I better let you go,” you murmur. An inhale, and his throat clears.

“Sure, okay.” His voice is lazy and groggy. You wonder if his hair is mussed from sleep, or if he’d been smoothing it down absently while you spoke. 

“Marcus?”

“Mhmm?” 

“Thank you, really. I owe you. And sorry again for waking you up.” You’re shuffling the papers and photos back into the folder with plans to organize it before you speak again with Peña. 

“You can make it up to me by calling back to tell me how it goes.” His voice is a bit more alert, his tone playful. 

A quiet laugh escapes you. “You got it.” 

“G’night,” he whispers.

“Good night, Marcus.” Laying your phone down, you crawl into bed and switch off the light. For once, your mind feels quiet, calm. It’s not long before you drift off.

***

Marcus smiles to himself as he slides quietly back into bed. The prone form next to him stirs and an arm drapes across his middle. 

“Everything okay?” A sleep heavy voice asks. He rubs the slender arm and feels the press of his girlfriend’s warm body against his back.

“Sorry to wake you, go back to sleep.” She kisses the back of his neck and gives him a squeeze.

“Who was on the phone?��� 

“Just a work thing, nothing to worry about,” he murmurs, and entwines their fingers. Her breathing evens out again as she falls back to sleep.

Marcus feels a small pang of guilt, but shakes himself out of it. This was the first time in six months he’d heard from you. And it was just a work thing, nothing more. Besides, you were the one who wanted the transfer in the first place, and made it perfectly clear you didn’t want anything else.  

He’d be lying to himself if he wasn’t a little bit apprehensive about who you were going to be working with. Marcus knew Agent Peña’s reputation - there wasn’t a federal agent who hadn’t heard about the guy who took down the Escobar and the Cali cartel. The DEA agent was a bit of a lothario, if the rumors were true. 

Not that it was any of his business anymore. The two of you were never exactly exclusive, and that arrangement, for lack of a better word, was long over. He was in a steady relationship now – and happily, at that. Nevertheless, your phone call had come as a surprise, but not an unwelcome one, if he was honest. After mentally spinning his wheels for long enough, the ghost of your voice in his mind is enough to finally lull Marcus to sleep. 

***

The Next DayTexas

Buying art with dirty money is usually just as simple as buying it with clean money. The biggest difference is whether your wealth has accumulated via legal exploitation of the working classes. Buying art to launder your dirty money is also easy, especially if you're working with a crooked art dealer. 

Say you're a shady broker looking to turn a tidy profit as a side hustle to your legitimate business dealings. It wouldn't be difficult to locate clients on either side of the law. You would simply sell the same piece of art twice – first to your accomplice, then again to an unwitting buyer with clean funds. 

Naturally, the second sale would be at a substantial mark-up. You would come away with a decent chunk of the profits for your fee, and your accomplice would leave with their money freshly laundered. It becomes more complicated if your schemes go international, but also more difficult to trace. 

These are the basic building blocks of art money laundering you learned from working with Marcus. Criminals take advantage of gaping legal loopholes and the opacity of the art economy. “You have to know a guy – who knows a guy,” Marcus always used to say. You suppose it works the same way in a bureaucratic government. 

Your normal caseload and paperwork has taken up so much time, you were surprised to see the sun beginning to set outside the break room window the last time you went to refill your water bottle. The rest of the office has already cleared out, but you want to review your notes on Peña’s case one more time while it’s quiet. Agent Peña said he’d drop by to talk about the case, but the day must have gotten away from him too. 

Some time later, you’re packing up your notes and other belongings, planning to swing by Peña’s office on your way out. You’re bent over to retrieve your bag from your bottom desk drawer when you hear a noise behind you. Turning to look, you give a little jump at his sudden presence.

“Good, you’re still here,” he remarks without acknowledging your surprise. His eyes are a bit puffy and bloodshot from fatigue, and his suit has the rumpled look of being worn far too long. Peña lets out a breath, “Thought I’d missed you.” 

You want to ask him how long he stood there with you bent over in front of him, but the man looks exhausted. Instead, you say, “You almost did. Long day?” 

“You could say that.” Peña’s shoulders seem to labor under a heavy weight.

“We could talk tomorrow instead,” you offer, even though you really want to get this over with before you lose your nerve.

Peña frowns, shakes his head. “Tomorrow will just be more of the same. Let’s do this now.” 

“Look, Agent – with all due respect – I don’t want to waste more of my time going into this if you’re too drained to go over it right now.” Frustration churns under the surface, but you’re trying to remain professional. Peña sighs and sinks his weight onto one hip. He won’t say it, but he knows you’re right. The man looks like he could benefit from a medically induced coma, and you don’t want to waste your breath if he won’t even be able to listen properly. 

“Let’s go somewhere else to talk then. I could use a drink.” He walks away without another word and you force yourself to take a breath before following. This case is going to test every last ounce of your patience.

A half hour later, you and Agent Peña are settling in at a small table in the back of a dive bar several blocks from the office. You recognize a few other feds, but nobody really acknowledges each other. Most of the bar’s patrons are glued to one of several screens showing different sports games, and the droning of various commentaries become part of the bar’s ambience. Peña is at the bar ordering drinks for the both of you, and you think that might be his small way of atoning for his general demeanor earlier. His suit jacket has been traded out for a leather coat so well-worn, you imagine he’s had it for decades.

Drinks in hand, the agent saunters back to your table and sets yours down before he sits with a heavy groan. You told him you’d have whatever he was having, so the glass of whiskey on the rocks in front of you isn’t a surprise – but the smoothness of the first sip certainly is. Peña didn’t go for bottom rail liquor, which you appreciate. The burn in your throat travels to your stomach, where warmth begins to bloom pleasantly.

Peña is silent, slumped back in his seat, but his eyes actively scan the room and all its entrances and exits. That kind of spatial and situational awareness would have served him well in Colombia. You’ve seen that kind of thing become second nature to seasoned veterans like Peña. 

You’re determined to wait for him to speak first, but decide to give him a bit of a nudge by putting the case file on the table between your drinks. The warmth from your second sip of whiskey spreads down your limbs. You relax a bit more into your seat, then give in and gesture to the folder. “My notes are on the top, if you want to read through them.” 

Drink in one hand, Peña pulls the folder towards him and flips it open. He looks more relaxed now, not as tired. His eyes move over your hand-written notes; post-its stuck on the edges flag relevant information in the folder’s contents. Peña’s fingers wander aimlessly across the curves of his glass, trailing condensation around the rim. His mouth forms a pout of concentration, microexpressions flickering across his face as he continues to read in silence. 

You’re halfway through your two fingers of whiskey and trying not to jiggle your knee in anticipation when Javi finally speaks. “It’s a good idea,” he says, and downs the rest of his drink. “But it won’t work.”

“I’m sorry?” Taken aback, you look at him in bewilderment. “Why not?” 

“It’s too complicated, too many ways it could go wrong.” Javi gets the bartender's attention and gestures for a refill. “I know narcos, I know how they operate – this won’t work.” 

Out of all the possible reactions you envisioned Peña having, for some reason downright dismissal wasn’t among them. A prickle of embarrassment behind your eyes is quickly replaced with indignation. It’s tempting to get up and walk out, but you’d worked too hard on this to give up this quickly, this easily. 

Marcus even said it’s exactly what he would do, but Peña doesn’t know you already spoke with your contact at the FBI. And you’re not going to tell him that just yet – the last thing you want is for Peña to push you out the second you got your foot in the door. He wants the FBI? Well, he’s going to have to take you too. You need this to work. 

“Agent Peña–” 

“Javi,” he reminds you, making you grit your teeth. 

“You may know more about narcos than I do, but you said it yourself – you don’t know shit about art.”

“I don’t quite recall phrasing it like that.”

“You sought me out.”

He looks away and purses his lips.

“I know it was for my connection with the FBI art squad. And I’ll make good on my promise, I’ll make the call. But I won’t be edged out of this case once the boys with the fancy toys and the dollars to spend get involved.” Javi tries to interrupt but you continue. “If I’m in now, I’m in until the end.”

A server comes by to drop off Javi’s refill and you sit there, silently sipping on your drink, waiting. You’re prepared to walk away from this table if that’s what it takes to earn the respect you deserve. 

Javi’s eyes rake over you, leaving invisible scorch marks in their wake. His bold appraisal spikes your heart rate. You tell yourself the flush in your neck and face is from the whiskey, but you can’t ignore the pulsing heat between your legs. 

Javi shifts in his seat, then slowly leans over the small table. You’re close enough now you can smell the intoxicating mixture of his spicy cologne, the leather of his jacket, and nicotine from the cigarette he smoked on the way to the bar. Dragging his thumb across that plump bottom lip draws your gaze, and you briefly wonder what that lip would feel like between your teeth.

“Okay,” his voice is gravelly and low. “I just have one rule,” he starts, and you lean in closer to hear him, letting the din of the bar fade to nothing. Your knees graze his, and you jump slightly from the unexpected contact. A flash of pink catches your eye as his tongue dampens his lips. 

Javi waits for you to meet his gaze directly. Something about his intensity makes you feel naked and vulnerable, but not afraid. You meet his eyes – those damn eyes you could get lost in if you’re not careful – and have to calm your breathing once you see how dilated his pupils have become. There’s a crackle in the air between you, like static electricity. 

“What’s your rule?” It comes out practically as a sigh. Maintaining eye contact, Javi leans in even farther, making you retreat a fraction of an inch.

“I make the rules.” Javi looks at your mouth, then back to your eyes. “My case, my investigation, my rules. Simple as that.” He takes another sip of his whiskey, and wipes the remnants from his mustache. His head is cocked, his eyes never leave your face. 

Your mind bristles at Javi’s territorialism, but your body responds viscerally. Goosebumps break out across the exposed skin of your arms, your thighs squeeze together against an involuntary clench. You’re fighting the urge to rub your leg against Javi’s under the table like a cat. 

“You’ve got a deal, Javi.” The emphasis on his first name draws a wicked smile to his lips. 

“Glad to hear it. I think we’re going to work well together.” Javi lifts his glass in a small salute and you tap yours against his with a clink. As you both take simultaneous sips, you feel the unmistakable slide of his knee against your thigh. 

Before you do something you’ll both regret, you pull back to a safe distance and extricate your knees from his. Javi has the audacity to smirk at you over the rim of his glass and you down the rest of your whiskey in one gulp. The delicious burn revives you and you start to gather your things. 

“It’s getting late, I should go.” Javi finishes the last of his second whiskey and also stands.

“I’ll walk you back to your car.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s only a few blocks.” Throwing the strap of your bag over your shoulder, you grab your coat off the back of your chair. Javi doesn’t say anything, he just walks to the bar to close the tab. This fucking guy. “Really, I don’t need an escort.”

As he signs the receipt, he says, “I’m walking you to your car.” No malice, no anger, just stating a fact. Nodding goodnight to the bartender, Javi walks past you to the door and holds it open as you follow through. 

Biting your tongue against another protest, you instead huff like a sullen teenager and start heading in the direction of the office building’s parking garage. The two of you walk together in silence for nearly a block before you speak up.

“Why is that your one rule?”

“Hm?” Javi takes a second to register what you’re asking, his brain occupied elsewhere. “Oh, well – got to make sure things are done right. I make sure things are done right.”

You two walk in silence for another minute, but when you open your mouth to say something else, he says, “It’s when people get it in their heads that they know better, decide to do their own thing – that’s when people get hurt.” 

You nod in understanding – you were familiar with the kinds of things that happened in the U.S.’s South American operations.

The rest of the walk back to your car is in more comfortable silence, but that static electricity between you and Javi returns. It’s building as you open your car door and drop your things inside. Javi is standing close when you turn around, and this time there’s no table between you to act as a barrier. 

Clearing your throat, you say, “Thanks for the drink.” His eyes are in shadow now, the parking garage lighting insufficient to see how large his pupils are this time. 

“Thanks for your help on the case.” He props an elbow on top of your car door as you slide in and turn the key in the ignition. “Get home safe, cariño.” 

Surprised at the bold use of an endearment, you look back at the man as he closes your car door. There’s just enough light for you to see the smirk on his face as he turns and saunters off. 

Chapter 4 || SeñoraBond's Masterlist

Additional Author’s Note: I am beyond happy that there are others enjoying this story! I would love-love-love to know what you think. I really want to become a better writer, so any and all feedback is welcome! Thank you for reading! 💜

#senorabond writes #rumor has it fic #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #javi x reader x pike #pedro pascal character fanfic

[jo-harrington]

Announcement - Boundaries

I’d written this towards the end of 2023 along with my personal resolutions but figured no one would want to see this especially considering no one wants dirty laundry aired on the dash but I’ve been unfollowing and blocking enough people now that I’m making this boundary known to all.

I identify as someone on the asexual spectrum, I’m not sex-averse but it takes a lot of emotional work and build up for me to get into right headspace.

For the past few months, i have worried more about being supportive of others/friends as much as I can when they write smut blurbs than I have about my own well-being. I try to superimpose the Eddies/characters who I've already built connections with in my head when a blurb is simply smut with no plot. And honestly this has been the first fandom l've been a part of that the fan creations are so skewed towards smut and not stories first. I could be wrong about previous experiences or might have be that good at curating my experience previously.

At the end of the day, this is the boundary I’m drawing NOW.

Because now I feel like I've pulled a muscle. What I come across most often are people (friends, mutuals, etc. doesn't matter) who write an Eddie that is incongruous to the one that exists in my head and my heart (WHICH IS THEIR RIGHT AS FIC WRITERS) and it's getting harder for me to stretch just a little further to connect the two. Which leads to me reading things I can't enjoy. Not because they aren't well-written, but because I simply can't.

And it’s not just smut.

This goes the same for Steve fics, just…broadly. I'm never gonna be a Steve girl; just gonna say it. I know I've been a little contradictory in previous reblogs, but that really speaks to the talent of the authors (they know who they are) who are creating stories that allow me to develop a connection with him.

In both instances though, you can't fit a square peg into a round hole. I can try....it just might not work.

So I’m going to be a lot more picky with my experience. I can’t do it anymore. I used to tag things “I don’t always read smut but when I do…” and I’m gonna be going back to that. Even for my own writing, which I’ve always written for the target audience—myself—I will be a lot more purposeful.

If someone’s been blocked or unfollowed, it’s always been my philosophy that my blog is my home. And I need to only let people in who won’t make a mess of it. And at this point the wallpaper is in pieces, the furniture is upside down, my windows are broken, and there is no knob on the door. I need to rebuild. And I’m starting today.

[ash-and-starlight]

Ciao Ash I’ve been following your work super closely for a few years and I now feel like I can ask you this, especially since you seem to be so kind with everyone and always explain yourself so well!

