#I hate ‘vaguing’ like this but I mean if it fits it fits and this is an unresolved problem I’ve tried to resolve for so long

[demodraws0606]

DRDT CHARACTER THEME PLAYLIST - My Personal Interpretation

Warning : This playlist was deleted by DRDTdev and thus this is mostly meant to be something fun, and also because people have posted a lot of interpretations that I don't agree with (and I've always wanted to make my own).

So a while back DRDTdev made a playlist that they've now deleted, however I've seen a lot of people making their own posts about who fits which song. However since I'm not "like the other girlsTM", i had mixed feelings on how certain songs were assigned.

Some songs will be exactly the same as some other posts, mainly because they make the most sense to me but I do have some interesting shifts here and there that I will try to explain.

However I want to get the obvious ones out of the way first

UNDEAD ENEMY : David Chiem

I think this one is the most obvious song in the playlist. The song talks about a person who has put on a mask and is miserable trying to addear to the expectations of that mask. There is a lot of pent up frustration and anger in those lyrics which also is very fitting for David.

There is also the hints of something more behind those feelings of hatred, despite how much he's learned to hate the world there's still a sliver of him that still wants genuine companionship.

YESMAN : Nico Hakobyan

This song already fits Nico purely from the introvert lines. I'm joking, that's not just why I considering Yesman to be Nico's song. This song fits really well with Nico's frustration with being a pushover (or you could say a Yesman) and just how society has always treated them poorly.

The song itself is about being forced to do something, like a boring job, and despite how much hatred you feel you still keep on trying to keep your head low and do what your told. I think all of that really fits Nico's arc and what we know of them so far. Someone who constantly is pushed down by other and has been taught that they need to accept it.

SHUNRAN : Arei Nageishi

This song could also fit Ace as another aggressive person who just wants companionship but I personally think this song fits Arei way better especially with the beginning line ("I won't pay attention to small fry" has a lot of Arei vibes).

This song fits Arei's desire to want love and the contradiction that comes with her aggressive personality. She feels that it's unfair how life punished her which fits a lot with the line "They say that praying to be loved is a sin" as she was constantly denied that love. The lines as well about your personality slipping and crying reminds me of Arei's breakdown.

Hi-Fi Evolution Theory : Veronika  Grebenshchikova

This song is very vague but despite that it is 100 pourcent a Veronika song.

I don't fully know what the song means in itself but the lyrics really fit Veronika's issues with boredom and her enjoyement of the killing game. There's a lot of lines about laughing and wanting to be entertained which just goes with her really well with her character.

Cartoons : Rose Lacroix

Ok, I think I lied when I said Undead Enemy was the most obvious song, THIS is the most obvious song. I don't think there's much analysis to be done to convince anyone that this is would Rose's theme.

This song reflects well Rose's depression and pain surrounding her talent and just how her life turned out in general. It kinda has that dissociative numbness in the lyrics that just fits her really well.

Sing Along : Teruko Tawaki

This song really fits Teruko extremely well especially her abandonnement issues. The song itself sounds aggressive but it oozes of longing and sadness.

A lot of the lyrics fit her feelings of being betrayed by Xander and Min, people she's gotten close to in a short time but immediatly ended up betraying her. It also fits her feeling towards her brother who ended up leaving her as well.

Now let's take a break and tackle the Instrumental songs !! This is where things start to change from other posts so get ready.

Spitfire (05 Version) : J Rosales

This one just fits J's vibes quite well. It's aggressive but also isn't too serious or intimidating, it just sounds like something J would listen in the car.

It also just has this...manly energy (?) or punk-ish energy that J has, it fits her rejecting the traditional feminity her mom tried to force on her.

Main Theme, Diamond is Unbreakable : Xander Matthews

This song is literally Xander vibes and you can fight me on that, it has a very dramatic and grandiose sound (especially when the piano comes in) that just fits how Xander holds himself (as you can see with that pose).

It's the exact type of theme I would expect from someone being the Ultimate Rebel. There's also more actively aggressive parts that I think also fit Xander, as we see he's got a short tamper when his ideologies are challanged and he also just is surprisingly quick to resort to violence.

desk rotation by RQ laji-2: Charles Cuevas

You can fight me again because you cannot tell this Bill Nye intro ass track doesn't fit Charles. Again it's hard to argue considering assigning instrumental tracks is really just based on vibes however this song really has a huge science show feel to it.

I could imagine hearing it while Charles is doing chemistry stuff or theorizing during the class trial.

Now let's go back to the lyrical songs, and this is where things start to go a bit crazy and I might need to justify myself a bit more.

asymptotic : Min Jeung

I know Charles is considered the resident nerd guy but you cannot NOT give the song about math puns to Min.

I think this song works really well for Min's relationship with Teruko. It especially reminds me of what Teruko says to Min before she gets excecuted that they "should've never gotten attached to one another".

This song is about a romantic relationship that could never happen, which I think represents Min's own feelings towards Teruko. About how they could've been closer but now they'll always be drifting apart.

How Min in a way sacrificed her life for Teruko but again she'll always be "out of reach". A relationship that could never happen under the killing game's circumstances.

RUNAWAY : Levi Fontana

I think this song especially with what Levi revealed to us latest episode REALLY fits him.

A song about a person who is repeteadly failling to try and "become better". The lines about "searching" and "tripping" goes in line with Levi's behavior in chapter 2. He's awkwardly trying to reach an ideal of the person he's supposed to be. He wants to be a "good person" but from the day he was born he was completely denied that ideal (aka "Dreams of who i want to be I'm seeing every empty page")

But there is a silver lining to all of this, the lyrics work with the moral of Levi's character. He doesn't need to run away from who he truly is, that what he considers an obstruction to his goal is simply just a part of himself he should accept. He doesn't need to "run away".

tip toes : Hu Jing

This song already just screams Hu purely from the line "I'm reaching for something more than this feeling of being important". She's a person who wants to protect others, be someone who others can rely on but in part it's very much driven by her own ego.

The lyrics are slightly vague but the parts about her "future" I feel like really gives vibes about how she used to be someone who had givne up on her own life but now is determined to persue it no matter what.

I didn't put this lyric in but "Take this ghost of me with the tide to die" again really feels like it references Hu's past and how she's ashamed of it. The song's lyrics give me a lot of feelings of regret but also determination which I think encapsulate Hu's character well.

Polygonal : Ace Markey

I've never seen people consider this one for Ace which is really surprising but also not because this song is very vague. Despite that, I do think this song 100 pourcent fits Ace purely because of some lines that really fit neatly with Ace's character.

The repeated mentions of how anyone would want to be loved/have someone to laugh with, it reminds me a lot of how Ace reacted to Levi saying he didn't care if he died. Ace desperately someone to give a shit about him, he'd rather take pity than nothing at all but he's also a self sabotager who drives anyone who gets close away from him.

"Your increasing honesty, I hate that about you" Honestly really feels like it's Ace saying that to Levi ? I wouldn't know fully how to explain it but it just really gives that vibe.

The song also seems to go on about a person's suffering about how their life is "full of failures" which again goes unfortunatly with Ace who seems to just have lived a pretty miserable life. Having only one person he could call a friend, being forced into an Ultimate Talent that both ruined his body and mental health .

Drawing Pins : Arturo Giles

Ok this one is probably the most farfetched pick, i'd say ? Considering, however, how little we know about Arturo I feel like this song has a lot of room to fit his characters and certain lines already do in multiple ways.

The parts about not being able to fit in, both makes me think of how he's kind of just, openly mocked within the group. However it also really makes me think about Arturo's family, him wanting to distance himself from them and his apparent disdain from them as well.

"Tell me what you did it for" "Cause I can't figure it out" I honestly think those parts really fit well with Arturo's sister committing suicide. He doesn't know why she did it something like that and he refuses to see it as his fault, it haunts him, he can't figure out why she did it because he can't fathom the idea that in reality it truly was because of him.

The "what do i have to do to be loved by you" parts I think are where things get a bit weird. My thought process would be Arturo's feelings towards "pretty people", him becoming obsessed with J because of her mother really makes me think that he's looking out for some kind of validation in a way.

Good grief : Eden Tobisa

I'm sorry this song is not fucking Whit, it's Eden, y'all can suck it /lh

This song really just fits way to well for me with Eden's feelings about Arei (weither she's the culprit or not even if I don't think she is anymore). The entire of the trial of chapter 2, Eden is struggling with the fact that she lost Arei and what could have been. This song really makes me think about how she tells David that she "knows she's dead and that she's never coming back". The slight upbeat-ness of the song really fits as well with Eden's attempt to try and stay cheerful despite how sad she feels.

