#OH ALSO figure i should say the gun use is all in good fun like a noir film thing and also the Funny of fantasy creature with modern weapon

[somelazyassartist]

Wonderful things are happening in the Infinite Dungeon today

[mypoisonedvine]

𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘧𝘶𝘭 || joel miller x reader

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 || joel wasn't looking for a follower, or a protégé, or an employee— whatever you're supposed to be— when he saved some dumbass kid from a couple runners. but he ended up with you anyways, and you swore to always be faithful to him... in every way.

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 || 9.2k

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 || smut (18+ only; oral f receiving, unprotected sex, very slight dacryphilia kinda?, a touch of degradation and dumbification in there, and virginity loss with some pain and one mention of blood), heavy age gap (not specified but the reader is absolutely an adult), insecure crybaby reader, unrequited love/pining, reader wants to fuck joel so bad it makes her look stupid (and we love that for her cause same), angst, tess getting kinda screwed over but only because it's absolutely necessary for the plot, emotionally repressed joel, mention of reader's parents being deceased (implied to be infected)

this fic does not contain spoilers for anything but minor details from episode one!

They were doing that thing again— where they talked in front of you, as if you weren’t there.

“So we make the run tonight,” Tess decided, standing while Joel sat on the worn-out sofa with his hands clasped and his elbows resting on his knees.  “We should be back by four, that’s when the FEDRA boys have their shift change, so we can avoid too much risk of getting caught.”

“What should I do?” you piped up.  They both looked at you with that oh yeah, she’s here glare and Tess sighed; she didn’t try very hard to hide her frustration with you, but at the same time, she was actually nice to you when she was in a good mood (which was rare).  Joel was less mean but also less nice— he stayed steady in his neutral-to-mildly-irritated state, and you figured if he wanted you to fuck off, he would’ve said so (probably in those exact words, too).

At the same time, they both instructed you flatly: “Keep watch.”

You sighed, shoulders sinking.  “Again?  Can’t I at least—?”

“You’re safer here,” Joel insisted.

“Yeah, and your gun is safer in the box under the bed, but it’s not gonna do shit to protect you if you never take it out,” you countered.

Tess scoffed.  “And what are you gonna do to protect us?”

“I wasn’t,” you admitted.  “You know I’m a great shot, but I wasn’t gonna try to shoot anybody.  I’m quieter than both of you.  I can get in and out better— and nobody’s looking for me.  Everybody knows you’re smuggling—”

“Not everybody,” Joel defended himself in a mumble.

“ — so if I do get caught, I can probably get out of a search,” you bargained.

“And what are you gonna do to get out of a search?” Tess smirked.  “Bat your eyelashes?”

That did sting, but you rolled your eyes and hoped you had effectively looked like it didn’t affect you at all.  “If implying that I’m pretty enough to get out of a search is supposed to be an insult, I can’t wait to hear one of your compliments, Tess,” you replied— but your voice was soft and almost shaky, not as confident as the comeback merited.  That summarized you pretty well: you had the will to be tough, but when it was time to really go for it, your body failed you and your hands got shaky and your eyes watered.  Almost anything could make you cry, Tess had already made fun of you for it; Joel just seemed to get really uncomfortable when you started crying, but you always did your best to hide it from him.  It just didn’t usually work.

Your whole face probably lit up when you caught Joel’s suppressed smile— did he think your joke was funny?  He hadn’t been smiling when Tess made fun of you, so it had to be what you said— or maybe he was thinking of something he would say if he cared enough to say it, some comment about how you could do more than that to get out of being searched.  He didn’t seem the type to make comments like that, but he was well aware what guards might let (or make) a girl do to avoid punishment.

“Whatever,” Tess decided, shaking her head, “you’re not coming with us, that’s the point.”

“Joel gets a say, too!” you blurted out.  “You can’t just pick for him that I’m not coming, he has to—”

“You’ll stay here,” he interrupted.  So much for getting Joel to let you go— you thought maybe he would side with you, for once.  Deflating, you nodded, and they stopped paying attention to you at the same time that you stopped paying attention to them.