I work in illustration and I’ve been drawing for 10 years. For the kind of illustration I do, I rarely have to draw characters. I can draw people, in a very detailed manner too (portraits and studies and such) but when it comes to incorporating characters in my illustration style, I just can’t seem to get it right. Especially with characters who don’t exist so if I want to do fanart, I always have to do it in a way that is not very coherent to my illustration style. Which is unfortunate since I’m in a lot of fandoms and would really like to make fanart I like.

I rely on references a lot, so if I have to draw someone who exists in my style, I struggle and study and put a lot of work and time in but then I’m mostly able to. But characters from fiction? Absolutely not. I especially struggle with consistency: the character always looks different every time I draw them, no matter how many notes on their physiognomy I make…the fact that’s not a real person I can copy the features of on paper really hinders my practice. I also struggle with immediacy and synthesis: since they never look the same I always end up over - characterizing them and that is the opposite of how I illustrate.

How were you able to maintain such a consistent and stable look to these characters? Is there something I don’t know of or that I haven’t been doing and that I should? You really inspire me and I admire your work SO much! It’s remarkable how you built such a recognizable look.

Ti prego aiutami sto diventando pazzo in culo se non risolvo questa cosa voglio disegnare i miei blorbi !!!!

All the love,

Elio

Ciaooo aaa ty for the nice wordsss :’))

and ok i will try to answer as best as i can bc i’m not a professional in the slightest and also i basically have the diametrically opposite problem as you 😭 90% of my art is blorbo oriented i’m a blorbo artist first human being second. but it’s not like i have the charisma uniqueness nerve and talent to stray much from that.

ANYWAY that being said i’m sorry to give you the Very Hated answer of “u just gotta practice” but i think that’s true! i think drawing characters outside of studies (which are always nice and good etc) might not be something you’re used to, and u just need to stretch your drawing muscles a bit in that direction too!! style and consistency are something that develop organically, so i’m sure that if you keep trying you’ll look at your art one day and be like “oh shit this works!”

Usually when i draw characters i’ve never drawn before i make little studies/portraits to figure out how to draw them (evidence 1/2/3/4) which i think could be a pretty low stake way for you to practice? like maybe you can start off with one referenced portrait and then try to draw the same face from other angles but without looking at that reference and just try to figure out what are the important features that make that face recognizable? Expression sheets are another way u could do this, and then you’d have a nice self made reference board for next time.

or you could start smaller and draw different shapes of eyes/noses/mouths etc to get the hang of it, and once you’re satisfied start building your character with the features you’ve drawn

lastly i cannot stress this enough draw that blorbo NOW!! get fucking obsessed with that freak!!! let them fuel you with the brainrotting blazing passion of 28473 suns and you’ll manage to draw a hundred beautiful faces without even noticing

spero che tu riesca a cavar fuori qualcosa di utile da questo sfaso 😭 in ogni caso sono sicura che riuscirai a disegnare i tuoi blorbini devi solo smadonnare un po’ quando necessario e andare avanti 💕

grazie mille ancoraaaa mwah

#GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR ART ENDEAVORS I HOPE U CAN FIND SOMETHING USEFUL IN THIS!! #ash replies

[pedroscurls]

Always Been You (Part 5).

Character(s): no-outbreak!Joel Miller x fem!Reader Summary: Sarah is at a sleepover, which gives you and Joel one-on-one time and lines get a bit blurred. Word count: 2,760 Author's Note: Doing a bit of a time jump, hence the Pedro SDCC gif. Joel's now 30 (which makes Sarah 9 and Reader about 27). I wanted to develop more of Joel and Reader's relationship and show how much both of them are head over heels for each other. I hope you enjoy this intimate, "will they, won't they" slow burn of a chapter before we get into the nitty gritty angst...😉 Warning: drinking (two people slightly tipsy, buzzed), light touching, basically the concept of this chapter is a "drunk mind speaks a sober heart". song: Can't Help Falling in Love by Haley Reinhart SERIES MASTERLIST

It had been two years since you and Joel met. There were moments where you weren’t sure how you could keep your feelings for him to yourself, but you had to constantly remind yourself that you didn’t want to ruin such a strong friendship. Joel had seen you at your lowest, always by your side whenever you needed him and you didn’t want your feelings to make it complicated. If the only relationship you could ever have with him was being just friends, then you didn’t want to risk losing him by telling him how you felt.

You didn’t want to take the risk in potentially being more than just a friend because what would happen if it didn’t work out? It was something that occupied your thoughts. You just had to keep reminding yourself that being just a friend was worth it, but as the years passed, Joel started to fill out a bit more; more broad, more rugged, and you always found yourself staring at him for longer than you should have. 

In the beginning of your friendship, you thought Joel felt the same way. The way he would look at you, the lingering touches, always helping you clean up your coffee shop… But he never admitted his feelings either; you just assumed it was because he was being a good guy. 

But what you didn’t know was how much Joel truly loved you. He knew he loved you months after you met. He loved your kind and welcoming nature, how even when you were grieving your failed relationship, you still had a smile on your face. But it was the moment you met Sarah was when he realized the magnitude of his feelings. Joel hadn’t felt like this in so long: the way seeing you smile made his stomach do flips, or hearing your laugh had a warm sensation settle in the pit of his stomach, or the way you would look at him or Sarah made his heart skip a beat. 

Joel was deeply in love with you, but he was too afraid to say anything, too afraid to ruin the friendship you both built together. It wasn’t only you and Joel that was in the picture, it was Sarah too. So instead of taking the risk, Joel was fine at keeping you at a distance, fine with being just friends. 

Tonight, Sarah was at a sleepover and you invited Joel over to your apartment for dinner. You made spaghetti and set it on your dining table before you heard your phone ring. You answered it and told Joel that you would be downstairs in a second. Once you hung up, you ran a hand through your hair before descending your stairs to go into your coffee shop. Joel was standing outside with his hands in his pockets and you let your eyes run across his broad back, noticing the white shirt stretch as you observed the muscles beneath the fabric. 

When he turned around and your eyes met his, you felt a blush appear on your cheeks. Opening the door, you led him inside and locked the door behind you. 

“Hey,” he said, giving you a hug. 

“Hey, cowboy,” you smiled, returning his hug. “So, Sarah’s at a sleepover, huh? You finally let her go to one?”

“It took a lot of convincing,” he chuckled, following you past the espresso machine and towards the back door to lead towards the stairs that led to your apartment. 

“Miss her already?” you teased. 

“Oh, more than you know, darlin’.” Once you unlocked your apartment door, you watched him step inside to remove his boots. He let a smile line his lips at the smell of food wafting in your apartment and he walked towards your dining room, seeing the food on the table. 

“Wow, you been holdin’ out on me.”

“What does that mean?” you chuckled, turning the lights on. 

“All this time you can cook and this is the first time you ever cooked for me?” 

You rolled your eyes, gently slapping his arm. “That’s only because I just started learning to cook, so if it’s not good, don’t blame me.” 

“Well, it smells delicious, darlin’.” 

You grinned proudly and walked towards your kitchen, barefoot. Joel let his eyes rake across your frame, biting the inside of his cheek as he noticed your exposed legs with the shorts you were wearing paired with an oversized hoodie. You looked so comfy, yet all Joel wanted to do was run his hands across your legs and find out if you were wearing anything underneath your sweater. 

“Hello?” you asked, turning to face him. “Did you hear me?”

“M’sorry, what was that, darlin’?” 

“Want a drink?” you repeated. 

“Sure, I’ll take a beer.” 

“I only have tequila.” 

“Oh, it’s gonna be one of those nights, huh?” Joel smiled, walking towards you. “Too bad you don’t know how to make a Long Island,” he teased.

You looked up at him and shook your head, sticking your tongue out at him as you let out a quiet laugh. You grabbed two small glasses and poured two shots of tequila in each glass, handing one to Joel. You raised your glass in the air, clinking your glass with his. 

“To…”

“To us,” Joel said, bringing his glass to touch yours. “And to you learning how to cook.”

You smiled and brought the glass to your lips, downing the drink almost instantly. Joel followed your movements and set the empty glass down on the counter. You led him back towards the dining room and sat down, grabbing his plate and beginning to place a good portion of spaghetti.

“Thanks, darlin’,” Joel smiled. 

You handed Joel his plate and began placing food on your own. Once you looked up at him, Joel twirled the spaghetti around his fork and lifted it to his lips. You watched him with a hopeful look on your features and once he let a quiet groan leave his lips, you let out a relieved sigh. 

“Good?” 

“Amazing,” Joel replied. “This your first time making it?” 

You nodded. “It’s my grandpa’s recipe. I guess I just never found the reason to make it.”

“Until now,” he added.

“Yeah, until now. I guess you’re special,” you teased.

Joel smiled. “Oh, I know I’m special, darlin’.”

—

A couple of hours later, you and Joel were sitting on the couch in your living room. Music filtered your apartment as you both sipped on each of your glasses, the bottle of tequila sitting on your coffee table. You were subconsciously moving closer and closer to him, craving his warmth and his touch. 

Joel was generally able to hold his own whenever he drank, but it wasn’t often that he drank hard liquor. Joel was more of a beer-type-of-guy. He noticed you moving closer and closer to him and his mind was swirling with thoughts that were highly inappropriate. His eyes were glassy, staring deeply into your own as he continuously dropped them to look down at your lips. 

It was obvious that you were both feeling the effects of alcohol and when you reached out to touch his arm, Joel felt a sudden surge rush through his body. He downed his drink and set it back down on the coffee table. He needed to give himself some distance from you because while he wanted you so badly, he didn’t want you in this way. 

You were both buzzed and he didn’t want you making a mistake that you were going to regret the following morning. 

When he stood up, you followed and increased the volume of the music. It was a slow song and just as Joel was going to say something, he felt you reach for his hand, tugging him towards you. Joel stumbled, his hands out reaching out to rest on your hips as both of your bodies were now pressed against each other. 

“Can we– Can we dance?” You whispered, your eyes lowering to his lips. 

“With you? Always, darlin’.” Joel then moved his hands to rest on your lower back, pressing you further against him as he felt your arms snake around his shoulders. 

Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can't help

Fallin' in love with you

You and Joel swayed back and forth to the song, staring into each other’s eyes. Your eyes kept drifting to Joel’s lips and you found Joel doing the same thing as well. You bit the inside of your cheek and moved your fingers to play with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Joel lowered to gently rest his forehead against yours, moving one hand to rub along your back. 

Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

Darling so it goes

Some things

Are meant to be

“Darlin’,” he whispered, lips hovering dangerously over yours. 

“Joel,” you replied, feeling his breath against you. 

It was hard for Joel to focus with you being so close, with your body pressed against his, and lips so close that all he had to was lean forward. 

You wanted this, wanted him, but there was still a part of you (the sober part) that didn’t want to ruin the friendship you built with him. You had fallen in love with Joel while on your own journey of loving yourself again and while he wasn’t something you ever expected, you found that he gave you the space to be who you wanted and empowered you to be you. 

Take my hand

Take my whole life too

Oh, for I can't help

Fallin' in love with you

Joel moved his hand to grab yours, gently twirling you and bringing you back against him. You let out a quiet squeak and moved your hands to rest on his chest, stumbling into him as he fell back on the couch with you on top. You bit your lower lip and quietly giggled, burying your face against the crook of his neck. Joel smiled to himself, moving his arms to wrap around your waist as he held you against him.

“You mean everythin’ to me,” Joel whispered. 

You looked up at him and moved a hand to his cheek, brushing your fingertips across his jaw, feeling his facial against you. Then, you gently grazed your thumb across his lower lip, seeing him part his lips and hearing him let out a shaky breath. 

“You’re my world, Joel. You and Sarah,” you said quietly. 

Before Joel could respond, he felt you snuggle against him. He didn’t want to ruin this moment and part of him was still afraid to ask you out on a proper date. Instead, Joel tightened his arms around you and decided that he would rather embrace this moment with you than ruin it with something that you both probably won’t have any recollection of tomorrow morning. 

The music continued to play in the background and Joel ran his fingertips along your back, feeling you snuggle closer to him. Joel let out a shaky exhale when he felt your lips brush against the side of his neck, but when he felt you shift, Joel had to tell himself not to get excited. 

“I feel like I can just fall asleep like this,” you mumbled against him.

Joel cleared his throat and nodded, turning his head to gently press a soft kiss on your temple hesitantly. “Then let’s go to sleep.” 

“Is this okay?” you smiled, your eyes falling shut.

“More than okay with me, darlin’. Good night and thank you for dinner,” he whispered.

You looked up at him and bit your lower lip, leaning in to give him a kiss against his cheek, catching just the corners of his lips. When you pulled back, you felt a blush appear along your neck to your cheeks before you decided to bury your face back against him.

“G’night, Joel.” 

Joel focused on the sound of your breaths, slowly turning his head to look down at you. He smiled to himself, bringing his free hand to brush your hair away from your face, gently brushing his thumb across your cheek. You looked so peaceful, so beautiful, and Joel found himself wanting more moments like this. It had been two years of waiting, two years of hoping that you would tell him you were ready to start dating, but still, Joel didn’t know what he would do if you were ready to get into a relationship again. 

“I love you so much, darlin’,” Joel whispered, his voice coming out very quietly. “You’re my dream girl.” He felt you shift against him and he sighed, shutting his own eyes as he tried to get some sleep. 

The following morning, you awoke to the sound of Joel’s snores. You brought a hand up to rub the sleep from your eyes, smiling to yourself at the sight of Joel. He had been working so much lately that you were sure he didn’t get much sleep, so you tried to quietly climb off of him to allow him to get more rest. However, as you moved, you felt his arms tighten around you.

“Mm, where ya goin’?” he whispered, voice deep and sleepy. 

“I’m sure this isn’t comfortable,” you chuckled. 

“This is the most comfiest I’ve been in a while,” Joel replied. “Can we just lay here for a few more minutes?” 

You smiled, seeing his eyes fall shut once more. You nodded and moved your head to rest back against his shoulder. You felt a slight throbbing headache against your temples and brief flashes of last night’s events came through your mind, remembering the dance you shared with Joel and the song that was playing in the background.

Joel was telling the truth. He hadn’t felt this comfortable and rested in so long and he had to wonder if it was because he had fallen asleep with you in his arms. He remembered last night so vividly: the song, the dance, the close calls and his subtle admittance of his love for you while you slept against him. 

Just as you and Joel were about to fall back to sleep, his phone started to ring. He let out a groan and opened his eyes, looking down at you and quickly pressing a soft kiss on the crown of your head that took you by surprise. You looked up at him and smiled, sitting up to help him up, hearing him groan as he sat up. 

“Not a word,” he teased. Joel grabbed his phone and answered it, hearing Sarah’s voice on the other end. 