I think Arei's death will be a very big sticking point in Eden's character.

Also the time motif with "Every minute and every hour" just fits way too good for it to be ignored.

In terms of other lyrics, I agree some of them fit Whit a bit but there are certain things that click way too well with Eden (and also none of the other songs fit Eden at all). I mean Eden's secret quote literally is "You can't go back no matter how hard you try" so clearly her character is heavily tied with grief as well.

"If you want to be a party animal, you have to learn to live in the jungle...." Really feels to me like Eden having to learn to be stronger and stop blaming herself ? It really just sounds like advice that would be given to someone like Eden who wants to be upbeat and confident but just simply is too prone to be insecure.

"Get drunk, call me a fool. Put me in my place" Again those lyrics really just feel like they fit Arei and Eden's relationship. Arei calling Eden a "fool" and "putting her in her place", it just ends up really matching perfectly in my opinion.

Mistaken Belief of Love : Whit Young

AHAH ! You have fallen into my trap of this post actually being secretly propaganda about how "Mistaken Belief of Love" really fits what's hinted about Whit's character so far !!!

Yeah, no, this song really does not make sense with anyone else other than Whit ? Both the lyrics and vibes do not match with anyone. The song's whole thing is about "love" and Whit's a fucking matchmaker, thematically it just fits like a puzzle piece. Not only that but Whit's whole thing (that actually hasn't rlly appeared in the series itself all that often) is that he seems to not be able to find love himself and is doomed to be single. It reinforces this idea that, yeah Whit's song would be about love in some way or another (I talk about love in general, this song is not a love song despite what you'd think)

It also works really well with Whit's secret quote being "We often idolize the dead" meaning Whit probably saw his mother as someone she wasn't. Perhaps she was abusive or neglectful, or she hid something from him that truly shows that she may not have cared about him at all.

There are also lines that just fit Whit really well like the "deception, boasting, saying "I openly laughed at it"", just really gives giant Whit vibes for me ? Same with the mention of "peekaboo" since we know Whit kinda holds on to childish things like that (his socks, the fact he uses fruity shampoo for kids).

Anyways, this was mostly for fun and also because I desperatly to make my own list because I had some Hot Takes Tm.

[arrows-and-ace-thetics]

For anyone else who may need to hear this today:

You will find people in your life who exactly what you can give is enough

You are allowed to set boundaries, you are allowed to not give everything

Looking after yourself means you can give more in the long run

You are enough

[heir-of-the-chair]

You know, when they said “you never stop learning things about yourself” I don’t think they meant five consecutive years of having a new identity crisis.

[strwbrymlkshake]

who up praying for downfalls 🤨

[director-phobos]

I don’t wanna be clocked as the “I’m better than you disabled type” for saying this, so please don’t go there. But I feel like people do have a problem with getting way too comfortable in their misery over the years here and I hope people see what I mean one day. Back when I was miserable myself and didn’t have the resources I do now, I used to get angry at those who said I’m capable of “doing more” or related but after receiving the help I’ve needed I’ve come to realize its a kind of fucked how normalized its been in these spaces to just.. use specific experiences or illnesses as a scapegoat? For a lack of better words. I used to do it but again, it’s normalized here I guess.. we’re capable of so much more and I’m growing more and more tired of the “I’m x so I can’t do x” thing..

I’m diagnosed with various things, some expected some new, I’ve been through heaps of traumatizing both irl and online situations resulting in the cptsd, chronic depression, BPD, some sort of dissociative disorder etc all being treated. What gets me though, is I see people experience way more mild things that they end up intensely identify with and blaming it or a few bad experiences on every negative trait they have, and don’t try and change anything. A lot of the time leading to misdiagnosing themselves as well with something serious, and yeah, I get mad about it. I get that people don’t all experience things the same but the same awwrghwk729191

The more I see this sort of thing taken happen between mutuals/acquaintances etc after I provide my insight the more (unreasonably?) angry I get? Because in my mind I guess people should know better but at the same time they haven’t been “enlightened” like I have so to speak. I’ve helped a couple of people, but some are so, so stuck in the “I’m this so I can’t do that or be expected to” thing and I only see this mindset in people who are very stuck on social media. I do not see this in people who are more “offline” or focus more on projects/friends/etc who have been through a lot like I have as well.

And just like. Dude.

[CW experience dump of unpleasantness];

If I can go through 13ish years of back to back domestic violence, witnessing my parent trying to kill themself multiple times, being woken up to screaming at 1am almost every day for months at one point, see people get beat, get beaten myself, have someone try to run me/family over twice, have a sibling die, endure s/a and on top of that be sent through multiple manipulators online after thinking I was through it all; I’m sure others with more “mild” problems in comparison they’ve ever went through can pull out of the “I’m so constantly drained and I can’t do xyz thing,” like I have, with work. But they have to really want it, when I get angry is when I see someone perfectly capable of using those resources and they don’t, but instead sink more into the “I can’t to blah” mindset.

I guess yeah there’s no hiding that this is a direct nod towards something that happened to me/someone recently, but nothing would change even if I dumped my feelings which I’ve done way too much of and itd always amount to nothing sooo instead I’ll just dump about what I see it all relating to in online phenomena. I’ll never be satisfied with how a friendship fell apart because of [the everything], and I could explain my pov further but I don’t want to get anymore specific than I am + I’m all around very certain it all culminates to this sort of thing. Out of all the worries I have recently reflecting on this is the only upsetting thing I’ve really been through recently besides random works issues and I think this will plague me for a long, long time. Wegh

Ty for the like attention span of idk 3 peanuts of my 50-ish followers who would read this post 🏓

[deathfavor]

Actually wait last post before bed time but I'm a big fan of crossovers. Like tbh I'll generally prefer crossovers vs creating an AU for other fandoms. (AU in fandom timeline or general slightly different). But since most of my muses are from fandoms where magic or lore (for the mythos muses) exist its really easy for crossovers be it to my muses universe or yours. I just. Idk. I like crossovers, unpopular opinion I know.

[nerosdayinanime]

jjk & kny self inserts - icarus is all the way back from feb last year (i made him & aether but then giyuu consumed my soul and i havent touched them Since...) and i just made kuro today

[moesartblog]

.

[mumblesplash]

hrnmgngm i ignored my better judgement and read some of the notes on that writing post. bad idea don’t do it

[todayisafridaynight]

The bookmark tag was #holder until i think of a tag for these asks but To Be Real even I forgot what it was...

BUT YEAH thanks so much for reading and I'm glad it's :] Intelligible At Least :] obviously I would be up for reading anything that came to mind after putting you and your followers through All That but understandable... A lot of people I've shown the checklist items or pointed out specific behaviors to have actually said similar [i.e. I'm In This Picture And I Don't Like It], so I totally get what you mean, too!

I think a lot of my picks wound up being generalized trauma responses/aftereffects of abuse or neglect [hence I meandered off into just talking about Jo's father half the time], so I guess it's to be expected a lot of them don't read as being CSA-specific or are broadly relatable; it's not like he's supposed to be read that way, after all. I just wasn't able to zero in on many of the more specific ones because I've Never Seen Jo In This Situation Chief I Don't Know What He Thinks About His Name Or His Body Or Mirrors Or Sex Or Affection I Don't Know How Well Or Poorly He Sleeps [Presumably Poorly Though He Has The Second-Reddest Eyes In The Whole Game]

I don't really think I'll have anything to add though unless Infinite Wealth goes off the rails or I actually continue reading the book... so that will have to do... I originally was just riffing on RGGJo's attachment issues, self-destructiveness, and specific entwinement of sexuality/aggression/romance, and his portrayal in my fic lined up pretty closely, so I thought it'd be interesting to apply the same lens to Y7Jo...

But Yeah x2 thank you for the opportunity to talk about it and I'm Glad It's Intelligible At Least x2

THANK YOU i really should change that tag to something better... <- i will immediately forget to do so like a jackass

BUT YA OF COURSE OF COURSE i was truthful when i said it was a real good read (but once again. i have -5 speech skills so i can't properly word SHIT) and was a thorough examination of jo's trauma and how it manifests in him and how it's exhibited through his actions. ALWAYS a big fan of that :)

[kalloway]

kinda wish I'd been recording the process of this because it'd make it VERY obvious I don't work smartly at all, and that's why all my rough 'shading' layers are so messed up because I made alterations as I went lol

anyway, another WIP - this time of my OC, Beck (who I have not posted about in ages lmao) from the Android AU Been having Thoughts(tm) about this bastard character of mine and how I could make him even worse than he already is 8) hehe

[snapscube]

Hey I was just wondering, due to the reaction you had with Stray yesterday, and wanted to ask if you had issues with the game.