Your mind wandered in times like this, when they were talking and it was clear that it didn’t concern you; Tess said once that you had an ‘overactive imagination’, but she hadn’t said it in a really mean way (like she said most things).  You didn’t want Joel to think that you were always daydreaming, but you couldn’t help it sometimes— you really just hoped that he didn’t know he was the subject of so many of your thoughts.

Truth was, he’d caught your eye long before he even knew you existed.  You’d seen him around, doing all those odd jobs he did to make ends meet, and thought he was… well, handsome, but not just that.  Mysterious.  Intimidating, though he didn’t exactly intimidate you— okay, he did, but not like he did everybody else.  He intimidated others because they were afraid he would hurt them; he intimidated you because you kind of wanted him to hurt you.  Not, you know, bad, just… maybe a hand around the neck or pinning you to a wall or something?

It wasn’t in spite of your inexperience that you had thoughts like that— it was because of it; you had been lonely for a long, long time, and maybe it was just fantasy, but you always wanted someone like Joel.  You wanted someone to take care of you, protect you.  You were just guessing that he was capable of that, but he proved it when you met for the first time.

It wasn’t exactly a meet-cute, or even just a pleasant way to meet; you were short on rations, because you’d given most of yours away to Mrs. Davis who was too old and weak now to earn any extra for herself, and someone offered to pay you ten if you snuck something they could sell out of the old mall in the QZ… well, that went about as poorly as anyone would’ve expected.

You asked Joel what he was doing there, after he’d saved you from the runners, but he refused to tell you.  Either way, it was the best luck you ever had that he showed up and fought them off.  For a moment, he’d held you close to him as he pulled you away from the Infected; you wished, later, that you hadn’t been too terrified to appreciate that.

Ever since, you’d sworn yourself to him— in more ways than one, but he only knew about the main one: you wanted to assist him however you could, figuring after he saved your life that you should dedicate it to his service.  Well, Joel had never been interested in your assistance, or anything else about you.  It was actually Tess' idea to let you stay: "if she wants to help, let her do it for free," she whispered to Joel, and he shrugged, and he did.  That was how it ended up like this: you were the squeaky, wobbly third wheel of Joel and Tess’ operation, more often than not doing the least important work if not filling your time with essentially goose-chase tasks they invented to keep you occupied.  Keep watch and listen to the radio were your biggest assignments; just wait here was another common one, when they were too lazy to call it one of the other two.

Tess left a little while later, and Joel laid down on the sofa.  You broke away from your thoughts and tried to make yourself useful— you got up to rinse the dishes, humming a random tune to yourself as you worked.  You were already back inside your head, wondering if you should tell Joel it was a song you’d heard on his radio and had stuck in your head ever since.  Probably not worth it; it usually didn’t go well when you tried to talk about things like that.  Joel and Tess talked about before a lot— well, it wasn't that often, because it wasn't very productive to talk about it.  But they talked about it occasionally and you never had anything to say.  Once, you tried to weigh in: they were reminiscing on concerts before the outbreak, bands and artists they remembered, and you chirped about how "I read about that in a book once!"

They both glared at you, and you didn't say anything else.  But you didn’t take it too personally, they just didn’t want to feel old— but you didn’t think either of them were old!  These days, old wasn’t a matter of years, it was really just about usefulness— like poor Mrs. Davis, she was old, she couldn’t do much for herself anymore— and they were both… actually, they were both significantly more useful than you.  That made you sad.  But at least Joel had helped you get better with guns— not that he ever let you carry one. 

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Joel broke the silence as you washed his favorite mug.

“I know,” you said back, voice light and chipper.  “You don’t have to.”

You felt his eyes linger on you for a moment after that, but he didn’t say anything else.

