#Half Life on the other hand feels like it was designed the same but allows the player to go at any speed

[goldenstring6123]

HIIIYAAAYAYA I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH AND I LOOK FORWARD TO EVERY SINGLE PIECE YOU RELEASE!!! YOU HAVE ME CHECKING YOUR PAGE 24/7 IM OBSESSEDDD 🫦🫦 ANYWHO ignore my fawning but how do you think the lads boys would react to a suuuuper clingy gf??? idk but if i were mc i would NOT be leaving their side and would literally be glued onto their body like mc is a strong soldier for resisting (especially rafayel my HUSBAND 😩) literally wanna just curl up in their lap and carve myself into their ribcage so they can never escape from me tehe. ALSOOO U DON’T GOTTA RESPOND IF UR BUSY OR UNCOMFY!!!! JUST KNOW I LOVE YOU AND YOUR DELICIOUS WRITING 🫶🫶

Lnds: Sticky little lover

Warning: vaguely suggestive, mentions of hickeys, fem!reader, clingy!reader, reader may or may not be the mc, there might be spelling mistakes, I haven't proofread yet.

Author's note: Awieee thank u sm pookie! I understand the feeling of wanting to latch onto the LIs~

Zayne:

Zayne wakes up with you on his chest, your leg over his crotch, and your arm across his stomach. To him, you were like a weighted stuffed toy and a weighted blanket, all at the same time. He wasn't complaining; maybe it was an excuse to stay in bed for another half an hour.

The bathroom is big enough for the two of you, with two wash basins, a separate shower, and a bathtub. There are three bathrooms in the house, but you always choose the one he uses. He's complained once, but you said you didn't like the interior design of the others. Side by side, you brush your teeth and comb your hair while he shaves and flosses. If you wake up earlier than usual, maybe he'll let you moisturize and exfoliate his face. It's no surprise Zayne leaves the bathroom door open for you. It's just normal for both of you to cross paths in the large bathroom.

When he leaves for work, you never miss a day to kiss his nose and give him a quick peck. You embrace him with two arms, but he hugs you back with one, the other hand holding his bag. You don't mind.

Your message gallery is filled with pictures of your mundane life: a snapshot of a book you're reading, the new coffee you tried, the little teacup Maltese that reminded you of him. Even though he's busy, he always finds time to react, and if he doesn't, he brings up the picture when you pick him up at the end of the day. He never forgets.

Calm days are spent in each other's presence. You always cling to him in one way or another. While he's reading a book, your feet are on his lap, and his fingers unknowingly knead your ankles. While watching a movie, your shoulders touch, and your hands are intertwined. When you react to the film, his hand, still holding yours, follows your movements.

Dates are always fun. It doesn't matter where you go or what you do as long as Zayne's in your company. Cafe dates are cute, but Zayne always calls you out for staring at him with a weird look in your eyes—you were admiring him. Whenever you walk, you cling to him, wrapping yourself around his forearm while playfully weighing him down. He stumbles for a second but smiles.

You love leaving hickeys on him, even bite marks if he allows, but the rule is never above the collar of his shirt. You oblige 97% of the time. The other 3%, you sneak in a light hickey that passes off as a mosquito bite, just peeking through the collar of his dress shirt. Sometimes, there's one behind his ear, barely visible. He never knows, but the doctors and patients at the hospital do.

When you're apart, you always call him and go about your day. At night, you video call and try to stay awake, only to snooze off. Zayne chuckles at your attempts to wash the tiredness away, but sometimes, he falls asleep with you. In the morning, both of your phones end up overheating and out of battery.

Zayne loves your company, to others it may seem trouble some but with you, it was adorable. It's through your clingyness that he experiences feelings he never once did before, and those little things always brighten his day. You actions with him makes him feel more loved and he knows he has a hard time expressing them but with you around, it had become more and more easier.

Rafayel:

They say opposites attract, but you and Rafayel are the universal exception.

Rafayel doesn't like it when you're late. Even for a home-date, he fusses about being left alone too long and feeling abandoned. You laugh at his whining over text and enter his door. When he sees you, he jumps off the couch and pouts, "Finally, it took you long enough."

You're like magnets to each other. Wherever one goes, the other follows. If you're cooking ramen in the kitchen, Rafayel sneaks behind you, hugging your back and sniffing your hair. If he's watering flowers in the greenhouse, you sit nearby and watch a ladybug on a leaf. If he's painting, you're reading on a nearby couch. Rafayel's residence is too big for one person but just enough for two.

Rafayel whines when you do something without him, especially if it's something he wants to do. You once took a flower arrangement class without him, and he sulked, "Wow, you didn't even think to tell me? I wanted to do that with you." Even watching movies is hard because you need to pause and wait for him whenever he leaves the room. One time, you finished a mystery series without him, and he ate the tiramisu you were saving for dessert in revenge.

Matching clothes is a thing. He avoids tacky prints but opts for complementary outfits. Because of this, Rafayel buys clothes with you in mind, often choosing items with a feminine counterpart. His shoe closet and yours are practically the same, and you don't complain because Rafayel has good fashion taste.

You love cute matching items. You once bought a two-piece mug set with a heart design, and he took the other one without you knowing. He also took a keychain from your collection, matching the one you have in your wallet.

"Are you tired of me now?" he asks when you keep your distance, avoiding a hug. It's the middle of summer, and the AC is broken. You reek of sweat, and the last thing you want is to be touched. You sigh and pat his back, "After I take a bath, I'll give you all the hugs you want."

He asks about your plans every morning, almost as a ritual. You've gotten used to replying while getting ready. If both schedules permit, he joins you for grocery runs, laundry, or whatever mundane tasks you have. You make good use of him, letting him carry the bags even if you could do it yourself.

When Rafayel is at an exhibit, you bombard him with texts: jokes, articles, or random thoughts. He replies quickly, hiding from the audience, bored out of his mind. In return, he sends you pictures of his artwork, which you threaten to sell online as digital files. He blocks you for a good five minutes.

You're each other's wallpaper. Surprisingly, Rafayel asked to do it. You spent hours finding the perfect pose and recreating trending ones. Rafayel insisted on multiple retakes.

You were rafayel's missing piece. To him, you were the only thing that he has ever wanted in his life. He loved you dearly and a part of him was terrified that you don't reciprocate the same level of love as he does to you; but lo and behold, fate has given him a blessing after all those years of loneliness. His heart swoons at the very sight of your actions. You were clingy, that was factually true but the same goes for him. Nothing makes him more fulfilled than seeing you both think and love in the same wavelength.

Sylus:

His base has become your home. On days off, you often find yourself in one of three rooms: his bedroom, where you lie on his bed, tapping away on your phone or laptop; his kitchen, where the chef cooks whatever you want in exchange for listening to his stories from his little village; or the lobby, where Luke and Kieran update you on the most boring things in the building. Sylus doesn't mind at all; it's less work for Mephisto, and he can keep an eye on you.

Sylus's sleep schedule is the same as that of those in Linkon City. His days begin in the evenings, often leaving you lying in the big bed alone. Sylus is nearby or at his desk if he's not out on the streets. You like hugging his pillow because it smells like his 3-in-1 shampoo. If he's out on late-night trips, you selfishly steal his shirt from the closet, wear it on the pillow, and hug that to sleep, forcing yourself to be satisfied with what you got.

His lap is your chair. It doesn't matter where he's sitting; you always find yourself on him. Sylus sometimes complains about his thighs going numb, but when you leave, he yanks you back, positioning you between his legs, with your butt on the chair instead of his thigh. He goes back to his work as if nothing happened, occasionally sparing you a kiss on the forehead or rubbing his face against yours. If not, you shower his chest and neck with light pecks before snuggling into the crook of his neck.

His biceps are nice to the touch. On dates to the city, while waiting in line, you squeeze his muscles for entertainment, even through his thick leather jacket. He flexes for a minute before relaxing, amused at how easily you entertain yourself.

The boyfriend shirt phenomenon is common. You don't leave the base wearing his clothes, but you certainly walk around the area in them. Whether a turtleneck, a black blouse, or just a plain shirt, you're always wearing his clothes, even in his company.

You're an eccentric one, thats for sure. Sylus never truly got ahold of how you managed to change from being so distant to practically being glued to him. It was like he partnered up with a whole new different person. He wasn't complaining at all if anything, he found it admirable and a part of him was quietly relieved that time did all the adjusting between you and him. Despite being a bit too fussy at times, he'd be more than willing to compromise if that's what makes you happy.

Xavier:

You always steal his hoodies. They're big, soft, and smell like him, so you have two or three at home. Xavier scratches his head when he notices bare hangers in his closet. When you visit, he finally sees what's missing. No matter how many hoodies and jackets he buys for you, you always get your hands on his, almost becoming a problem. Now, he rotates his jackets, giving them to you on schedule.

Xavier's hair is too soft to be human. When he's on your lap, you massage his scalp and fidget with the ends of his silver hair. If you have hair elastics and a cute clip nearby, he ends up with his hair tied up or braided. He needs your help to take it off because it's too painful for him to do alone. Oops?

You prefer sitting beside him rather than across from him at a table. He didn't understand at first because he wanted to face you when eating. But when he's beside you, he slowly gets it. You like touching him one way or another. You enjoy your elbows touching or your thighs grazing each other. It's also convenient to lean slightly and rest your head on his shoulder.

Xavier loves bathing with you. The bathtub in his apartment is big enough for both. He likes the smell of your bath bombs and is sometimes fascinated by the toys or mini jewelry inside. Your back always presses against him, and he willingly holds you. On more stressful days, you light candles and open some cheap wine to enjoy in rose-covered water.

He's riddled with bite marks, even when not having sex. He's dozing off when you suddenly find his arm or leg appetizing. He jolts awake and tries to shake your grip, but it's too tight. When you've had enough, he stares at your work of art and wipes his saliva-coated limb. You grin, watching him wipe your fluids. Because of the frequency, he rarely lets his consciousness drift away when his bare arms and legs are around you.

When bathing alone, you use his shampoo instead of yours. It's surprising he doesn't use all-in-one shampoo and body wash; he uses baby shampoo. When confronted, he shrugs, saying it does the job, and recalls you like playing with his hair. His perfume and powder are also for babies.

In the eyes of Xavier, you were adorable even if your actions were questionable. You were cute, and he never once thought that your actions were a burden or suffocating. The things you do, the way you speak they were all precious in his eyes and Xavier understands that this was you way of showing your love for him. Because of that, he tolerates you every time you bite him.

Your gallery is full of his pictures. Candid photos you secretly take daily. Your favorite is when his cheeks are full of food, resembling a hamster. You take pictures when he's asleep, using you as a pillow. Sometimes, you're both looking at the camera, making random faces.

Author footnotes: I'm sorry if these were pretty general. I'm not the clingy type so I don't know how these type of people act but I wrote it with the things I observed from films and tiktok lol

Layout by me, using Canva premium | Do not repost |

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter four )

18+ 5.2k homelander x plus size f!reader. office romance, stalking, voyeurism, office sex, cunnilingus, cream pie, breast play, flight sex, lite overstim, riding. nebulously takes place post s1. part 4/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander takes what's his, and you get what's yours.

welcome to the final chapter! thanks so much for reading. i really enjoyed the dynamic between these two, and i hope you do, too. 🖤

Homelander doesn’t hold it against you that you take him up on his suggestion to be absent the following day. He leaves a little peace offering in your office to say as much: a mug for your collection that reads simply, You’ve Been Mugged. He adjusts it seven times on your desk before he finally leaves it alone, surveying your office a while before letting himself out.

The thugs he lasered down in the alley don’t garner much attention, but it’s enough to warrant a statement on the truth of what happened. With them dead, the truth becomes whatever he makes of it, and his truth is that two vagabonds were assaulting a cherished Vought employee before he put a stop to it.

It’s precisely the kind of hero story the public loves.

“I acted on instinct,” he tells the newscaster. He relives the moment as he tells it, recalls only to himself how fierce you had been. How determined you were that if you were going to die, you would die fighting. “They were going to hurt her. I like to believe any good citizen in my position would have done the same.”

Madelyn taught him that conviction without contrition would always read as arrogance, so he speaks firmly but with a furrow to his brow, and he closes his eyes when he inclines his head to accept praise. No matter how dead she is, her voice remains an echo in his mind: follow the script, and you’ll be fine.

They use his words to segue into a discussion of gun control, and Homelander’s mind drifts somewhere distant, hearing without listening to the petty squabbles of humans crying about their little toys and laws. He supposes this is how God feels when humans pray to Him over every minor inconvenience. Bored and painfully above it.

While it’s easy enough to keep himself distracted during business hours, Homelander’s life comes to an abrupt halt alongside the end of the working day. Like the equipment that broadcasts him, there’s little use for him once the cast and crew goes home. All around him the employees commiserate at the end of their work day and pass around invitations to the bar. 

He receives none. 

Not that he would accept them if he did.

Seeking both council and companionship, Homelander finds himself in Noir’s apartment, seated in the chair Noir keeps for him. It’s the only one the hero owns, what with his interior design being deeply steeped in westernized ninja nonsense. The place is half dojo, half living quarters.

He laments his situation to Noir, explaining his patience in courting you, the lengths he’s gone to endear himself to you on a personal level, and the bitter sting of your rejection.

“See her,” Noir writes in his sketchpad, sitting on the floor on the other side of the low table. “If glad to see her, good. If not–”

Homelander snorts at the series of knife sketches that follow. He has no doubt Noir would put an end to anyone for any reason Homelander gave. Simplicity has allowed Noir an unwavering loyalty to Vought, and as an extension, Homelander himself. Luckily for you, he has no interest in that happening. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Noir,” he muses, clapping his hands on his thighs before he stands up. “You’re right. I’ll go see her. Thanks, buddy.”

Noir offers two thumbs up. A true uproar of approval.

Under the cover of darkness, Homelander returns to your house, the flight path a familiar one now. He lands silently on your roof this time, cocking his head. He’s not confident he’ll be able to resist your siren pull if he approaches now. He folds his hands behind his back and peers through each layer between him and your bedroom, stopping when he can see you.

You’re nestled deep in the splay of your blankets, lips parted around shallow breaths. He bites his own bottom lip, remembering how badly he’d wanted to feel them. Taste them. He’s certain now that if he allowed himself to be close enough, he would. Denial, for as much as it stung in that moment, has only made him hungrier for you. Fuck, the way he’s craved you from the moment you first brushed him aside.

He watches you shift in your sleep and his eyes narrow, honing in on a familiar flash. His stomach flips–it’s his cape, the fabric pinned between your blanket and your body. You really are sleeping with it, the star spangled blue fabric tucked up under your chin. Do you smell him on it? Homelander groans softly. Like your underwear in his bedside drawer, you sleep with a trophy of your own.

“Fuck,” he says, aching. His heart, his mind, his cock–all of it at once a cacophony of vicious yearning and impatience. The urge to peel the roof like a sardine can and carve his way straight to you nearly knocks the wind out of him, has him preemptively reaching for the shingled surface.

Only the lingering wound to his ego gives him pause. He’s been bitten once, leaving him shy to instigate, but this revelation feels like progress. You’re aching for him as much as he is for you. He’s sure of that now. It’s time that he made you feel that ache. Feel his absence. Then you’ll realize the foolishness of your coy game.

Clenching his jaw defiantly, Homelander lifts up into the sky.

He’ll be benevolent when you come to your senses.

The next day, Homelander keeps himself scarce, preoccupied. Ashley is perkier than usual, thrilled–if not suspicious–with his easy participation in whatever inane business she brings to him. It helps distract him from the endless feeling of waiting that he’s enduring.

He sticks stubbornly to his schedule, fantasizing about the torment his avoidance has surely wrought. He’s tempted a time or two to break, but each time he remembers the mortified Oh! you uttered before he kissed you, he refocuses himself.

You’ll come.

Not before lunch, but that is the perfect opportunity for it. He makes himself more available then, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair. 

No sign of you.

He gives you the benefit of the doubt. A meal to embolden you.

Then you’ll come.

He waits.

Lunch long since over.

He waits.

The day is winding down.

He’s fucking tired of waiting.

Where the hell are you? He’s given you the entirety of the day to seek him out, ample opportunity to come thank him for his gift, to address the aching thing ruminating between you. You’d be a fucking liar to say you don’t feel it, too. By midday, he’s seething with impatience and hurt. There’s no chance he’s going to let you stand him up.

It’s precisely the wrong time for Ashley to rear her head back up. “Okay! That’s that, now regarding the amnesty for–”

“Ashley!” He snaps, a harsh and throaty sound. “Would you shut the fuck up?”

She stops in her tracks, staring wide-eyed. Of course it was too good to be true.

Homelander all but leaps to his feet, pushing out of his chair so hard that it flips backwards and into the wall in a heavy clatter. She clutches her vPad to her chest and quickly back steps out of his way, watching in frightened bewilderment as he storms from the room, making a beeline towards your office.

He doesn’t bother knocking this time. Still, his restraint is undeniable when he pushes your door open. He barely catches himself from pushing the damn thing clean off the hinges.

Your head snaps up from your computer, eyes wide. He hears your heart jump and he savors the alarm that shoots through you. Payback for the awful misery you forced him to endure in the hours since he last saw you. Still, the sight of you disarms him. For all his seething anger, there is something small in him that retreats it when your eyes are on him.

There’s a heaviness to your gaze that his strength can do nothing to alleviate. No incredible feat of his can wrench away what it is he wants from you. What he needs. It’s something you have to give him willingly, and that alone is enough to temper his rage. The familiar fear that you won’t.