“Yes, that’s fine, babygirl. I’ll see you later. Have fun. I love you, Sarah.” Joel hung up the phone and looked over at you, running a hand through his hair.

“Everything okay?” 

“She’s getting breakfast with her friend and their parents. Won’t be home until later.” 

“More rest for you,” you said, gently nudging you. “Which you really need.” 

Joel nodded in agreement. “I should probably head home then.” 

“Probably a good idea,” you said, standing up from the couch. 

Joel looked up at you, his eyes raking over your frame as he thought back to last night and how you had fallen asleep on top of him. Immediately, he felt his lower half stir awake as he cleared his throat. 

“Thank you for last night,” he said, standing up carefully and pulling you into a hug. “I needed it.” 

“We probably drank too much, but I had fun.” You wrapped your arms around him and let out a quiet sigh, smiling against him. “Let me know when you get home, okay?” 

“Of course, darlin’.” Joel pulled back and looked down at you for a moment, bringing a hand to rest on your arm. “Maybe we should fall asleep next to each other more often,” he teased. “I feel more at ease with you next to me.” 

You blushed and bit the inside of your cheek, leading him towards your front door as you watched him slip into his boots. “You know, I was thinking the same thing.”

Joel smiled. “Great, next time, we’ll do it at my place.” 

“Do what?” you teased, seeing him widen his eyes.

“Sleep together,” Joel said, immediately shaking his head. “I mean, sleep next to each other.” 

“I’m just teasing you, Joel. I know what you meant.”

Joel sighed, standing up and pulling you back into his arms. “You’re really my best friend, y’know.”

“And you’re mine,” you replied. “Forever. You’re stuck with me.” 

Joel grinned. “Now that I don’t mind.”

—

prev. - next.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #tlou #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller au #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller au fanfic #joel miller au fanfiction #tlou au #the last of us au #no-outbreak!joel miller #no-outbreak au #no-outbreak joel miller #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x f!reader (you) #story: always been you

[k-evans-reads]

In Living Color

Chapter 13 - Part One

Summary: When Natalie Marton, lead character designer for Buzz Lightyear, meets the voice of Buzz, Chris Evans, the sparks are undeniable. But when their work pushes them away from each other, both physically and emotionally, will the sheer differences between their worlds be enough to force them apart?

Pairing: Chris Evans x Pixar Animator OFC Natalie Marton

Word Count: 7,739

By: @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Warnings: Sexual content. 18+ ONLY. Minors DNI.

Previous | Main Masterlist | In Living Color Masterlist

October 4th, 2021

It was starting to grow dark when Chris finally was able to shut his laptop with a long sigh, stretching out his muscles from where he was sitting at the kitchen table. He hadn’t even realized just how long he’d been sitting in the same spot, going through Zoom meetings and answering emails for ASP, but he was finally finished for the evening and by the looks of his loving pooch who was gazing up at him hopefully, Chris wasn’t the only one who was glad that he was done. 

“Hey bubba, you ready for a walk? You ready to go, buddy?” Chris asked as ghosted a hand over Dodger’s head, scratching the fur there. 

Responding to his attention, Dodger’s tail started wagging and he let out a happy bark as Chris stood up from the chair and went to grab his leash and slid on his warm coat before heading toward the front door. The chilly evening air hit him as he stepped outside, happy to get warmed up once he started moving and walked Dodger down his long driveway. It had felt so good to be home, having arrived back in Boston a few weeks ago after meeting Nat’s family and had planned on going back to Los Angeles around this time for the last bit of voicework they’d needed to rerecord, but the schedule had gotten pushed back and allowed him to stay in the sanctuary of his home. Although it had been so wonderful having this extended time at home, it was a little more bittersweet than normal, wishing there was one other person here. 

He got pulled out of his thoughts when Dodger barked and started bouncing around his feet once they made their way to the end of the driveway. Chris couldn’t help but smile at the dog as he led him inside the fence of his large property, asking, “You want to run, Dodge? You want to get some exercise, you goof?” 

Chris only laughed when Dodger barked again and he unclipped the leash and then leaned against the fence. He fished the rubber ball out of his pocket and showed it to Dodger, getting his attention before throwing it with impressive force across the yard and sending the happy dog running. While waiting for Dodger to return, Chris pulled out his phone, finally responding to the few lingering texts, clearing all his notifications before he started mindlessly scrolling Instagram, flicking past the photos that filled his screen before stopping on one in particular. 

The caption had him laughing out loud as Dodger ran back over, bringing the ball that Chris threw again before he pulled up his text thread with Nat, quickly telling her ‘That’s exactly that I mean when I ask for nudes.’ 

‘Thought so ;)’ 

But the quick response only brought a melancholy feeling to his heart, hating that he didn’t even know when he’d get to hear those comical responses in person. They hadn’t made any set in stone plans, Chris being so happy here in Boston and Nat being busy with work, but when he flipped back to Instagram and saw that cute face, it only made that longing in his heart for her even worse than it had been. 

It wasn’t as if it was the first time he’d been apart from Nat, but somehow this felt different. When he had gone to Europe earlier in the year, they hadn’t been an established couple. Things were still a bit unclear and his feelings for her hadn’t developed to the level they were at now. He was so in love with her, in love with everything about her, and being apart from her felt like torture, but so did the thought of being away from home. As much as he wanted to just hop on a plane and go be with her, so much of his heart was here too. 

He’d been away from home for so long between beginning work on Lightyear in the spring, then jumping right to filming The Gray Man in Long Beach and all over Europe, then making a short pitstop to grab Dodger before he went back to Los Angeles until the end of September. After those hectic, stressful nine months, being back home at his house during his favorite time of year felt almost healing. He loved getting to run errands with his mom, go have dinner at his sister’s house, and hang out with so many of his lifelong best friends. He’d given up so much time this summer to be in California and although he wouldn’t trade it for anything because he got to spend that time falling deeper in love with Nat, he also wanted to be home, and right now he hated that he had to choose one over the other. 

That heaviness of missing Nat lingered over him as he walked up with Dodger back to the house, but soon it got replaced with a smile when an idea popped into his head. He quickly fed Dodger, getting the dog settled for the evening before he made his way over to the computer sitting on the table. Without a moment’s hesitation, he navigated to Jet Blue’s website, just as he began calling Nat on speakerphone. 

It rang a few short times, but Chris didn’t worry as he continued his search for a flight. Before long, Nat answered, “Hey baby.” 

He smiled at her greeting as his eyes scanned the webpage in front of him. “Hi Nattie. You off work yet?” He asked, eyes darting away from the screen as Dodger barked excitedly while he ate his food. 

“Yeah I’m just packing up my stuff,” Nat filled him in, shifting the phone around as she got ready to go. “I’m going to Mark’s house tonight and we’re going to get caught up on Only Murders In the Building because we’re behind on a few episodes.” 

“I still need to watch that,” Chris murmured half-heartedly. “But hey, guess what I’m doing right now?” 

“What’s that?” 

He grinned, clicking on a flight for that Friday night. “I’m booking you a ticket to come see me,” he told her as his eyes scanned the seat options. 

“What?” Nat asked him, her voice shocked and quiet as she suddenly stopped moving. 

“I’m getting you a ticket for this weekend so you can come out to Boston,” Chris explained, unable to stop the smile from growing across his lips as he selected her a seat in the first class cabin, one with a window, and then started filling in her information. “I was going to surprise and just text you the ticket, but I just couldn’t wait.”

But Nat sighed in frustration, her voice tense as she muttered, “Chris, I can’t come out.” 

He scowled, his eyes moving off of the computer screen to stare across the room as he incredulously asked, “Why not?” 

She scoffed, acting like it was obvious. “I can’t just drop everything at a moment's notice and fly across the country,” she explained, her voice raising before it dropped just as quickly. 

“It’s not like your flight is tonight,” Chris muttered frustratedly. He missed her and he thought she’d missed him as well, she’d been saying so the last two weeks. It was hard on both of them, going from being together every day to rushing phone calls in between meetings, but he’d been making this new relationship work, putting in the effort to make her happy, but right now? He felt like it wasn’t being reciprocated. “Don’t you want to spend some time out here? You’ve never even been out to Boston before.” 

Nat huffed again, a thud in the background before she spoke again, telling him, “Yeah but I can’t go on this short notice. Why don’t you just come to me?” 

“I’m so fucking tired of California. I really want to show you around here and just get to see you,” Chris whispered. He knew, in his heart, that the only reason he’d spent as much time in California these days was because of her. If Nat hadn’t crashed – literally – into his life, he would’ve quietly recorded the bits he needed to in Burbank before finishing the rest of his lines in New York throughout the rest of the summer and fall. He was open with anyone who asked about his hatred of Los Angeles at this stage of his life, with the bubble and hyperfixation on the lives of himself and others in his position, but he’d toughed it out through the early stages of their relationship, growing it behind closed doors and in the privacy of their homes. But he’d missed home, missed having a place where he wasn’t constantly looking over his shoulder, where he didn’t have to worry about having at least five phones on him anywhere he went. He could fly relatively under the radar here and he’d never take it for granted, but more than anything, he wanted to be here with Nat, get to hold her hand as they went for a walk on the trails with Dodger, and go grocery shopping together. It was something they’d yet to actually have the luxury of doing yet, but here they could.

“Well I kind of have a job I need to go to everyday,” Nat began, snapping Chris out of his thoughts. Her voice was low, frustrated, and verging on angry at him. 

He leaned back in the dining chair, pulling the baseball cap off of his head and running a hand through his thick hair. “I was going to book it for Friday night and have you come back Sunday night! You wouldn’t even miss any work,” he tried to explain, almost begging her to take it. 

He could practically see Nat rolling her eyes as she questioned, “Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said lately about how I’ve been having to work late and most Saturdays because we’re behind on Lightyear?” 

Chris sighed, knowing that she’d spent a lot of her time at the Burbank offices lately, even on the weekends. They were approaching the last big deadlines with the trailer’s impending release, but most of all…. He just fucking missed her. He missed her so much it was blinding him and he nearly pleaded, “C’mon Nat, it’s not like you can’t get one fucking day off.” 

Nat was quiet for a few dangerous moments until she wondered, “I just don’t understand why you don’t just come see me.” 

“Do you realize how much fucking time I’ve spend in California for you already?” He asked, regretting it the moment he said it. He was hurt at her outright refusal, not even giving his offer a second to linger before she shot him down. He’d realize later how much of an asshole move this was, this lashing out, but right now, all he could see was hurt and red. 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t realize that I’m such an inconvenience for you,” she told him slowly, sarcasm dripping from her voice. 

He rolled his eyes as he stared at the ceiling, his jaw clenched in frustration. “I never said that but you’re the one who isn’t putting any effort into this relationship right now,” he ground out. 

“Chris, I’m not doing this again,” Nat hurriedly said, sighing before she scoffed. “You’re acting like a spoiled baby because you decided something without asking me and I said no. You can call me back when you get the stick out of your ass.” 

And with that he heard a click on the other end of the line as she hung up the call. He couldn’t help but squeeze the phone in his hand, trying to relieve some of the frustration inside him but it didn’t seem to help any. All he was trying to do was something nice for her… for them. It had been almost a month since they’d been together and hearing her hesitation made him feel as if she didn’t want to be with him and stirred up all his insecurities and anxieties that she’d realize just how complicated this relationship was with a person like him with his crazy schedule. 

He kept fuming as he closed his laptop and tried to busy his brain by pulling out some food for dinner. Nothing could stop the noisy thoughts in his brain while he started whisking the eggs but suddenly his brain reminded him of that one phrase she said that didn’t make sense at the moment when she said ‘I’m not doing this again.’

Although it hadn’t made any sense before, it suddenly did when he recalled his last deep in-person conversation with her. Chris recalled laying on his large bed in California listening as Nat spilled her heart out to him about Shane and what had broken them. He remembered her saying how he hadn’t valued her job, just expecting her to drop and give up everything for him and what he wanted and it suddenly made sense why this triggered Nat more than he would have ever have imagined. And just thinking of himself causing any bit of pain like what Shane had caused made him feel like the biggest ass in the entire world and had him grabbing his phone and clicking the call button. 

He worried that with each passing ring, she’d let his call go to voicemail. But at the final moment, she answered, silently. He listened to the background noise on the call, able to tell she was in her car now, and breathed, “Nattie, I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t want you to say it just because I’m upset, Chris,” she replied coldly, her voice so unlike herself. 

“I mean it, baby. I’m so sorry,” he repeated, leaning his back against the counter as he held the phone to his ear. “You were right, I was being really insensitive to your schedule and your job.” 

She was quiet until a shaky breath left her lips and she told him, “I forgive you Chris, but I just want you to understand that as much as I want to be with you all the time, I can’t just drop everything to come see you.”

“You’re so right and I’m sorry. I just had a shitty day and a lot of horrible meetings and I let it impact me,” he explained. He’d had a pounding in his temples all day, likely due to his busy schedule, a couple of frustrating calls, and not drinking enough water earlier, but it was certainly no excuse for how he’d treated her. It wasn’t up to Nat to put up with his bullshit, to put up with taking the brunt of his frustration. He was allowed to vent to her, but he was never allowed to mistreat her because he felt like shit. “I just wanted you and I got excited at the thought of seeing you and I put what I wanted above you and I’m sorry for that.” 

“It’s okay, Chris. My job just isn’t one that I can take off, especially not right now,” she explained, her voice much kinder than it’d been only a minute earlier. She sniffled before continuing, “I want to see you too, but just talk to me first next time, don’t assume.” 

“I promise I’ll work on it,” he assured her, before glancing at the calendar near his fridge, eyes scanning the month. “How about Halloween? Would that be enough notice to ask for time off?” 

Nat took a moment to think, then replied, “I think it would be, but let me talk to Jamie tomorrow and I’ll let you know.” 

He nodded to himself, moving to the stove and turning the burner on before he moved the eggs into a pan. “Okay, that sounds good,” he responded, his cheeks burning in shame as he thought over his actions. 

“Chris…”

He raised an eyebrow as he balanced the phone on his shoulder and stirred the eggs, brow furrowing as he heard the beep of his security system. “Yeah?” He asked, keeping an ear out as Dodger ran to greet the visitor. His shoulders relaxed as he heard his mother’s voice in the front hall as she spoke to Dodger, but then turned his attention back to Nat.

“I want you to know that I really want to be with you too. I love you so much and I just…” she paused, struggling to find the words before she continued, “miss you a lot.” 

“I love you and I miss you too, Nattie. So much,” he assured her, staring down at the burner as Dodger led his mother into the living room and den. “I’m so sorry, Nattie.”