~

Though they had decided already that you weren’t joining them on the run, you ended up there— mostly by happenstance— when Joel and Tess met with the buyer who wanted half of what they managed to bring back.  Not many people in the QZ could afford that kind of contraband, so it made sense that it was one of the FEDRA soldier’s bankrolling this.  They were by no means rich, but they had a lot of pull and could provide all sorts of ration cards and promises to look the other way if future issues arose.  He couldn’t guarantee safe movement out and back in through the boundaries of the city, but he at least promised to look the other way in any future run-ins with the law.

“So that’s it: you’ll leave at eleven, you’re back by four, and you bring me my share the next day during my break?” the soldier confirmed.

“Yep,” Tess agreed.  “Quick and painless.  Hopefully.”

You didn’t expect the man’s eyes to land on you, but you didn’t particularly care for it.  "Is your little lap dog coming, too?" he smirked, glancing at Joel after he was finished raking his stare over you.

Your face got hot instantly, with shame and confusion.  "I— I'm not in his lap," you denied, "that's not— we don't—"

“No,” Joel interrupted firmly, “she’s not coming.”

There was an awkward silence, the place where he might’ve said and she’s not my lap dog, if he cared much about the accusation.  Tess seemed to be hanging onto that silence nearly as tightly as you were.

“Whatever,” the soldier finally brought everyone’s attention back to the conversation, “just meet me here tomorrow at half past one, and we’ll see what you’ve got.”

You were still thinking about that conversation that night— while you were keeping watch, like Joel had asked you to.  It was really boring; you spent most of the time on the couch, reading a book you’d bought off someone for a few rations.  After a while, your curiosity got the better of you, and you started snooping around Joel’s apartment.  There wasn’t much to look at… he didn’t own much, just a few shirts— actually, you thought those jeans he always wore might be his only pair…

Your search led you to his bed.  Even with no one here to see you do it, you were a little embarrassed to lean in and take a whiff of his pillow— but it was totally worth it.  It smelled just like him, that warm piney kind of scent he had; in times like this, not many people could afford to smell nice, but Joel could.  Not to say that he was the type to splurge on all the nicest stuff, you were pretty sure he didn’t even own cologne, but he owned shampoo and deodorant, so that put him in the 80th percentile for hygiene in the Boston QZ.

But it wasn’t just those products you smelled on his sheets— there was something quintessentially Joel to it all, something impossible to define but incredibly addictive.  It was instinctual, the way you got in his bed and curled up in those sheets, burying yourself in the comfort of him.  It was so easy to imagine how he might hold you, now that you were here— all you were missing was his strength, his weight, slow and steady breaths behind you as he drifted to sleep…

You woke up when you heard the door shut.  Startled into sitting up, you were hoping you’d have time to get out of his bed before he saw you— but he was already standing there, staring at you.  He was just a shape in the dark, so you couldn’t see his face, but you heard the exasperated sigh.

“I thought I told you to sleep on the couch,” he said.

“R-right, sorry,” you coughed, recalling last time this happened with a pained wince.

“Better yet, I thought I told you to keep watch!”

“You know you just say that,” you mumbled, “so you can keep me away from the real work.”

He didn’t say anything, probably because he knew you were right— but even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t, because Tess walked in a second later.  “Can’t believe he tried to stiff us,” she was saying as she walked in, half-laughing in frustration.  “Well, yeah I can,” she added a second later.

Her attitude changed when she saw you in the bed.  “I— I’ll go back to my—” you started, but you ended up just getting up and leaving in a hurry before you could really finish your thought.

Wiping a small tear from under your eye quickly, you walked out of Joel’s apartment and started for your own bunk across the city— even though it was more likely than not that somebody would hassle you for walking around during curfew.

Yes, if you had a little more self-respect, you would just stop hanging around those two and find some other work to do, but Joel had done something for you that you could never repay and never forget.  He didn’t have to love you the way you loved him— and you’d been sure for a while that he never would— but couldn’t he at least be a little nicer?  You wouldn’t feel right being anywhere but at his side, no matter how much he made it seem like he never wanted you there at all.