I'm not asking so I could judge it due to bias, I just want to hear your thoughts on what you dislike

ok so

if by “the reaction” you specifically mean the vim and vigor with which i was cackling during the switch versions reveal, that had NOTHING to do with the game itself and instead was my reaction to the graphical compromises apparently required to get that game running. as someone who played through all of stray, that game is absolutely beautiful from a visual perspective and the switch version is DECIDEDLY scuffed in a way that i found hilarious.

HOWEVER, if you’re instead referring to the comment at the beginning where i kinda jokingly did the “That fucking bird that i hate” reference but replaced “bird” with “game” and “hate” with “Enjoyed Well Enough”, yes that does genuinely reflect a sort of running gag with my overall opinions on Stray. i streamed the game in its entirety when it released and there is a LOT to love about it, but personally i left the game feeling somewhat underwhelmed by its writing and the way it elected to communicate the story. the first thing that appeals to almost anyone about the game is the promise of seeing this sci if dystopia through the eyes of a cat, with all of the mischief and personal distance that implies. and Stray absolutely does have NOTES of this throughout the game. there are so many little interactions and animations that capture the essence of a cat so flawlessly and it’s commendable. but as the story goes on i personally felt like the game started to make more and more concessions away from this concept in order to fit in a relatively traditional adventure game narrative. it all ended up feeling somewhat well-tread. to this day the things i remember about the game are its stunning art direction, sound design, and the clear care that went into capturing and replicating cat-like behavior. i could not tell you a single detail of the story or the characters off the top of my head save for a few vague generalizations of its themes.

so, in short: i liked stray! i think its a really good game and its fantastically put together. i just was not nearly as crazy about it as some other folks were. so the running gag is that i hate stray and i think its the worst game of all time.

[boolger]

A lapdog at a farm - chapter 1

AO3 link. next chapter -> Call of duty. Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. wc: 4,147

Farmer!John Price x Hybrid!Reader, hybrid! Kyle Gaz Garrick x hybrid! Johnny Soap MacTavish x hybrid! Simon Ghost, John Price x Nikolai.

Summary: When Price was young and left his childhood home, a farm in the middle of nowhere in England, he didn’t enter the military. Instead he moved to London, got a degree and a good career, earning good money. He got you, a human dog hybrid as a pet, after feeling lonely - and you lived your best life for years, spoiled and pampered, Price’s lapdog who got praised at every party. Loved and fucked every night. That was until Price decided to return to his roots and go back to farming - dragging you along to the middle of nowhere, away from all the wonders of the big city. Expecting you to accept this sudden change in lifestyle and pretend to be a farm dog. Bad luck however, because you fucking hated it, and became more and more unruly. In hopes of getting you to calm down and to keep his live-stock and farm safe, Price then got three working dog hybrids - and all at once, your life was even worse than before.

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy

author's note: Hi sinners <33 Just a heads up; the reader is gonna be a spoiled brat. If you want a smart and sweet reader who isn’t mean at times, well. Bad news. This ain’t it.🥰The reader is she / her and has a pussy and is chubby. I tried my best to keep the descriptions somewhat vague otherwise. Reader is a cocker spaniel hybrid. I will tell the others along the way. In this universe, hybrids have ears, tail, claws beneath nails and canine fangs. There will be heats and ruts but there is no omegaverse. They will have personality traits of their dog breed and so on. Now. I know there aren’t wild wolves in the UK… but in this fic there is, ok? mwah.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The countryside was peaceful compared to the city; the absence of the bustling streets and constant traffic, created a quietness that was indescribable.

Out here, at the new farm, the noises only came from animals that lived in the stables and barn or the occasional rumble as a tractor turned on. The wind caressed the never ending fields of wheat and the long rows of fruit trees, under which the goats and sheep walked most days.

The stress here wasn’t the same kind as in the city. Sure , there were stressful moments and sometimes Price looked like he needed to sleep for more than just the few hours he got everyday.

But he didn’t have to worry about the morning traffic, waiting in a queue for an overpriced, questionable tea or coffee. There was no need for him to wear a suit, no noisy, overfilled train cars in the underground. No crowded dog or hybrid parks, no meetings or rules to follow - except those John Price decided for himself.

He was happy, so much was clear to you. It had been three months since the move - Johnhad gone back to his roots, buying back the farm that his parents had used to own a little while ago, using some of his endless wealth on renovating the place. There was no step on the stairs that was loose, like it used to when he was a kid - sure they still creaked, but you weren’t afraid they would disappear from beneath you.

It was modernized, but most of the old charm left. Price fit right in; the furniture he had inherited and never believed he would use was suddenly in the living room. His knowledge of the business world was abandoned in the city, for the knowledge of farming that he still had left from his youth. John got a couple of farm hands and workers, who helped him with the big place.

It was like he reclaimed his own self that had been buried beneath the suits, ties and paperwork. Now he didn’t smoke his cigars from stress, but from pleasure, clearly much content.

It was like the farm had truly made John Price happy once more; his smiles more genuine, his true self stepping forth. Returning to his childhood home and taking over the farm had been the best decision Price had made. There was no question about it.

… and you hated every bloody day at the farm.

The early morning hours in bed with him, being disturbed by the farm waking up, the rooster crowing and John leaving the bed, giving you a pat in between your ears, taking all the heat with him. The constant bugs, the muddy stables and the big animals, the helpers who always teased you for not fitting in, the lack of friends you had out here. The foxes’ screams in the night, the wolves howling, and the cows occasionally mooing sounded like creatures stepping out of nightmares.

You were not made for farm life. Literally. Simply not made for it.

Some would argue that you, as a hybrid pet, didn’t have a say in it and sure , legally you didn’t. But you were a lapdog, an elegant pet. Not a farm dog. Created to be cared for and cuddled, you were a purebred cocker spaniel hybrid; you weren’t made to run around on a farm, following John on his duties And doing work. 

Sure, you had the instincts to hunt a few things here and there, but it was mostly balls and the occasional bird or squirrel. You weren’t a guard hybrid, not really a working dog.

You had had enough trauma throughout your life - you deserved not to be forced into this! You had grown up being trained to be a lapdog, not a working-dog like you felt like John expected you to act like now.

You wanted John to be happy, you really did - you loved your Master! When he bought you a few years ago, when you were still aggressive and unruly (… more than now at least), you had thought he would tire of you like everybody else had. But with patience, rules, training, praise and punishment and a whole lot of sex later, you were a perfect hybrid pet for the city! People always praised how well you looked, laughing when Price said you were really a little troublemaker. You would follow him throughout the fancy apartment, on your daily walks, sometimes for meetings.

But why the fuck did it have to be a farm? He worked somwwhat the same time that he did before, genuinely seeming to enjoy himself. Forgetting about poor you!

Out here, there were no hybrid daycare that you would go to when he had long days, there were none of your playmates nearby, everything stank of animals and there were no places nearby for you to get your hair and fur styled and pampered! No nail technicians, no fancy cafes, no shops for John to buy you things in! No special made coffee or chef-made meals every other evening, no freshly baked croissants.

You felt like you had tried . You really had. 

But after the first week, you had your first breakdown - and as the weeks passed, they didn’t stop. At first, John was sympathetic, like the perfect owner he was.

Cooing at you, kissing your forehead, as he gently scratched your ears. Kissing away any tears, saying it was okay - that you were just overwhelmed, that it would be okay. That you would come to like it out here.

Big fucking joke.

He had tried every trick in the book, in an attempt to please you and made you less upset, but as days turned into weeks and tantrums began to appear, you knew his patience began to disappear.

He followed professional advice and then the advice of the neighbors down the street, Rodolfo and Alejandro (who had caught you running away at one point), tried some of the workers’ advice. He had given you your own room, and it was mostly designed like your own, perfect to the pale green paint on the wall, all your toys and dog beds, your CDs - everything. He had tried hauling you along every day, trying to give you a routine to follow - but after two weeks, he gave up, not having the energy to deal with a tantrum that got worse and worse each day. He went on walks with you, fucked you silly, tried his best — and you didn’t want it.

No, you wanted to go back to your old life. Not this country life that you hadn’t signed up for, with horses that neighed loudly whenever you passed them; they were definitely going to trample you at the first chance, you knew that. You could hear foxes scream in the night, warning you of the dangers. The goats and sheep were so fucking loud and no you didn’t want to go pick fresh apples off the trees - had he seen the size of the spiders crawling on them?

When you in one of your biggest tantrums took off and bolted from the farm in distress, Rodolfo and Alejandro had almost hit you when you emerged from the corn fields onto the road. 