He marches to the front of your desk and levels an accusatory finger on you.

“You like me,” he hisses, bending to brace his opposite hand on your desk.

You blink owlishly, lips parted. That clearly wasn’t what you expected him to say. He’s not sure it’s what he meant to say. “Homelander–”

“No,” he says, voice pitched low, a warning. “No, no. No games, no workarounds. You like me. You do. And I like you. So,” he abandons his point to make a vague encompassing gesture, but he doesn’t know what to say next. He didn’t think this far ahead. All day he had practiced the calm benevolence he would show when you approached him, chastised and yearning. He has nothing to back up this frenzied play for.

You stand. Homelander rises to his full height with you, jutting his chin out. He watches you with all the wariness of a wounded predator as you circle around your desk, your hand gliding along the wood like you would flank a horse so as not to spook it.

He can’t determine the intent behind your gaze. He angles his body towards you, facing you head on. You look like yourself again, in your element and free from the fawn fear of the alley. He can’t entirely decide which way he prefers you. When you were in his arms, he was your hero. In your office, his position feels more precarious.

The silence stretches on for hours–or seconds, it’s impossible to say–before he can no longer stand it. Sucking in a breath, he–

You kiss him.

Homelander goes shock still, hyper aware of your lips pressed feather light to his, your breasts against his chest, your hand on his forearm. He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, but he senses when you begin to pull away. 

In a flash he cups your face in his hands and pulls you in deep, inhaling sharply, like  he’s only just remembered how to breathe. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you as if he can trap you in the cycle of it. You don’t resist, you don’t tense. Instead, you sigh an angel’s breath against his lips. Only then does he break to look at you.

“I don’t understand,” he says, bewildered, flushed.

“I do like you,” you say, eyes glassy.

His brows pinch. “But… That night–”

“Wasn’t right,” you interrupt. “I wanted to kiss you, but not like that. Not then. Not because you saved me, not because I was in shock, not because of…” you rock your head side to side. “Whatever other bullshit… You let me down that night.”

“Let you down?” Homelander echoes, taken aback. “By saving your life?” He asks, his temper a perpetual simmer ready to flare. He’s immediately tempered by your hands taking his wrists, squeezing. You hold his gaze and your expression is gentle, but there is a firmness in your stare that he finds intoxicating. Not an ounce of fear, even when his anger emerges.

Good. You shouldn’t be afraid of him. He saved you.

“I was shaken. Badly. My date was an entitled asshole, those men, they tried to…” You shake your head, holding his hands to your face. “I didn’t need you to be a man. I needed you to be a hero. I wasn’t ready.”

A light in Homelander’s eyes flicks on. You just weren’t ready. He’d been right after all. He fixates on that, choosing to forgive you for that, at least.

“Well, why didn’t… You could have said something,” he says, feeling like a deflated hot air balloon, all slack expansion and heat with no purpose.

“I would have,” you say, your cheeks soft and round in his hands, lips slightly puckered from his hold on your face. “But you ran away.”

“What? I–” He laughs incredulously. “I did not run away.”

“Flew away,” you say, pushing in to kiss him again. He screws his eyes shut. Fuck, fuck. Oh fuck. He’s been dreaming of this, aching for it. To feel you against him, wanting him as much as he wants you. “Pretty fast, too. Looked like you shot straight up to the moon,” you say, breath hot and sweet on his lips.

“I…” He swallows, hands slipping down to either side of your neck, thumbs tilting your chin up. “I’m sorry. I wanted you,” he says, trailing his parted lips along your jaw, kissing and breathing you in the way he’s craved to. He can feel your skin growing hot against his lips, hear the uptick of your pulse as your heart begins to race.

“Do you still want me?” You ask, voice lower now. It sends a delicious hot pang all the way through him.

“You have no fucking idea,” he murmurs, nipping at the lobe of your ear, desperate to test the give of you under his teeth, the feel of your soft and yielding flesh branded into his memory the moment his lips touched your skin.

A knock snaps his attention away from you, but it isn’t at the door. He looks down and sees that it’s you knocking on your desk. “So take me,” you say, voice laced with heat. His lips split into a wicked grin. He snatches the edge of your heavy wooden desk and effortlessly tips it backwards until everything slides off of it, clattering to the floor. He lifts you up, relishing your delighted little yelp, and places you down on the cleared surface like a doll, stepping in between your legs. 

He kisses you again. Let me in, demands the press of his tongue. You yield to him, but it’s far from a surrender. Your tongue meets his eagerly, tasting him as much as he does you. Tasting you. That’s what he wants. He wants to map every inch of you with his tongue.

Homelander slips his hand between your legs, pushing your skirt up out of the way. He presses his fingers to the heat between your thighs, rubbing through the thin fabric of your panties. You sigh that same seraphic sound against his lips, slipping your hands up into his hair, already taking a handful of it to tug gently.

He breaks the kiss and takes his fingers from you after the barest tease of pleasure. The impatient sound you make goes straight to his cock, as does your flustered expression. He brings his fingers to his lips and drags his tongue over the leather of them, sliding them past his lips to give a quick suck. It’s not enough, too slight a hint of you. He needs more. You watch him with rapt attention, giving his hair a demanding little tug.

“You can pull as hard as you like,” he tells you with a smile, tilting his head against the grasp you have on his hair. “Tells me I’m doing a good job.”

“I’ll tell you when you’re doing a good job,” you rasp, giving his hair a sharp pull and then a downward push. That sends a shiver down his spine.

Fuck yes.

Homelander sinks down onto his knees, lifting each of your legs up over his shoulders. You give a little gasp when he yanks your ass to the edge of the desk, giddy with the way he manhandles you. He swallows, mouth dry, thirsty for the wet, heady smell of your pussy. He maneuvers his head under your skirt until he’s close enough to drag his tongue up the soft cotton of your panties. Your breath hitches and your grip in his hair tightens while you egg him on with sharp little rolls of your hips.

He closes his eyes, giving a rumbling moan for the taste of you, even through the fabric. He laps until the fabric is soaked, clinging to your skin, and he can feel your clit swollen and stiff on his tongue through your panties. He closes his mouth over it, sucking you through your underwear while you writhe above him, keeping yourself quiet.

That won’t do.

He wants to hear you.

He wants the whole fucking Tower to hear you.

Hooking the crotch of your panties with his finger, it only takes one sharp little tug to tear them, exposing you to him.

“Homelander,” you moan. The sound of it lances a spear of heat through him, leaves his cock throbbing needily in the rigid confines of his cup. He groans into you, rocking his hips against the empty air. The only proper answer is to dive in, to close his lips around your clit and finally suck the rich nectar of your cunt without the filter of fabric between you. You taste even better than you smell, like salt and sex and sweet ripe fruit. It overwhelms his senses immediately, his eyelids flickering. 

The more he laps at you, the silkier your pussy becomes. Between circling your clit, he drives his tongue deep into you, drinking you down noisily and messily, a parched man gulping from an oasis. Your thick thighs are tight on either side of his head, your pulse pounding in his ears. He moans low and wicked for the taste and feel of you.

Your grip on his hair tightens sporadically, sharp little tugs that match the staccato cadence of your breaths. “F-fuck, your tongue feels-feels fucking unreal,” you moan, grinding down against it. The strength of it, the slight thrum of restrained power that courses through him, and the sheer relentlessness of his stamina is driving you wild against his mouth. “Fingers, use your fingers,” you tell him. He loves the rawness of your voice, the authority and desperation in your demand.

Removing one of his gloves, he moves his bare hand to the sweltering wetness of you, teasing his finger just below where his tongue is rubbing your clit. His index finger slips easily into the slick mess, and he savors the quiver of your velvet walls around it. He lets you ride his finger, stays all but still while you greedily bounce your hips, both hands fisted in his hair. You use him for your pleasure, and it makes him delirious with want.

Homelander's gaze flickers up. He peers through the layer of your skirt to catch a look at you, to watch you while you cannot watch him. You’re losing track of yourself, lips parted, eyes glazed with pleasure, shivering with each flick of his tongue and dive of his finger. Euphoria looks good on you. 

Christ, he has been patient. He would chastise himself for waiting so long to touch you, to taste you, to feel you, but he can’t bring himself to. The wait gifted him with this exquisite hunger, and he proved something important; you both yearn for the other. You crave him. He can see it in your hazy eyes, taste it in the spill of your sweet cunt.

You belong to him. He needs only to take you.

One finger becomes two, and then three. Your heels dig into his shoulders and fuck yourself down on them, moaning recklessly now, not caring who hears you. It’s music to his ears.

“Fuck, Homelander, I-I’m coming, I’m-don’t stop, don’t stop,” you beg prettily. You don’t need to, but he enjoys the song anyway. He laps at your clit in quick upward pulls of his tongue, lips creating a seal around it. His brows furrow tightly, his own neglected arousal pounding through his body like a wardrum, but he doesn’t touch himself, too focused on you.

Your whole body locks up tight when you come, breath caught in your lungs, your clit fluttering delicately. He presses his tongue to it, savoring the taste of your euphoria, how it floods your system and changes the flavor of you. Your pleasure grows his hunger into something monstrous, something demanding, but there is satiation at least in bringing you this, in showing you all the things he will be for you.

You’ll never want for anyone–or anything– else ever again.

Homelander doesn’t stop. You begged him not to. He finger-fucks you through the aftershocks, lapping up every drop of your pleasure, stroking you inside and out while your cunt squeezes his fingers. He doesn’t stop until he feels you pushing him away, your sweet songbird moans sounding more like whimpers, oversensitized. He withdraws his fingers, giving one last noisy slurp before emerging from beneath your skirt. His face is shiny and wet with your slick, his pupils blown black. He's panting, looking every bit like a beast lifting its bloodied head from the belly of its kill.

Crawling up your body, still predator hungry, he rests his knee on the desk between your legs. He cups either side of your face, fingertips digging possessively into the back of your neck. He meets your eyes, pinning you with the intensity of his gaze, wordlessly drilling into your mind that this moment, this feeling, this tingling warmth in your body is him.

I did this to you, his expression reads. You’re on my lips, he says by pressing them to yours, kissing your own taste into your mouth, his body throbbing, desperate for an ounce of that same relief. You’re mine.

To his amazement, your eyes mirror his own savage hunger. You kiss him hard, shamelessly licking into his mouth, huffing shallow breaths from your nose. “Lie down,” you tell him, voice as sweet and coarse as raw sugar. “I’m going to ride you.”

Homelander doesn’t need to be told twice. Exhilarated, he rolls over, flipping you with him and steadying you above him in a fluid motion. The desk isn’t as long as he is tall, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already half suspended in the air with his own excitement, helping you with overly eager hands that fumble alongside yours with his belt, which falls to the ground with a distinct thud. He gives a little jump at the voracity you rip his zipper down with, grinning.

Together, you shuck his pants down to his thighs. You grip him through his red briefs, a fractured moan falling from his lips.

“Cute underwear,” you coo. His cheeks flush to almost the same shade. You flatten your palm over his cock and he bites back a whimper, teeth sinking into his tongue. You give a light squeeze, fingers curling around his cock through the fabric, and he lets out a rough breath. “You feel close,” you tell him, stroking him in a loose fist, your hand warm, the fabric soft.

He nods fervently, the friction and your voice already teetering him towards the edge. He makes a sound of both anguish and relief when you release him, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. You tug his underwear down, his cock bouncing free, engorged and dripping precome.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, bracing one hand on his chest and sliding forward, your other hand moving between your bodies to steady his cock against the rapturously hot press of your soaked cunt. His hands fly to your hips, fingertips biting into the softness of your body. You allow him that, focused entirely on the act of taking him into you. The fat head of his cock it slips inside, evoking a sweet little gasp from you, and Homelander fights not to slam in the rest of the way.

Both of your hands fall to his chest, your eyes meeting his. He holds your gaze, mouth twitching around silent sharp breaths. He watches you sink slowly down the length of him, engulfing him in such sublime rapture it’s a wonder he doesn’t come right then and there for the feel of you alone. His grip on your hips flexes and he gives a sharp little thrust up, forgetting himself to the divine feel of your pussy.

“I said don’t move,” you remind him breathlessly. God, you’re beautiful like this. The fluorescent light behind your head haloes you, giving you the look of a debauched angel he plucked from the heavens to have and keep as his own. He expects you to move, to bounce yourself on his cock like you did his mouth and his fingers. He wants to watch your tits bounce, see your face clearly when you come on his cock, but the only part of you that moves is your hand.

His gaze drops and quickly darkens, watching intently as you stroke your clit. The initial contact alone makes you jerk, makes your pussy spasm and squeeze him so good he almost chokes on it. Your only response is to sigh, tipping your head back and spreading your legs a little wider, taking him deeper. He wants so badly to fuck you, to slam you down and rail you until your desk cracks in half.

“Mmmm, fuck,” you moan, rubbing yourself in circles, the lewd noise of it loud and irresistible to his ears. “Fuck, fuck–ah, god,” you start to pant, head falling forward, brows tightly pinched. You’re so sensitive after the assault of his mouth, the flavor of you still fresh on his tongue. The faster your fingers move, the closer he feels you get, the clench around his cock steadily tightening. He wants to thrash, but you keep him pinned in place with your look of expectation and pleasure. You’re getting off on him as much as you are your own fingers, on the swell and throb of his cock inside you, on the sheer power you hold over a god.

You’re loud when you come, nails clawing into the chest of his suit. Homelander’s eyes roll back, lips parted on a soundless cry of his own. The spasming heat of your release is too much and he loses himself to it, eyes flaring up with crimson light as he comes with you, every shudder of your climax stroking and milking him of his own, flooding you with his own wet mess.

His restraint breaks with the dam and he sits up abruptly, startling a noise from you, which he swallows with a hard kiss, cupping the back of your head. He holds you still and he fucks you, lifting from the desk entirely so that he alone supports your weight, driving you deeper onto his cock. Your legs tighten on either side of him, shaking. 

Out of his mind with pleasure, he tears your blouse open with his teeth, diving in close to lick, suck and bite at your chest. He buries his face between your breasts, holding you tightly as he fucks you both through your respective orgasms, the slap of flesh against flesh echoing obscenely in your office. 

Hitching your legs properly around his waist, he bounces you on his cock until the pleasure borders on pain and a secondary shock rolls through him like another orgasm, stealing his breath. Only then does he finally slow, mouthing languidly at your chest until he sucks your nipple into his mouth. He moans against you, grinding to an eventual halt. You comb your fingers through his hair and goosebumps erupt across his body, which shivers in the euphoric aftermath.

He loses track of how long he stays suspended like that, lost to the overwhelm of sensation. Your legs go slack while his angles slightly upward, his face pressed to your chest, your head resting atop his. He nuzzles at you, bleary eyed and slack with pleasure. He kisses a trail up to your clavicle, your throat, your jaw, smiling in the loose, easy way that only a good fuck can never make him.

“Wow,” he says after a while, voice thoroughly frayed.

You giggle, groggily lifting your head. He adjusts until you can relax against his chest, fold your forearms across it and settling your chin atop them, admiring him. He touches your face with his ungloved hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb, then the curve of your bottom lip. His smile widens when you kiss the pad of his thumb.

“Wow indeed,” you say, swinging your legs lightly. “Can’t say I’ve ever been fucked mid-air.”

“One of the many benefits of dating me,” he purrs, caressing your cheek with his knuckles. He kisses you again, drifting slowly back down, unhurried.

Your brows lift lazily. “Who says we’re dating?” You ask, but your smile keeps his hackles from rising.

“Me,” he says, eyes crinkled at the corners. He lands gently on the desk, helping you to it. “You and I are officially going steady.”

You give a thoughtful hum, carefully untangling your limbs from his. You slide off of the desk while he puts himself back together, your knees trembling faintly. “Fairly sure asking someone out requires a question mark. You know. The asking part. You didn’t even buy me dinner.” You attempt to button up your shirt, but it’s obviously a lost cause.

He exhales a quiet laugh, pulling you back into his arms. “Well, I certainly ate.”

“God,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, but they don’t stray from him for long. There’s a sparkle to your gaze that he wants to capture in his palm and never set loose.

“Will you go out with me?” He asks, lips brushing yours.

“Mmmmmmmm….” You hum once more, drawing it out, feigning a great deliberation. “There’s something you should know first.”

He quirks a brow. “What’s that?”

“My guilty pleasure,” you say, nose bumping his.

Intrigued, he inclines his head to prompt you to continue. Can’t be worse than mine.

“Superheroes,” you say conspiratorially. “Can’t get enough of them. Loved them my whole life. Especially this one in particular…”

He breaks into a frayed, charmed laugh. “Let me guess, name starts with an H?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, lips curved downward in a mock grimace, and nod subtly. “ Total fangirl. Embarrassing, right?”

Homelander shakes his head. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never felt guilty about pleasure. Where’s the harm in it?”

The harm inflicted on those thugs couldn’t count. They had it coming.

“Harm to my pride, my ego, my reputation,�� you list, tapping his suit to punctuate each one. “I made a pretty big fuss about not liking you. I had myself convinced that my Homelander only existed in my fantasies, and you were just the guy who plays him.”

My Homelander. The words stir an unexpectedly sentimental surge of emotion that wells up from somewhere deep in his chest. He clears his throat lightly. “What’s the verdict now?”

You sweep him with an appraising gaze. “Still deliberating.”

He clicks his tongue, nodding. “I don’t suppose I could arrange a meeting with the jury?”

“They’re available for dinner tomorrow,” you say, the tilt of your lips sly. 