~

Honestly, you did consider not going back the next morning— but you figured they might actually need you for the next part.  Okay, not need, but they could at least use you for something: after smuggling anything in, you need a fence, someone to pawn this stuff off.  Joel and Tess did a decent job of keeping a low profile, but it was even easier to do so when they had someone like you moving contraband around Boston’s population.

So, after a few hours of sleep on that radically uncomfortable cot, you decided to head back to Joel’s place.  The sun was just above the horizon by this time, but only the people working early shifts for their rations were up now; you liked the city best when it was quiet like this, but then again, you liked almost everything better quiet.

Usually, Joel’s apartment was the same way.  But when you walked in, the energy was completely different than you were used to.  Where you’d normally find Tess counting up the score while Joel sipped on coffee (or liquor, depending most on the hour), instead you walked in on what was clearly a lover’s quarrel.

The thing was, this was not your typical argument— they were doing it Joel and Tess style, which is to say, as repressed as possible.  In fact, they weren’t even talking when you walked in, but just the way they were standing was indicative of the discomfort they were clearly trying not to acknowledge.

Tess was at the window, arms crossed, looking at the view; and you knew that was a bad sign, because there was no view to be had, the QZ was an eyesore and she complained about it all the time.  Joel was sitting at the table, facing the other way, his hand squeezing his own fist instead of the handle of his mug— it didn’t look injured, but his face still had a hint of pain on it.

“I’m sorry—” you mumbled, not sure what you were apologizing for yet, but Tess interrupted you.

“I’ll go,” she decided, walking over to the table.

“Okay,” Joel agreed, not looking at her.

Well, you were no relationship expert, and you didn’t even know what they were arguing about… but you knew that was pretty cold.  “So that’s all you’re gonna say to me?” Tess prompted him, her tone tight and her eyes red.

You kept your head low, as if that would hide the fact that you could clearly see and hear all this.  

“Yeah,” Joel decided, not as aloof as usual; it reminded you of how he usually spoke to you, that frustration, but it was definitely different.  More… exhausted.  “Yeah, it is.”

Tess put her weight predominantly on one leg, her hips shifting, as she let out a scoffing sort of breath.  For a moment, she looked at you; you looked back at her shyly from beneath your brows before looking away.  Why would she look at me right now?

Shaking her head, she left, mumbling to herself but you couldn’t make it out.  The door slammed behind her.  Joel sighed next.

“Everything okay?” you asked sheepishly, twisting your boot on the floor to watch the shapes it made in the thin layer of dust.

“Clearly,” he insisted, and the sarcasm was obvious though his voice was neutral.  You could tell he didn’t want you to prod more— anyone who knew Joel for two minutes would know that— but you still chewed your lip as you wondered what you should do.

Your attention turned to the stacks of contraband on the table; most of it was perfectly legal material to own, just not legal to acquire from outside the city’s perimeter.  “Looks like a good haul this time,” you noticed, hoping a change of subject would soothe him a little.  Maybe it did, but he didn’t show it.  He just kept squeezing his fist, and you gently sat down across from him at the table— and you started doing what you figured you should, going through what they’d brought back and starting to figure how much you could get for it.

For a while, he entertained that conversation, though with as short of responses as possible.  Not even a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, just hums and grunts that got the point across.  You could tell he was thinking, but you could also tell he didn’t want to be— that he’d rather forget about all that.  For once, he was struggling to do that.

It scared you to imagine doing something he so obviously didn’t want you to do, but you knew you couldn’t ignore it forever.  “What made her so upset?” you asked softly, finally.

He paused for so long that you thought he was just ignoring your question, but he did eventually say something.  “She told me something I wasn’t ready to hear,” he answered, “and… and I guess I said the wrong thing.”

“What did you say?”

“Actually, I didn’t say anything,” he admitted with a thin laugh.  “But, I said nothing in the wrong way.”