You had cried the entire drive home, no matter what the two men had tried saying, especially as Rodolfo called Price in advance — your master was livid . The worst thing was, that it was not that kind of anger where he yelled at you before punishing you - no, this one was almost silent, a sharp grip on your collar as he dragged you along after thanking his neighbours.

He had belted you then, ignoring your crying and screaming, only stopping when you broke, sobbing and going quiet. He had explained it to you then, what could have happened, what dangers you could have ended in - and as you sobbingly apologized and tried to explain, that you wanted to go back to the city, John had sighed .

Said that he had pampered you too much since he got you, which had made you greedy and attention seeking. Which only made you cry more, as you hid your face in his neck, fingers digging into his shirt, ass cheeks burning.

“Spoiled rotten, little birdie,” he mused, though you could hear the softness in him, your tail wagging a little, hoping to get him to be less mad.

“‘M sorry,” you had whined in distress, upset with yourself as well, ears tipping down, “wanna be good but I don’t like it.”

Your rather dull escape attempt resulted in several things. An AirTag on your collar, so that he always knew where you were. A remarkable lack of treats, sex and then… the crate .

You fucking hated the dog crate. 

Sure, it hadn’t been nice of you to bite one of his pillows into a simple pulp of fabric, feathers everywhere. Or create chaos in the kitchen… or get drunk on his fancy whiskey (that one had ended worse for you, hangover was a bitch and there wasn’t much sympathy from John). And yes, you might have ripped most of the flowers surrounding the house up, until one of the workers had caught you. Maybe pissing yourself in the middle of the living room while staring him in the eyes and ignoring his warnings had been a little…excessive. 

But the dog crate? You hated that thing with a burning passion. 

Hated it when he locked you up, ignoring your whimpers and whines, your promises to behave, ignoring your little howls as he left. 

Mean. The farm had made him mean. Perhaps you had become a bit unruly too, but it was like he didn’t take your clear suffering seriously.

Mean and happy - unruly and suffering. What a pair you were. One of the workers, KAte Laswell, who was a big helper and often stayed over for dinner, suggested a fucking shock collar. You had growled, only stopped when John sent you a sharp look. 

You had even heard him talking over the phone with somebody, saying that he didn’t want to rehome you, but he didn’t know what to do.

That had made you melt a little and you had cried as you had crawled into his bed a couple of hours later, begging him to not abandon you. Fears of never getting to see John again or being loved again by him made you cling onto him as he kissed away your tears, gently fucking you.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

It was a random morning a couple of days later, that you found him still in the kitchen, reading the newspaper, humming to himself while smoking a cigar.

He looked nice like this. Despite how he sometimes muttered about being too old, he wasn’t really that old. Late thirties, and perhaps it was the peace on his face or the sun rays that kissed him, which made him look younger. But still. There was a decade between you, but days like this, you were reminded that it didn’t matter.

“Are you going to stare all day or are you going to join me, Darling?” He asked teasingly, pulling you from your thoughts. You let out a little huff and kissed him good morning, receiving a pat on the ass before you sat down on your own seat. It had been a while since the two of you had eaten together - often he was up at the crack of dawn, so his calm behavior and gentle humming was unusual to say the least.

“Why are you not working?” You asked carefully, as you ate some of the bread, trying to ignore how it wasn’t a fancy sourdough one - though you were pretty sure he had picked it up from a local bakery in the village which was a little drive away.

“Because,” he put the paper down, then tapping some ash off the cigar into his ashtray, before looking over at you, a pleased smile on his face, “you and I are going on a trip.”

“A trip?” You didn’t even bother to be embarrassed about how your voice got higher with excitement or how your tail thumped against the backrest of the chair as you wagged it, “where are we going? When? Can we go now?”

Price had laughed, a happy sound that you knew not many got to hear; it made your heart beat a little faster, made you feel butterflies in your stomach. 

“Well, we got to do a few things first to get ready, and you ,” he used the cigar to point at you, your tail wagging a little faster, “need to not freak out when I tell you where we are going.”

Despite the warning, tears streamed down your cheeks when he told you. John didn’t get mad as a part of you had expected; he knew your abandonment issues first hand, knew how you had been left behind before, from one bad owner to another. 

“You’re going to sell me and leave me with a mean owner and I’m gonna die of hunger and thirst - and - and —“

“Not gonna leave you, princess,” John crooned, covering your face in kisses as you hiccuped and sniffled, clinging to his clothes, “you know that. My favorite puppy. Pretty girl.”

Despite your tears and small sobs, your tail wagged at his words, “silly puppy,” he mused with a smile, gently scratching your lower back, “‘m not gonna sell you. Ale and Rodolfo are looking for a hybrid, I figured we could go look at the auction as well.”

“What if - what if - what if you’ll like them more?” You sniffled dramatically, sure that your life was only going to become worse than it already was. One thing was this bloody farm and the crate, another thing was having to share Price. You didn’t like the idea one bit. If that happened, you were going to show him how a proper tantrum was thrown - the crate would probably be the least of your worries.

As if to prove his love, John bent you over the table, fucking you in between the clattering dishes and cutlery, tea and coffee almost spilling over. Despite how many times your owner fucked you, it made you lose control of your mind every single time. His cock reached so deep inside you that it bordered on pain, your mouth open as you panted and moaned at each thrust; your soft stomach being pressed against the edge of the table, one hand holding onto the back of your collar, the other on your tail. The table rattled, John groaned and moaned, your fingers desperately trying to hold onto anything. 

“My princess,” he snarled darkly into your ear, “you’ll always be mine-“ a moan, a grunt, “- no matter what happens, yeah?”

“Yes ye-ah- yes, sir, I’m yours - ah ah - I’m yours!” you managed in between pants and wails of pleasure, fear of abandonment forgotten in the ocean of euphoric satisfaction. 

You came harder than you had for a while; the reminder of your worth, of how you deserved his worship, making you cream around his throbbing length, legs in spasms afterwards. He pushed deeper, filling you up with a loud roar like sound, his hands moving to grab onto the fat of your ass and hips as he came. Pain and pleasure made your toes curl and a content sigh left you, your tail wagging against Price as he chuckled.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The auction hall was filled to the brim with humans and hybrids alike. Every owned hybrid followed their respective owners, all wearing mandatory leashes so no pets would be confused with the ones that were being sold. You wore your own pink one with pride, gem stones sparkling. A matching leash connected to the D-ring on it, that also bore your tags. You were convinced yours were the most beautiful in this entire place.

“They’re bonded,” Laswell pointed out, pointing to the papers that hung nearby, showing off general information about them, “gotta get all three.”

You dared to look at the little board with the informations about the three hybrids they were looking at.

“Ah, we don't have space for three, mi amor.”

“eso es una pena,” Rodolfo answered, while you looked over at John - who kept looking at the three hybrids. You dared to peek over at them.

All three of them were enormous .

Two of them wore muzzles, meaning they were biters. At least at the auction. You shouldn’t judge then, not really, but you did... Even though you had worn a muzzle five years ago, when Price had chosen you. You hadn’t tried biting people out of malice; you had been scared and angry at the world. Angry for being abandoned once more, over the fact that you were most likely being passed on to another abusive master. You leaned a little closer to Price, taking in his scent.

Even from the start, despite all the problems and your attitude problems, he had been sweet. Strict at times — probably not enough — but kind.

The biggest one looked like a Great Pyrenees breed, most likely. The fur on his ears and tail looked shorter, badly cut. Probably due to matting or if he refused to get it cut. His hair, a dark blonde almost brown, was in a buzz cut. He had scars, all over - unable to hide because of the lack of clothes most hybrids were given, only underwear. There was a lot in his face, though you suspected a bunch were hidden by the muzzle. He stared into nothing, his ears curled back, though they moved now and again, listening to different sounds.

“Hard to get sold,” Laswell commented and you looked over at her in synchronicity with John, “they’re ex-military.”

Like he had been called to them, a man who wore one of the seller badges appeared.

“They’re obedient once they fall into place,” he happily explained, going full seller-mode, “they’re just not too fond of the auctions - too many people.”

“Makes sense,” Price mused, clearly interested - much to your annoyance. The fact that he asked follow up questions made you frown, fingers tightening in his shirt. He was here to look. To help Alejandro and Rodolfo, who both had continued their walk. You dared to look over at the hybrids again. All three were staring at you and John. 

“How come they were discharged?”

“One of them got a hearing loss -“ he nodded towards them, “the one with the mohawk. And they’re a bonded pack.”

“So only retiring him was out of the question,” John concluded once more looking over at them.

You felt your tail go in between your legs. He couldn’t be seriously considering those three . you couldn’t help but let out a small whine. Price gave your leash a little tug.

“They’re working dogs,” the seller continued, his eyes flickering to you, making you huff, “so they’ll need something to do, not just be pets.”