They exchanged quiet goodbyes before he promised to call her again later that evening, and within seconds he’d hung up the phone. He put it down with a sigh, willing himself to finally relax his tense muscles, but he was all too aware of his mother’s gaze. 

“Hey Ma,” he turned, shooting her a half-smile as he kept cooking himself dinner. 

“Hi honey, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to bring that package that you had sent to my house,” she smiled sheepishly, raising the small Amazon package in her hand before she put it down on the butcher block island in front of her. She raised an eyebrow, voice kind but curious as she mentioned, “I take it something happened between you and Nat, huh?” 

“Basically I was being an ass and she called me on it,” he shrugged, knowing Lisa wouldn’t sugarcoat things. “I’ve just been missing her like crazy and was going to buy her a ticket to come out to see me this weekend.” 

“Hasn’t she been working a lot on Lightyear though? Would she have time to come?” Lisa asked with a frown, the look in her eyes telling Chris enough about how selfish he’d been. 

“No, and that’s basically what we fought about,” he informed her, reaching for a plate before he served himself dinner. “I just was so busy thinking about what I wanted that I didn’t think about her.” 

Lisa just nodded as she listened to him, understanding with her years of life that people didn’t always react in the right way but had always told him and his siblings that all that mattered was being able to say you’re sorry and change your behavior, something he had tried to take to heart tonight. He moved the pan to a cool burner and turned the other one off as Lisa told him, “I’m glad she told you so though. We all need people in our lives to help us grow and see when we’re not doing things right.” 

Chris nodded, knowing how true it was and then let her know, “We talked about it and she’s going to see if she can maybe come for Halloween.” 

“That would be nice if she could. I’d love to meet her and I know Carly and Shanna do too,” He loved seeing the way his mother smiled, knowing that she genuinely meant it. 

“... I just miss her, Ma,” he sighed, sitting down at the island as he shook his head. “I hate being away from her for so long.” 

He saw Lisa pull out a barstool next to him and sat down, just watching him for a long moment before she asked with a soft smile, “You really love her, don’t you?” 

“More than I thought possible,” Chris answered without hesitation, turning his head to look at her, showing his mother the pure honesty in his eyes. 

“She’s good for you, I can tell.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“Because she pushes you. She doesn’t just let herself get run over by you,” Lisa said as he started eating his dinner but kept explaining, “And I’m not trying to say that you aren’t considerate of her, but your fame and schedule does have the capacity to either have people want to date you just for what they can get, or get completely steamrolled by it and it seems like Nat isn’t in either category.” 

“She’s certainly her own person,” he nodded, knowing just how true it was. Nat wasn’t someone who bowed to social pressure or ideas of what she should or shouldn’t be. She was unapologetically herself while still balancing a healthy view of knowing she wasn’t perfect and listened to people and situations that showed her where she needed to grow. Nat was the most sensitive, kind hearted, hilarious and beautiful person he’d ever known and there was nobody like her to him. “And that’s what I love about her.” 

He loved seeing the smile on his mother’s face as she commented, “I have a feeling that this one’s going to be around a while.” 

“I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that’s true.” 

October 28th, 2021

A soft sigh came out of Nat as she trekked through the airport, a heavy backpack on her shoulders, curls falling out of her messy bun and a small carry-on suitcase rolling beside her, occasionally bumping into her foot as her eyes turned bleary. She couldn’t believe just how tired she felt as she trudged through the busy airport, weaving in and out of people as she tried to follow the signs in the unfamiliar territory. 

She was finally in Boston, and although she was happy to be here knowing that Chris was somewhere outside waiting for her, the only thing she wanted right now was to lay down and close her eyes. With her being off work for a few days, she had so much extra work the past week, then add on top of it that they had been in crunch mode trying to make up for time they’d lost in getting behind on Lightyear, all Nat wanted to do was rest. She had worked the whole weekend previous, getting everything squared away so she could take off work early today and catch her flight. 

It had been over a month since she’d seen Chris and she wanted today to be special. She tried to change her flight to get out earlier in the morning but an unexpected meeting had shot that down. She had planned on swinging by his favorite bakery in Burbank on the way to the airport and picking up his favorite pastries to bring him, but the worse-than-usual Los Angeles traffic had ruined that plan. And finally, once she sat down on the flight and felt like she could breathe a sigh of relief, she had wanted to catch up on her sleep in the comfortable first class seat Chris had booked her, but the lack of comfort on the plane hadn’t allowed her to be able to fall asleep, leaving her walking out of the airport empty handed and exhausted. As she was trying to tuck away some of her wild curls that had fallen, she heard her phone ding, getting her attention as she looked down, seeing a text from Chris.

She knew how true his words were, not only for himself, but for her. She missed him so much. Life in California, even with the friends and relationships she’d formed years before meeting him, suddenly felt incredibly lonely. Chris wasn’t there, she’d dedicated so much of herself to her work. It felt as if she’d been running on fumes for a long time, putting in long hours in her office only to turn around, go home late, and keep working all night, only pausing long enough to talk to Chris for a bit before he headed to bed himself. 

Despite the way this trip had come about initially, she’d been looking forward to it for weeks now. It was the finish line after a long, tense month apart, and she’d breathed one small sigh of relief yesterday when the initial trailer release for the film went well, but now it was onto the next deadline, but not before her four day long weekend in Massachusetts with Chris. 

The exhaustion felt heavy in her body as she walked toward the SUV that seemed so far away, her Nike's scuffing along the pavement and she saw Chris, true to his word, popped the trunk for her. She knew why he wasn’t getting out, not wanting anyone to sneak a picture of him picking her up from the airport but Nat almost wished he could as she lugged her stuff into the trunk, the bags suddenly feeling so much heavier than they actually were. After quietly loading her things in and closing the trunk, she pulled open the passenger door and climbed in, but when she turned her face, it suddenly felt as if that weight slid right off her shoulders. 

She saw Chris sitting in the driver's seat, a warm flannel on and his brown hair fluffy and longer than it had been last time she’d seen him. There was a sparkle in his blue eyes that she could see even in the dark evening but it was the soft familiar smile on her lips that made her feel like she was home. Nat saw him look around, seeing the empty area around them before he reached over to rest a hand on her cheek, leaning in to connect their lips for a first time in over a month. 

Nat hadn’t realized just how deeply his absence had affected her, but the comfort she felt when his arms wrapped around her the best he could from his spot in the driver's seat. She could finally smell his musky scent, hear that loud hysterical laughter from right next to her, and feel his loving touch. Although she didn’t know it, Nat had surprised Chris with her behavior. He had expected her to be her normal bubbly self, bounding to the car and shining that giant smile at him while she cracked some ridiculous joke that made him crack up. But instead he felt her clinging to him as she quietly cried against his shoulder. 

But she couldn’t help it. She just was so happy to be with him, so happy to be loved by him, and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face deeper into him as she told him, “I missed you so much.” 

“I missed you too, Nattie,” he murmured, his low voice a welcome sound. “I love you so much.” 

She moved a hand to wipe her cheek but kept her face buried in him, simply replying, “I love you too.” 

At her sniffle, Chris pulled back, eyeing her carefully and asking, “Are you okay, honey?” 

“Yeah…” Nat shrugged, leaning back in the comfy seat as she wiped her eyes again before admitting, “I’m just really tired.”

“Then let’s get out of here and head home,” he smiled, reaching a hand over to rest on the center console. After she buckled her seat belt, he pulled away from the curb and headed to the highway, gently reaching for her hand as he drove. “So what’s been going on that’s made you so tired? Anything different than what you’ve told me?” 

She watched mindlessly as he drove, before she remembered to text her dad, letting him know she got to Boston safely. “No, just trying to get back on track with Lightyear and then being off to come here,” she explained to Chris. 

He chuckled, squeezing her hand and confessing, “I still can’t get over the trailer though, it looks so fuckin’ good.” 

“I’m really proud of it,” Nat admitted, knowing the sigh of relief she’d felt yesterday once Mark had sent her the link to the trailer online. “It’s nice to have that off my plate but now we’re onto the next deadline.” 

“I hope having a long weekend away helps you relax and not make things worse,” he whispered to her, glancing over at her before he shifted lanes on the – thankfully – nearly empty highway.  

Nat still couldn’t take her eyes off of him, almost in disbelief that he was right there next to her, that they’d made it this far after a hectic few weeks apart. “Coming here to see you is what’s gotten me through this month,” she explained, squeezing his hand before she let their hands fall against her leggings-covered thigh. “It’s given me a lot to look forward to.” 

He leaned his head against the headrest with a happy grin, his voice low as he assured her, “Me too.” 

She stayed quiet for several moments as they merged onto another highway, heading up towards his town in the dark, chilly night. They were content – listening to the low music playing as they intermittently chatted about a few things, until Nat remembered he’d been having a rough few weeks himself, with rising anxieties and a few crappy days. “How’s your anxiety been, baby?” She asked, her voice quiet in the otherwise calm car. 

“Honestly?” He began, sighing as he shook his head. “Pretty bad.”

She frowned, having hoped it’d be better lately. He’d been burning the candle at both ends with reading scripts for possible new projects, getting ready to film and produce a new project in the late winter, and trying to manage ASP with his other work projects. “Did you end up seeing your doctor yesterday?” She gently asked, knowing he’d been trying to make an appointment. 

“Yeah, and he changed my dosage on my medication so hopefully that’ll help,” he shrugged, leaning forward as he checked his mirrors and shifted lanes towards the exit for Concord. “I’m not sure what it is, but it’s just been fucked up this whole month, but it feels so good to have you here. You just make me calm.” 

“Well that’s a change because most of the time calm isn’t the word people use to describe me,” she couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “Normally the word is something closer to chaos.” 

“Maybe at moments, but when I’m with you it makes me feel like everything is going to be alright,” he shrugged, glancing over at her as he stopped at a red light just off of the exit. “I just love you Nattie, and I’m so happy you’re here.” 

“I am too,” she confessed, giving him a relieved smile. “I really am so excited to be here with you.” 

He moved their hands over to rest on his side of the console, gently lifting them as he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. They were quiet and content as he drove through the small town and onto the winding back roads until he pulled onto a long driveway, the headlights revealing a white farmhouse at the top of the small hill. 

He pulled into the garage, a yawn that turned into a sigh escaping his lips before he turned the car off and unlocked the doors. She barely glanced around the garage as she got out, too tired to do much else, but her eyes noted the muted green car sitting on the other side of the garage, tucked away from where he stored other things and the busier part of the garage. 

She didn’t even realize he’d grabbed her things before he gently guided her into the home, where a tired but still all-too-excited Dodger greeted her in the tile back hallway before he scampered into the house in search of his lion. The faint smile on her face grew into a large, surprised one when she saw a large, almost ridiculously so, bouquet of daisies and peonies on the counter next to a clearly brand new box of Cheezits and bag of Reese’s, two things she knew he was well aware of her love for. She turned to watch Chris as he headed further into the kitchen while she stood frozen in the large open archway, not shocked by the pleased grin on his face as he pulled out two glasses for them and began filling them with water. 

“Chris, did you get these for me?” She asked, moving forward as she stood on her tiptoes to see the entire bouquet, shaking her head at the grandeur of them. 

“Yeah,” he smiled, handing her the glass of ice water once he came to stand next to her, taking a sip of his own. 

“They’re gorgeous,” she breathed, then turned to look at him curiously. “Daisies and peonies are my absolute favorite.” 

“I know. I texted your sisters and asked them,” he admitted, his head hanging as he shook it from side to side before he sighed, straightening up and looking at her. “I just wanted to get you something to say just how sorry I still am about what happened before when I tried to buy you that ticket. I just didn’t-”

“Chris, please don’t,” she interrupted, putting the glass of water down before she placed her hands on his broad shoulders, staring him in the eyes. “Everything is fine. We worked it out and I’m happy to be here. I’m sorry if I’m not showing it more right now, I’m just so exhausted.” 

“It’s okay, Nattie. Don’t worry about it,” he whispered, his own hands coming to rest at the small of her back as he pressed his lips to the top of her head placatingly. “We’ll get a good night's sleep and you can have this whole weekend to unwind.” 

She sighed and shook her head, a grin crossing her lips as she heard Dodger running throughout the house and squeaking a toy. “My body still is on west coast time so it’s only eight to me,” she told Chris. She always hated traveling to the east coast, losing so much of her day to the flight but also jumping ahead three hours. It didn’t help that she and Chris had chosen a mid-day flight for her when the red eye likely would’ve been preferable for this case, but they already only had three full days together as it was. A good night’s sleep would likely fix all her issues, but her body couldn’t quite get with the program yet. 

Chris watched her carefully, his voice quiet when he finally nodded and mentioned, “But if you’re tired, we can go to bed whenever.” 

Nat considered his words for a moment before she shrugged. “Maybe I’ll just go take a shower first. I think that’ll help me relax,” she decided, leaning up to press her lips to his briefly before she moved out of his grasp, heading to grab her small backpack and carry-on from where he’d left them near the table. 

“I’ll go let Dodger out while you do,” he responded, whistling for Dodger and waiting by the back door. 

Dodger ran through the hallway, zooming past her to wait next to Chris. He’d just unlocked the door and was about to open it when Nat interrupted him. “Chris?” She asked, knowing she had a self-conscious look on her face. “I don’t know where the bathroom is.” 

Chris laughed loudly, shaking his head as he opened the door for Dodger and turned on the outdoor lights. “I can’t believe I forgot you haven’t been here yet. It’s right down that hallway, just go to my room and you’ll see it,” he told her, chuckling to himself while she moved to the aforementioned hallway, hearing him call out, “I’ll be there in just a minute.” 

She found his room at the end of a window-covered hallway, slipping her sneakers off just as she stepped onto the carpeted floors. This space, while very different from the also spacious home he owned in California, was so distinctly Chris still. The calming colors and decorations were present in both homes, but this room itself felt more like Chris than anything he had in California. While in the past he clearly considered California a home base, leading up to 2021 it’d become a stopover for him to spend a week or two at a time in while there for work. But this, this was his home, and it was obvious in the pictures of him, his friends, and his family on the walls throughout the years, in the sheer amount of clothes he kept in the closet that she snuck a glance in while heading to the bathroom, and in the clutter he had on the counters near the sink. 

Those thoughts stayed with her as she pulled clothes out of her suitcase and toiletries from her bag, then she stepped under the hot stream of water and let out a sigh of relief. The hot water soothed her aching muscles, the long day having taken its toll on her. Between working in the morning and the stressful previous weeks to the hectic afternoon and the uncomfortable flight, getting into that car with Chris was the first time she felt relaxed that day, and now here, in his ridiculously big shower, she felt at peace. 