"... Do you think she'll come back?" you pressed, and his sigh was answer enough.

You had to wonder if he'd make you a real partner in all this now.  Probably not, right?  He thought so little of you before, that wouldn't change just because Tess was out.

“I’m sorry,” you decided.

“It’s not your fault,” he promised.  “It was me.”

You didn’t press on that, already thankful and pleasantly surprised by how much he’d shared.  He stood up a moment later, leaving the table and moving to the kitchenette so he could make some coffee; oddly, that comforted you.  Like things were going to go forward now, like life could be normal again and he would still drink his coffee.

For a while, it was quiet— just how you liked it, and how you figured he liked it, too.  He was humming a song at one point but you didn’t think he realized he was doing it.

It was so quiet, in fact, that when you went to lay on the sofa later, you ended up accidentally dozing off.  You couldn’t say how long you were asleep— you were pretty underslept, but it didn’t feel like more than an hour— just that you were awoken to the sound of movement in the kitchen area.

Sitting up, you tilted your head when you saw Joel had begun packing up the contraband haul— well, half of it.  “What are you—?” you began to ask, but then you saw the time, and you remembered; but he answered you anyways.

“Our buyer’s on his break now,” Joel announced as he stuffed a pack of bandages into his bag.  “I said I would meet him to show him what we got.”

“I can go with you!” you announced.  “You know, if Tess isn’t—”

“It’s fine,” he insisted, “I can do it myself.”

“Joel, please,” you pressed, “I promise I’ll do whatever you need me to, I just wanna help—”

“I need you to stay here,” he frowned.

Some things never change, huh?  “Why don’t you just let me go?  Let me help you?” you whimpered, lip shaking as you started to cry.  You hated yourself for it, but you knew you couldn’t stop it.

There was a pause before he responded.  “I don’t like the way he looks at you,” Joel explained, but you doubted that was the real reason he didn’t want you to come.  “It only takes one of us, you’re better off here.”

“Tess was gonna go!” you reminded him, getting more upset.  "I know I'm not…" you trailed off as you tried not to cry too much or too loudly.  "I can't do what she can— I'm not strong…"

He sighed as he knelt down in front of you, resting his hand on your knee.  You peeked out from behind your fingers, but looked down again.

"I'm not— I'm not smart, either," you whimpered.  "I don't know anything, about before, about now—"

"That's not true," he mumbled, but you weren't finished yet.

"Nobody knows why you even keep me around, I sure don't," you shrugged, dropping your hands defeatedly, hot tears running faster down your face and dripping onto your pants; his hand reached up and wiped your cheeks with a gentleness you never knew he had.  “M’not… I’m not tough, like you guys…”

"You know what you are, little girl?" he replied quietly.  "You're good.  You're sweet.  Me an' Tess, we need someone like you to keep us from bein' sad old assholes all the time…"

He sighed, and you thought was done talking, until he spoke again, softer.

"I need someone like you."

Your heart swelled, and light filled your chest, until you had just enough confidence to finally blurt out what you'd been holding in for months: "Joel, you should know that I always—"

"Shh," he soothed, nodding.  "I know."

Your face got hot instantly again, and your heart sank.  "I think everybody knows," you mumbled awkwardly, giving him a half-smile through the drying tears.  "But I thought— it's just that you never—"

“I couldn’t,” he insisted.  “You understand that?  I couldn’t, not with you—”

“Why not?” you snapped.  “Why can’t you?”

“If you don’t know why, you’re more hopeless than I thought,” he frowned.

“I know— I know I’m… a lot younger than you…” you mumbled, almost not wanting to say it in case he actually hadn’t noticed that.  “I know you think I’m not very mature and stuff… but that shouldn’t matter when you really love someone—”

“Woah, hey,” he coughed, “love?  Sweetheart, you’ve got a crush—”

“No!  Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snapped, surprising both of you with your sudden ability to stand up to him.  “You can tell me what to do but not what to feel.”