“Oh I know. I have a farm. Need some work dogs - this one isn’t guarding much.”

They all laughed, your tail going even further between your legs with embarrassment.

“You can’t be serious,” you whined in a whisper to John, not caring that you sounded needy - spoiled would Laswell had said and you ignored her as she rolled her eyes.

“Hush, Princess.” John didn’t even look at you.

“You have animals there?” The seller asked, “one of them is a herding dog - the border collie.”

“I do - several. That’s why there's a need for guarding dogs as well, bloody wolves have been terrorizing us.”

You knew he was telling the truth; he had muttered about dead sheeps and goats several times - even a calf had lost its life to the wolves in the area, despite he and Laswell having shot two already. Even foxes had gotten into the coop, despite the fences.

“They’re good at that too, with their training,” the seller offered, clearly interested in selling them or at least getting John to bid on them. “The one with the mohawk, Soap , will have hearing aids with him, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

You looked over at this “Soap”, scrunching your nose. They were still staring, the biggest one bending down to listen to the third one, a beautiful black man, whisper in his ear. No doubt judging you.

“It says here they don’t do well with others,” you muttered, in a desperate attempt to sway John, pointing to the board with their papers. It did indeed say so, to which you wanted to argue that YOU should be his main focus in this whole thing - how would he even consider adding them to your household if these dogs could get a hold of you?

“It’s in the sense that they’re not really housetrained to be social family pets,” the seller swooped in, pushing your argument away, annoying you even more, “they’ve had missions all their lives. They need to have something to do.”

“I’m sure you’ll get along with them, sweetheart,” Price answered, giving you a small scratch beneath your chin as he finally looked over at you, a glint in his eyes, “some company will do you good.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. Hardly . Price’s smile told you that he thought this was a great idea however. You dared to look at the men again. Still staring, fucking bastards.

The black man seemed like a mix of some breeds, German shepherd and… you looked shortly at the board. Belgian malinois. Fancy. He wasn’t as tall as the big one, but broad and with scars as well. There was a more slender look to him, but his six pack proved he was strong. His curly hair wasn’t too long, probably cut not too long ago. He was looking at you curiously, making you raise your upper lip a little, as if to warn him.

The one with the hearing loss looked like some sort of border collie - covered in scars as well, some of his skin looking like it had been too close to fire. He was broad like the two others, his upper arms the size of your head. He even sent you a cheeky grin, even daring to wink at you. You just looked away, tipping your chin up a little.

“You can look closer if you want, sir?”

You were pulled back into the conversation at once and before you could argue, John had already passed on your leash to Laswell and walked towards the men with the seller. You whined, distressed that he was really, actually considering this.

“You’ll be fine,” Laswell commented calmly, with empathy in her voice for once, though she didn’t look at you, merely at John and the others.

“He is gonna lose interest in me,” you whined, perhaps a little dramatically, bottom lip wobbling a little as you could feel tears welling up in your eyes, “then he’ll leave me in the crate all day and only care about them an—“

“Calm down,” Laswell said, “you’ll work yourself into a fuss.”

“He can’t do this to me,” you argued in a sullen voice, already imagining John forgetting all about you, focusing on these three hybrids for the rest of his life, leaving you cold and lonely inside the dog crate - maybe even rehoming you, “he promised he wouldn’t get rid of me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Laswell answered just as calmly as before, “John loves you too much, you’re just being spoiled. Hanging out with some working dogs will do you good.”

“They probably have fleas,” you said, your prejudices seeping into your words, knowing you’re being mean, judgmental against your own kind, “they’ll kill me and eat my dead body.”

Laswell laughed. “No they won’t. Worst thing they’ll do, is probably knock you up.”

A high pitched, scandalized sound left you, despite knowing you had an implant. Laswell laughed again, giving your leash a little yank and then scratching you behind your long ears.

“Settle, Princess. That won’t happen without John’s permission.”

You almost cried at the sight of John shaking the seller’s hand.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

They all met up again for the actual auction part and you sat at John’s feet, sniffling a little. Crying hadn’t helped, in fact John had just petted and kissed you, calling you sensitive. Alejandro had gotten a hybrid earlier that they didn’t need to bid on - she was for sale for a certain price. Something about being too intense without enough space to roam, having attacked others before.

Fucking great. Beasts all around you.

John won the bidding on the three working dog hybrids he had been interested in - because of course he did. He spent way too much money on them too, according to you.

One more - or well, three more fucking things to hate about this “farming life” that had been forced upon you.

Maybe John had gone mad.

next chapter ->

[cupcakeinat0r]

Thinkin abt DadBod!Miguel… once again…

You were the lucky girl that pulled Miguel n had him wrapped around your lil finger.

As much as he didn’t like to show it publicly, the man was whipped. By the means of your affectionate love, Miguel actually began to take better care of himself, resulting in happy boyfriend weight gain.

As time went on, you’d noticed those changes: Thicker thighs, fatter ass, pecs are perkier, and a soft pouch that you’d feel up when you removed his shirt during hot, open-mouthed make-out sessions.

Miguel was a little surprised to find that you loved it, and since then, has taken advantage of this information.

Now, he proudly walks around shirtless, in nothing but grey sweatpants or even boxers sometimes. He thought he was slick by acting coy, but you knew that he knew that you get wet just by the sight of his brawny, hairy muscles, or that muffin top he had going on… and that happy trail…

Then he’d give you that smirk when he caught you staring, making fun of you when he did. And when he sees that you’re a blushing mess, he attacks you with kisses, you swatting him away but it’s no use; he’s already caged you under him on the couch, the both of you breaking into a fit of giggles.

Today, it’s early in the morning. He didn’t have to be at the society until a little later, so you made the best use of the rare time you had together and made him some breakfast. After he was done eating, the two of you cuddled on the couch for the remainder of his free time.

He was sprawled out on the couch (almost too small for him) with your body on top of his. Your head lays on his chest, the hair there slightly tickling your skin. His strong hands rub your back oh so gently, making you drift away. Miguel occasionally kisses the top of your head as he himself doze off as well. Just when the two of you are about to fall asleep, his watch on the coffee table goes off.

“mierda—“ he groans, immediately going to snooze the loud, annoying alarm. You lift your head with a ‘mph’, your body grieving the loss of a peaceful moment between the both to you. “Already?” You look up at him with the saddest puppy dog eyes, ones that break his heart.

“I know, mama, I know, I’m sorry, but y’know I have to go.” He tuts. Like as if you were made of porcelain, he gently pries you off of him, but you refuse. “Just call in, baaaabe.”

Miguel feels you grab onto him tighter, and he lays back on his elbows in regret, “I’ll be back as soon as I can, mamita. I gotta go, mama, c’mon.”

“But baaaaabyyyyy.” You pout.

“Beba, tu sabes que yo quiero quedarme contigo, pero I simply can’t.” He really did hate having to say bye to you. He used to never wanna leave the lab, but now he counts down to the seconds until he gets to come home to your arms.

“Just a few more minutes?” You lift your head from his chest again, giving him those eyes that could get you anything.

“Beba, por favor-“ he knits his brows. He was cracking.

“Pleeeeeeaaasse?” You pout your bottom lip, “We haven’t had a day like this in forever, babe. Besides, you work so hard already…”

You place and subtly push your hands on his chest, and to your surprise, he lays back on the couch, wanting to hear what else you have to say, and maybe see what mischievous plan you had this time.

He could spare a minute or two, it won’t hurt… right?

“You deserve a day off, no?” Your voice becomes softer, more sensual as you peel yourself from his body and straddle not on his waist, but his stomach. Miguel’s consciousness is slipping.

Miguel’s hands instinctively go to rest on your hips, which have started to vaguely grind on his belly.

You were clever. By teasing Miguel and grinding against his stomach, merely inches from his fat cock, you knew you’d have him crumble under you in no time. “Well… do you?” You ask again, raising your eyebrow. You know it was working.

His eyes are now laser focused on the triangle of your panties, now marked with a wet spot, rubbing against his mid section. In his mind, he’s practically fighting for his life between going to work or letting you keep doing what you’re doing and so far… what his eyes are stuck on is winning.

“fuck, mama… you’re makin’ it real difficult, you know that?” His voice gravels at the sight in front of him. He doesn’t look up, too distracted by your slow thrusts against his soft belly. He hissed as he can feel his own cock rise in his grey sweats, precum bleeding through, no doubt.

“Baby, just stay, just for today… please?” Your breathy tone goes straight to his aching dick, pushing him over the edge from staying or going.