She quickly rinsed off the travel from her body and cleaned herself up, brushing her teeth and pulling on her pajamas before she dried her curly hair and headed back out into the bedroom, unsurprised when she found Chris laying in the bed beneath the covers and Dodger at the foot of the bed. He was sitting up, his back against the headboard while he held a book in his hands, eyes scanning over the words as he intently read. 

Having shaken off a lot of her tension and tiredness in the shower, she finally was able to fully take in the sight of the handsome face she’d gone so long without seeing in-person. She was so thankful for technology, being able to facetime him and talk with him often, but it just wasn’t the same as being here with him. She noticed just how tired he looked too, knowing this had been a rough month on him and Nat realized just how much they both needed this, needed being together. 

But when Nat watched Chris turn his head to look at her now that she’d entered the bedroom, she saw the way he leaned his head against the pillow and gave her that soft closed mouth smile and Nat couldn’t help but feel weak at the knees. Seeing him in bed with the blankets pulled up to his waist, showing off his bare toned chest was reminding her that there were other things she had been missing too. 

She watched him close his book, setting it on the bedside table before patting the spot next to him, silently inviting her in. Nat climbed underneath the covers and curled up to his side, loving that she finally was able to feel his arms around her and the soft prickle of his beard when he pressed a kiss to her lips. She let her hand rub along his warm chest, feeling his firm muscles and soft chest hair underneath her touch before her hand kept climbing up farther until it came to rest on his bearded cheek when they finally pulled apart to catch their breath. 

“I’m so fuckin’ happy you’re here, Nattie,” his low voice whispered while he gazed down at her from underneath those long eyelashes. “I just love you so much.” 

And the honesty that was dripping from his voice had Nat melting in his thick arms, feeling more at home here in an unfamiliar place than she had for over a month. She let her thumb stroke his cheek, just studying his face while she reminded Chris, “I love you too. I missed having you hogging the bed at night.” 

Chris‘ eyes widened and he was incredulous as he asked, “Hogging the bed? Well I wake up in the morning and have to peel you off me!” 

But she simply shrugged and smirked, informing him, “Yeah, that’s because you hog the bed and I have nowhere to go but on top of you.” 

Hearing this made Chris throw his head back onto the pillows, moving a hand from her waist to slap to his chest while his eyes squinted up and he roared with his wild laughter. Nat felt as if her heart was being squeezed in that moment, loving that sound more than anything in the world before she told him, “You know I’m right.” 

“Well either way, I don’t really mind having you as my own personal blanket,” he conceded, moving his hand back to her waist and settling it on the slip of skin between the hem of her worn shirt and her pajama pants, moving his thumb back and forth mindlessly over her skin. 

“By the end of this weekend you’ll be singing a different tune,” Nat playfully muttered, raising an eyebrow as she leaned into his touch. 

But Chris shook his head, his low voice honest as he assured her, “By the end of this weekend I’m going to be ready to call Jamie and beg him for you to have more time off so I can keep you to myself.”

She couldn’t dwell on that thought for too long, couldn’t dwell on the fact that he yearned for her, desired her and couldn’t stand to think of parting ways after this weekend as planned. If she had, she’d likely get embarrassed and insecure, so she settled on simply telling Chris, “You’ve got me right now.”

“And I couldn’t be happier,” he confessed, smiling down at her as she leaned against his bare chest. 

All Nat could do was smile when he pushed some of the curls out of her face so that he could pepper little kiss all along her cheeks, nose and forehead, taking his time in doting affection on her. She swore in that moment that she could have melted right then and there but when he started kissing her lips again, Nat was convinced she really was melting right there in his arms. Ever since their relationship had started, she knew it wouldn’t be easy. It wasn’t as if Chris was the type of boyfriend who worked in a few offices down from her or came home from work everyday at five. He had a job that took him all over the world, brought him fame, pulled him in different directions, and created an insanely different lifestyle than anything she was used to. 

There were so many parts of it that were hard, but at the same time, so many parts just seemed so easy. She had never loved anyone the way she loved him. Nobody made her feel the way she did when she was with him and although there would be hurdles, she knew that loving him was the best thing that had happened to her. And now she was here, tucked in his arms beneath the covers of his warm bed in the place he called home and the tenderness of it made Nat’s emotions stir in the most beautiful way possible. She just wanted him, all of him and all that came with him and wasn’t planning on letting any of it go anytime soon. 

She felt his arms tighten as he kissed her deeper, their tongues wrapping around one another as they kissed over and over again. Although their argument they had earlier in the month had been resolved once they talked it through, it still had been hard for Nat. She always had been a tender and sensitive person, craving physical touch as her favorite love language and not being able to have any of those soft touches after arguing had been hard on her, not to mention the almost month and a half it’d been since they were together. 

But now it was different. She was here with him and getting all of the love and affection she’d been missing so dearly. It had so much love stirring for him and Nat couldn’t help but let her hand wander down his firm chest and grazed over his boxer briefs. The touch had Chris softly pulling his lips away from hers, panting as he caught his breath and looked down at her, wondering, “I thought you were tired, honey?” 

“I just want to feel you,” she whispered, her hand moving through his thick, longer hair, relishing in every sensation she felt after their time away from each other. 

Hearing the tender comment had Chris smiling sweetly while he pressed a few more sweet kisses to her lips before he grabbed her waist and moved her into his lap. Nat let him adjust her, sitting between his legs and resting her back up against his chest. Chris dragged a hand over her shoulder, pushing her curls to one side so he could attach his lips to her neck, sucking and biting gently and making sighs pour out of her. Nat could tell that she wasn’t the only one who had missed this, feeling him growing harder as he kept making her sigh and whimper from his actions. 

He let out a ragged breath, his low voice nearly desperate as he groaned, “God, I missed those moans.” 

But he didn’t give her a chance to respond, his hands moving from where they were locked around her waist to slipping underneath her pajama top, sliding up until he could grasp each of her breasts in his big warm hands. His actions of squeezing and kneading gently, occasionally tugging softly at her perky nipples only had Nat moaning louder as she felt her arousal pooling. As if reading her mind, he let one of his hands slip down and work down the band of her pajama pants and panties, pushing them down around her thighs while Nat took them off the rest of the way, leaving them on the edge of the bed. 

Knowing where this was headed, Chris wanted to get her ready and used his free hand to grab her leg and hook it over his own before doing the same with the other, leaving her wide open for him and just the sight of it had his blood rushing south. Having each other close again was causing so many feelings inside them both but Nat couldn’t focus on all her tender feelings once Chris’ index finger pushed between her folds. 

She laid her head back against his broad shoulder while he slowly rubbed soft circles on her sensitive bundle of nerves, helping her wetness to pool before he could push a finger inside of her. Nat let a loud moan pour out, but it was quickly swallowed when Chris captured her mouth with his own, kissing her senseless while he pushed another finger inside her and started to gently stretch her. 

After being apart from him for so long, it just felt so good to feel the softness of his touch, she didn’t even care how. But the way he was dragging those fingers against her walls had Nat squirming in his arms as he slowly worked her body, making her melt against him as he kept up his movements. She wanted him close, every single inch of him and as much as she was enjoying this, she knew that she couldn’t wait any longer to have him. 

Nat reached down to move his hand, pulling it from between her legs before she moved to get onto her knees. She could see the inquisitive look that Chris was giving her until her hands grabbed the waistband of his boxer briefs and he quickly was clued in on her plans. He lifted his hips, letting her peel off the black fabric and leaving him bare to her. As much as she wanted to just take her time, being able to wrap her lips around him, she needed him closer. 

She put her hands on Chris’ broad shoulders while tossing her leg over his lap so she could straddle him, then reaching between their bodies to hold his hard length before she slowly lined him up and gently started sinking down. The feeling after so long apart had both of them moaning as she kept slowly sliding down his length until she was sitting on his lap. Her chest was heaving with her heavy breaths while Chris’ hands fell to her hips, his thumbs rubbing soft circles while she gently moved herself on his lap, getting his hard cock in the right spot. 

“Oh yeah, get comfy baby,” he murmured to her, a near smirk on his lips as her chest heaved with her deep breaths, almost overwhelmed by the feeling of him after over a month apart. 

Her arm was looped around the back of his neck while her forehead was pressed against his shoulder. She smiled faintly as he pressed a few kisses to her messy curls, relaxing in his embrace as she told him, “You feel so good.” 

“So do you,” Chris whispered, pausing as she shifted slightly in his lap.  “You’re so warm and tight, Nattie. Feels fuckin’ amazing.” 

Nat knew that she surprised him when she chose not to start bouncing herself on his lap, but right now all she wanted was to be close to him. She wanted every bit of them connected and just wanted to have the intimacy of feeling him fill her. Nat wrapped her arms around his neck, laying herself down on his chest while she buried her face in the crook of his neck and pressed a few soft kisses there. 

His warm hands rubbed along her back, kissing the top of her curls as he asked, “You just gonna warm my cock, baby?” 

“I just want to feel you,” she whispered, relishing in feeling him surrounding her, touching any inch of her he could, while he was tucked inside of her. 

“I love it, Nattie,” Chris admitted, his voice low and sweet, making Nat feel that much more relaxed and at ease. “I missed being inside you.” 

Hearing his words made her clench around him, causing a grunt to come from deep inside Chris’ chest, but neither wanted to move. With her face nuzzled in his neck and his thick arms wrapped around her back tightly, this was the moment they both needed, every single inch of them touching and feeling the deep love they shared without a single word being spoken. 

Wanting to feel him a little deeper, Nat kept her arms around his neck, holding onto him as she lifted her hips up slightly before moving back down as she arched her back to help get his cock nestled just a little bit deeper as Chris’ low voice praised her by saying, “That’s my girl.” 

And it was a good thing she was already laid out against his chest because that one phrase would have had her melting against him if she wasn’t already. With the arch of her back, she knew it gave Chris a good view of her bare backside and she figured he must have noticed when she felt him twitch inside her before one of his hands dropped to rest on her round cheeks, giving a few gentle squeezes before he rubbed her skin softly. 

Nat felt almost dizzy from just how good it felt, breathing in his scent, feeling those soft kisses to her forehead and having the comfort of his touch. But eventually once she began moving up and down on his lap and her lips met his again, Nat felt whole for the first time in over a month, knowing that the piece that had been missing in her life was right here. 

A/N: We are so excited to share their Boston weekend with you all!

#in living color #chris evans story #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fanfic #original female character #chris evans ff #chris evans x smut #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x oc #chris evans x original female character #chris evans x ofc #chris evans fic #chris evans fiction #real person fiction #chris evan fanfiction #real person fanfiction #chris evans writing #writing #chris evans smut #chris evans fluff #chris evans imagine #pixar au #real life chris evans #rpf #chris evans x original character #original character #ofc #cevans #christopher robert evans

[leidensygdom]

Ur strength is definitely color and line work. Something I would say needs some work is definitely your full body drawings and poses. Your poses are always static and rigid and (especially when in motion) it takes me a moment to figure out what the character is supposed to be doing. Your anatomy is fine, its the stiffness of the over all pose thats the issue. It makes your pieces lack energy and any real umph. Your beautiful use of color and line usually covers for this but for me (someone who also struggles with this) it pops out like a sore thumb.

To practice, id suggest doing gesture drawings (1 minute sketches of action poses) to really understand how the body moves fluidly and to practice capturing that energy. Id also suggest doing 5-10 minute studies of full body figures in which you specifically observe how the pose affects the distribution of weight. How the torso curves in relation to the pose (your torsos are often very vertical and stiff) and how their muscles, fat, and clothing stretch, bulge, or fold depending on the pose.

Try to keep things loose during these studies and focus on capturing the energy of the pose over perfect anatomy. Focusing on anatomy can often be a distraction and can actually detract from capturing the fluid movement of a pose when you are first learning. You dont want to be thinking about anatomy during a 1 or 5 or 10 minute study if that is not what you are trying to learn.

While doing gesture drawings, its important that you move fast and dont get hung up on details. Get the line of action in there and the general shapes of the figure. Focus more on the movement of the figure over anatomy or details. Feel the rhythm in the pose and do your best to capture it. Id suggest doing 10 or 20 of these at a time. Sites like Line of Action are great for studies like this.

For 5-10 minute studies you want to build on the rhythm you developed during the 1 minute studies. Again, you want to focus on the movement of the pose over the details. Keep shapes simplified and force yourself to think in the abstract. A vibe i get from looking at ur art is that you get focused on the small details while losing sight of the big picture (might be wrong bout this but its something i also struggle with lolol) so during studies its important to keep ur mind on the bigger picture. Focusing in on small details adds to the stiffness of a piece as instead of one singular piece, it’s made of many smaller pieces. Idk if that makes sense lololol. Id do 1 hour of these 5-10 minute studies.

But yea id say this is really the main thing holding you back right now. Once you figure out how to capture the rhythm and energy in a pose id say ur golden lololol good luck! I hope this helps XD

oh gods yeah I need to whip some referencing for poses and specially dynamism, I tend to make things a bit too stiff. I think I cornered myself into making very static poses since I do a lot of character ref oriented work, and showing the design and outfits is a priority over the dynamism, and like, I need to get working on that.

It sucks to realize how I've let social media performance guide a bit on what I draw and I practice. People like their fullbody character designs with a grey background, and I've let a lot of What Isn't That fall apart, and it's bad! I gotta get better!

I need to find a way to maybe get a way to do these practices and still post it, bc even when I've done them, they stay in a folder and never get to see the light of the day. (Also, I saw the other ask and I'm gonna check that one soon! I struggle so much finding good refs for that!)