“It’s a date,” he murmurs, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. You kiss him, pressing your smile to his. He doubts he’ll ever tire of the softness of your lips, or the easy way you melt against him. He wraps his arms around you, content to let this moment pass only because he knows there will be more to come. He’s determined to make every one of them better than the last.

All of the pleasure, none of the guilt.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Happy Birthday, little finch.

Gif credits

Pairing: Jackson!Joel X AFAB!reader

Words count: 6731

Rating: +18 NSFW, Minors please don’t interact

Summary: Everyone forgets your birthday but you receive an unexpected invitation (wink) that will change the fate of the day.

Warnings: POV second person, smut, little power dynamic, little brat taming, begging, unprotected P in V (please, always use protections in real life!), Reader's age is intentionally unspecified, you can imagine an age gap between her and Joel or not, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), nipples play, Joel comes on reader's tits, just a little of pulling hair, soft!Joel, grumpy!Joel, pet names (little finch, honey, baby, babe), mention of fasting as a sarcastic joke (I don’t condone joking about no one’s eating habits), reader has hair (It is not specified how long they are or what they look like), reader can be lifted by big and strong Joel, reader has a able body, breasts and vagina and she wears a dress, apart from that no other description is given, reader is part of the Jackson community, I don't know anything about Jackson, I only know a few details about second game’s plot (including that detail, yes) so everything I describe is purely from my imagination and may have no bearing on the original Jackson, brief appearances by Maria, Tommy, Ellie and Dina, drinking, swearing, Joel calls reader “little finch” (I came up with this nickname just because my grandpa used to call me with a bird name when I was little and I always found it sweet, so here we go ❤️), Joel can draw (I don't know if it's true but for me it is, okay, allow me). I hope I haven't forgotten anything but if I do I'll add it as soon as I notice.

English is not my first language so please be kind, I always try to do my best, no proofreading (sorry), very little editing, I apologize for any mistakes. I'm writing on my phone, I hope the formatting isn't too bad 🥲

Thank you so much to anyone who will read this, I really hope you’ll like it, kind comments and advices are really appreciated ❤️

I've been listening to Hozier's "Talk" heavily while writing this so here it is, I'll let you know. It's such a beautiful song and I love Hozier so much 🫠

You wake up struck by a ray of sunlight that enters faintly through the half-closed shutters and dies right on your face.

You have no idea what time it is and your head feels heavy and confused, you turn over in bed thinking that maybe you can give yourself another 5 minutes but then you hear voices outside already awake and ringing and then you think that maybe it's really late. You sit up and retrieve the clock from the bedside table, it's 7 in the morning.

You get up and go to the kitchen to make some coffee and from the window you see some people already busy doing their work. Some children head towards the building designated as school in Jackson, happily laughing while they chase each others.

You yawn and open the cabinet in the kitchen where you keep the coffee filters, a precious supply recovered during an exploration that you jealously preserve.

The coffee is also the result of a find and therefore it was carefully rationed with the other members of the community.

You are grateful that it exists because this morning you really need it, last night you slept badly, continuing to toss in your sleep and always dreaming of the same thing again and again. You being swallowed up by a hole in the ground and no hand reaching out to help you. Just a great dream.

The coffee maker burbles a few minutes later, releasing the drink you crave.

Temperatures are milder in this season so you no longer need to put on a heavy jacket and snow boots, there is a bit of fresh wind but nothing compared to the harsh winter that has just passed.

Today in particular you feel like dressing better than usual, you go back to your room and open the wardrobe, carefully inspecting the few clothes hanging there.

You obviously don't have much choice because they're all salvaged second-hand clothes, but Maria gave you a nice pair of denim shorts a month ago and they look very nice on you.

You take it out of the closet and place it on the bed along with a white tank top that highlights your boobs just right, it’s nothing particularly fancy but it makes you feel good, you head towards the shower humming softly.

The shower helps you wake up, you dress and you leave the house feeling a bit better.

You meet a couple of people who greet you as you make your way to the library.

You enter, smelling the familiar smell of books and immediately get to work cleaning and dusting the shelves and the floor, like every day.

The morning passes peacefully, only a couple of people come in to borrow books, so after doing your chores you took the opportunity to rearrange thriller’s books section.

You're a bit shocked by the fact that no one told you anything particular but you don't mind, these people have a lot to think about and a lot to do.

When you leave it's lunch time, so you head to the common room.

The crisp air caresses your face and the sun gives you a little warmth that you missed so much, you really love this season in Jackson.

You enter the room filled with chatter that echoes off the walls. You take your place in line and once you have had your portion you sit at one of the tables.

No one reaches you yet. You're alone in a room full of people.

You see him in a corner, sitting with Maria and Tommy and you get lost for a while observing the way he moves his large hands, how his hair rests at the base of his neck, his big brown eyes, so communicative, the way his flannel shirt - which has practically become a distinctive trait of Joel - hug his muscles, the way his lower lip slightly twitch while he’s talking.

You’re totally captivated.

You can't help it and you know it.

Every time he spoke to you, even for just a few minutes, your body reacted unequivocally at his deep low raspy voice, his proximity always caused you trouble.

You like this man, much more than you are willing to admit.

Joel Miller.

You're friends, you might say. As much as it is possible to be friends with a man like him.

He's friendly, but always with an undertone of detachment that you can't define, as if he's afraid of letting himself go with someone and let his feelings flow freely.

And just as you're thinking this, he turns and looks at you for a moment.

You are sitting, yet your knees feel weak and you feel your cheeks redden knowing you've been caught.

You turn your eyes back to your lunch, quickly finishing your meal and bringing your tray back. You leave the common room feeling in a bubble.

It's stupid that he makes you feel like a little girl with her first crush but it always happens, by now you're resigned to always making a fool of yourself with him.

You walk home to do your household chores and then go to the patch of garden you've been assigned to take care of.

You meet various people along the way but again everyone just say hello, you see Ellie with Dina and they both wave at you and nothing more. In the meantime, Maria has left the common room and the only thing she asks you is how the courgettes you planted a month ago are coming along.

It's strange, but you shrug your shoulders and think that deep down today is not such a relevant day for others even if you hoped it would be because you now consider these people as your new family.

You stop thinking about it and focus on the things you have to do but a tiny piece of your heart hurts a little, just a little.

What the hell is wrong with people today? Only a month ago they throw a big party for Tommy and now nothing, not even a hint.

Okay, Tommy is higher rank, he is married to Maria, everyone sees him as a guide just as they see his partner.

And he goes on patrols, certainly offering others a greater sense of security and protection, unlike you who deal with less dangerous things.

That's probably why, you're just a minion in Jackson's pecking order.

You let off some steam by plowing your field with more force than necessary, small drops of sweat slide down your forehead and you end up hot and with your arms aching from the effort.

Stupid girl, stop thinking about it, it's not that important to have a birthday, not in a post apocalyptic world where everyone is struggling to get ahead.

But still, they acknowledged every single special day of everyone’s here before, except yours and nothing particularly relevant is happening, it’s been a couple of quiet weeks.

You're wiping sweat from your forehead with one hand when you hear a voice behind you.

"What are you doing tonight?" It's his voice, you'd recognize his among a thousand.

You turn around stuttering “uh, what?”

And there he is, flannel shirt, curls slightly blowing in the wind, mouth curved in a smirk, dark piercing eyes.

Fuck.

“I asked…what are you doing tonight?”

You feel the nervousness rising in your chest, it's the first time he's spoken to you in a week and you weren't ready in the slightest.

“Uh…oh…nothing special, I guess, I think I'll read a book and go to sleep early”

you say trying to maintain a certain apparent nonchalance.

“You didn't mention dinner, are you going to fast?” Oh, great. Sarcastic jokes, classic Miller behavior.

“No, of course not,” you reply, rolling your eyes.

He chuckles “okay, so, would you like to come to my house? I cook”

Fuck. Is that, a date?

You instantly feel your mouth dry as you try to reply “Well, it’s not like I have something better to do so yes, why not”

You don't want to make it obvious to this man how he makes you feel. There are worse things to worry about in this world, but letting yourself go with someone who always shows restraint only to be rejected - on your birthday, no less - doesn't seem as pleasant.

And that's how you usually communicate anyway, bickering.

Maria often laughs about it, you are both stubborn and neither of you ever wants to agree with the other.

One day she told you that she thinks you'll end up together and you practically laughed in her face. Not because you don't want to, but because you thought Joel didn't even see you that way.

Maybe Maria was right all along, who knows.

“Good, see you at 7”

And he goes.

You watch him walk away for a while, still with spade in your hands.

Suddenly this day became interesting.

You run into the house and take off your dirty clothes throwing them in the basket you keep in the bathroom and go to the shower.

While you're soaping yourself up you wonder what came into his mind.

As you rub your hair, you think that maybe he's making fun of you but Joel doesn't seem like the type to make a prank, he's always quite sarcastic but not a proper prankster.

It's part of his charm, he always looks grumpy but you know he's not bad, the way he looks at Ellie or his brother says everything about him.

He would do anything for the people he loves.

And he’s not mean, he was kind to you too.

You've spent more time looking at him, analyzing every chat you had with him than you like to admit, so yeah, you're pretty sure he's okay.

Once you get out of the shower you open the wardrobe and find yourself contemplating the usual clothes with which you have to make the best of things.

There is a cute dress that you have never worn because you have never found a particular occasion. It's quite short and low-cut, definitely not suited to Jackson's lifestyle, here everyone wears jeans and sweaters or t-shirts.

You think that maybe tonight is the time to dare even if you don't want him to burst out laughing and ask you what you've got in your head.

It's just a dinner.

He never mentioned anything romantic.

You're obviously nervous, because you like him and if it doesn't go well you should continue to see him every day anyway.

In the end you decide to wear the dress anyway but to tone it down with a cardigan and a pair of boots, so as to make it look less like "please fuck me" style.

You shake your head, how much trouble are you going to for Joel Miller.

However, you have to admit that it's the first really exciting thing that's happened to you since you've been here. You thought that surviving was enough so you obviously never complained about it.

You fix your hair after drying it, you look at yourself in the mirror and you think that you're not that bad after all.

It's almost time, you leave the house and walk the few meters that separate you from Joel's house with your heart beating wildly in your chest.

You climb the few steps to his porch feeling insecure and stupid for accepting, who knows what you expect from this lonely man.

You shrug and knock on the door, snuggling into your cardigan in the cool evening air.

You consider going back and pretending you had a mishap, but Joel opens the door.

“Hey, come in” he smiles at you. You cross the threshold timidly as a delicious scent invades your nostrils.

Who knew Joel Miller could cook?

You follow him into the kitchen and Joel pours you a glass of wine.

“Where did you find this?” you ask in surprise. Wine is a luxury that you haven't been able to afford many times in Jackson, usually the only thing they bring back after searches and patrols are bottles of cheap whiskey.

“I found it two km from here in an abandoned shop. It was stuck under a shelf, probably for years”

“Oh, great”

“Well they say that aged wines are better. Like men, don't you agree?” He smiles, winking at you.

He winked.

Fuck.

You try to hide your surprise by taking a long sip from your glass.

While Joel is busy checking on the stew you take a look around the living room.

It's a nice house, simply furnished like all the houses in Jackson, tidy and clean.

There are some sheets with drawings on the coffee table in front of the couch. You know Joel made them because you've seen him several times on his porch busy drawing animals. A squirrel, a deer, a small bird. He's really good at it.

And obviously his guitar, resting on a stand in a corner near the couch.

In a totally cheesy way you would love to hear him play something for you.

“So, do you like wine?”

You turn and see that he is a few steps away from you, glass in hand.

“Uhm, yeah, it’s good”

He gives you a smile “stew is almost ready”

“Can I help you with something?”

“No, don’t worry, you’re the guest”

You see him linger with his gaze on your legs and up to your breasts and you think that the dress wasn't such a bad idea after all.

He is wearing a black t-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans and is breathtaking.

You scan each other for a few seconds, without speaking. You are like two predators sniffing each other to see who will give in first.

“That dress looks good on you” he finally says and for the first time you notice that he is slightly embarrassed. He looks down at his glass and stares at it harder than necessary.

You still don't know why he invited you tonight but honestly at this point you don't even care. He's more handsome than ever, his hair still slightly damp from the shower and pulled back, that little scar on his cheek that you'd be eager to find out the story of, that smile he's giving you and his hands nervously gripping the glass, everything about him draws you in like a magnet.

"Thank you. You're not bad either." You giggle and you know that it’s definitely what you needed tonight. To feel attractive. To feel seen.

He comes back to the kitchen and after a few seconds he calls you “Dinner’s ready”

You sit at the table in the kitchen and he places a plate in front of you that smells of home, of memories and takes you back to when you were little and your mom cooked for you.

It's like Proust's madeleine.

Evoking sweet feelings with food is one of your favorite things to remember who you were, who you loved, and what was before this debacle.

It's melancholy but also comfort in a certain way, it's like holding on to the truest and most authentic part of you, the one that made you who you are today and probably allowed you to survive.

You take a bite as Joel looks at you in anticipation.

“Wow, this is good!” you exclaim “extremely good. Who knew that you were a chef”

“Ha! I’m really not, it’s just a stew and I’ve done it so many time that I can’t get it wrong at this point”

“It's still the best I've had in years, I need to get invited to dinner more often”

You chuckle and then you blush, because you've made it clear that you hope it's the first of many times.

Damn you.

You hadn't had a love interest in years, obviously, there wasn't time to think about that while the world burned and you had to fight to stay alive. But here, in this little bubble, where people have welcomed you and you have recovered crumbs of normality, it doesn't seem too stupid to feel something for Joel.

Is he grumpy? Sometimes. But he is also incredibly generous, to be honest. When you asked him, a formal contractor, to help you create the library he snorted, he told you that it wasn't necessary, that no one would ever go there anyway.

You shrugged and said that you would have done it anyway with or without his help, Maria had already given you permission.

The next morning you got up early to go and clean up the designated building and found him there, he was repairing a damaged window that wouldn't go up or down.

He grumbled when you asked him ironically what he was doing “someone has to stop you from opening a crumbling library”

You smiled, feeling your heart warm.

And so it was every day until the place was ready. Joel showed up early in the morning or in the evening, spent a few hours fixing the steps, eradicating moths, building shelves and cabinets, even a desk for you.

You've never talked in depth about your lives but you still know something you've heard through the grapevine. He's very secretive about his past so you never asked him any uncomfortable questions, the last thing you would want is for him to never share anything with you again.

The time he helped you with the library was the most enjoyable time you've had here so far and that's when you realized that your crush was more serious than expected.

“Do you want another glass of wine?”

“Why not, i don’t have to drive home”

He laughs “Yeah, no fines for you”

“At most a headache, but I'll think about that in the morning”

“Were you surprised when I invited you?”

he leaves you speechless for a moment and then you find, you don't know how, the strength to use irony, like you always do "I've known for a long time that you want me" you giggle and brush your hair away from your face while you say it.

"Oh yes? How strange, I actually thought it was the opposite” the smirk and the deep chuckle he gives to you goes straight to the most private part of you. Right there. It sits on your clit and you feel it tingling.

Fuck, this man.

You never experienced a flirty Joel Miller before and you were actually quite sure he wasn’t even capable of being so but he is.

“Oh shut up, finish eating” you scoff, feeling your cheeks turn on fire.

He lets go for a while and watches you amusedly fill your mouth with his stew.

“It's a pleasure to see you eat, little finch”

He started calling you that when you couldn't move the furniture in the library on your own. "I don't know how you thought you could manage on your own, little finch."

At first you hated it, now you pretend to hate it but you actually like it.

“Stop calling me that!” you still have to keep up a facade after all.

“Oh come on, finch is the cutest bird, don’t be offended”

“I’m no bird” you pout.

“Yep you are, finch. Delicate. Elegant. Pretty. You walk like you’re floating in the light air and your voice is a lovely chirping sound. It gets on my nerves sometimes, but I actually like it. A lot.”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

You can't believe he said that.

You feel your heart melt like snow under the sun, your lips involuntarily curl into a smile, your hands tremble with the desire to touching him and between your legs a lustful heat invades you all over.

His face is relaxed, his eyes sparkle mischievously and his smile…his smile pins you to the chair.

You raise your glass in an attempt to drink some courage while he doesn't stop looking at you silently.

Just enough time to bring your lips close to the glass and you find yourself coughing, you're too distracted and the wine goes sideways.

Obviously.

You can't help but look like a fool in front of him, you don't even know how he thinks you're elegant.

“Jesus, are you okay?” he asks in alarm as he reaches up to wrap his arm around your back and pat you lightly.

To your surprise, his large, calloused hands can be very gentle.

“Oh my god, yes, yes I’m okay” you reply between coughs "I'll get over it now"

Now that he knows that you will survive he sits back down to his chair and scrutinizes you with an amused expression.

“Did I go too hard on you?”

“What? No, not all” you reply red-faced, while trying to regain some composure.

“Okay, if you say so” he places a hand on yours gripping the table “Has it passed?”

“Yeah, I think it is” You pour a little water into the other glass he has set and drink, this time slowly.

Finally you feel your breathing return to regularity and your cough gradually subside.“Thank goodness, little finch, think if I should have taken you to the doctor in that lovely dress” and laughs.

You've never seen him laugh so much.

He is intelligible most of the time but tonight he is an open book.

“What's wrong with this dress, Miller?” you ask, ironically, you may be clumsy but not to this point and you want to try to get back at him.