“Okay,” he softened up, “fine.  That’s fair.  But it’ll pass—”

"I've never loved anybody before," you whimpered, "and I'm never gonna love anybody like I love you.  I know that!  I know you think I'm just a stupid kid who doesn't understand love, but I know that I really love you!  Okay?  So just… just stop talking!  Doesn’t need to take this long for you to reject me, geez…”

There was a pregnant pause, you were too caught up in your own frustration to really notice it: the way he looked to the side, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment.  You weren’t expecting him to say anything after that, so it nearly startled you when he spoke.  “It was last night, after you left,” he explained.  “I— I thought about telling you to come back, figured you’d be safer on the couch than walking back across the city at that time…”

Wrapping your arms around your chest, you smiled a little imagining that, but you knew you couldn’t have taken him up on that offer: it would’ve killed you, trying to sleep on that sofa while Joel and Tess shared the bed.

“She told me not to,” Joel continued.  “That’s… that’s how it started, I guess…”

“That girl’s so obsessed with you,” Tess laughed lightly, toying with Joel’s lapel.  “It’s cute, really.  I mean, it’s sad— but it’s cute.”

“Hm,” Joel said first, not really listening— it took him a second to properly react.  “Why is it sad?” he asked when her words processed completely.

“‘Cause she thinks she might actually have a chance,” Tess explained.

That was it, what he did wrong; he sees it now, in retrospect, but at the time he figured saying nothing was his safest bet.  Apparently, he didn’t have to say anything.

“Shit,” Tess said suddenly, moving instantly from shock to anger.  “Are you fucking serious?”

“What?” Joel spat.

“You know fucking what,” she returned sharply.  “That look— you looked away.”

“Okay?  So?” Joel tried to defend himself, but he knew that she knew now— believe it or not, he really wasn’t much of a liar.  Especially with her.

“She’s a goddamn fetus, Joel,” Tess reminded him.  “She hasn’t seen a hundredth of the shit we’ve seen, she hasn’t lost anyone—”

“Lost her parents,” Joel corrected.

“Well, we all lose our parents,” Tess rolled her eyes, “that’s part of life.”

Not the way she lost them, Joel wanted to add, but he was going back to his original plan of saying nothing.

“She’s not like us,” Tess insisted.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Joel decided.

That was the point of no return; because Tess had never thought of you as competition, she barely even thought of you at all, but if innocence was something he wanted… then the competition was already over before it even started.  The silence was heavy, more sad than angry, and Joel knew he really fucked up because he’d never really seen Tess speechless before.  Is it bad that he didn’t regret it, though?  Maybe he could’ve handled things better, but telling her the truth couldn’t be wrong.  It’s not like he’d been hiding it, really— he never even acknowledged it himself, not often.

“I can’t believe you,” she shook her head, and shame twisted in his gut.  “Part of me always— not always, I guess, but part of me wondered.  Sometimes the way you looked at her…”

As she trailed off, Joel looked down, too afraid for her to look in his eyes now.

“You’d do anything to keep her safe,” she said instead of finishing that last thought.  “I told myself you didn’t look at me like that because you knew I could protect myself.”

“I do,” he promised.

“So what do you want?” she asked point-blank.  “Something you can protect, or something you don’t have to?”

“And what did you say?” you asked hurriedly.

“I told her what I wanted,” was all he replied, and your heart skipped.  “And that’s… that’s why she left.”

Joel nodded slightly, looking away.  But you reached out and touched his face, turning it back towards you.  Impulsively, you leaned forward and kissed him; it took all the courage you had, and a hand on his shoulder for balance, but you felt him kiss you back after a moment.  It was gentle, for how sudden it was, and you sighed as his hand moved higher up your leg.  

You were still crying, because of course you were, but he didn’t mind as much as you’d worried: he only wiped your tears away, holding onto your face, standing up and pulling you with him.