#artstyle crisis #long post

[firstprince-ao3feed]

pull me out of the fire from my lowest take me higher

by anincompletelist (soldouthaz) Henry can’t bring himself to feel shameful about staring when Alex heaves himself up off of the ground, muscles taut and chest heaving as the crowd goes wild around him, chanting Alex’s name and cheering. He shrinks against the noise and the movement but it does him no use to try to hide, every inch of his body prickling with anticipation. And Alex looks obscene, a filthy grin stretching his lips with his chin jutted into the air and his fist held high in the middle of the ring above his motionless opponent, the blood from his nose staining his flushed skin and a bit of his teeth, his half-lidded eyes locked in on Henry like a fixation: the predator and his prey. + Henry finds unexpected solace in the thrill of an underground haven, where status—and who he shares a bed with—doesn't really seem to matter. But the deeper he goes, the harder it is to pull away, and Henry's shocked to discover so much of himself where he'd least expected to find it. He's not the one inside the ring, but he's only just finding out what it truly means to fight. Words: 44592, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Alex Claremont-Diaz, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Percy "Pez" Okonjo, Shaan Srivastava, Zahra Bankston, Cash (Red White & Royal Blue), Rafael Luna, Beatrice Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, David the Beagle (Red White & Royal Blue), Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Catherine Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Queen Mary (Red White & Royal Blue) Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Sort Of, Henry is still the prince, and Alex's family is still in politics but Ellen is not the president, So Kind Of, famous/non-famous, PWAP (Porn with Accidental Plot), Piercings, Alex has a Prince Albert piercing, let's be real though it's more like a prince henry, that was so bad I'm sorry, anyway, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Blowjobs, Barebacking, Spanking, a bit of a, Spit Kink, Come Eating, Light Feminization, light degradation, Possessive Alex, Phone Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Dirty Talk, Pet Names, (names used will be listed in the note), one very tiny instance of face slapping, Implied subspace, Minor Dacryphilia, Dom/sub Undertones, for sure, Rimming, one instance of, Lingerie, friends with benefits (kind of), injuries and hospitals but not detailed, Alex is a boxer, mentions of the UFC, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Tension, Some angst, Character Development, Henry introspection, absolute filth but it ends surprisingly sweet????, Check notes for more, Protective Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor via https://ift.tt/JmyE9Ps

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #red white and royal blue #rwrb #firstprince #anincompletelist (soldouthaz)

[kalevalakryze]

Beskar Rings

All 3 Chapters rewritten Relationship: The Armorer/Bo-Katan Kryze Characters: you guessed it, The Armorer , Bo-Katan Kryze, Axe Woves Warnings: 18+ content ahead, smut, sparring, Bo-Katan's character development of becoming a Bottom, Rewrite of my first mature fic

Chapter 1: Ruining The Paint Job

The only noise in the arena was a mixture of heavy breathing through the vocoders of two separate helmets, the scuff of boots across the mixed terrain of desert, dirt, and, crystal. With grunts of exertion as both gold and blue dove in for attacks, almost always meeting just short of their mark.

Bo-Katan found a single, solid opening in The Armorer’s defense, her foot raising to plant firmly against the center of the other’s chest plate. Muscles contracted and stretched as she shoved with all her might into her foot, arm raised to counter the beskar tongs that had been heading for her face, metal sliding against the ragged lines of her armor.

With more grace than should have been possible while another person was shoving weight pushing into them, The Armorer’s hammer came swinging upwards, smashing into the beskar of Bo’s thigh plate. The clashing of both armor and tool caused a loud ring to reverberate through their makeshift arena, as well as sending the Mand’alor down to one knee, the shockwave pulsing almost directly to her femur.

Just as quickly as she’d taken the redhead down, the tongs moved in for what very well could have been a killing blow, attaching onto the lip of a battle scarred blue helmet. “Do you yield?” The golden helmeted woman questioned, forcing Bo to crane her neck to keep her helmet on. Both her hands grasped at her upper thigh, thumbs pressing in between the metal and cloth of her flight suit to stop the ringing.

Bo couldn’t shake her head with the tongs keeping her in place, so, she let her mouth move before her brain could catch up. “Never,” The woman spoke breathlessly , before ducking her body weight lower, forcing her helmet to de-pressurize and come off her head.

By the time The Armorer allowed her helmet to drop into the dirt, Bo was already springing herself from her kneeling position, shoulder meeting the beskar of the woman’s chest plate once more and bringing them both to the ground. Her jaw was tight, teeth grinding with her lips pulled back in a near snarl, breathing hissing between her teeth as her momentum crashed them to the ground. The Armorer’s head smacked against the ground, and Bo had half a second to be worried, before it was being used against her, and their combined weight was pitching to the side.

The two struggled then, both unarmed and relying on brute strength to come out on top. The Armorer was at a clear advantage when it came to unparalleled upper body strength, Bo could feel it in each muscle that moved beneath her fingers as they grappled. But Bo was used to being outnumber in that game, had learned to use her slightly smaller frame to her advantage. When The Armorer’s arm crossed near her face, she’d acted more out of the adrenaline from the fight rather than a need to survive. Her teeth sunk into a sculpted forearm, just before the start of a thick glove. The sleeve of the other woman’s flight suit was dry in her mouth, though saliva quickly dampened the fabric.

Bo-Katan’s jaw didn’t release until a sharp metallic range brushed the tip of her tongue, as if she’d just remembered who’s arm she was clamped down on. The other hand had found her hair, pulling hard to separate the redhead from her limb. The Armorer’s fist found the side of her jaw with enough force to send them both sprawling on the ground, as Bo-Katan yanked her down with her. Their bodies twisted together like vipers locked in a lethal hold, as both struggled to garner control and get the other under themselves. Bo's ragged breaths were coming freely now, no helmet to hide the look of exertion from her face, or the blooming purple that had started it’s quick spread across her jaw.

Their beskar scraped together in a shrill scratching noise, their chest plates caught on each lip and ridge as writhed, dirt smearing across a sweat damped forehead with every pickup of dust around them. Bo finally managed to wear the shorter woman out enough, her knees planted firmly into The Armorer’s shoulders, hands grasping onto the other woman’s wrists and forcing them into the ground. The second her gloves touched dirt, The Armorer went flaccid, her arms going lax and fingers unclenching from tight fists as she stared up at the woman over her, truly, the only polite way to look was to crane her head and avoid the sight of the Mand’alor stretched out so close to her face, certain that if her gaze travelled lower, a new fight would be on the horizon.

Chin to her own chest plate, looking down at the woman beneath her, the Mand’alor took just a second to catch her breath, the smallest of smirks on her own lips as she leaned forward, adding more weight into her arms, with the risk of lessening pressure on the woman’s torso. “Do you yield?” She echoed, back arching just enough, shifting so both of the woman’s wrists were gathered in one hand, so she could wipe gathered sweat from her brow.

The other woman remained quiet her own breathing steadied out, only the still heavy breathing of the redhead filling the few inches between them. “I yield,” She capitulated, voice no more than as quiet a whisper as her vocoder would allow.

Bo-Katan wasted no time in releasing her wrists and forcing her weight back, balancing herself so she was sitting against The Armorer’s chest plate, knees settled under her arms, the thin layer of her fur cloak keeping old knees off the hard ground. As she’d moved to push herself up, a hand settled hard on her hip to keep her there, the other moved to rub against the thigh plate she’d struck before. “It looks like you are in need of new paint,” she’d pointed out, glove running across the stripped section of beskar, leather coming away with black chips of whatever paint she’d applied during her time with Death Watch.

“Perhaps,” the redhead agreed, shifting only so she was no longer sitting on the other woman’s chest, but straddling her hips in an attempt to allow the other to breathe easier, all without separating where she sat against the solid build of the woman under her. Chartreuse eyes watched the hands on her legs, though when they darted back to The Armorer, it was impossible to miss the way they’d darkened, the way her lips parted, and the way her tongue poked out to wet her lips.

The Armorer’s hands moved along the edges of the plate of armor, body shifting just enough to seemingly stare at the piece, when her Body rose, propped up on her elbows as her fingers continued their path along her armor, Bo’s hands had to move to steady herself against the woman’s hips. Her left tangled in the thick, dirty fur along the woman’s shoulders, and the other to rest along her helm, fingers hooking around the horns that seemed to sprout like the peaks of a mountain from a pool of gold. For a brief moment, Bo-Katan allowed herself to believe that the warmth sitting low in her stomach was in thanks to the fight, instead of the way she felt fingers brush tenderly close to the inside of a covered thigh.

“Come see me at the forge soon… and we shall, take care of your issue,” The Armorer suggested, causing Bo’s focus to shift entirely away from the soft round horns, leaning back to stare into an expressionless visor. Surely she’d heard wrong? She was just misinterpreting signals she’d wanted to hear, a one track mind stuck in the gutters at the mere thought of getting action.

“Of course, I will be there.” Bo promised as she stood, needing the space before she made a dumb, embarrassing mistake. She reached to help haul the other woman to her feet, briefly taking in the mild staining of blood against the dark cloth where she’d been bitten. “Although, are you sure you wouldn’t like assistance?” Her head nodded to bite she’d landed into her arm with a flash of guilt.

”I will be alright, but I appreciate the concern,” The Armorer brushed her off as she dusted off her skirt. “Do you need assistance with your own injuries?”

The redhead’s hand raised to her jaw, causing her to wince as she prodded the bruising. She was sure once the tingling in her legs stopped, she would find her thigh in a similar condition. At least it hadn’t been the face of the hammer to crack against her jaw. “It’s a later me issue,” She decided as she reached to the ground to gather her helmet and tuck it under her arm. It was just another thing to add to her list of things to handle the moment she was tucked safely back onto her ship, she wouldn’t dare… handle herself so closely packed together in the tents like they all had been lately.

The two women split their ways when they’d come upon the new man made paths from the way everyone had walked between the training arena, the campground, and the forge. Neither woman spoke to each other, though The Armorer’s hand had brushed against hers when they’d turned, as good of a parting gesture as they could have had with the thick tension (that Bo just had to be imagining).

Back on the gauntlet, Bo let herself believe for even a moment, that the touches along her leg had been purposeful, had allowed her own fingertips to press into the large bruise across her leg. No one saw hide nor hair of the Mand’alor for the rest of the night, and Axe Woves, who’d been unlucky enough to have set up his campground, was stuck with the knowledge of why no one could get a hold of her, even if it had been ages since she’d locked herself away in the ship to get herself off.

Chapter 2: Can We Skip To The Good Part?

“Come see me at the forge soon… and we shall, take care of your issue,”

The Forge was roasting, the air thick from the heat of the flames that licked towards the vent hoods, and the moisture evaporated into the air from the stone troughs of water that surrounded each workstation. The hammers lay silent, and each anvil stood empty, workbenches with finished product neatly arranged and meticulously arranged, painted pieces sitting underneath special lights on racks to the side so the new additions could finish curing. The Armorer led Bo through a winding path between each station, up to the main event, where the woman herself spent her days forging pieces for foundlings and the other Mandalorians that had started flocking home. "Sit," Came the command, and Bo, not seeing anywhere to do so, started to lower herself to sit on the floor. A hand reached out then to grab her elbow before she could drop back. She was directed to a cleaned off section of the workbench, and with little grace, the redhead was soon perched on the edge of the table, staring down the darkness of a visor in a golden helmet. 

Bo's reflection stared back at her, the battle damaged paint of her house crest, the newer paths of grey paint, added on the anniversary of Satine's death, and repainted over again on the anniversary of Korkie's. Her eyes were taken away from the hack job memorial when she felt two strong hands rest on either thigh, the armor on her thigh being pulled at as The Armorer studied the damage to the paint. "Remove your helmet," She commanded, like she'd expected Bo to have taken it off the second she'd settled. Bo was dazed for a brief moment at the pressure of strong fingers pressed into her thighs, reigniting a frustration she’d been chasing since she’d locked herself away in her ship. 

Careful hands moved from the edge of the table, with less hesitation than the first time she’d been given the command, her helmet releasing with a hiss as she lifted it from her head and set it in the open space beside her. ”May I remove your armor?" Her tone was softer, less commanding than mere seconds before. The capacity that the woman had to be so gentle, and still have a chokehold on her actions was enough to bring a fire to her cheeks that burned both ends of her figurative candle, settling low into the pit of her stomach.

”Yes,” Her voice was low, a whisper past her lips with her head dipping. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she understood it came from a place of submission to the blacksmith and that she’d readily given this from their first meeting. It was as new to her as Mandalore was to many of the Children of the Watch, uncharted terrain. A jump she wanted to take, even with the lingering fear. Once permission was given, she had been expecting the woman to stop with the afflicted piece, instead, those careful hands started. The Armorer's careful hands pulled the plate of Beskar from her right thigh, where the hammer had scraped paint from the surface. There definitely had been an ugly bruise along her thigh, painting her pale leg in purples, blues, greens, and yellows, much like her jaw from the more than welcome kiss of a strong fist the night before. Instead of stopping with the piece she’d scratched, The Armorer continued to remove each piece of beskar from where they had been secured to her flight suit. Bo did not offer a single noise to dissuade the other from continuing, as pieces were removed and set neatly on the opposite end of the table. Her holsters were pushed around, with the belt being moved this way and that so the metal could be stripped away. Instead, she watched each movement with careful anticipation, and an all too visible lust, eyes darkening once more, trying to will her gaze through the visor, to catch a glimpse of the eyes beneath and see if the feelings were returned.

Being exposed in front of The Armorer, allowing the trust to form a connection that promised safety, even as her barriers were stripped away. She had never been asked by The Armorer to change the way she's survived, but to let down her guard enough to be allowed to feel. And a woman who knew fire just as well as the beskar still covering her own body, a woman who seemed to be able to take metal so broken, damaged and rusted, and turn it into not an instrument of war, but capable of protecting themselves and others, like the Iron Heart that united them all. She had the ability to give the warped metal she now called Mand'alor into something more than an instrument of war’s creation. 

The Armorer's body started to turn away, towards a chest full of different paints, made once again of materials found on planet. Without thinking, never thinking when it came to the golden warrior, Bo's hand shot out, body pitching forward to grasp an elbow. "I want to leave it, with the scratch," Her voice was more certain than she'd felt. The slice of beskar shining beyond the dark paint of the plate was growing on her, knowing that the mark remained not as a testament to a war, but to a memory of a spar that meant more to her than many she'd partaken in as of late. If she covered this, shouldn’t she cover each blaster burn, each scrape of a creature’s talons, or each time she’d deflected a saber with just a few centimeters of clearance.

Turning back to her, Bo swore she heard a modulated chuckle, though the thick fur across a strong frame hid the way her shoulders shook. "I had assumed so," Bo's eyebrows pulled together then, though she was left to gape as The Armorer turned and her hand reached to grab at the zip towards the front of her suit, the small metal hook dragged slowly until stopped by the resistance of her flak vest. Air rushed into the opening as the suit had parted that little bit, pale skin free to view as an expressionless helmet stared down at her, the air felt cool against hot skin, the thickness in each molecule charging with a tension she wasn't sure enough to break. 

“What?” The redhead questioned dumbly, breath coming in a sharp inhale through her nose with the woman’s proximity. “Then why…?”

"You are free to leave, if you wish, Bo-Katan Kryze," The Armorer spoke as she leaned closer, hands moving then to rest on the table, bracketing Bo's thighs as she moved further into her personal space. "but i believe I promised to resolve an issue, if you would allow me to," 

She hadn't referred to Bo as the Mand'alor, hadn't referred to her as lady Kryze, or any other title one could think to give when offering something of the sort to a person because of their position. The title didn't matter,and for that reason, Bo found herself nodding, "please," voice betraying her in a rasp that felt just as desperate as the inferno rising from the pits of her core. The Armorer was not offering out of duty, was not offering to have one up on her, and maybe Bo could let herself believe it was an offer build on the foundation of feelings she had been brushing aside too long, only entertaining in the dead of night, and had vehemently denied when Axe brought up her continued retreats to quartering in the Gauntlet. Each nightly excursion had only brought more frustration, enough apparently that it was obvious enough the woman who’s hands were resting by her shoulders now, the redhead’s legs parted to allow The Armorer to stand between them. 