"Nothing. You don't see many of them in Jackson, that's all."

“It doesn't look like anything special to me,” you say, as you realize he's staring insistently at your tits. “Do you see anything special, Miller?”

He shrugs “It’s pretty low cut for nothing”

You bend over slightly, resting your forearms on the table smiling at him, exposing your boobs even more. He is sitting in front of you and still watching at them.

“You're pretty good at it after all, little finch” his eyes have become darker and it's as if a small flame is burning inside them.

You feel a certain pride rising in your chest.

“Now you look like the embarrassed one, Miller, have you seen how things have changed?” Your smirk doesn't go unnoticed by Joel who squirms in his seat as if it has suddenly become uncomfortable.

"Can you tell me something? Why did you invite me tonight?” you’re pushing him, and you know it. And actually, you like it, for once you feel like you have the upper hand.

“Isn't it obvious, finch?” he mutter.

“Maybe, but I'd like to hear it from you. Use your words, Miller, I know you can."

“When you asked me to help you to arrange the library I thought you were crazy. Then I realized I was wrong. It was a nice idea. It was a great idea actually. No one here can go anywhere anymore, and in any case there is nowhere you can go so it is comforting to know that there is always a way to take refuge elsewhere, at least for a few hours, reading a great book. So yes, finch, I like you. I like you because you gave us back some beauty.”

“Fuck Miller, you can make speeches whenever you want”

“It's just one of the reasons I like you, you’re also smart and thoughtful and gorgeous but yeah, that’s it, I’ve said it”

His gaze is languid, you'd almost say longing. Maybe you managed to scratch a small piece of the invisible armor he built to protect himself.

One moment you were bickering as usual and the next Joel fucking Miller left you speechless.

No sarcasm, not an ounce of irony, he sounds sensitive and vulnerable.

It's so strange to see him in this light, the only other time it happened to you you were in the library, he found a children's book and held it in his hands looking at it in silence.

For a moment you could have sworn you saw tears in his eyes, he looked helpless and hurt and then it was the usual Joel, complaining about the mess and the weight of the boxes you had made him lift that gave nightmares to his back.

You get up from the chair without even realizing it, as if it were an involuntary movement that your body needs.

You stop in front of him, who is still sitting, his arms abandoned on the table, his gaze following you questioningly.

You put a hand in his hair and let it run through his dark curls while he instinctively closes his eyes, abandoning himself completely under your touch.

You would like to say something but you don't want to ruin the moment and in any case you can't find any words suitable to describe how you feel.

Moved, yearning, grateful, overwhelmed?

All these things together at the same time.

You let your hand linger on the base of his neck, stroking softly

“Look at me” you whisper.

And his gaze turns, his whole body turns, and you've never seen him so clearly. He rests his large hands on your hips and his gaze pierces you as he lands on yours.

You feel his grip tighten as you lean over him and leave a shy kiss on his lips. Small. Brief. And another, instinctively. And yet another.

And another until his lips part on yours and fit perfectly in a long sigh. He tastes like wine and loneliness and desire.

It’s manly but tender and demanding for more.

Your tongues meet and it's like an electric shock that surprises you but at the same time it's inevitable like when two surfaces rub together generating energy, it is an unwritten physical law that holds you together despite having used all your strength to keep each other at a distance for months.

Now, all you can do is give up.

You kiss him like it's the last thing you do in your life, his eager hands roam your hips, gripping your ass and squeezing tightly.

He part from your lips just the time to stand up and wrapping you entirely in his arms, his mouth searching for yours again, eager, his hands stroking your back while you feel just like a little finch in the most comfortable nest you could find.

“God, I want you” he mutter in your ear nuzzling at your sensitive skin.

“Take me. Just… take me, Joel”

It’s a dreadful need that you feel deep in your bone, the last shred of love you could find in this broken world, a sweet feeling of release that you desperately wanted.

You can’t think straight and don’t want to.

He take off your cardigan and reaches for the hem of your dress and lifts it up roaming your thighs feverishly, squeezing and stroking, his fingers digging into your flesh as you moan softly into his ear. He pulls it up to your waist and you help slide it off your head.

He bends down to take off your boots and throws them on the floor in an unspecified place, then he gets up and takes you back in his arms. He's still dressed while you're almost naked and exposed in a pair of black lace panties and a matching bra. You might be intimidated but you're not. You let yourself be held and explored by his hands. His calloused fingers, rough but gentle, touch you everywhere, giving you goosebumps. He lifts a hand to one of your breast and squeezes it through the fabric.

You can't help but let out a muffled moan while he is filling his hand with your flesh.

“Do you like it, finch? Me squeezing your boob?” he says in a whisper, looking into your eyes.

“Y-yes” you mumble “give me more”

There's a smug, lecherous smile painted on his face as he reaches for your bra and unclasps it with a single gesture.

He slides it off and drops it on the kitchen floor. Your nipples stiffen in an instant, hit by the air, he takes one between his fingers and pinches it, pulling it gently and then his mouth is on it swirling his tongue and sucking it. You squirm at the sensation, digging your hand into his hair again, pushing his face into your breast “more, more” you stammer. You feel his smile spread across your skin and his teeth bite lightly into you.

“You’re ravenous, aren’t you?”

You pull his hair and tilt his face slightly to regain eye contact. “Do you mind?”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“Good, you can continue doing what you were doing” you smile defiantly. You like to provoke him, especially now.

“You're bossy for a little finch, I like that”

he smiles back, his eyes shining bright with thrill and anticipation.

He returns to greedily licking and sucking like a thirsty man on your nipples, another loud moan escape from your lips.

“Fuck, you’re so good”

“I just started with you, you have no idea what awaits you” he whispers.

“Mmm then less talking, Miller, show me”

Without having to be told twice, he picks you up, much to your surprise, and places you on his couch in the living room.

“Woah, Miller, easy”

“You told me not to waste time talking” he shrugs. chuckling.

He pulls you to the edge of the couch “spread your legs”

You open your legs a little but he is visibly not satisfied, he takes your knees and opens them more "Like this. Now stay still” he orders.

He kneels between your thighs and pulls your panties aside.

You feel his fingers trail up your thigh, slowly, taking the time to slide lightly over your skin, causing you a mixture of tickling and excitement.

You writhe when you feel his index finger grazing your pussy lips, wandering up and down caressing for a little bit before sliding it between them and wetting it completely in your juices.

“You’re soaking wet, baby”

You can literally feel your cunt dripping when he keeps going up and down, briefly sinking into your hole with the tip of his finger and then on your clit, moving in circle with two fingers over your bundle of nerves.

You’re whining again, you’re growing impatient and he perfectly knows that

“Joel…”

“Yes, Finch?”

“You're doing it again”

“What”

“You know what. Do you want to torture me?”

"No. I just want you to beg me."

“God, you’re impossible” you roll your eyes out of exhaustion and arousal.

He stops completely.

“So are you, babe. Can you please let me do what I know best?”

He presses on your clit with two fingers and you squirm.

“Fuck. Okay”

He starts teasing your clit again, moving his fingers up and down to gather your wetness and spread it all over your lips.

“The thing is, finch, your pussy is so good. Look at her, I can’t rush it. She deserves to be loved nicely and slowly”

He is sitting on his heels just taking his time with you and you can’t be more eager to have him in your hole but you breath, resigned to wait for his pace.

He teases your entrance again, this time with two fingers, pushing in a little deeper.

His thumb is still taking care of your clit, moving a little faster than before.

“Eyes on me, babe”

And you do, you lock your eyes with his and you see hunger and lust and wonder.

He’s admiring you and you feel flattered.

He brings his face closer and sticks his tongue out, licking you from bottom to top and then again, letting it slide between your lips.

His beard is scratching you, his tongue stops on your clit swirling around it, jerking it slowly, again and again until you see him closing his lips on it and sucking gently.

He’s devouring you at this point and you mewl and cry and scream for more.

“Jesus - fuck - oh my goodness”

Your fingers are entwined into his curls and you’re pushing his face against you as much as you can, his tongue is fucking your hole now, he delves into you and lick all he can and you start to feel an incredible warmth rising from your core, in your tummy, to your chest.

He finally lets his index and middle finger sliding into you, pumping slowly in and out of your dripping wet cunt.

“Joel, oh my God I - ha! - I can’t, oh God”

“Yes, you can. Just like that, baby, give it to me” he whispers softly against your skin.

You’re on the verge of coming, the most incredible orgasm is knocking at your senses, overwhelming and brutally crushing into you.

“I’m com - oh GOD - yes,Joel, fuck”

He praises you again “come for me, soak my fingers, come on”

And you do. You gush all over his fingers like it was the last thing you do in the world, your legs shake and your heart reach an impossible pace that leaves you breathless.

He keeps licking and pumping into you until you calm and you can’t take your eyes off him bowed between your thighs, he drives you wild.

He stands up grunting at his poor knees and you giggle, he raises an eyebrow at you

“I wouldn't laugh considering the fact that I just made you scream my name”

He sits down on the couch next to you, circling your waist with his big strong arm and pushing you against him.

You bury your face in his chest “Aw, you’re so touchy, Miller” and you giggle again.

“You’re such a little brat.” He says, stroking your hair “But see? I wasn’t lying. It's been many years since I last did this but I still know what to do”

You raise your eyes at him “yeah, I give you that. You’re fucking good” and you place a kiss on the hairless part of his beard “but I-”

“What?” he interrupts you, looking at you maliciously

You bite your lower lip, feeling hot again just for the way he’s holding you tightly watching you with lust in his eyes.

“I want your cock”

“Oh. It’s time to beg, baby”

“Joel…”

“Beg for it, little finch” he’s smiling but his voice is firm and slightly authoritative

“I never beg” you scoff

“You will start now, sweetie, if you want to see me naked”

You look at him with exasperation, rolling your eyes immediately after “okay, Jesus. Can you please give me your cock?”

“Manners, babe. Ask gently”

You ask yourself what have you done wrong to fall for such an unbearable man “Good Lord”

“Beg with conviction”

“Joel Miller, could you do me the courtesy of fucking me? Please?”

You’re smirking hard. You definitely love to get on his nerves.

“You’re getting into trouble with this attitude, you know that?” He reaches one of your nipples and pinches it hard making you whimper into his arms.

You turn serious, looking him in the eyes intensely, licking your lip before saying “Fuck me, Joel. Please.”

“Mmm yes, just like that baby, it didn't take much”

He finally stands up in front of you. He takes off his shirt, revealing a strong, broad chest.

You can see a thin strip of hair disappearing under his jeans but apart from that he is almost hairless, his skin is delightfully dotted with freckles that make your mouth water.

He throws off his shirt and bends over to remove his boots.

Your eyes linger on his back, on his tense, rippling muscles, you can't believe how gorgeous he is, after all you think it was worth begging for this but you will never tell him.

He unzips his jeans and takes them off, remaining in his boxers. The sight of his deliciously soft tummy drives you completely insane. You’re craving him like you never did with anyone before.

“Kneel on the couch for me, baby” he orders and you immediately do, you turn your head just in time to see him taking off his boxers, freeing his already hard and swollen cock. Your knees sink into the pillows and your hands rest on the armrest, you are completely exposed to his will.

He gets behind you on his knees, gripping your hips and pulling you towards him.

“Fuck me Joel, please, fuck me now” you cry

“Such a good girl, begging for my cock like that. You learn quickly, little finch”

You only feel the tip poking at your entrance, he slides his cock against your dripping folds “Beg once more, babe”

You writhe, it’s more than you can take right now, you want him desperately.

“Please, Joel. Please” your voice sounds distraught but you don’t care, not now.

He enters you with a single thrust that makes you scream “Fuck!”

He’s big, so big that his cock burns in your center.

“I told you you were getting into trouble, baby, if you wanted me to be gentle you should have behaved better”

It's a small punishment you can bear, after a few seconds you already got used to his intrusion, you never felt so full before and right now you couldn’t ask for anything better.

He begins to move slowly, in and out of you, sinking deeper each time and reaching that spot that makes you see stars.

His loud grunts numb your head, his fingers dig into your hips as he thrusts into you, maybe he will leave some marks and the thought excite you even more.

“Oh God, please don’t stop, please”

He’s pounding into you incessantly, every thrust more deep leaving you short breath, you’re so wet that every lewd sounds coming from your cunt is making you feel like you’re on the brink of falling apart.

“Fuck, you look so pretty like that, babe, the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen, so perfect for me”

You whine even more at his praises, feeling your pussy clenching hard around his cock.

“Joel please I’m-”

“I know baby, I know, I can feel you, squeezing my cock just right, God you’re taking me so good”

You basically spasm on his cock right now, legs trembling as your sink your fingers in the fabric of the couch desperately trying to hold your posture.

He holds you tightly by your hips, grunting with each thrust into you, hitting your cervix again and again.

“Come for me baby, come all over my cock”

You’re quivering so hard that you almost think of being on the verge of losing your mind.

You cry his name feeling so full and dazed while your orgasm explodes inside you.

He pumps into you until you calm down but he’s still throbbing against your walls “Where do you want me?”

“On my tits - please”

He comes out of you and you lie down on his couch, his throbbing cock is in front of you, he takes it in his hand, milking it a couple of time before releasing his cum all over you. He moans loudly as he paints your tits and chest with his pleasure.

He lies down on top of you, groaning “God, this was amazing”

You feel his sticky seed spreading on your skin but you don't care, you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him softly.

He moves to the side so as not to weigh you down and takes you in his arms again.

You hide your face for a moment in the crook of his neck, inhaling his woody, citrusy perfume, with a hint of the natural sweaty scent of his skin. He smells amazingly.

“I could get used to it” you giggle

“Me too, little finch” and he leaves a kiss on your hair.

“Oh, you made completely forgot about it, do you know what day it is today?”

“No, should I?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you. It’s my birthday.”

His eyes widen, “Really?”

“Yep”

“Well then happy birthday. Did you like your present?”

“It’s the best I’ve ever received”

You kiss him again, knowing how true it is.

“We should take a shower,” he laughs.

“Yeah, you’re… well…all over me…but to be honest, I like it.”

He smiles widely “Come on little finch, I might have another gift for you in the bathroom”

“Oh, then I can’t wait to unwrap it”

[jenchan-writingmultis]

For the TWST Fairytale AU could you do one for Rook? I am hopelessly enamored with him

Your radiance or His satisfaction?

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A/n: This was requested last June 6, and I just got to it right now, I'm really sorry that it took so long (╥﹏╥), and wow, I actually half liked this, but the ending was a bit rushed, but here you go! I really hope you liked this one, it was stressful to write but also fulfilling! I wanted to create some kind of trope but at the same time being far away from the fairytale itself. Thank you so much for requesting this!

Pairing: Rook Hunt x Snow White GN Reader, Vil x Snow White GN Reader (One-sided)

Credits: The design was made by me in Canva and the art that was used is all from the Official Twisted Wonderland Cards Warning: A bit of Angst, and creepy behavior a bit from Rook, but he means well! Ooc(?) I hope not. Obsessive Vil (vague, since it’s one sided) Bad French

Ma chère/ Mon cher: My dear (both feminine and masculine) Masterlist ══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══ Synopsis: Rook Hunt was assigned a straightforward mission:, one simple mission to take the life of a beauty who was claimed by the mirror as the "Fairest of them all"However, he never anticipated becoming captivated not only by your appearance but you as a person as well. Now, he finds himself tangled in quite a predicament. ══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Rook Hunt:

When he first saw you, he thought that an angel fell down heaven and he was happy to help! You had a bit of a scrapped knee, most likely from stumbling down the steep stairways earlier. How did he know that?... Intuition of course! And how the scrape looked.

"Ma chère/ Mon cher!" walking to you, he'd kneel, immediately placing a sterilized handkerchief on your wound. "Are you alright?"  You were gorgeous, wearing a yellow and blue outfit, and a red bow, how adorable you are, it makes him want to kiss you!

"Yeah, I think so…" You winced as he began cleaning your injury, though you noticed he was extra careful. He was an odd stranger who had appeared just in time—or perhaps not, since you still fell and hurt your leg.  Rook on the other hand was wearing a simple outfit, something you'd notice huntsmen wear.

"Do be careful" he uses a medical kit he kept in his bag for emergencies. He gently lifted your leg, supporting your knee to wrap the gauze more easily. "Vicious boars are around the forest, who knows what could happen to a lovely person like you" Rook knew that blood is what attracts animals around, an exposed wound like this needed to be treated as soon as possible and he was happy he got to you first before any animal.

You trusted him so readily, allowing his gentle hands to wrap the gauze securely around your injury. "What's your name?" you couldn't help but be curious, you were quite attentive to your surroundings so the fact that someone managed to see you fall, it surprised you.

"Rook Hunt at your expense Ma chère/Mon cher" he offers his gloved hand to you, urging you to take it so that he can easily lift you up for you to stand. You accepted it, feeling his firm grip as he effortlessly lifted you to your feet. The way he handled you made you feel almost like a princess; his hand on your waist, fingers intertwined as if you were dancing in a grand ballroom.

That might have caused you to instinctively step back, as Rook seemed reluctant to release you. If you hadn't pulled away first, the two of you would have found yourselves in quite a compromising position.

"Right" you muttered awkwardly you didn't really know where to go from this, but Rook seemed to have other plans. "By chance Ma chère/Mon cher, will you be willing to help me with my project?"

That piqued your curiosity. "What project exactly?" Rook placed his hand on his chest, his gaze narrowing on you with a predatory intensity. "Nothing much," he replied smoothly. "I simply wish to have the opportunity to observe you."