Hungry, Miguel licks his lips just as he takes one of his hands, hooking his pointer finger on one side of the triangle of your panties, pulling it aside so that nothing separated your wet heat and his fluffy stomach. He let out a low sigh and a few curses, watching as you painted his belly with your juices. He’s not even in you, but he could cum just from this.

“Aw fuck… what am I gonna do with you?“ he looks up at you, almost annoyed that this was working on him, but he couldn’t help it. He was pussy whipped. Feeling like you’ve won, you lazily smiled, already getting close to your climax as you continued grinding on his soft stomach.

“Lyla… fuck… mute my watch. I’m takin’ the day off.”

A/n: This one right here…. This ask did it for me. Been replaying this one in my head for days now hnnnghh I need him so bad, it actually makes my stomach hurt and my head dizzy 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 Thank you nonnie <3

Hope y’all liked it <3

Want more DadBod!Miguel ? Here’s my master list, bae!

[pedgito]

𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 | Javier Pena x fem!reader

summary | your boyfriend delivers the worst news possible on what should be a day filled with love. luckily your coworker is there in wait, not allowing a perfectly good dinner reservation to go to waste. [2.5k]

content warning | this is probably the tamest thing i've ever written, who am i? mostly fluff, vague descriptions of your boyfriend (technically ex-boyfriend/some misogyny (not by javi), small age gap, co-workers, dinner dates and more, unrequited (innocent) crushes, minimal spanish (mostly just pet names), open-ended

author’s note | @pascalispretty happy valentines day!! this is my first time doing one of these and i was your secret valentine, but i hope you enjoy! i haven't written for javi in so long and i was really craving some soft!javi so this was a joy to write. i hope you enjoy!

You hated the stigma around holidays and what they meant, what they entailed, and why people upheld them so highly. But, here you were—tapping your fingers insistently against the desk across from the pool of DEA agents who would throw a file of paperwork on your desk and expect it to magically poof away and, by default, relinquish themself of any responsibility over it in the process.

You couldn’t fault them all—some of them actually managed to follow instructions. A signature here and there, all in order, leaving with little work to do other than file it away. Murphy followed it to a degree that made you think he probably has some time of background outside of here, back in the states. Always uniform, always proper—he’d been a good addition from the start and a perfect match to Javier Pena’s strong personality and unwillingness to give up control.

He also smiled at you every morning and offered a kind greeting, a small acknowledgment of your existence which couldn’t be spared by many others.

As for Javier—he did the work. There was never an issue, but halfway through an expository to a question he asks his attention is drawn elsewhere. Usually to one of the other few in-office secretaries or visitors that just couldn’t resist a bite at the overconfident and suave agent.

You could see the appeal, but that didn’t mean you had to like it—sometimes it impeded your ability to communicate with him and it really, really annoyed you.

Plus, your boyfriend was perfect. Too perfect that it felt unreal at times, but as all things in your life tended to implode on you—you were waiting for the ball to drop.

“Buenos días, señorita.” Javier greets with a smile that shines perfectly under his thick mustache, dressed in his usual pairing of tight jeans and form-fitting button up. This one was pink though, or a deep red. Jesus, how many different ones did he own?

You snort softly, “Morning, Javi.”

And you’re expecting that crisp folder to slide onto your desk but he’s traversing down the steps into the bay of other desks, straight for his. He’s still in eyeline, his and Steve’s shared workspace right in the center.

His eyes flit up briefly, scanning the room before they land on you again and of course you’re staring, but not for the reasons he’s assuming. And there’s a fierceness behind your eyes that he’s seen before, like he’s about to be lectured.

You grab at an empty file on your desk and hold it up lazily, eyebrows raising in expectation. 

“Oh shit,” He curses lowly, but not soft enough for you to miss before he’s reaching in his desk and holding up the paperwork, “Here—I’ve got it.”

You pluck the item from his grip as he approaches, this time lingering. He’s got his fingers spread out wide on your desk and he leans, practically towers as you sift through his work quietly before jotting something down on a separate sticky note and filing it away for the time being.

“Sorry, bonita,” He apologized, some sincerity in his voice, “I stayed late last night and finished it up but you were already gone—I don’t forget, you know that.”

“All good,” You offer a polite smile and he still doesn’t move, nodding kindly to a few women that pass by, seemingly more done-up than usual, “big plans tonight?”

A man like Javier, there was no way he spent Valentine's Day alone.

Javier offers a non-commital shrug and nods his head in your direction, “What about you? You got that boyfriend, right? Kid with the glasses?”

And okay, Javier was a good chunk older than you. Ten years, maybe. But, kid? Please.

“Yes, that kid.” You roll your eyes light-heartedly. “Um, I reserved a table for dinner at that restaurant Steve recommended a couple months ago. The one he took Connie to.”

“Yeah—yeah, I know that place.” Been a few times, it lingers on his tongue. It didn’t matter if he went alone, the food was decent enough. “You made the reservation?”

“Come on, Javi,” You slap at his forearm gently, “It's not that big of a deal—besides I just…need a break. I thought dinner would be nice.”

“You know I can’t judge you for living at this place,” Javier says around a soft chuckle, “I’m guilty of it too.”

Many nights spent stuck in the office with just you and Javier—the occasional appearance of Steve. It led you to learn a few things about the men, even if inadvertently.

When leads were dry, Javier will go through half a pack in a day and Steve would chew at his fingernails almost constantly, tapping and fidgeting nearly nonstop. They both had obvious tells—a more obvious one for Javier being the close-mouthed smile he gave to women he wasn’t interested in but still remained polite to while the other, the unabashed grin was reserved for the women who piqued his interest.

He's given you both, but that was beside the point. 

“Any recommendations?” You ask curiously, fidgeting with the plastic clip on your pen.

Javier considers it briefly, lips pursing together as he taps his pointer finger in thought, “Well, the Pescado Frito they have is pretty good—can’t really go wrong with that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You note, leaning back in your chair as you spot Steve making his way into the office.

“I thought you hated holidays like this?” Javier questions curiously, a sentiment he shared. They seemed pointless outside of the few that offered him a reprieve from work.

You shrug, looking away briefly to avoid his steadfast gaze.

“Well, I don’t think all of us are impervious to stuff—I wanted to do something…nice. I guess?”

Javier isn’t entirely convinced, seeing the uncertainty in your shy smile but he lets it go, slapping the desk lightly before waving a quick goodbye as Steve pulls him aside.

It had to be intel—and good intel at that by the way Javier’s face morphs into sudden interest, thumb and pointer finger brushing over his mustache.

And really, you shouldn’t keep staring at him. Not with that dinner on the forefront of your mind, the one you had so meticulously planned out for you and your boyfriend.

Things had to be perfect. There was no other option.

But, then Javier chances another glance in your direction and something swells in your throat—anxiety, sadness. You can't quite place it, but you swallow it down. Force it away.

Only a few more hours to go.

-

The call comes an hour before you’re due to head home, already packing up your belongings preemptively. And you smile at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice.

It’s been a few months. Good months. Too good.

He was younger, like you—some IT guy in his earlier twenties with a kind heart. Or, so you assumed.

“Hey,” You answer softly, lightly into the phone, “reservations are in a couple hours.”

“About that,” His voice sounds off, distant, “I don’t think I can make it.”

Your heart drops into your stomach and you find yourself chewing at your bottom lip in worry, watching wearily as Javier and Steve hold matching coffees in their grip, marching back to their desks in sync. Javier’s gaze lingers for a moment, a normal motion he did just to check on you.

Nothing more.

But, he spots the change in your emotion.

Still, he continues on.

“What—I—I’ve had these reservations for two weeks,” You reply in a hushed voice, trying to contain your frustration, “what happened—what changed?”

“I just—I don’t really know how to say this,” The dread is immediate, but your mind is filled with anger—rigid, bitter anger that wants to bite, “I think we should break up.”

“Are you fucking serious?” The small outburst catches the attention of you people but you avoid their gaze, even more pointedly Javier, who’s gone from inconspicuously spying to full on gawking now, alongside Steve who had a sudden interest. They’ve never seen you like…this. “Today? This felt like a good thing to tell me today?”

“I’ve been trying—“

“You’re an asshole.” You bite harshly, “You can pick your shit up from my apartment this weekend.”

You don’t let him have the final word, slamming the phone back down into the receiver and ignoring the gathering stares and sparse, hushed whispers.

You could sit and wallow, allow yourself to stew in regret and worry, wondering what you did wrong—but you knew it wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been. All the trying and trying and trying you do, the maximum amount of effort met with little enthusiasm. You were naive to think that things would work,

You’re thankful when the shift nears its end and people file out quietly, albeit with a few side-stares, you find yourself mulling over the idea of canceling the reservation completely. But, then there was perfectly good, hard-earned money going to waste. And you could eat by yourself, but the idea seemed even more miserable as you had specifically booked a table for two, decorations and accommodation to match. It felt ridiculous, in hindsight. 