The flak vest was pushed from her shoulders and dropped to the back of the table just as Bo's hands found soft fur and started pushing at the material. She didn't want to feel the fur, but the strength of the body beneath. At her urgency, a soft chuckle rang. "close your eyes," There was a playfulness to the tone that commanded her, the ghost of a promise dancing along her words as Bo complied, her eyes closing the moment the order was given. 

The hiss of a helmet releasing filled the forge, and Bo's head ducked, eyes squeezing shut tighter once she realized the implications. There was a rustling sound from The Armorer, before a bare hand, soft skin with the markings of rough callouses giving the surface texture, along with the slightly wrinkled feeling of scars across the surface of her skin, moved to cover her eyes, a precaution, she knew. Soft lips met her own in a matter of seconds, pulling a sound softer than bo had ever been aware she could make from her lips. The Armorer's nose brushed her own as she shifted, left hand still covering Bo's eyes, her right shifted across the table to cup the back of her head. Fingers tangled into strands of red hair as a tongue swiped across her lips. A tug of the hand in her hair caused a shiver to travel from the base of her spine, lips parting as her head followed the pull back for a brief moment. 

The Armorer's lips followed the retreat, until her tongue could split the weak barrier. The tongue in her mouth was warm, but as she felt the muscle flatten against against her own, surprise iced her veins. The corner of The Armorer's lips twitched, until Bo's own tongue prodded back against the cool ball of metal piercing through the other woman's tongue. Shock quickly turned back to amp up the flame of desire, another pathetic whine pulled from The Mand'alor at just the mere implication the cool metal brought to the forefront of her mind. 

When they finally broke apart for air, Bo found herself leaning more and more into the hand that had covered her eyes and protected The Armorer's adherence to her creed. Bo’s leg shifted to hook around The Armorer’s waist, to pull her closer by that last inch, the woman complying immediately, with her free hand moving to settle on Bo’s waist, and to follow the grind of the Niteowl’s hips. It would have felt pathetic, really. The Armorer had barely touched her, but Bo was already spring loaded and ready to go, had been since long before even their spar the previous day. 

The hands that had been so tenderly cradling her face and shielding her eyes had slipped away, but she hadn't been given the time to complain when she felt a weight being pulled over her head. Her eyes opened of their own accord, and were not met with the sight of the woman before her, or the forge around her, but complete darkness. Her hand raised, meeting the lip of a beskar helmet that was too smooth to be her own. Her fingertips travelled a tentative path until reaching the peak of small horns. The Armorer's helm sat amongst her head, cloth padding filling in the visor to leave her in darkness, and her heart took flight. Wearing another’s armor was special amongst their people, did not typically occur until the Riduurok between two who’d promised to take the vows.

A tug at the zipper of her flight suit pulled her back to the moment, in the safety of the helmet, a smile pulled at her lips. "you like me that much, huh?" Her voice was raw, and the chuckle from her lips earned her yearned for reaction, The Armorer’s hand moved to yank the zip down with much more urgency. a warm hand slipped past the fabric, tracing the marks of war across her collarbones until the sides were pushed from her shoulders, offering more bare skin to open air, and Bo's laughter ended on a gasp as that warm hand moved to cup her breast through the thin material of her bra. 

"I will certainly remember it that way," smugness practically oozed from The Armorer's voice then, as Bo's head dropped back. It was disorienting, not being able to see, only being able to speculate and wish The Armorer would reveal herself as a mind reader and give Bo what the fire inside yearned for. "aikiyc?" leaving the Mandalorian nodding her affirmation. The hand not leaving a trail of gooseflesh across her abdomen had moved to her thighs, giving a strong pull that brought the Niteowl right to the edge of the workbench, armor rattling at the movement, center pressing closer against the sturdy warmth that her hips readily ground into.

"Are you desperate enough?" She shot back, brain a muddled mess, with only one thing on her mind as she felt the warmth of the woman standing just where she wanted to be, where each twitch of her hips had a tasteful shiver arching across her spine. The fingers scratching across her stomach stilled, before she felt her bra being pulled up by a single finger, cool air racing across exposed skin and causing her back to arch with the spreading ice, pushing her chest out into the waiting warmth of the other woman's lips. The hand still on her thigh pressed unforgivingly into her skin, as a tongue lapped and circled against her nipple. That little metal piercing in the center of her tongue was exactly what she’d expected it to be, causing her grip to tighten on the fur at the woman’s shoulders, until her knuckles turned white from the hold.

The sounds from the redhead echoed through the modulator of the helmet and bounced off the cavernous walls of The Great Forge. When her hands finally broke from their frozen position against the fur it was to bury her fingers in long, soft hair against her fingertips, one hand staying tangled in thick tresses, while the other followed the curve of her throat, feeling each breath and each little move of her head, as the woman diverted her attention between the two pebbled nipples at her full disposal. If anyone could posses mastery in the art of pressing kisses along her breasts, Bo was more than grateful it was the woman whose hot breath fanned over her chest.

Bo's nails, cut down to a blunted curve, pressed into the rough material of The Armorer's skin, before both her hands shifted to find her shoulders, dipping between armor and overheated skin, the pads of her thumbs bracketing her shoulders to feel each muscle as the woman shifted. Hands moved against her hips as her suit was nudged further out of the way, the scrape of teeth against her nipple and the more of her skin exposed to the world had her grinding up into the sturdy form between her legs, soft sounds, too quiet to pass through the vocoder’s receptors, rumbled from her chest as The Armorer’s hips rolled into hers, giving her the pressure against her clit that her body burned for.

Her ecstasy was short lived however, her moan cut off with a guttural whine as The Armorer's weight shifted. “I am not going far, ”cyar'ika," The woman promised, only leaving Bo's desperation untouched for mere seconds, as her right hand shifted further down, cool air following the warm pads of her fingers as her hand disappeared into the remnants of her suit, out of room to unzip and having to compromise. It was more practical to pull her Mand'alor apart with the fabric easy to reach, lest the redheads dreaded sewer drake make an unholy appearance to scream about dinner. The Armorer wouldn't be able to promise the things continued existence if she was denied her current meal, anyways. The material of her suit stretched to accommodate the intrusion, Bo focusing on the tight expansion and contraction of her lungs as fingertips danced along her navel.

It had been long enough of a dry spell for Bo Katan, that when deft fingers slipped past her underwear, and a fingertip pressed through slick folds experimentally, she couldn't even find the shame to be embarrassed. Her hips jutted forward of their own accord, causing The Armorer's left hand still on her hips to tighten. “do not move," She commanded in a rich timber, as that single digit moved her wetness around, gathering and spreading it around, driving Bo further up a wall, until she could faintly hear her own voice through The Armorer's modulator. "Gedet'ye," the desperation carried far through the device, the emotion raw despite the mechanical scrubbing.

The armorer's finger finally circled finally applied a fleeting pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves, and it took every single muscle in Bo's considerable arsenal of control to keep her hips still like she'd been ordered. Even that holy relief was short-lived once more as The Armorer's hand readjusted, “gar cheyaikir, alor" A smug chuckle broke the haze, for a brief moment, before two fingers were pushing into an all to eager entrance, and Bo's teeth clamped down on her own tongue, hard. Calling her ‘Alor’ to her face was an admission of her submissive role in the encounter, officially recognizing not even the role of command that Bo saw her carry, but the role that Bo often associated with her in her head. She may be the Mand’alor on paper, but she would be hopeless without the woman who led the Children of the Watch to survive.

Scrambling for purchase, Bo's left hand lifted from the safety of warm shoulders, finding the back of The Armorer's head and carding through the loose, thickness of tangled hair that awaited her there. The sound The Armorer made when Bo’s nails brushed her scalp and pulled at her hair bordered on feral, sending the warmth of desire through her veins and urging her hips to rock into the fingers pumping in and out of her deprived heat. The calloused pad of The Armorer's thumb pressed into her clit, as the two fingers buried to the last knuckle between her legs found the perfect rhythm to unravel the redhead.

Sounds considerably exceeding the obscene bounced along expansive rocky walls as Bo lost herself in the feeling, the thumb circling her clit and the fingers brushing up inside her in a way that felt like free falling through open air, like the ground was fast approaching and her body was tensing, ready to activate the thrusters to keep herself from crashing. The addicting contrast of a hot and cold tongue against her nipples finally forced her hand, muscles lighting as the fire blew the confines of her stomach, lighting her in its warm, charged embrace as an embarrassingly high pitched moan forced through the modulator, the sound of her gasping for air filtering through and exposing her lungs refusal to work as she chased that wildfire to the very core of her being. The Armorer's fingers were still moving in a practiced tandem, as if the awkward angle of being shoved into her flight suit was nothing more than a resistance workout.

Oversensitivity settled into place shortly after the flames extinguished, causing Bo's hands, still closed in iron fists against a strong shoulder and pressed against the back of her warm head to finally release. The Armorer's fingers finally slipped away, and Bo could hear the deep timber of a moan, could practically see The Armorer examining the mess she'd created. "Shut your eyes," came the gentle order once more, and beneath the helm, she complied. Exhaling as her face flushed, too warm face and bitten lips were exposed to the refreshing air of The Great Forge once more. The Armorer replaced her helmet after a moment. "open," Bo was greeted with the familiarity of red and gold armor, and a fur that sat proudly against strong shoulders that would be mottled with bruises from her hands.

Her brain was lost in a haze of pleasure, thighs and abdomen still twitching with after shocks as she stared at The Armorer, waiting on her brain to come up with words. "can we spar more often?" Her voice was hoarse, cracking halfway through as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. The laugh her question pulled from The Armorer was genuine, and she watched as that steady presence moved forward to help put her back together, this time, in a manner she'd never expected to be treated with. Her bra was pulled back down with tender touches, The Armorer allowing her head to droop forward and rest on her shoulder as the flight suit zipper was pulled back up and readjusted around her shoulders. She must have drifted for a good moment, because the next time she zoned back in, The Armorer's hand was caressing the uninjured side of her jaw, and her body was once more weighed down with the familiar presence of her armor. "wait, what about you?" she protested, brows furrowing as she was guided with a steadying hand back to the floor.

"I am sure, with the memory of the Mand'alor coming apart at my workstation, there will be no shortage of sparring or repainting opportunities in the future, so long as you wish. It is late, and I would like only to ensure you make it home and get a decent meal, now," The woman explained, allowing Bo to pull her helmet back on and hold her arm as they wound through empty caves, only letting go at the entrance. The Armorer was true to her word, and after dropping Bo off at the small tent that served as her residence, she returned shortly after with a warm dish of Tiingilar. Dinner was not the only parting gift she received, hidden by the bulk of her front door and the promises of Bo not opening her eyes, a golden helm was lifted, and soft lips pressed a gentle kiss into the chapped and bitten lips of Mandalore's uniter.

Chapter 3: How To Train Your Mand'alor

Keeping the Mand'alor in line was almost as full time position as working the forge. After she'd called Bo Katan to the forge for a problem solving session, the woman seemed to shift how she interacted with The Armorer. It had been subtle at first, a change she wouldn't have noticed if she didn't recognize the way her Mand'alor's body would tense, like it had on that table with her fingers knuckle deep, stoking the flames that made her up.

Every time the stress seemed to take it's toll, or she'd return from sparring with too much energy, she would seek The Armorer out, and until a certain point, she had been more than happy to oblige. In the beginning, she'd told herself she was only bringing the woman apart because it was what she needed to unwind and lead their people, but she quickly found in herself that it was more than that, her helmet on the Mand'alor's head as she tasted the divines themselves between her legs.

There was many things she had learned about herself and Bo Katan since the arrangement started. One? If she wasn't careful, she was going to ask her to marry her. Two? Her Mand'alor craved control, and also, someone safe to give that control up to. She would never utter a word of it out loud, like admitting her truth, her desire to let someone else take control in such a vulnerable moment, would wipe away the respect she'd spent so long clawing for. Three? The Armorer had always been the one others would look to for direction, and it had been overburdensome at points, but when Bo Katan dipped her head and raised her eyes, clouded with a million emotions and that small flicker of fear, it had never been easier to take control of someone in a situation where it wasn't needed to survive, but to promise life, and future.

Taking Bo Katan over the desk in her room took a lot of self control, both to keep herself in line, and to stay true to her creed. It had not been the first time she'd cursed the thick skirt that hung around her hips and prevented her from finding her own release. Pent up frustration clouded the blacksmith’s mind as she propped her arms against the desk, temporarily blind to the movements of the spent redhead before her. She hadn't taken the time to notice the way the bare Mand'alor had dropped in front of her, until the mop of red hair appeared in downcast eyesight. "I might not be able to see your face, but I don't have to, to show you what you deserve," The woman's raw, hoarse voice filled the air, and a filtered groan came from the helmet's vocoder at the sight in front of her, and the sound of the voice that she’d had calling to the Old Gods just moments before.

Bo Katan was on her knees, spread just enough for the tint in her visor to highlight the mess still on her thighs, cheeks and chest flushed a deep red, with parched lips parting to be wet by a pink tongue. All she was missing, a bare hand to card through her hair, which was quickly remedied by rough hands, burying in soft hair with nails scratching against her scalp.

The groan was bitten back, as Bo's hands slid up the rough grey material of her flight suit. Calloused hands moved along tight muscle, before her hands were stalled. With barely any thought of the consequences of her actions, The Armorer was slipping a blade from a sheath attached to the inside of her chest plate, passing it down to the woman below. Without needing to be told, The fabric was soon cut away, leaving her with what could only be comically described as a reverse loin cloth.

The blade was tossed aside, landing on the bed in the corner of the room with a quiet plop, Then, her hand was pulled from Bo's hair, and the woman disappeared between the heavy skirt. She was met first with the feeling of warm breath against her center, and then sucker punched immediately in the next moment by a tongue confidently diving into her folds. She should have expected the other woman to be confident, had understood the woman's sexual history after a discussion, late in the forge days after their first time. But for The Armorer, it was different, she had never considered letting another being this close, to see an inch of her skin unarmored, like their creed had demanded to the letter until Bo had come along. While Bo-Katan could not see the skin she’d revealed, it still felt blasphemous, in a way. Though, Bo-Katan had been chosen by the Mythosaur, how could it be against the creed if it was what her Mand’alor wished? If the woman chosen by a form of higher power in itself had wanted to touch bare skin, even without the Riduurok?

Her own fingers and imagination had nothing on the wet muscle currently becoming acquainted with her folds, and when a tongue circled her clit, her hands had to move to the edge of the desk she'd just had her Mand'alor bent over, the shock sending her muscles quivering in a way her exercises had never been able to recreate. A hum from the redhead had The Armorer's face tilting to the ceiling, like her prayers would be answered by anyone other than the woman between her legs.