Usually, he doesn't ask his targets if they're willing to be observed, but your case was interesting, the queen having his focus locked on you, he wanted to know, aside from your beauté, what else do you have?

Well, color him surprised, you agreed, he could see confusion in your eyes, but you didn't even question it, and that's where your weird but pleasant relationship started, he would often come to the cabin where you live with your friends, by friends, the animals you keep around, he even hunts for you! However, you eventually persuaded him to switch to a more vegetarian diet. After all, most of the animals in the forest were your friends, and you couldn't bear to see them harmed.

Rook on the other hand, doesn't even show up normally, he doesn't knock at your door, he sneaks in, seeing you already in bed and he'd grab a seat before placing himself on your side just to watch you sleep, kind of creepy, but he couldn't resist observing the way your expression softened when he traced his fingers along your cheek, as if he were gently petting a small bunny.

You wouldn't wake up catching him in the act though but do expect to see him drifting to sleep while sitting down.

Why was Rook doing this? Well, because he was weighing whether he preferred you in his arms or his hands drenched with your blood; and so far, your beauty and interesting personality got him wanting to witness more of your unpredictability.

After a few months of being around you, helping you with chores, feeding the animals, and learning more about you as a person, he decided to mention to you about the queen wanting your head on a silver platter, the reason? He doesn't know yet, but instead of fearing for your life, you just laughed. "Why would he need my head just because I'm 'prettier' than him?" You playfully hit Rook's arm as if he'd told the funniest joke ever, which made Rook chuckle. He took hold of your hand and placed a kiss on your knuckles.

"I'm not joking; unfortunately," he saw you freeze up due to his blatant affection and the obvious gravity of the situation. "he really does want your head," he states. But no matter how serious he sounds; you still find it amusing. How strange of you.

"I still don't see how I'm the fairest of them all; that mirror must be lying," you added, pulling your hand away and rubbing the spot where he had kissed it, even after all these times you've known him, you still can't get used to his sudden touches.

"You don't?" he looked genuinely surprised as he placed his hand on your cheek, gently tracing it to your chin as he lifted it up to make you see him eye to eye. "Why that is hard to believe Ma chère/Mon cher?" he watches your expression turn from surprise into a deep shade of red, you knew what he was implying however that doesn't stop him from continuing, if you really can't see the beauty that you blessed his sight for, at least his words would explain what he sees.

"Whenever I observe you, I notice that the stars in the sky seem to have found a new home in your eyes, Ma chère/Mon cher," he wonders how such a common eye color would look so alluring to him, he guesses everything a person possess becomes vibrant the more they show it or at least the more you show it. 

"You are the embodiment of grace under pressure, handling life's storms with an elegance that is both humbling and inspiring."

"Okay stop!" you pushed him away, feeling like you're being suffocated under the pressure of his love, "That's too much Rook," although you did like the effort and love that he was giving to you for the past months, you can't help but feel off about it, there's more to what this little "project" of his that meets the eye.

Ah, did you notice? The way he observed you; had a different reason than merely knowing you as a friend.  "I apologize Ma chère/Mon cher" Seeing that saddened look in your eyes, you didn't believe him despite knowing that he never lied to you right?

He stumbles from your push, but he doesn't mind. "I hope my words find their way to your heart beauty from afar." He's running out of time with this, his queen was getting frustrated because every week, the mirror only talked about you, the fairest of them all, it was obvious that he wasn't doing his job very well.

"What? Rook what are you talking about" you asked, becoming increasingly confused by his perplexing way of speaking.

"It'll make my heart happy if you thought of what I said thoroughly during my absence" he repeats once more, grabbing his bag from the tree trunk. 'I must leave for now, Ma Cherie/Mon Cher," he says, giving your head a gentle ruffle. "I'll be back in a few days."

And just like that, without acknowledging your protest, he departed, just like how he had arrived.

On the other hand, you attempted to decipher what he said. Was it a confession, perhaps? Or a code of some sort? What was it? it really does direct you more that he loved you.

Rook knew what he had felt when he first saw you; he believed it had been obvious from the start. His intuition had strongly leaned towards the idea of keeping you close, of protecting you from harm, especially from the wrath of the queen. He loves you, yet he also cannot fathom the idea of betraying his queen, what a predicament he got himself into.

That was all he could think about while he made his way back to the castle, the doors opening automatically for him, magic so dense that it made his breathing feel ragged. The moment he reached the throne, the smell of poison was evident in the air, "Roi du Poison" he called out to him, not completely devoid of affection but it was lessened, and Vil noticed that.

"How long will you continue sparing this person's life, Rook?" The mention of his name caused a shiver down his spine, yet he maintained his smile. "In due time beautiful Vil, I'm merely having fun with our prey" he states as he bows down to Vil the moment he sees the Queen stand up.

"This is unlike you" Vil sighed, his robe fluttering as he walks down, holding an apple as it glistens like temptation, even Rook wanted to take a bite of it. "If you continue this seamless cat and mouse chase, I will do your work myself"

"Trust me Roi du Poison," he says as Rook notices Vil offering his gloved hand. Chuckling, he takes the other's hand and plants a kiss on the gloved fingers. "I will do whatever the queen demands, you will not see their faces on the mirror, and you will only see yours"

Rook had observed if his beautiful words pleased Vil, which it did as he pulled his hand off, walking back to his throne. "Tomorrow night, I shall be awaiting good news from you."

"Certainly, Roi du Poison."

What should he do? The moment he went out of the castle, his heart wouldn't stop thumping so fast. He didn't even notice you trying to snap him out of his thoughts when you held his hand actually, he didn't even notice that he had mindlessly traveled to the cabin where you lived, the only time you got him to snap out was when you cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look into you, to see you instead of drowning in his worries.

"Rook Hunt!" you called out to him causing him to snap out of his thoughts, what a sight, you, touching his cheeks while squishing it, glaring at him all huffy. "Can't you explain to me the real reason why you decided to observe me?" you asked as his mouth turned into a thin line.

He nuzzled your hand as much as he would love to keep your touches on him forever, he should clear things up before it causes a misunderstanding, he didn't know what he talked about while being in a trance, but it might be connected to what he told you before.

"I was stating the truth when I told you that I wanted to observe you" he pulls your hands off his cheeks, a faint smile etched on his face. "I genuinely wanted to understand why the queen herself wanted you dead. Besides the mirror declaring you the fairest, I see no reason to end your life simply to claim your throne of beauty."

"Wait… so you're?" you couldn't believe it, were you so oblivious to the fact that he has been nothing but nice to you that you didn't realize that he was sent there to kill you.

"I was sent to take your life" Rook looked unfazed, but you on the other hand, had the look of betrayal, your eyes tearing up while looking at him, catching him surprised.

"What's wrong my dear?"

"You were planning to kill me?" you asked, looking down, seemingly defeatedly, but Rook grabbed your hands pulling it to his lips as his eyes narrowed. "Never Ma chère/ Mon cher!" he protests.

"I could never take the life of the fairest of them all- "

"Is that all I am to you?" your question silenced him as his grip loosens.

"Of course, not"

Rook, while he cherishes different kinds of beauty, whether it was negative or not, he realizes that seeing your distraught was not something he liked. He didn’t know how to explain to you that you were so much more than your outward appearance, he fell for you not only because of that.

"Let's run away" he states, letting your hands go as he had a determined expression on his face. "I do not want him to kill you either, so please"

He would have used his nicknames on you, but this was a dire situation, finally realizing his love for you too. Right, did you manage to understand what he said before? That he loves you?

"But- "before you even got anything out, he gave you a look that shut any protest of yours up. "I assure you, your friends will find their way back to you, no matter what."

"Why are you helping me? Was what you said before true?" Doubt clouded your thoughts. You loved him, cared for him—yes. He was an enigma in your normally mundane life. But he was also the one sent by the queen himself to kill you. Should you trust him again? "Do you have feelings for me, Rook Hunt?"

"I don't just like you, Ma chère/Mon cher," he admitted, his gaze dropping momentarily. It was amusing to see that a man like him would be speechless during the time he was supposed to profess his love for you.

"I love you" like a breath of fresh air, those three words came out of his mouth so casually, it just felt right.

Just like that, he captured your heart, managing to destroy any type of doubt that your brain was manifesting, it felt real, and for a moment you felt like some kind of princess eloping with their prince, which is almost the case with you, except this man was trying to save you from a grueling death.

"What do you say?" Once more, he extended his hand to you, reminiscent of the time he first helped you up. Now, he was guiding you towards a path you never imagined you'd tread.

Without hesitation, you grasped his hand, the horse Rook had used to reach you standing nearby. Both of you were prepared, of course, you said your goodbyes to your animal friends, promising to come back for them once the queen has calmed down. You can't leave them alone.

And during the high time of the night, Rook snuck you out, knowing that Vil's eyes would be everywhere, he also made sure that you were out of sight of any type of magic you were magicless yourself, so it was pretty easy to bypass magic induced barriers without alarming them.

"That lying piece of…" Vil's hand smashed a glass against the floor, as lightning seemed to strike the ground in perfect synchronization with his glare at the mirror, Rook lied, deceived him when he was one of his trusted sidekicks. How could he?

Do you think you can just stroll away effortlessly, avoiding any consequences? How laughable. He'll track you down somehow, and he'll ensure you either lose your position or become his possession.

[dokk-fukuro]

Your Relationship [Osamu Dazai]

۞₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪۞  A/N: f!reader, mention of female genitals, smut, mentions of suicide ۞₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪۞

Dazai as your friend:

Respects your relationship, so he’ll never allow himself to flirt with you;

Becomes the initiator of adventures in which you get involved by chance. And this most often ends with a "debriefing" on the topic of the danger of this event;

He often invites you to spend time with him, although he does not fully understand why he does this;

Still avoids physical contact, so no friendly hugs;

He won’t tell you about his past for a number of reasons, one of which is the fear that you’ll simply turn away from him, as he did with everyone to whom he was important;

If you are friends, this doesn’t mean that at some point he’ll not agree to your possible offer to be friends with benefits in order to get the maximum pleasure out of communication and without too much drama;

Dazai as your boyfriend:

Don't expect him to open up to you even a jot. He is still a secretive person, but already out of fear that you will leave, breaking his heart;

If you are lucky and he dares to tell you at least something, accept it with gratitude. Such a chance rarely, if ever, occurs;

Becomes a little more tactile, so be prepared for his clinging with dramatic sobs. Especially if you don't pay attention to him for too long;

A terrible owner who knows how to be jealous beautifully. No, Dazai won't duel to the death for you, if only because he wants to die with you. However, his actions will once and for all discourage any guy from even breathing next to you;

Says declarations of love only when half asleep. It still seems to him that only deeds designate a person as a person, and not empty words;

With the designation of the status of your relationship, you will begin to flirt less with other girls, but will not completely exclude this from your life;

Perhaps he will even reconsider his views on existence, because your presence in his life fills it with meaning. Therefore, it is possible that Osamu will stop looking for attempts to die;

Now to more intimate moments. In bed, Dazai is very tactile and clingy. He wants to feel you even more than physical contact allows, so he doesn’t miss a single opportunity to cuddle up to your naked skin, covering with kisses;

He doesn’t hide his moans and doesn’t even make an attempt to do so. He likes to show you how good he feels with you. Especially when you're riding him;

Likes to talk. He loves to talk very much. It doesn't matter if it's praise or dirty talk. Dazai doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut in moments of pleasure;

His hands are firmly fixed at the head of the bed as you methodically raise and lower your hips, not thinking of accelerating in any way. This is torture for both of you. Both you and Dazai both want to achieve release as soon as possible.

However, it seems to you that mocking him like this is the best way to remind him that you, namely you, are his girlfriend, the one whom he himself singled out from thousands of others.

Osamu bites his lips, doesn't break eye contact to watch you. He likes it when you're on top, likes to see your expression like a winner. You defeated him, now you are proud of yourself. In times like these, you are especially beautiful to him.

"What's upsetting you, sweety?" The young man tries to utter, trying to get out of his shackles. You know for sure about his incredible ability to free himself from any chains, so you did everything to avoid this. “Please, I realized my mistake. Don't torture me, I want to hear your loud moans while I'm inside you so bad. You’re so warm.”

To say that your heart is pounding from these words is the same as to remain silent. And Osamu is a cunning fox, he knows for sure that this will pity you. The tender walls of your pussy cling around his dick, you squirming, in your thoughts waging an unequal battle with the desire to alleviate the sweet torment of both. And... you give up, picking up the pace, listening to Dazai moaning loudly underneath you.

“You are incredible. Please, belladonna, I want to fill you with my cum,” he drawls, still making vain attempts to discreetly free his hands.

Osamu wants to touch you, to squeeze your thighs in his hands, and the inability to do this is like torture.

And, unlike the relationship of friends with benefits, will remain with you in the same bed until he leaves for work. He appreciates your relationship, believing that the world took pity on him for once, since he sent you to him;

Although he seems like a romantic at first glance, Dazai is far from it. Therefore, bouquets of flowers and a romantic dinner are not about him;

He won’t tell you about ADA so that he doesn’t involve you in these things. However, if you are one of the employees, he’ll try to do everything so that you don’t get hurt, or he’ll reduce the danger to a minimum as much as possible.

[neverchecking]

Day 1: Macro- With Fierce Deity

Kicking it off hot~ This one was so fun to write and I'm rather happy with how it turned out!

Smut so Minors Do Not Interact. If I find out a minor has interacted with my blog, I will block you.. Thank you!

Smut CW: Size difference, Fierce being a BIG BOY, there is penetration, but I tried to keep it pretty gender neutral! Let me know if I missed anything or accidently gendered it and I'll fix it!

This is Day one of My Kinktober so be sure to come back and check out the other days! Friendly Reminder that all of my smut is tagged 'Cindersins' including this, but this will also be tagged as 'Cinder's happy halloween' along with the run of the mill smut tags.

Kinktober Masterlist <<< >>> Day 2

“There you go.” His voice rumbled in his chest, low and deep, rolling in dark purrs along your back. 

If there was one thing everyone knew about the deity behind you, it was that he, simply put, was big. An absolute unit of a being. Bringer of wars and harbinger of conflict. More blood than you could fathom had stained his fingers, drowning his soul until it had flickered from the once hopeful light to a fiery inferno of rage and hatred. He had sat upon a throne of bones and skulls, torn from the very enemies he laid to rest. 

Until he had met you.

You were a direct contrast to him. Soft and naive. A being so untainted by the remains of life and the cruel corners of it, you had no choice but to shine. To push back any shadows daring to marr your own soul. To remain as untouchable as you were untouched. To remain cleansed and pure. As if plucked right from the monastery's doorstep. An unwept tear shimmering in the moonlight. 

His precious jewel designed just for him. 

You had awed over every little thing he was capable of. Every tale of gore and horror spun about his capabilities had others regarding him much in the same way he did himself. Like a monster capable of snapping at any given point. But you? You never held any animosity or ill will towards him. No, you remained as open and caring as you always had. Asking in the sweetly unimpeachable tone for him to lean down, only for you to bestow upon him a crown of chain linked daisies and other flowers. Pleading with him to reach a fruit too high for your delicate hands to even brush and thanking him with a press of your lips to his cheeks. Even when crossing bogs and swamps, while you had been hesitant at first, you now happily climbed onto his shoulder, perched there like a little bird while he effortlessly carried you across. 

If you allowed him the privilege he’d be your chariot for as long as you desired. To feel the heat of your skin, with blood coursing through your veins, was something so startlingly beautiful to him. It was a complete contrast to the flash of heat he’d get when slashing through an enemy and their own blood would slick against his cheeks and jaw. Every part of you that made you alive was something he held near and dear. Counting your breaths while you slept and nearly panicking when you missed one or it was delayed by a mere half a second, hearing the pounding of your heart while you went on about what type of butterfly you saw that day or how many deer crossed the paths behind you. Even just the patter of your footsteps beside his, three of yours for every one of his, was such a reliable beat to him. 

Even the pulsing of your walls as you clung to him, whimpering out in either pain or overwhelmed lust as you continued letting your hips fall. He had expressed his worry for you, that he would be too big for someone of your stature, but you had brushed him off, calling him ‘Silly’ for even implying such a thing. He didn’t see the connection, as it wasn’t an attempt at being humorous, but allowed you to think that way. 

You had explained that it was all about muscle work. About relaxing them and stretching them, making them used to the intrusion before it happened. It just so happened that he had the fingers necessary to do it. You had taken three, which had pumped in and out of your twitchy little hole with great difficulty at first, before they were soon sliding in and out easily. Then you had become impatient, pushing his hand out and instead moving to straddle him. His cock bounced against your ass as you gently cupped his cheek. With your free hand you moved the head of his cock to prod against you, locking his lips with your own as you moved to sit down. It was a struggle with the same muscles that were so accommodating before now clenching, refusing him entry as you tried so desperately to force them to relax. When that didn’t work, he let the first praises slip past his tongue, which was so suddenly weak willed when pitted against your fiery determination.  

To his surprise it had worked. Inch by inch disappeared into you before you were sitting on his lap, panting in heavy breaths as you leaned into him. He rubbed your back with a heavy hand. 

“Guess you were right. It did fit.” 

[elishevart]

With the release of Hazbin Hotel, a discussion on Discord let the idea of Stanford Pines as an Overlord in hell. And here’s the result!

Thanks @mother-ofthe-universe for the idea!