You pass the stack of paperwork off to your boss as you step into his office, scurrying back to your desk with your head down—already prepared to go home and wallow in your self-pity.

“You alright?” Javier asks suddenly, jumping slightly at his voice as you turn on your heels, hip bumping into your desk in the process, wincing at the pain, “shit—sorry.”

He’s smiling to lighten the mood but it doesn’t help.

“You’re…fine,” You wave him off, leaning into the weight of the desk as he lingers, fingers shoved into the front pockets of his pants, “I’m heading home in a bit.”

“No dinner?” He asks curiously—if he was attempting to be coy he was doing a terrible joy.

It was only minimally amusing, cracking a smug smile at his obvious prying. 

“No dinner,” You confirm, “and he broke up with me, so…”

“Cabrón,” He says under his breath, but it isn’t lost on you, “I’m sorry—that’s…fucked up.”

You shrug, “Now I’m debating on canceling and wasting the money I put down to reserve it or looking pathetic if I show up by myself—“

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that.” Javier defends, speaking entirely from personal experience. 

“Javi, it’s Valentine’s Day.” 

“And?”

Suddenly though, you’re struck with an idea. 

“Are you busy?” You ask curiously and Javier raises a curious eyebrow your way and smirks, “No ladies in waiting tonight?”

“Not yet.” Javier jokes lightly, knowing his usual routine of hitting the bar after work would end in one of two ways, and even if he didn’t mind spending his nights alone, it was nice to be in the company of others in whatever capacity.

“Go with me.” You suggest, poking at his bicep. “Since you love the place so much.”

“Come on, hermosa,” Javier chides playfully, “If you wanted to take me on a date, just ask.”

You grin wide, heart fluttering at the flirtatious tone he carried in his voice—it wasn’t something you weren’t used to, but it was never so pointedly directed at you.

“I am,” You tell him, “I just—I’ll need to go home and change first.”

His brow furrows and he looks you over, seeing nothing wrong, “Why? You look fine. You always do.”

It’s something he tells you daily—and maybe he has his own selfish reasons, though you know he does it to most of the women in the office, but the way he’s saying it to you now feels different.

He means it, no humor in his voice.

“My—” You can’t even address him in the moment, rolling your eyes with full force as you rub your fingers over your forehead to will away the lines of stress that form there, “I just—he used to say work clothes never complimented me very well. I already had a dress picked out, I can be quick.”

“Save it. I think you look perfect.” Javier affirms softly, keys jingling in his back pocket as he fishes them out, “I’ll drive us.

“But, my car—”

And hand breaches your shoulder, hot to the touch as his fingers curl around your form.

“Hey,” He’s searching for your eyes, waiting until they lock with his own and he nods, expecting the same motion to make sure you’re with him, “I’ll drive you there and back, you don’t have to change—we can enjoy some good food and forget about your shitty boyfriend, alright?”

You nod quietly, earning a gentle squeeze in response.

–

It wasn’t a date, not in the slightest. But, Javier did his damndest to make you feel like it was.

And maybe it was the guilt over him knowing you just got dumped—that whatever you had spent so much time planning had fell out underneath you, but it didn’t quell the nervous anxiety that you felt as you both sipped on a shared bottle of wine and your separate dinners, watching Javier grimace around the lip of his wine glass.

“Horrible, right?” You laugh softly, watching as he forces the liquid down and nods jerkily.

“Food is great, though—the wine,” Javier makes a face of uneasiness that has you covering a laugh with your palm, “—that’s why I stick with tequila or whiskey.”

“Can’t say I have much of a preference,” You admit, “as long as it does the job.”

Javier nods knowingly, stabbing his fork into a piece of food and chewing thoughtfully, the fingers of his unoccupied hand rubbing together as an idea forms in his head, “You know, if you’re not busy I was going to meet up with Steve and Connie for a drink. Later tonight—if you’re interested?”

You can’t believe how instantly you want to agree, blaming it on your impulsivity. 

“Javi, I don’t know,” You respond quietly, “I don’t—I don’t really go out like that.”

“Well—that dress you were talking about. It wouldn’t go completely to waste if you wanted to wear it out tonight. Plus, you treated me to a nice dinner—let me treat you to a couple drinks.”

It sounds like the perfect idea. Too perfect. Too good to be true.

“Javi,” You tease shyly, “if you’re trying to ask me out on a date just say it.”

Javier chuckles softly and you know it’s only an attempt to make a shitty day not so shitty, but the underlying chase you two have allowed to happen for so long now was unobscured by outside forces and you hated how easy it was for him to distract you from everything that had transpired today.

“Is that a yes?” Javier teases.

You sigh reluctantly, though a subtle grin pulls at your face, eyes soften at the expectant look on Javier’s face, all puppy-eyed and nothing like the man you’re used to seeing in the office. This was a side of him that felt new and you were curious to discover more. You nod.

“Well, hermosa—I guess it’s a date then.”

[punkshort]

i’m the anon who asked about the request! if you decide to do it, i’d absolutely wait forever😂 it’s very angsty tho, so the idea was for outbreak joel who doesn’t get the happy ending. reader who was head over heels in love coping with his death, maybe flashbacks to show the moments of reader seeing him die? idkidk the idea is very vague, sorry if it’s too sad!! if so maybe reader seeing him die was just a terrible nightmare & he’s there waking them up & helping them through a meltdown?

i’ve been craving for some emotional torture for wtv reason😭😭 thank you for even considering requests!🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

Thank you for this request! It's my first one, so I hope you enjoy it. Also, I had to take the out you gave me and make this a nightmare because I am a big ol' softie and I won't apologize for it, but I will apologize for taking so long to write it 😂

I hate when you're right

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After a heated argument with Joel, you finally convince him into leaving Jackson so you could explore a store for new clothes, and what happens could change your life forever.

Warnings: major character (Joel) death - but it is just a nightmare - don't read if you think that will still upset you, angst, language, violence, descriptions of blood/gore/death scene

WC: 2.5K

dividers by the one and only @saradika-graphics

You knew it was childish. You knew it wasn't essential. But you also desperately wanted to feel more comfortable, and was that really such a crime? To want to feel like yourself again? To want to wear clothes that you liked? That fit you properly? Jackson was well stocked with essentials, clothes included, but the clothes the men picked up on patrol were... utilitarian, to say the least. They grabbed the biggest and the warmest clothes so that it afforded more people the opportunity to use them, but you were beginning to grow tired of tucking men's oversized shirts into your pants, the material bunching up at your waist and twisting around as you walked, constantly trying and failing to feel comfortable in your own skin.

You thought Joel would be more open to the idea of heading outside the walls on your day off. You even teased him with the promise of picking up some new underwear, but he didn't fall for it. He fought you tooth and nail the whole evening, his voice lifting over yours angrily to explain how there's been an influx of raiders the past few weeks, that everyone agreed to lay low until they passed through, not wanting to draw attention or pick any unwanted fights. But you persisted. You always did, and you eventually wore him down when you threatened to leave without him.

Why was it such a crime to want to feel comfortable? It was just two people, you could lay low and go unseen, no problem. You've done it countless times before.

You had hoped he would have gotten over it by morning, but you were wrong. He hardly made eye contact with you during breakfast, skirting expertly around you in your kitchen, mumbling under his breath as he sipped his coffee and only shooting you angry looks when your back was turned.

The air was crisp and the woods were peaceful. You thought that would surely turn his mood around. He always appreciated being out with nature, living off the land. As much as he loved living in Jackson, he couldn't deny that part of himself that felt useful, that felt a sense of accomplishment by surviving out in the wild.

"C'mon, are you really gonna act like this all day?" you teased as you held up another shirt against your body before determining it was the right size and then tossed it in a pile with the others.

He was standing at the storefront window with his arms crossed and his jaw clenched. "Don't know what you mean."

You rolled your eyes and looked around the store, spotting a table of underwear with a grin. You lightly skipped over and tossed to the side the pairs that looked far too dusty so you could look at the ones underneath. Clearing your throat, you held up a pair of bright red stain underwear. He turned around and you saw it: it was fast, he hid it well, but you still saw it. That all too familiar excited look in his eye.

"Don't you like them?" you asked with a playful pout. He furrowed his brow at you like he was annoyed, and maybe he was, but you still saw the heat beginning to crawl up his neck.

"They ain't practical."

You gave him a defeated sigh and strolled over to your pile of clothes, your fingertips daintily holding the undergarment out to him. "No? Then what are they?"