A tongue pressing past her folds and into her center had her forcing a large intake of air, had wood creaking beneath a strong grip as she fought to stay standing, even as her Mand'alor lapped away at the mess between her legs, with those soft hums that sent fire to her core, and like Bo-Katan herself, this fire felt inescapable, like it would eat her alive. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, hidden by the helmet as she tried to form a coherent thought, instead, her leg was being pushed upwards, and her body complied immediately as the woman knelt to her shifted and that fire licked away at her morals.

Her chest was heaving, moving in time with hard breaths as sweat formed on her brow, gathering on the gaiter that covered her neck from public eye. One of the nimble hands on her thigh moved, to where, only the Mand'alor knew, as the other seemed preoccupied keeping The Armorer's leg on her shoulder with crescent shaped marks. Soft moans soon replaced the hums between her legs, soft breaths panted against her core as her nose brushed against a pleading bundle of nerves.

Seemingly reenergized, Bo decided to stop drawing out the torture, that set her muscles on fire and left her brain mush. Her tongue and nose worked in tandem, nose brushing against her clit with every drawn out lick or press of the tongue further inside her. Eventually, the forge inside The Armorer couldn't take the stimulation anymore, and when she came, the redhead barely slowed, wood cracking beneath her fingertips as her leg tightened painfully around Bo's shoulder.

Her muscles felt pleasantly warm, more relaxed than the occasions when she'd relieved herself in her quarters once more, and the tongue that seemed intent on cleaning her up had slowed, licking paused only by heavy, ragged breaths. Fingers that seemed too sure of themselves after the experience moved to her waist, finally, finally shucking the leather off and away, something she wished she'd done sooner to see Bo, fingers still buried in herself as her teeth left marks along the inside of a pale, well built thigh.

Clouded dark green eyes looked up at her, through the strands of red hair that were given free reign without her headband, plastered to her forehead with sweat. The Armorer's leg dropped, finally standing on her own two feet as she placed the splintered wood back on the desk. "who allowed this?" She questioned in a deep timber as she crouched, ignoring the way her now torn flight suit exposed more of herself to open air than she would have been comfortable with anyone else seeing.

Calloused hands moved to touch the bottom of the redhead's chin, forcing those eyes back on her as the pad of her thumb grazed along her jawline. "I didn't," she confirmed, still waiting on the Mand'alor to speak, still riding the thrill of her orgasm and those same butterflies that started every time she got an opportunity to utilize the trust Bo Katan put in her for something good.

"I don't need permission to touch myself," the redhead finally snapped, forcing the lost expression from her face, one of indignation pulling at her features, most often shown to The Armorer when she desired the woman's direction, verbally challenging her to get a reaction that she would not have to fear, even when the thrill of retribution hung in the air.

The hand on her jaw tightened, causing Bo's cheeks to squish together, as she stared into a dark visor. " I am the only one who gets to touch you," She had all but growled through her helmet's vocoder, the danger hanging in her tone as she watched Bo's eyes widen marginally. It went unsaid then, that if these were her conditions, she would save herself entirely for Bo Katan, but that would never be a problem for her, not when she was certain she was the only one the Mand'alor trusted enough for this certain type of vulnerability.

Bo's teeth bared then, but as The Armorer watched her process, she finally found the redhead's expression softening. “then make me yours.” her Mand'alor challenged, seemingly unknowing of how close The Armorer had been to fulfilling that request. It wasn’t like she hadn’t definitely called it, and it wasn't like she hadn't been mulling the idea in her head. There was obviously attraction, and she couldn't deny both that they made each other better, and it would mean the unification of their people on a whole new level, even if their people weren’t at the forefront of her decision, at the moment.

"Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde" The Armorer promised, pouring as much of herself into the words as she could. Bo Katan rose to her feet then, hands finding the sides of a ruined flight suit as she steadied herself.

Bo's left hand raised in that moment, rested on the lip of a golden helmet as she spoke. "Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde" The Mand'alor poured herself into her words, poured her loss, her achievements, grief, honor, love, and her past into her words.

As Bo Katan finally lifted the helmet away, to set it on the desk and bring her lips to meet The Armorer's freely, a voice echoed though the wooden walls of Bo's cabin. "we are unwilling witnesses to your union!" they heard Ursa Wren call, and soft laughter than sounded like Axe and Koska. The Armorer did not put any stock into why they were nearby, or how long they’d been there. She’d only known that Woves often stayed somewhat nearby to guide others away from them, when some would seek out either leader.

Bo Katan let out a soft laugh, her forehead dropping against The Armorer's shoulder as her hands carded through rich brown hair she now had the honor of seeing. "Skira Kryze, has a nice ring to it." The Armorer announced, and Bo's smile widened. It was nice, to belong to a clan again, to have a person at her side who was more than just the leader of their people, but the one she could trust with her heart, and when they painted their armor together the next day; Bo's silver pauldron in a deep red, and The Armorer's own chestplate shining with the signet of clan Kryze, everyone pretended not to mention the way their Armorer had spent hours creating a nontoxic blue paint, or how the armor had technically not been traded, or how a piece of Bo Katan's right thigh plate seemed to have been meticulously cut away.

The blue ball on her tongue piercing, and the loop threaded into a 'necklace' on the Mand'alor's throat for for only the married couple to see, after all.

#bo katan kryze #the armorer #bo katan x the armorer #nitearmor #star wars #the mandalorian #take off your helmet #armorkatan #not safe for minors #no minors please #bosoka

[kismetrose]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐒𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐒𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧 𝐍𝐏𝐂 𝐛𝐲 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞 - 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐚𝐝

𝐅𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭. Even if you really like the NPC that your player has become enamored with, you may grow tired of them suddenly or over time. The same is true for the player: they may stop seeking the character or start avoiding them without explaining why. This can happen in real life when the "honeymoon phase" of a relationship is over or when people develop diverging interests. And no matter where or when it happens, the situation will probably feel awkward to everyone involved.

But before you implement drastic changes, be warned: rash decisions can make things a lot worse. Remember, the NPC has become a fixture in the game because a player has relished their company and become attached to them. Even if they're currently bored with the relationship, the player probably isn't going to take it well if the NPC is threatened, harmed, or disposed of. As noted before, attacks on a cherished NPC can quickly lead to resentment and strife.

If you can discuss the matter with the player away from the table, great! It's okay to say that they've seemed to be enjoying the NPC a lot less lately or that you've been struggling with where to go with the character. Ask how the player feels and how they'd like to proceed, but don't be surprised if they're unsure. They might not have figured it out yet. This means that smaller, careful alterations are your best bet and you'll need to monitor reactions as you go.

If it's a simple matter of overexposure, then taking more breaks from the NPC can help. Making the character unavailable more often gives everyone more time to miss what they have to offer and what makes them enjoyable. By the time they show up again, they should be more welcome and fun to portray. This doesn't mean you should make the NPC completely unreachable forever. Instead, bring them up less often, don't initiate visits, and see how things feel.

What if the player keeps asking for their beloved NPC but as the GM, you're bored to tears with them? Try introducing a development in the character's life that inspires new concerns and goals. That way, they'll have new things to talk about and can lead to different plot hooks. This doesn't have to involve threats or losses to be interesting. The return of an old flame or discovery of a potentially lucrative business opportunity can swiftly change a person's life. You can tie the NPC to recent developments in the setting, and put them at odds with the player through their opinions. Whatever you do, remember that your goal is to help everyone have fun, including yourself.

If the player decides they are truly tired of the character, they'll probably let them go through their actions. They'll stop asking about the NPC and seek new company, and it's best to allow the old relationship to fade away. You may feel some disappointment after putting so much extra effort into the character, but you were able to stretch your muscles as a GM and they had extra fun for a while. Take the positive aspects as a win and leave the rest behind.

#game master #npc #ttrpg community

[tarnishedxknight]

Headcanons: Effects of Imprisonment in Nalbina Dungeon on Basch

{out of dalmasca} Even though FFXII largely glossed over it, or at least glossed over the raw reality of exactly what was done to him, friendly reminder that Basch was starved and tortured in Nalbina Dungeon for two years. Let that sink in. Two years maybe isn't the longest sentence anyone has ever had, but it's not two days either. It's a decent amount of time to be given inadequate food, kept in either total or partial darkness, denied sunlight (vitamin D deficiency causes a whole host of health problems such as brittle bones and muscle weakness), and hung for most of the day in an uncomfortable metal harness.

I think sometimes, because the game just throws him right back into the mix and expects him to function 100% like he did when he was a knight, we forget what bad shape Basch was in. He was very much unhealthy after being sprung from that dungeon. Aside from the psychological trauma and effects of starvation, the vitamin D deficiency and two years of breathing musty, moldy, stale air without receiving adequate water a lot of the time must also have taken a toll. This man went from being in bright sunshine almost every single day for some twenty years to being plunged into darkness or the simple light of a torch for two years straight. His vitamin D levels would have plummeted, and the psychological trauma would have been excruciating and demoralizing.

Basch would have lost muscle mass, maybe even bone mass. His lungs might have been affected by crappy dungeon air, and maybe he developed a nasty cough. His heart function could have been affected, which then affects other secondary things like breathing, stamina, and general circulation. And that doesn't even account for any actual torture in the form of cuts, burns, stretching, or other types of wounds that may have been inflicted on him, or potential infections and other health complications that might have resulted from them.

In my opinion, though he is an incredibly strong and resilient person mentally, there is no way he would have been able to just get up and do things like running (maybe not even walking), swinging a sword, or fighting as the game would have you believe. It's fine to leave it as it is, as it played out in the canon game, and I usually do, but sometimes I think about what the real effects of the torture would have been and reflect on just how poor Basch's health would have been at the time of his rescue.

One could choose to say... well, the game is unrealistic and with good reason, lots of kids play it, heh. Absolutely, 100%, I totally get that and I understand. But as someone who strives for realism even when writing fantasy characters in fantastical worlds, it just isn't realistic at all. So I choose to view it in this context instead: Basch is a seriously resilient, strong, and amazing person. Not many could survive what he did, let alone get up and carry on with his duties as a knight in horribly poor health when he'd been disgraced years ago and didn't even have to acknowledge those duties at all.

He couldn't said screw this and gone off on his own. He could have even very sympathetically said hold on, I need some time to recover. I need time to acclimate to the pain of moving again. I need time to regain my strength. I need time. But nope. He had a job to do. And really, the reason he still cared about orders given to him by a now-dead king or protecting a princess who never came to his aid and who blamed him for all the ills in her life for some time after they were reunited... was that it was never just a job to him. It wasn't just a job, or wages, or prestige, or anything like that. Being a knight was a calling, a desire, a love. He believed in it, he loved his king and his princess, he loved Dalmasca, and he was carrying on for those reasons regardless of what anyone thought of him... and despite what his own personal needs might have been.

If that's not inspirational, I don't know what is.

I'll leave you with a visual comparison, part of which is admittedly a bit shocking despite being digital and a bit blocky, heh... if only to illustrate what happened to Basch so that the extent can really be seen and understood. First, I reblogged this post not only because... well, come on (*gestures at fine looking man*), but also because to me, that's an example of Basch before imprisonment. We never got to see him without his shirt beforehand, we only saw him with armor on. The way I write him and my understanding of his physique is that all that armor, which he wore daily and for hours and hours on end, was extremely heavy.

A full suit of armor can weigh about 35-55 lbs., depending on thickness and style. Lookign at his armor, I'm guessing it weighs maybe around 45-50 lbs. He's wearing that on him every day, in the oppressive sun of Dalmasca, plus the weight of heavy weapons. He's fighting in that through long, drawn-out battles. This man had to be decently strong to pull that off for the better part of two decades. So that post is what I imagine pre-FFXII-main-game, healthy Basch was like, and what he could possibly return to once he gets his health back on track and can properly train again.

Now, below the cut (because it might be shocking or upsetting to some people), I'll leave a screencap of Basch just after he's freed from his harness and busted out of his cell in Nalbina. The man's wasting away, he's skin and bones. He's got these angry marking where the iron harness pressed into his shoulders for hours and hours a day as well. You can see his hip bones protruding, I mean... It's sad to look at.

This also means he was recovering and still in poor health through the entirety of the game, save for the very end, the epilogue. (Yes, I'm ignoring that healing is all over the places and anybody could just heal anybody at any time in FFXII, heh. Did we see it happen? No? Then I say it didn't. Realism... Imma shoehorn it in wherever I can, people, heh.)

So just... keep this in mind as part of Basch's history and character as a person, that he was not only able to survive this, but to carry on with essentially no initial recovery time, recovering on the road while strenuously adventuring, while he unselfishly continued on as a knight even though the title had been dishonorably taken from him. He continued on after suffering incredibly traumatically, without thanks, without gratitude given to him, while his name was being dragged through the mud, and with no apologies offered to him for that at all. And he did so with selflessness and humility. Why?

Poor Basch... T^T

#{ out of dalmasca } ᵒᵒᶜ #{ headcanons } #main muse: basch #tw: starvation #tw: torture #tw: trauma

[mythic-anorak]

Big Announcement — Short Stories, Blog Update, and more

Hello everyone! I've returned from my previous hiatus and have a few things to announce, so let's get right into those. Starting with...

Tales of Mythos

I have decided to start writing and self-publishing short stories taking place in the world of Mythos. These might feature past events form the lore and history of the world, backstories for major characters, stories focused on some of the side characters, etc.

I think these will be a great way to build out the world and stretch my creative muscles until I have the skills/funding/manpower/etc to produce the webcomic.

The short stories will all be part of a collective series known as Tales of Mythos. I'll self-publish each of the stories on Amazon's e-book store, so keep an eye out for future releases.

On that note, the first entry in the Tales of Mythos series is already out! Of Monsters and Men follows the story of a Human wizard and his encounter with a terrifying monster known as a Carrion. Go check it out now if you're interested!

Blog Updates

I've gone through and edited most of the old posts on the blog to give things a more professional tone in light of the new short story series.

For the same reason, I've also decided to be a bit stricter with what information to release publicly, as I'd prefer for the community to be able to naturally develop and learn about the world and lore as I release more stories.

I will try to maintain the somewhat professional tone here from now on, but don't worry, it'll still be the same old me behind the wheel.

Having the stories to work on should help me with my ever-present motivation issues and ensure you guys get more art and more posts in general here as I put more time and focus into Mythos stuff.

In Addition...

I have one more thing to report, but I can't actually talk about it yet. I didn't want to postpone this big announcement when everything else is already prepared, so expect to see another post somewhat soon about this.

#MythosSeries #update #artists on tumblr #small artist