And @brightdrawings wrote these little ficlet to go with it

When Ford fell through the portal he would change in ways that no one could expect. So much so that when he returned to the nightmare realm and then to his home dimension, to his own twin he seemed unrecognizable. Sharp golden teeth filled his mouth, which was now stretched in a twisted smile. Pages litereed his body, flicking through themselves often at random. His nose was covered in glowing cracks. But the strangest of all were his eyes. His left was glowing yellow, bright like a certain demon he dealt with. But his right? it was a deep crimson, worse than bloodshot and very unnatural. Worse than that were the two other eyes that opened above and below them.

His re-introduction to his family was a shaky affair. He scoffed at his brother and gave the twins a half glance. He walked his way up the stairs to the main floor and with a flick of his wrist, several ink whisps burst out of the pages on his body and started to attack the government agents assaulting the shack. From hundreds all that stood were two. Agents powers and Trigger. They looked around in horror as Ford smiled maliciously at them.

"wh-what did you do to our men?" Powers stammered.

"I merely, took note of them." Stanford smirked. The pages on his body began to flick through themselves, revealing the faces of the agents he had attacked. each of them twisting in horror and pain. Extensive notes on each person were written around them, but flicked passed too fast for anyone but him to notice. "Unfortunately, there wasn't much for me to learn."

"Well release them!" Trigger stood up, trying his best to intimidate Ford.

"Now, now, that's no way to talk with a demon." Ford's teeth gleamed in the afternoon sun. "You have to make a deal."

"D-demon?" Trigger was taken aback. "b-but"

"You see, Thirty years ago I was tricked by a demon, a lesser one in all honesty. but a demon nonetheless. Due to him I was sent away. And during my travels, i realized, why should i suffer under him? I could be so much BETTER!”

But any good Overlord needs a faithful Hound

"You always were so keen on protecting me in our youth, weren't you? Perhaps a new form will be of use for your new...role in life." Stanford grinned wickedly. Then with a snap of his fingers the ink wisps emerged from the pages on his body and began to swirl around Stan. In mere moments he was encapsulated in a sphere of dark demonic ink.

"Grunkle Stan!" Dipper and Mabel cried. but they were unable to reach their uncle.

"You two will remain, the conditions of our agreement was your safety in exchange for his loyalty. And I will not allow you to get in my way."

While the twins struggled the ink continued to swirl around their uncle. The pages on Ford's body fluttered and turned until they all fell on the same imposing design of a bi-pedal wolf. Horned and dripping with blood. Just as the picture appeared on Ford's body, the ink surrounding his twin shot back into the pages, leaving Stan in a heap on the floor. The twins squirmed in Ford's grasp, but his hold was inescapable.

"Get up Stanley. It's time to get to work."

"You could at least give a guy a chance to get used to changing. Jerk." Stanley slowly pushed himself up. The first thing he noticed were his hands. Once they were hairy normal human hands. Nails needing a bit of work but nothing out of the ordinary. But now they were furry and clawed. Sitting up he observed how his new hands were much hairier, dark gray fur with sharp claws jutting out of each finger. On the underside were soft pads black as ink. Slowly he moved his hands up his chest, feeling the tears in his suit, where his new more muscular body and fur poked out. Until he reached his head. In the process of being attacked his fez had been knocked off. In place of his thinning gray hair were two ears on top of his head and a pair of long pointed horns.

"What did you do to me?" He muttered.

"I helped you play your part of a loyal hellhound much better. No more brittle old man bones here." Ford cackled. His voice echoed through the woods.

If this au was ever to get a name… i think it would be Sinners AU or Overlord AU. It does resemble the One of Us AU, but Ford didn’t became a demon because he took Bill’s deal.

Hope you like!

[cyberrose2001]

Can I request bayverse ratchet with a fem! human who confesses her feelings to him?

Bayverse Ratchet x fem!human!reader

here's a short scenario for you anon :)

Warnings: None, SFW

Word count: 638

“Ratchet, can we uh… talk.”

It wasn’t something that had occurred to you quickly. Instead, it was something that had been brewing inside you for over a year whilst being employed to conduct cover-up work for NEST. A whole bunch of emotions you had no intention of unravelling until now.

He’s noticed you, and you’ve noticed him. The sideway glances of his optics never failed to catch your eye as you manoeuvre yourself around the base, holding yourself in a professional regard you are most proud of. But this is in no way professional, not in the slightest. Ratchet is a Cybertronian, a species whose life spans are longer than the time it took for your ancestors to crawl out of the ocean. You’re just a human, an insect to them—a bunch of backstabbin’ weasels.

Despite whether or not he shares the same affections for you, you need to get it off your chest so you can at least move on.

“Certainly. What do you need to discuss with me?” Ratchet says, unbothered by your presence like he usually is with other members of your species. He had told you once that you were the only human he could barely tolerate, and that’s one tick for yes on your checklist of ‘Does Ratchet like me, or would he rather saw me in half?’.

You stand before him, brushing your works pants awkwardly. You’re thankful you caught him alone in his designated med bay, fiddling with equipment entirely alien to you. You really didn’t want to be made fun of by Hound. You clear your throat, “What are you, uh, working on?”

“I’m calibrating the electromagnetic spark conductor, ESC for short. I believe the proper term for your species is a ‘defibrillator’.” The green mech places a tool back on the bench and looks at you, “But according to your elevated heart rate, you’re not here just to make small talk, are you?”

Fuck. He’s got you there. Curse your involuntary bodily functions.

“No, not really.” You finger the hem of your blouse, “I’ve noticed you, uh, staring a lot.”

Ratchets’ shoulders tense before a small smile graces his metallic lips, “Quite observant you are. It’s no wonder that they hired you.”

You nearly choke on your breath, “Well, heh, I’ve got to be good at something, right?”

“Indeed,” Ratchet crouches down to your height, allowing you to take in every little crevasse of his face. Bright blue optics roaming across your own flushed face, “But I’ll have to say, you’re not very talented in hiding your emotions very well.”

Now or never, Y/n. You exhale shaky, “It’s hard to hide emotions like these, Ratchet. I like you.”

“Well, that’s rather obvious, isn’t it?” He scoffs playfully, not in his usual rude way as you had expected, “But it seems that I have harbored the same… feelings for you as well.”

Now you actually choke on your breath. Your chest swells with happiness and disbelief, “You… you mean it?”

Ratchet tilts his helm, “I would not lie to you,” He reaches a curled digit to brush against your cheek, “You’ve certainly caught my attention for a little squishy like you.”

You smile and lean into his touch, relief washing over you in waves, “I… don’t know what to say.”

A small smile also graces his face, “You need not. Your actions speak louder.”

Cautiously, you gently move a hand out in front of you and push it against his face. It’s cold and metallic but fits just right against the palm of your hand, “What will we tell the others?”

“Nothing, they don’t need to know,” He hums, feeling the vibrations run down your arm, “Let’s keep it professional around them for now, hm? That’s something you’re good at.”

You chuckle, cheeks warming up, “For sure, Ratchet. For sure…”

[vvyvernicus]

Why Mr. House Likes Snow Globes

In 2022 when Robert Edwin House was only two years old, his older half-brother, Anthony House, cut him off entirely from his inheritance as well as forcing him into the foster system. Because of this, Robert House was passed around several families during his childhood in the state of Nevada.

In 2032, he ends up living under the care of a resident of the renowned Las Vegas. However, like most of the other foster homes, he doesn't enjoy being there and feels more comfortable being virtually anywhere else. He quickly enjoys the atmosphere of Vegas and sees it as a place with opportunities. Still, as a minor he was responsible enough to stay out of the less savory parts of it.

One day after another unsolicited scolding from a drunken foster parent, Robert leaves the apartment to take a walk on the neighborhood strip. He ends up wandering to section he is less familiar with, but another nice part of Las Vegas nonetheless. An antique shop catches his eye and his eyes quickly scan over a snow globe in the window display.

It's miniature version of Las Vegas with buildings that appeared to glow brightly despite having no internal lighting. He is intrigued by the design, but less so by the price. Such a small, some would say insignificant, object for a hefty $100? Even if he was given some sort of allowance, the price would be too steep for him to consider for the peculiar thing. And yet... somehow looking at it made him feel more at ease.

A woman with long, dark hair and blue eyes notices him as she walks down that same street. Regularly she would keep walking and mind her own business, but something about the boy's expression stood out to her. There was a certain loneliness, but also a lingering determination. So, she makes a slight detour and walks over to greet him.

At first he doesn't realize the presence of the woman who stands beside him—being too fixated on the globe—but once he realizes she's there it's hard to ignore. She asks for his name, but since he doesn't trust her he tells her his middle name: Edwin. She's a little odd, talking to a child she doesn't know, but... she's somewhat pretty. Weird, but oddly pleasant to talk to.

The topic of conversation quickly changes to the snow globe he had been eyeing before she interrupted him. She asks him if he has a fondness for snow globes, to which he brushes her off by saying that there was no point in spending so much on useless knickknacks. In response, she just smiled and entered the store.

A few minutes later the snow globe was removed from the viewing window by a store clerk. When the woman returns outside, Robert instantly that she had bought it in attempt to gloat. Just like everyone else had in his life. Things were simply taken from you before you even had the chance to take them for yourself.

Instead, she hands the bag out to him. She says that it's a special gift. All he has to do is accept it. But all he can do is stare at her like there's some type of explosive inside that bag.

What? This didn't make any sense. It must have been some kind of trick. No random adult would just come across a kid and buy them something like this. There must have been some underlying scheme, he thought.

Cautiously, he peers into the bag. There inside was the Las Vegas themed snow globe, carefully wrapped in bubble wrap to prevent damages. His hands began to shake and he worried about dropping the paper bag. This person made no sense at all to him.

She tells him that one day things will get better for him if he works hard and maybe he could collect more snow globes in the future. He looks up at her like he wants to say "thank you". However she was already smiling so brightly like she had received all the praise in the world.

However, just as quickly as she appeared, she suddenly excuses herself and starts to hurry down the street. Was she late for something? It must have not been important if she had time to spare to buy a random boy a snow globe. But despite the briefness, the unconditional warmth she shared had not yet faded.

Even over 200 years later, he still has that same snow globe. It's hidden somewhere only he can see it in the Lucky 38. To him, it's a reminder that no matter how messed up the world gets, there will always be a fraction of humanity worth preserving. The other snow globes are rare finds themselves, each one holding a unspoken innocence.

Hope you enjoyed my headcanon! Maybe we'll find out more actual backstory in the Fallout TV series season 2. Bonus if it shows his current snow globe collection in live action.

[r00kaline]

Random Bundle Of Junkrat Headcannons

-He strikes me as a person who always seems cold, but is usually feeling hot.

-He is straight, but only cause I have a feeling that he doesn't understand the community at all, he had many other things to worry about.

-Roadhog is like an older brother to him, ya'll are weird asf for shipping a 27 yo with somebody who is in his late 50's (my opinion).

-He doesn't like omnics, but he never actually used omnics as dummies before unlike other members of Junkertown would.

-He wears earplugs half of the time to save what is left of his hearing.

-Surprisingly, has amazing eyesight.

-His balance game is strong, have you seen his Running Rat emote? He can balance on his peg leg with ease.

-Not so good with kids, mainly because half of the time he doesn't know what they want from him.

-He can draw pretty well actually, usually, he draws random facial designs on papers, or weird people when he's bored.

-Very, VERY fast reader, and he comprehends it well too (same my guy).

-He doesn't actually hate all omnics, he's curious, have you heard his interactions with Rammatra before? He's curious about the guy.

-Not religious whatsoever, but probably because he doesn't know much about it in the first place.

-He likes coffee a lot, but he genuinely cant handle hard caffeine, like espresso, so he often gets something on the sweeter side.

-Unlike his balance, his motor skills are a bit wonky, he has shaky hands, like he was taking crack his whole life.

-He can't decipher romantic feelings from platonic half the time, so he just vibes with whatever is going on till the person figures it out for him.

-Falls asleep very quickly, like a damn marine.

-The only reason Jamison would probably join Overwatch, is to get away from his criminal record, either because he wants to be a better person, or just to mask it.

-Amazing at making sand castles, like extremely good, the guy can make a palace out of sand in a couple of hours.

-When he takes his mech hand off, there's a small electrode that helps him move his hand very smoothly, and with the modified technology of OW2 universe, it manages to basically allow him to feel the movement and control it like an arm.

-When he was little, he had a light tooth gap.

-0 body hair, he is a twink.

-Professional at slithering his way out of questions, use the interaction he had with Lifeweaver when he was asked if Roadhog was his significant other.

-When he zones out, he genuinely looks sad even though he isn't.

-Not a big fan of working with music. When he works, he needs either pure and utter silence, or somebody talking to him or near him.

-Doesn't have a hunch because surprisingly has a very good sitting posture.

-His hair is put up a lot more often than people think.

-Has a tattoo on his upper thigh of one of his weird smiley faces. --- Bellow are some romantic headcannons, this includes you being his lover (in our case, somebody with the female anatomy) ---

-No interpretation of boundaries whatsoever unless set directly.

-At some point, his heists can often mean more to him than his partner, but with time, it can change.

-Likes people shorter than him, he finds it "cute".

-Actually isn't overly touchy, he's never had physical affection, so it can weird him out a lot at first, but he gets used to it quickly and begins to initiate it just as fast.

-Loves kissing, like any type of kissing, from pecks to make outs. He's very messy with it.

-When you call him out, he puckers out his lips and just looks at you.

-Doesn't care for body shapes or types whatsoever, he however likes peoples hands a lot for some reason, his aren't so clean, he knows he's committed crimes, and even though he's proud of them half of the time, it's nice to see someone who cant compare.

-Takes some said things out of context, like sexual hints.

-If you guys do ever have sex, he would lay against you after, looking up at you with his head between your tits (any sized tits, tits are a privilege to lay against, it's tits guys.)

-More of a visual person, very, loves feeling your anywhere.

-Would oppose to pretty much anything you ask, if you ask him to put his hair up, he would, you ask him to do something, he would.

-Scared of being a father a bit, as mentioned before, not a big fan of kids (me too brother.)

-Loves sharing food with you, a lot, it's one of his love languages, along with gift giving and quality time.

-Extremely messy kisser by nature, he doesn't want to learn though.

--- Who should I do next?? Let me know. ---

[cadaverousdecay]

can you hold my hand i feel the themes and motifs washing over me like a fucking tsunami i need you to talk to me forever about hedwig and the angry inch. i literally get it now like i always had the vague understanding of what it was all about but after actually Seeing it,, like lee i Get It...i get it now ...

nico this is literally so beautiful,, being able to share the knowledge of hedwig and the angry inch's existence with u.... you Get It!!!!!!!!! god..... the cycles of abuse,,, how hedwig gets a part of herself taken away by luther (gives up her old life, changes her sex/gender for him, represented in losing her penis in the botched sex operation) and proceeds to take away parts of her new husband yitzhak (his expression, his freedom, his ability to perform, all represented in hedwig not allowing him to wear a wig) and the cycle finally being broken at the end in my FAVORITE scene where hedwig steps out of the spotlight and lets yitzhak wear her wig and finish the song. GOD. and the idea of soulmates being SUCH a big motif and in the end with tommy's version of wicked little town you realize that hedwig's belief in soulmates is faulty and has caused her to try and fit herself with so many people that weren't right for her. "and there's no mystical design, no cosmic lover preassigned" tommy is telling her that despite her infatuation with the belief in a better half, there isnt one. that was a story that her mother told her. its a myth like the rest of the origin of love. in some ways tommy and hedwig ARE each other. (ESPECIALLY in the stage version where the actor for tommy and hedwig are the same) BUT. they arent soulmates. they arent compatible. and they both have to come to accept that. GOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDD NICOOOOOOOOOOO. IM SO FUCKING HAPPY YOU WATCHED HEDWIG I LOVE THIS MUSICAL IM INSANEEEEEEEEEEEE. AND THE THEMES OF CYCLES OF ABUSE AND SOULMATES CAN BE COMPARED TO WUTHERING HEIGHTS IN SUCH BEAUTIFUL WAYS!!!! I LOVE IT I LOVE IT I LOVE IT!!!! and of course. we LOVE problematic transsexual representation!!!!!! hedwig sucks!!! and i LOVE her!!!!

AND THE SOUNDTRACK????????? EVERYTHING TO MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

[habken]

oh my gosh fellow animation student !! I love learning about other people's art school experience, if you'd be willing to share? I think the diversity of assignments and teaching styles and focuses is cool 🩷 love your art as well !!

Yeah I can share a bit ! I’ve really enjoyed the program so far, I think I’ve learned a lot and I’ve gotten the chance to use programs I wouldn’t have access to usually!

First semester I had 9 classes (I’m counting story lab + lecture as two separate ones) and it was honestly pretty difficult to keep up with the workload, especially because I was still finishing up zine work. I had so many assignments, there were many weeks I’d have something due everyday, sometimes multiple things in the same day, so time management was a big struggle and I ended up having to sacrifice the amount of drawing I did for fun and for socmed </3 I think that was the biggest bummer cause it meant I lost both what helped me relieve stress and something that made me happy :/

While the work was intense and time consuming, I really did enjoy what I was making for each class. My favourite classes were character design, storyboarding, and animation. I felt like they were the ones I did best in and I realized loved my animation teacher her classes were really fun and I laughed a lot lol. I also really enjoyed my life drawing class, I have a lot of respect for my teacher, he marked harshly but I learned so much under him and my life drawing skills have improved a lot since september. He also collects bones and brought them in and it was super cool. He told us all the stories of were he’d picked them up, like asking farmers or finding roadkill and cleaning them.