His eyes shifted from yours to the red material in your hand and you saw his throat work as he swallowed.

"Useless," he croaked, and you narrowed your eyes at him. You got a little closer, letting the soft fabric glide against the back of his hand when you dropped your arm to your side.

"Oh, yeah?" you said breathily, and you watched his eyelids flutter at your tone. "Then I guess it wouldn't matter if I brought them home and let you rip them off me."

He stepped forward, a growl emitting from his chest, low and deep, when at the exact same time, you both heard shouting outside the store. Swiveling both your heads towards the glass storefront, your blood ran cold when you saw six heavily armed men advancing towards you.

"Shit," he muttered, his arm pulling your shoulder down just in time to avoid the cascade of bullets that rained down upon you. You laid face down on the rough carpet, covering the back of your head with your eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the shooting to stop. Joel tugged on your arm and you opened your eyes in a panic.

"Follow me!" he shouted, army crawling towards the registers, and you dutifully followed behind, your heart racing wildly in your chest.

Once you made it, the counter offering some, but not much, safety, the both of you pulled out your guns and double checked your ammo.

"Alright, when they stop to reload-"

"I know," you said, cutting him off. You've both been in this situation before. You knew what to do.

Holding your rifle upright and against your chest, you breathed deep, trying to steady your hands until the bullets slowed and you heard more shouting. Joel nodded to you and you both sprung up from the floor, pulling your rifles against your bodies in sync and lining up your targets.

Patience is a virtue. The amount of ammunition they wasted on the two of you was laughable when you each caught one of them between the eyes, leaving four against two.

You thought you would be able to get another shot off but Joel tugged your arm and you slinked back to the floor as a shower of bullets rained over you once again.

"You good?" he asked, and you nodded, gasping for air. Your hands began to stabilize when the shock wore off. You were in the zone.

Pressing both your backs against the small counter, you remained calm and waited out your attackers. Glass shards tinkled and scattered behind you. Bullets pinged against the metal shelving, ricocheting into the drywall.

"Assault rifles for two people? Really?" you muttered, more so to yourself, but Joel heard you.

"Told you this was a bad fuckin' idea," he said angrily.

When there was another brief pause, he looked to you again and nodded. At the same time, you rose up and took aim, firing on your attackers once again. Joel made his shot, you didn't. Three down, three to go.

"Fuck," you grumbled, reloading your rifle even though you still had rounds left.

"Focus," he scolded.

The men sounded like they were getting closer. Their voices were louder. Clearer. The shots were deafening. You prayed they weren't inside the store, because you hadn't planned an exit strategy. Without warning, Joel stood up and fired a shot. You heard a man scream and then a loud thud. It sounded like the man was just on the other side of the counter.

"That's not the plan," you seethed at him when he dropped back down next to you.

"Didn't have a choice, he was 'bout to jump us," he sneered.

Two against two.

When the shots slowed down, you held your breath, looking at Joel from the corner of your eye. He held his palm up to you silently, signaling for you to stay where you were. You heard boots crunching slowly against glass and your heart leapt into your throat. They were in the store.

You shot Joel a panicked look but he just shook his head, focusing on their footsteps, calculating how far away they were.

"Come out now and no one gets hurt," a man's deep voice called out. He was close.

Joel clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils. You knew that look. It was the look of a man who was about to do something stupid. But before you could stop him, before you could reach out to him and hold him back, he stood up and took aim.

One shot. That was all you heard when Joel slumped to the floor next to you, clutching his stomach as dark red blood poured from the wound. Your eyes went wide and you saw red. Without thinking, you stood up and shot, taking one of the two men down with a yelp. The remaining raider ducked behind a display, and you dropped your rifle in favor of your handgun. Crouching low to the ground, you inched forward, careful of any broken glass that would give your position away. When you were on the other side of the display, you heard the man's labored breaths. He was scared. He was out of his element. And you had him right where you wanted him.

Silently tucking the gun in the back of your pants, you slid your hunting knife out from your ankle holster. You took a deep breath and lunged forward, driving the knife deep into the man's chest.

He dropped his gun and clutched weakly at your hands, but it was no use. His blood poured from the wound when you yanked your knife out with a grunt, and you watched as his hands slowly slid back down to his sides, his eyes still wide open and staring up at the ceiling.

You smirked, feeling victorious for only a moment before you remembered Joel. Dropping your knife, you rushed back to his side, only to find his face pale and his hands stained dark red.

"Joel!" you cried out, pressing your palms against the wound, hoping to slow the bleeding. His eyes drifted towards you, softening when he saw you were alive and unharmed. That you were going to make it.

Panic consumed you. Your heart was slamming against your ribs as you fumbled with your backpack, trying to find your first aid kit through the tears.

"I love you," he whispered, and you shook your head.

"Don't start with that, you're gonna be fine."

"Baby," he said weakly, and you choked back a sob.

"Hold on," you told him, still searching in your pack.

"Look at me," he said, and your hands stilled for a moment before you dragged your eyes back to him, your lower lip trembling as you took in his deteriorating state.

"I need to-" you began, but stopped to take in a shaky breath. "I need to patch you up and get you to the horses."

"No, you don't," he said softly, and more tears spilled from your eyes.

"Yes, I do. I gotta-"

"I ain't gonna make it, sweetheart," he slurred, and you could see by the amount of blood he was losing that he was right. But still, you pressed your palms against the gunshot wound, your fingers slipping through his thick and sticky blood.

"Don't say that. I can't do this without you," you whimpered, and closed your eyes for a brief moment. You felt his fingertips weakly grip your chin and you forced your eyes back open.

"Yes, you can," he said as firmly as he could. He was so pale and weak and it was making your stomach turn.

You shook your head, about to argue with him, but he stopped you.

"You keep goin', you hear me?" he said, and still, you shook your head from side to side, small sobs slipping past your lips. "Don't let this world win. You... go on and keep fightin'. Please. Be happy, baby. For me."

"No!" you cried out, spittle dripping from your lips now, mixing with your tears. "I won't! I-I can't!"

"You can," he repeated, and gave you a weak smile. "I'm ready, baby. It'll be okay."

You squeezed your eyes shut tight, the tears leaking out, hot and angry on your cheeks as you sobbed over him, clutching his hand in yours so tightly, like if you squeezed hard enough, you could give him your lifeforce. Give him your breath. But moments later, his grip weakened and when you opened your eyes, his head slumped to the side and his lifeless eyes stared off into the distance.

"Joel!" you screamed, sitting up in bed, drenched in sweat with tears still streaming down your face. You looked to your side, where he normally slept, but he wasn't there. Panic squeezed your throat, your chest fucking hurt, but you flung the blankets off you and ran towards the door. Still not hearing any sounds, you raced down the stairs, almost tripping in the process but you had a grip on the railing to keep you steady.

When your eyes finally landed on his familiar form stretched out on the couch, his back to you, you allowed yourself to breathe a sigh of relief.

Reality came back to you now. You had your fight about leaving Jackson, but he won and you slept apart. You never left. He never got shot. It was all just a horrible dream.

You stumbled over to the couch, your tears unstoppable, the nightmare too vivid, too real. Your trembling hands clutched his shoulder as you fell to your knees on the floor, shaking him awake.

"What?" he grumbled, clearly still pissed off about your fight.

"I'm sorry!" you sobbed loudly, and when he realized something was wrong, he whipped around to face you.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

"I-I had-" you began, then you hiccupped, cutting yourself off. His face was etched with concern as he forced himself up and cupped your face.

"C'mon, talk to me," he urged, the fear in his eyes reflecting back to you as you looked at him, still not sure what was real and what wasn't.

"I had a nightmare," you finally managed to get out. "About our fight. That we... we went out like I wanted and-and-" you collapsed into another fit of sobs, your shoulders shaking violently.

"Hey, it's alright," he soothed, pulling you up and into his lap and rubbing your back. You pressed your tear stained face into his neck, inhaling deeply, grounding yourself. He was alive. He was here. Everything was fine.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, your throat still tight but your tears were slowing down. "I'm sorry we fought. I don't wanna go out anymore. I don't need new clothes, it was stupid, I'm sorry."

"Shh, it's okay," he said, pulling you tightly against his chest, "I'm sorry we fought, too. I just wanna keep us safe."

"I know, you're right," you said, pulling back a bit and wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "Will you come back to bed?"

"Yeah," he replied with half a smirk. "'Course I'll come back to bed, baby. Don't cry, it's alright."

You let him lead you up the stairs and to your bedroom, your side of the bed still damp with sweat but it didn't bother you. Joel was safe and sound and in your arms and you didn't care if you had to wear a potato sack for the rest of your life, as long as you had Joel, nothing else mattered.

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