Overall in each class, I really appreciated the critique I’ve gotten and I feel like I’ve really improved! I actually dropped out of art school before and one of the main reasons was because I felt like I wasn’t really getting anything out of the program. My stuff was nowhere near perfect but I was one of the better students so teachers used my stuff as an example rather than see me as a student that also was there to learn. I hated that so I left, and I’m really happy I don’t feel that way in the program I’m in now!

What I will say though is one of the hardest lessons to learn is that you can’t go 100% on every single thing, it’s just straight up impossible unless you don’t take care of yourself and get no sleep. It sucks because you want to do your best and be amazing at everything, but an assignment that’s half assed is better than handing in nothing at all and also better than permanently hurting yourself because you push through the pain and don’t allow yourself any rest.

One of the things that sucked the most assignment wise was my bone portfolio for life drawing, I had so much planned out and I really wanted to do amazing, but I had to cut a lot out to get it done on time, and so the finished project was lacking a lot. I got a decent mark for it, but personally I know it could’ve been so much better, and I just have to live with the sacrifice I made so I could get all my work done on time lol

I don’t want to share too much more about the assignments I did, but I was really proud of my work in my character design class and also my last storyboard assignment, where we took part of a script and made new boards based on it. I got a lot of compliments from the teacher about my attention to detail with subtle and human actions. I’m happy cause that’s the kind of stuff I love portraying and love seeing in films haha.

One other thing is I was so close to failing layout, the last two assignments I left until the very end and almost didn’t get them in one time before teacher’s grades were due, and without them I would’ve failed the class. As it stands, I got over a 90 average so the two assignments made a big difference lmao.

Sorry this was so long lol

[whosxafraid]

Meme: Send me a face claim and I will use that face claim to make a NPC in my muse’s life, as well as talk about their relationship, connection and feelings towards my muse. Status: Open URL: @tabbyrp Answer 2 of 2 Alan Rickman

Name:  Theodore Age: a gentlemen never reveals his age any more than he would ask a lady hers. Species: (neutral) angel occupation: Mediator Status: Alive Relationship: co-workers...of a sort Verse: Tra La La La La || Main verse Story:

Theodore (or as Luka so very unfortunately calls him D'eo) is a neutral angel. He did not join either side during the great civil war in Heaven. Instead he attempted to mediate the situation. Tried his very very best to bring both sides to the table (repeatedly) to see if there could be a solution that did NOT require mass genocide/mass expulsion. History will show however that his efforts were in utterly vain and he along with all of the other neutral angels were kicked out too on principle. However they were not cast to hell with the rest. Instead they are allowed to be within the realms between heaven and earth. But that doesn't mean they can't materialize in the world and on occasion participate in mortal things. Things like trying new foods and acting as mediator when they are sufficiently paid. Theodore met Luka first, not the other way around. The angel was minding his own damn business hurrying back from a mediation with his payment when much to his dismay he looked down. Why he did he still can not say to this day but he did. And he did not fail to notice the limp form being carried along in the tide. It was pure curiosity that had him diving down for a closer inspection. If the thing was dead no harm no foul he would move on but dead...was not at all how he found the resident immortal. No instead he found a soaked to the bone half alive human shaped...creature. And just maybe he gave it a push. Directed it towards land. And maybe he hung around to make sure it coughed up all the sea water it breathed in. And also maybe he left a bottle of vodka fresh from the backyard of a Russian farmer leaned too the creatures hand before he left. But that's all speculation and the only being that can verify that? Won't. Theodore and Luka's paths would not cross again until several decades later. The angel was hired to mediate a situation between a "being of shadow" and Theodore's cousin Ralph (one of the angels cast to hell). So it was a rather interesting experience for Theodore when he showed up and low and behold the "being of shadow" was the very same creature he may or may not have given a bit of assistance to all that long time ago. Theodore has mediated several situations in which Luka was a party, since then. Sometimes hired by Luka sometimes by his current opponent. But only a few really know what currency Theodore deals in. And Luka keeps a designated crate or twelve of his personally brewed poitín on hand at all times should he need "D'eo's" help. off camera right: THUH. How many times must we go through this, sir? it is pronounced THEE O DORE. off camera left : D'AT BE WHA' OI' SAID YE GOBSHOI'TE!

[spiderwarden]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐈𝐍���;

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄; A Drow. In every sense of the word. Minthara's skin is a reflection of blue, and a reflection of violent - all depending on the way that the light hits her skin. She holds herself in high regard and it shows in how she carries herself. Her head is held high, and stanch form that reflects a long military background. Her hair is pure white, long and clearly taken care of as it remains pinned back into a bun - and it is such a length that there are strands spilling out. A clear sign of the nobility of which she was born. There are small scars from years of battle blotched across violet -blue skin of her face and neck, while a sign of conflict there is a lack of serious wounds to suggest superior skill in battle. She adorns herself in differing shades of black and gold armor , made in the Menzobarranzan style out of the Drow armories - perfected with the Drow Blacksmith technique. She was once a Paladin of Lotlh, and her battle wear reflects that, the skull over her collarbone is a dedication to a former patron God. And beneath the shoulder and chest plates there is a black gambeson. On the first appearance it appears flimsy and light - but upon touching it one will find that is has a durability like nothing else felt on the surface.

Drow armor is not replicated easily - like many things their technique is seen by few on the surface. This gambeson is something that she will insist to wear often. The gambeson gives way to a design that resembles the underdark foliage of which surrounded the cities of Menzobarranzan - while in design it appears like simple flaps of the same drow material that makes up the rest fo the gambeson. The threads are so tightly wound in their links that arrows will never pierce Minthara's skin. The armor itself feels like its thin and too malleable - but the lack of heavy weight allows freedom of movement while offering the same protection as any other armor.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄; Drow do not have a natural essence in the same way that most surface dwellers do, their entire society and culture has been in the underdark, and with the underdark comes the plant life that thrives in the darkness. Living amongst that plant life - the fungi in the underground resemble mushrooms and thus they carry that aquatic scent with them. Minthara's natural scent will align with this - like the water of a lake meeting the sandy shore. Complete with hints of the herbal and acidic mixture that Minthara concocts to melt the flesh off the skulls that she collects with every armed conflict.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄; There would be a softness to any sort of kiss on Minthara's lips. She is meticulous in skin care and hygiene that the feeling of her mouth would be no less soft. That is until the sting of her kiss melts into your mouth and you realize that has touched your lips with poison. The poison itself is sweet but it burns on contact to your skin and tastes like bitter almonds as it sinks into your tongue. Hold still, my love, this is for your own good.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄; Confidence, basked with the very pride under everything that she does. Her tone is low and forthright, carried in a monotone sense as her sentiment reflects the observations that she's made about the world around her. But in affections that hardened voice can turn soft in an instant, but such whispered words of love are only reserved for someone special.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄; Soft and tender skin from ages of meticulous caretaking of her person. There is the press of muscle under her arms - easily missed if she does not bend her arms. The same is reflected in her stomach, appears soft until a hand is pressed to reveal the solidness of her middle. With the same sentiment reflected in her bottom half and legs to reflect the strength of warrior. A Paladin.

tagged by, @aeyln tagging: @orchideae , @araneitela, @berserkre , @lolthswear , @defyxoblivion (Kassor), @shemurder , @bruinescence, and YOU.! You steal it form me.

[impulsetheories]

hey y'all! this is peyton [sh/th, 21+, cst—also the mun of selena, dylan, mouse & dabin] and i'm stoked to be here with an older idol-verse character of mine, lee hyeon. he's just some dude who decided he wanted to be a rapper one day and never looked back. you can view his stats here, his pinterest here & read all about him under the cut.

born november 18, 2002, lee hyeon is the only son to a catholic priest & a schoolteacher :~) talk about a set-up for failure…

the earliest chunk of his life is fine—obviously his parents are more than willing to take care of a baby, but the older he gets (and the busier THEY get), hyeon’s pretty much left to his own devices. as a toddler, his parents take turns pushing juice boxes into his hands and making sure he’s occupied by the tv; by the time he’s ~12ish, it’s a “here’s ₩10,000 to get some food after school, we’ll be home late so don’t wait up” type of deal probably 4/5 nights a week.

he doesn’t care, really; or at least he doesn’t feel like he does @ the time. he has some friends that he’s really close to, so he fills up his time with those friends rather than worrying about his parents—until he can’t anymore. by the time he’s turning into an angsty teenager, he thinks a lot about his family situation & how his dad is out there “serving the community” but failing to serve his family and how his mom wouldn’t know his favorite movie if asked, like… these things chip away at a person!!!

it doesn’t help that his parents kind of have a “business” r/s; not really in love like they were once upon a time, just staying together because it’s easy (and it would be shameful for a priest to divorce—plus, in the catholic church, he wouldn’t be allowed to remarry so long as he stayed a priest) but anyways… hyeon didn’t have a good example of filial OR romantic love in his early life, which resulted in him being emotionally unavailable and having zero respect for his parents 🤙 oh yeah!

his life is like this: church services on sunday / pretty much no interaction with his parents any other day of the week unless it’s thru sticky-note messages around the house / go to school half the time, skip the other half / waste time with his four best friends / play league of legends all night / daydream of being a rapper like… obviously a very fulfilling life

anyway i’m really not trying to make y’all learn every minute detail of hyeon’s life story here so i’ll say tl;dr he got really into rap/making beats around 13/14ish, started a yt channel w his friends at 15, had a joke song go viral on yt that same year which kind of made him realize how starved for attention he was/how much he really WANTED to rap??!? / applied and got onto season 3 of high school rapper at 16, placed 3rd, signed with canvas labs the next year and consequently dropped out of high school to focus on music/training and ultimately severed his ties with his parents like… he obviously didn’t have time for church anymore/the desire to go and him turning his back on the catholic church AND dropping out of school??!? spitting on everything his parents stand for fr fr

worked part-time as a mechanic’s assistant while he was training, up until newave started prepping for debut—in this time, he got really into cars, got his driver’s license & then got into racing; super into racing go-karts!!! he still does some side work for his former boss from time to time for pocket cash: uses this money to support his love for designer clothes mostly or buy shit for his own car, which is a 2008 mitsubishi eclipse spyder that his former boss gifted to him (was a piece of shit at the time, required extensive work and is still a pain in the ass unfortunately)

as of march 2024, is a (somewhat) newly debuted idol—does not take it particularly seriously, and it’s not his career end-goal. ultimately he wants to produce a bunch of music for the group (and potentially for other groups), get rich off royalties, drop the group and return to the “real” rap/music scene… u know how it goes… selfish selfish man!

all in all hyeon is literally just some guy with a chip on his shoulder. he views other people as disposable, so he doesn’t care to get particularly close to anyone—but even if he does, he’s a pro when it comes to burning bridges & never looking back. if you have nothing to offer, hyeon has no interest; and if he has no interest, he won’t fake it. a lot of this is just a result of him having to be independent from a young age & (ideally) something he will grow out of in time :~) very hot and cold type of dude: might be nice to you, might not, and it’s always up in the air as to what side of him you’ll get 🤷‍♂️ but even at his nicest, he’s pretty rough around the edges—tough love is his speciality!!! will do anything for a laugh (or just for attention lbr), bitches & complains constantly but will still do what’s asked/expected of him, shows that he cares in quiet ways like carrying your bags/luggage or ordering a large fry for u instead of the regular like… he will not be caught dead doing any sappy/sentimental shit but if you mean anything to him he’ll never forget a thing u say…. he’s a villain fr but maybe he can still be redeemed.

other trivia: was a smoker for about 6 years, recently switched to vaping but is trying to quit completely because It’s Unbecoming Of An Idol (re: management caught him a few too many times) / was active in the underground rap scene for a little bit before he joined canvas labs, was never well-known ‘cause u know… he was like 17… but he went by the name sweendakk and still has a soundcloud profile under that name / as a celebrity, has a very loud, goofy, rambunctious & mischievous persona—all of his shit-talking and impulsivity is sanded down into something endearing (or at least halfway palatable) for the sake of selling an image; kind of whiplash when you meet him irl and he’s really just a jackass / king of pacing. catch him furiously walking back and forth at your local grocery store / used to be really into weight-training, currently is on more of a cardio kick—regardless, he’s a healthy guy & much stronger than he looks / catholic guilt but i’m sure you saw that coming / dishonest, will tell you a blatant lie straight to your face KNOWING that you know it’s not true. a shameless man with not much to lose. aiming to change that. there we go…

plot ideas

head’s up that i love extensive plotting—this is not at all a requirement & i’m also down to just jump into a base idea and see where it goes!!! but!!! if you’re like me and you love to yap about every little detail!!! i will never tell you no!!! anyways…

naturally, one of his close friends from before he was an idol. ideally this would be someone born around '00 to '03 who was generally up to no good as a kid/teenager: hyeon was shit at showing it, but he lovvvveddd this person and still thinks fondly of them despite having cut them (and the rest of the friend group) off when he signed with canvas labs. thinking he might be reaching out to them again soon, so let's hope they haven't changed their number...

that one member of hi-fi he’s trying to rizz up ‘cause no way you’re gonna have hyeon living right beside a girl group and not expect him to cause problems… i’m open to discuss any/all details of their dynamic, but my idea for this is that he’s initially interested in her for very shallow reasons but ultimately she ends up becoming a muse for him (causing him to write songs such as this and this that he shares with her, but doesn’t actually release until much much later in his career when he ought to be leaving her name out of his mouth) and is someone he has every element of a relationship with without actually dating her—but in these early days of newave & hi-fi, there’s still an understanding within the groups that she’s “hyeon’s girl” but it never actually becomes something and in the end she cuts it off ‘cause hyeon can’t/won’t commit to her… wasting this poor girl’s time fr fr... all i'm saying is we're at the perfect time of the year for them to have a summer fling

various meet uglies because hyeon's a menace to society. your muse has the same workout schedule as hyeon & he's sick and tired of them hogging the one (1) working treadmill, your muse is also a celebrity (preferably someone with a higher profile than newave) and hyeon mistakes them for an employee at this appliance store where he was sent to buy a new microwave for the dorm, you bring your car in on the one day a month hyeon happens to be helping out at this mechanic shop and no way you've got an idol telling you your car is a piece of shit (as if you don't know that already) (is this a fever dream?), your muse is buying laxatives or lice shampoo or some other embarrassing item and hyeon's trying to rizz them up when they really just don't want to be noticed at all, alternatively hyeon's trying to rizz your muse up while HE'S buying something embarrassing and they can't take him seriously because of it, etc etc etc... if you have any ridiculous ideas PLEASSSE send them my way! i love these types of things!

i already know hyeon's putting those nda's to work... your muse is/was a fan so hyeon had a relatively easy time pulling them, talked a bunch of shit about how they couldn't reach out to him anymore/needed to delete his number but he's the obsessed one now (never meet your idols)

hyeon thought he could outdrink your muse but he's never been more wrong in his life. he wakes up with the worst hangover he's ever had and a text from an unsaved number saying some shit like "don't forget - you owe me a yacht"

anything... i'm a lover of strange & unusual plots, silly plots, intense plots, etc etc... pleassseee give me whatever u got!

[bedlamsbard]

Star emoji! I love director’s commentary

Oooh, let's talk about Howard's conversation with Natasha at the beginning of Of Home Near 7.

This is set at Beaulieu Abbey, which is a real place and was used for SOE (Special Operations Executive) training in WWII, as Special Training Schools 31-36, which I've just conflated into one for the purposes of this fic. Today it's the home of the Secret Army Exhibition, about SOE. None of the description of the house is accurate, since I couldn't find floorplans and have never been.

“Lift your left arm?”

Natasha did so, allowing Howard Stark to make a minor adjustment to the cuff of the tunic-style jacket he was fitting on her. His expression was intent with concentration, two dress pins sticking out of the corner of his mouth, and his hands were unerring as he made the modification with quick, neat stitches. For some reason it was the least like Tony Natasha had ever seen him look, even though she had seen Tony make similar quick alterations to the Iron Man suits a hundred times before.

I like the idea of Howard being really hands-on with his work, which is borne out by CATFA and AC.

Sunlight spilled in through the room’s bow windows, which looked out over the lawn where Howard had landed his plane a few hours earlier. Going by the room’s big desk – now heavily battered from use – and empty bookshelves – mostly covered up by maps and charts – Natasha suspected it had been a study in the building’s previous life as a manor house. Howard Stark had commandeered it upon arrival to do uniform fittings in, since along with the new shield he had brought uniforms for both of them.

He drew back when he was finished and took the pins out of his mouth to ask, “How’s that feel?”

Natasha worked her arm experimentally, then warned Howard to step back and went through one of her shorter kata. He watched without any of the half-expected erotic interest, his attention totally focused on the motions and her new tactical gear.

“Good,” she told him when she had finished, a little to her own surprise, but she supposed that if he regularly made Captain America’s uniforms he had to know the importance of flexibility.

The corner of his mouth curled up a little, as if he had guessed the direction of her thoughts, but all he said was, “Try it with the gear belt,” and handed it to her.

Natasha inspected it as she took it from him Howard had clearly been paying attention to the gear that she had arrived with; he had consulted with her on the design for the new uniform, with Steve doing the initial sketches. The tunic came down past her hips to mid-thigh, with the front fastening at her left shoulder like a motorcycle jacket. The gear belt was made of black leather and was actually two belts crossed over each other, joined by a rivet that let them flex; the holsters were empty at the moment, as were the utility pouches.

This is Natasha's "Liberty Belle" outfit, though it's not named as such here. It's not based specifically on anything and I don't have a very clear mental image of it.

She buckled the belt on and shifted around a little, testing the placement, then went into a brief tumbling routine. Howard watched with that same clinical, calculating interest, his gaze sharp; he made a couple of notes in his sketchbook as she came upright. “How’s that feel?”

“Straps here and here on the holsters, or they’ll flap around.” Natasha pointed them out. “Like Steve’s got,” she clarified when he frowned.

“No, I know what you mean. For a lady – a married lady –”

“God forbid that anyone in the United States Army or the Wehrmacht learns that a woman has legs,” Natasha said dryly, rolling her eyes. “If anyone is looking at my legs, that’s their problem. Especially in the middle of a fight.”

Natasha's usual catsuit would NOT fly in 1945, especially for PR reasons. They're not only designing for practical use, but with the full knowledge that as soon as the fact that Captain America's married is made public Natasha's going to be on magazine covers and newspapers, and she has to not only match Captain America and the other Howling Commandos, she has to be acceptably feminine (by WWII standards, which are...interesting).

“Point taken.” Howard nodded absently and jotted it down in his sketchbook – actually Steve’s sketchbook, she was amused to note; apparently Steve hadn’t succeeded in getting it back from him yet.

I love the detail of it being Steve's sketchbook.

“Am I going to get any of my own gear back?” she asked, rubbing a thumb over her bare wrist. She was expecting the answer to be no and wasn’t surprised when Howard shook his head.

Later Howard gives her her bites back! But not yet.

“But I brought some stuff for you to look at,” he offered encouragingly. “You can give it a try and keep whatever you like. And Dugan said you’d be taking over as sniper, so I brought some rifles for you to try out too.”

Howard chewed on the end of his pencil for a moment before he finally said, “You know about the Commandos’ last sniper –”

“Yes,” Natasha said. “I know about Bucky Barnes.”

1945 Bucky is the ghost in this story, but there was never any intention for him to appear (in 1945). Howard, of course, thinks she knows about Bucky either from the newspapers (he's only been "dead" for two months at this point) or from Steve telling her; Natasha knows him personally.

Howard nodded grimly and looked away, then sat down heavily on the chair he had dragged over from behind the desk, bracing his sketchbook on his knees as his pencil moved over the page.

“Did you design the Howling Commandos’ uniforms too?” Natasha asked eventually, unbuckling the gear belt and weighing it thoughtfully in one hand. “I know you did Steve’s, and I know you supply the Commandos with weapons and tech –”

Howard nodded. “Steve did most of his himself, but I made it,” he said. “I helped with the Commandos, yeah. Steve did some of it, they did some of it, I did some. What do you think?” He held the sketchbook up and turned it around so that she could see.

He had a fine draftsman’s hand, without the sense of suspended life that Steve’s sketches had. Natasha wondered briefly what he would have made of the CAD programs Tony used or if given the option, he would still draft his designs by hand the way Rhodey did when he was working on the War Machine suit.

“I like this rig,” she told him, and Howard nodded, making a few more notes to himself.

“I can have that done today, it’s a minor fix,” he said. He took the gear belt from Natasha and set them both down, then looked at her for a long moment before saying, “I’m glad Steve got married. Or whatever,” he added with a solemn wink. “It’s good for him.”

Howard figured out pretty much immediately that Steve and Natasha weren't really married, but never brought it up; he figured that if Steve was going to the trouble, then he had a good reason.

For a moment his expression was wistful, then his gaze flickered sideways, as if he was embarrassed that he had let the emotion show.

“Did you and Steve ever –” she began, and then stopped, uncertain how to end the question. Or if she should be asking it at all; this wasn’t the twenty-first century, and even there it wasn’t a harmless inquiry.

Meeting Howard Stark explained a LOT of things about Tony, Tony's relationship with Steve, and Steve's relationship with Tony. Note that Natasha is also aware that Steve sleeps with men (Peggy isn't, as she remarks in an earlier chapter), but isn't sure about Howard, which is why she stops.

Howard looked back at her, wary now and frowning a little, but whatever he saw on her face seemed to reassure him. “What, and get both of us shot by Peggy? That wouldn’t do the war effort any good. She’d do it, too. Anyway, Steve’s been a little busy fighting a war.”

Peggy would have killed Howard if she thought he was serious about it or if they'd actually done anything. She knows that Howard wants to sleep with Steve, but has mentally categorized it as "a little silly" and is unaware that Steve's bi.

“Do you know who the woman was that Agent Carter caught him with in 1943?” Natasha asked, with a mental tick of observation that he hadn’t bothered to deny that Steve liked men as well as women. Not that either one of them was saying anything outright, just half-spoken asides. “I’ve heard the story, but no one will say who –”

“Sure,” Howard said. “But I don’t think you have anything to worry about; Steve’s crazy about you.”

“I’m not worried, I’m curious,” Natasha said. “Or did Agent Carter push her out of the SSR?” She didn’t think Peggy Carter was that petty, but if she was, Natasha wanted to know about it.

Natasha's experience with Peggy isn't anywhere close to the 21st century image of Peggy Carter or with Steve's memories of her.

“She’s still here,” Howard said. “It was Irene Lorraine, Colonel Phillips’ secretary. Steve came in looking for me and she cornered him.” He grinned, amused at the memory, and explained, “It was right after we got back to London from Italy and Phillips got Steve transferred from the USO to the SSR, so the big rescue was all over the papers. Apparently she was thanking him on behalf of the women of America, only Peggy caught them. Scared the hell out of both of them.”

The shooting the shield scene is fucked up from a 2023 perspective, and I really think it's been grandfathered in as ~sexy and absolutely would not fly today.

In the previous chapter's scene with Lorraine Steve remarks on the fact that Peggy's reaction completely screwed up the social dynamics of the women of the SSR.

He chewed absently on the end of his pencil, then shot a look at the closed door and went on slowly, “I don’t know how much Steve’s told you – I guess it wouldn’t really matter up then in 2018 – but he and Peggy…they were and they weren’t, you know? They didn’t go out to dinner, they didn’t go dancing; I don’t know if they ever even kissed. But he had her picture in his compass and if he hadn’t gone down with the Valkyrie, then –” Howard shrugged. “They might have gotten married later, yeah, but they never actually talked about it. Stupid thing to do in a war,” he added, then thought about it and grimaced, making a vague gesture with the pencil towards himself as if to say, but I did the same thing.

Howard has a lot of regrets, and I don't think he knows what he would have done if he had known that Steve might not really come back.

He flicked another glance at the door again while Natasha was chewing over what to say in response to that. “Don’t repeat this to Steve or Peg,” he warned, and waited for her to nod before he went on. “It’s not that Peg didn’t like Steve back then, because she did, and it’s different now, obviously, but she set her cap for him as soon as he came back from Austria and not a minute earlier, no matter what anyone else here says about it, including Steve. And that was it as far as she was concerned. There were girls like that in my old neighborhood,” he added knowledgeably, “not that any of them ever had anything to do with me back then.”

I have some very clear and possibly controversial thoughts about Steve and Peggy's relationship, and how both Steve and Peggy perceived their relationship, throughout CATFA. If you look at the pub and SSR scenes, they're having two COMPLETELY different conversations, and Steve's constantly playing catch-up to the conversation that Peggy's having even though she never says anything explicitly and just expects him to get it. I also DON'T think that Peggy was even remotely romantically interested in pre-serum Steve, though later on she convinced herself that she was, and she wasn't all that interested in "Captain America" Steve, either.

“There are women like that everywhere,” Natasha said dryly. It wasn’t a personality type that usually survived the rigors of the Red Room, but she had known one or two Widows who had managed it.

She considered Howard with a little more interest. The Stark family’s origins were a farrago of obfuscation, fairy tales, and what Natasha was fairly certain were a few outright lies, though she wasn’t certain how aware of that Tony was. Howard Stark had told the newspapers several contradictory stories over the years, one variation of which was on the Stark Industries website, and the only consistent point seemed to be that he had been born in Manhattan in 1917, though which part of Manhattan was up for debate. Natasha also strongly suspected that the family name had started out as something a lot less Anglophone than Stark, though she wasn’t sure if that was Howard’s doing or if it had happened at Ellis Island; both seemed equally likely. She wondered if Howard would tell her if she asked.

Off Howard's statement in Agent Carter that he was born in the Lower East Side, which in the early 20th century was an immigrant neighborhood with a heavy Jewish population around the time Howard was born and growing up. Pretty much this theory about Howard's background. Steve mentions in a later chapter that Howard speaks Yiddish and is Jewish, but Natasha doesn't know those details at this point, and it's deliberately vague. Tony knows NONE of this because Howard buried it back in the 1920s or 1930s.

Howard slid a third look at the door and started to say, “Steve –” and then stopped, chewing on the end of the pencil again. Finally, he said, “I think if either he or Peg had pushed harder, it would have gone further between the two of them, but neither one of them ever did. In a way it is – it was – probably easier that way. I mean – it is when people make assumptions. Easier, I mean. Leave enough gaps in any story and people will fill them in for you – hell, you’ll start filling them in yourself.”

He sat in silence for a few moments, his expression abstracted; Natasha thought about his playboy reputation, that he hadn’t married until 1965, the few things Tony had said about his father and his parents’ marriage – the way Howard looked at Steve when he thought Steve didn’t know. For that matter, the fact that he hadn’t looked at her with anything more than aesthetic appreciation over the course of the past two weeks and change.

My version of Howard is that he's bi, but while he prefers men he sleeps with more women as part of his Be Totally Normal campaign. (Peggy also mentions this in an earlier chapter.)

Eventually Howard shook his head and said, “I’m surprised Steve had the guts to ask you out.”

“There were extenuating circumstances,” Natasha allowed, accepting the change in subject. When Howard’s eyebrows went up, she explained, “We were on the run from the government, so I don’t think he thought he had all that much to lose.”

Well, it was technically true; Interpol still had red notices out on them back up in 2018, and Thaddeus Ross would be happy to have both of them drawn and quartered.

“Sounds like quite the story.”

“You have no idea,” Natasha said.

Howard took her unwillingness to expand on that in stride; for all Natasha knew, he assumed that instead of dinner and a movie, she and Steve had consummated their mutual interest in the back of a truck while on the run, which wasn’t even that far from the truth, minus the truck. He looked back down at the sketchbook in his lap as if he had forgotten it was there, then at the chewed end of his pencil in equal surprise. He glanced up at Natasha, down at the sketchbook, and up at her again; she raised her eyebrows in response.

“You okay with the color?” he asked. “I thought we’d match you and Steve, give the photographers something to coo about.”

Natasha blinked at him, though by now she was used to Howard Stark’s rapid changes in subject, then realized that he meant her new uniform, which was dark blue with a little red detailing down the sides and sleeves, with the Howling Commandos’ winged insignia on the left shoulder. Both the red and the blue were a little lighter in color than any of Steve’s recent uniforms, either because of changing aesthetics between 1945 and 2016 or because they would show up better in the black and white photographs the newspapers used. She hadn’t had a chance to see Steve’s new uniform yet, though she doubted it could be all that different from his last WWII uniform.

Steve's new uniform is never described in detail, but it's a mix between his CATFA, CATWS, and CACW uniforms. Captain America and Liberty Belle DO have to match.

“It���s fine,” she said, then cocked an eyebrow at him and said, “Do I really have to worry about photographers? Isn’t that mostly Steve’s problem?”

The Howling Commandos had featured a little in some of the old newspaper articles and newsreels she had seen, but most of the attention had been on Captain America until the 1960s, when there had been a resurgence in Howling Commando stories for a few years on both sides of the civil rights movement, not helped by Gabe Jones’ death in 1965. It had been on the job for SHIELD, but SHIELD’s existence hadn’t been publicly known until 1975, when along with the NSA it had been revealed as part of the Church Committee hearings that had followed the Watergate scandal. Even in 2018 there was a persistent rumor that Jones had been assassinated; knowing about Hydra’s interference in SHIELD, Natasha wasn’t sure that he hadn’t been, but there had been never been any proof.

SHIELD and Howling Commandos history based on some real world history. The SSR was made public knowledge post-war, but SHIELD followed the NSA's path and was secret until the post-Watergate Church Committee congressional hearings about American intelligence abuse in 1975. The NSA came out of the Signals Intelligence Service in WWII, which post-war was reorganized into the Army Security Agency, and the NSA itself was formed in 1952. SHIELD likewise probably had one or two names between the SSR and SHIELD.

Steve says in an earlier chapter that Gabe Jones worked for SHIELD and was killed on the job in 1965; no one knows if it was normal line-of-duty death or if he was assassinated, either by Hydra (after 2014) or as part of something like COINTELPRO due to being a prominent Civil Rights figure.

“Nope,” Howard said. “Come on, Captain and Mrs. America? The papers and the newsreels will eat that up. If Ike and Monty weren’t running roughshod over the Germans right now Senator Brandt would probably have the two of you doing photoshoots for a week. Instead Sherman – you met him the other day when he was taking pictures of Brandt and Steve – will have to squeeze them all in tomorrow, and a couple more at the front after you arrive.”

Brandt's assistant Michael Sherman -- name from me, credited only as Brandt's assistant in CATFA -- is the one who gives Natasha the Liberty Belle name, which shows up in this bit of faux-historical writing (which is going to be part of a post-Home historical errata story). I checked as carefully as I could that there wasn't a preexisting Marvel character with the Liberty Belle name; there's a DC character (who, yes, debuted during WWII) and Amalgam Comics (Marvel and DC publishing together) had an American Belle that was a mashup of DC's Liberty Belle and Marvel's Miss America (who hasn't made it to the MCU). I hesitated a bit over the name, but the DC character isn't well-known so I decided it was probably fine. Also it doesn't show up THAT often in this story.

Every historical event mentioned in this story is based on the real events that took place on those dates -- this is March 31, 1945, a little over a week after the crossing of the Rhine as part of Operation Plunder and the invasion of Germany, just prior the Race to Berlin.

Natasha grimaced. She had done the publicity circuit up in the twenty-first century, but hadn’t enjoyed it anymore than Steve had; unlike Steve, she also wasn’t used to it. At least then that had been as another Avenger, rather than as Captain America’s wife. She didn’t enjoy being defined in relation to Steve – to Captain America, really – but it kept anyone from looking too closely at her own entirely fictional background and with any luck it wouldn’t have to last.

The Captain America propaganda machine in 1945 is nothing like the Avengers PR circuit 2012-2016, especially with the glamor of "CAPTAIN AMERICA RETURNED FROM THE DEAD!" and "REDHEADED BOMBSHELL KNOCKS CAP OFF THE MARKET, LADIES!" Brandt's already got the fictionalized versions of the Cap propaganda machine -- Timely Comics, the Captain America Adventure Program, and various Hollywood films -- working on both resurrecting Cap (they were all trying to figure out how to handle his disappearance/death) and introducing Liberty Belle. Natasha doesn't have any context for how aggressive the Captain America propaganda machine is, since a lot of it didn't survive to the present day, and she's thinking about it in terms of the PR circuits the Avengers have done. It would not have been like that. (This is also one reason that Peggy wasn't willing to go anywhere with Steve during the war -- Peggy absolutely was not willing to be part of the Captain America propaganda machine.)

“They’re not expecting – I don’t know, a demure secretary, are they?” Natasha asked warily. “Or a nurse, or –” She knew women had done just about every job but combat in the Second World War, but she was also aware that not all of those jobs had equivalents in the twenty-first century.

This is basically the only point in American history until quite recently when it would be publicly acceptable for Captain America's wife to be as much of an ass-kicker as he is, but Natasha doesn't know enough about WWII to be sure about that.

Howard snorted. “What, for Captain America? Only if you listen to Roxxon’s faradiddle – they sponsor the Captain America Adventure Program.” When Natasha’s eyebrows shot upwards, he explained, “It’s a radio show. Roxxon is –”

From Agent Carter. Interestingly, Timely Comics' Golden Age WWII-era love interest for Cap (Betsy Ross, a.k.a. Golden Girl) was not a demure nurse like AC's Betty Carver. (Comics Peggy Carter was not introduced until the 1960s.)

“I know what Roxxon Energy is,” Natasha said.

This time it was Howard’s eyebrows that went up. “Roxxon Oil Corporation now,” he said. “I’ve been trying to buy them out for years, but Hugh Jones – that’s the CEO – hasn’t been having it. Cap’s sweetheart in the show is some nurse who’s always getting herself kidnapped by Nazis, when she’s not mending split trousers or making dinner for five hundred. I keep telling Peggy she should sue for defamation.”

“Not Steve?”

Howard’s mouth twisted. “Steve doesn’t have any legal right to his name or image. Well, the Captain America name, anyway, not the Steve Rogers part. The United States government can license the rest of it to anyone they want.” A muscle in his jaw twitched and he looked away. After a moment, he added, “I’ll get my lawyers on it after the war, though Brandt’s people are pretty good.”

“I know,” Natasha admitted. “Steve’s still having that fight up in the twenty-first, mostly unsuccessfully.”

Based on the U.S. government establishing John Walker as Captain America in FATWS, and to some extent on She-Hulk having knock-off Avengers ("Avongers") merchandise. If it's a knock-off, then there has to be a reason it's not official. An earlier chapter mentions that the U.S. government has occasionally tried to revive the Captain America role since 1945, and Howard Stark shut it down every time. Steve's not been successful in getting the rights to the Captain America name or even his own image back, it's too entrenched in American culture and history. On the bright side, post-Sokovia, the government's way less eager to use either.