“I love you,” you whispered as he embraced you, wanting to say it a thousand times now that it wasn’t the worst-kept secret in Boston.  “I love you, Joel—”

“I know,” he promised, whispering back into the kiss which got deeper with each passing moment.  “I know, darlin’.”

That was enough for you— that was plenty: the way he kissed you, and held you, calling you darlin’ in that rough-yet-gentle voice… you were weak already, melting into his touch, ready to give him anything.

In fact, he had to put a hand on your shoulder and gently push you away to get you to calm down, and your face heated up as you realized how eager you’d been.  “Don’t need to get so worked up, m’gonna take care of you now, okay?”

“You always take care of me,” you noticed.

“A different way,” he explained.

Just the way those brown eyes darkened, just the way he said that made your thighs clench against each other.  “Y-you’ll miss the meeting with the buyer,” you realized.

“Fuck,” Joel grumbled, and you smiled a bit.  “Waited this long and now I’ve gotta fuckin’ leave you again.”

Your hand rested on his chest, the soft flannel of his shirt transmitting some of the warmth of his body, and you looked up with him with wide, wet eyes.

“I know you hate waitin’ here, but… I always liked it,” he admitted, his voice softer yet deeper.  “I always liked knowing you were here, waiting for me…”

Your heart swelled.  “Y-yeah— I didn’t mind waiting for you so much,” you admitted in return, “just didn’t want you to think that’s all I was good for.”

He kissed your temple, making your chest flood with warmth.  “I know,” he promised.  “You’ll be here when I get back, won’tcha?  Can’t disappear on me now.”

“I won’t, I’ll be here,” you assured, turning your face to peck his cheek in return.  It seemed to surprise him, like he hadn’t had tenderness of that sort in a long time.

~

Funny how you’d waited for him all night before, but that half hour felt longer than all of them combined.  You were quite sure you knew what he meant before— about how he would take care of you in a different way— and it put you on edge all afternoon.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d kissed you, about his hands pulling you closer.  Or his eyes: if he’d ever looked at you like that before, you hadn’t noticed (which was probably what he intended).  

For how much time you spent wondering what you would do, what you would say, when he returned, you ended up not doing much of either: he was on you the moment he stepped in the door, though that was sort of what you’d been betting on when you decided to strip down to just your underwear and wait for him like that.  Not that you minded the idea of him, you know, tearing your clothes off like one of those romance novels— you just didn’t like the idea of having to wait any longer than you already had and this shirt had way too many buttons.

He did take a moment to stare you down when he came back, to appreciate your nakedness, and despite imagining showing yourself to him many times before, you felt a little self-conscious with his eyes just piercing through you like that: you didn’t cover yourself, ignoring a slight instinct to do so, but you did wrap your arms over your stomach and cross your legs as you sat on his bed.

Waiting for him to say something— or, possibly, waiting for yourself to find some courage to speak— you were a little taken aback when he grabbed you and kissed you.  And you realized, as his lips moved with yours even harder, deeper, needier than before, that there was nothing else to say.

He climbed on top of you on that bed, laid you down on it gently, as his weight pressed you down into the mattress.  You could've sworn you heard him growl when he rocked his hips against yours, a firm bulge in his jeans pressing right up to where heat had gathered between your legs.

Fingers weaving in his hair, you hummed as you did all you could to keep him close, as if he might just disappear if you didn’t hold him near to you.  But he didn’t seem like much of a flight risk, considering his tight grip on you— so tight it could leave marks, which you hoped it would.  You needed more than just memories of this.

“Tell me this is what you want,” he demanded, his voice breathless yet somehow not weak at all.  “Need to know you want this.”

“Fuck, Joel, f’course,” you promised— wasn’t it obvious?  It probably was.  But you could understand if he was still fighting back some guilt; you just wanted to do everything you could to help him forget about that.  “So bad,” you continued, “for so long…”

“Since I saved you?” he assumed, his teeth grazing your lip like a threat to bite down harder— a threat that made you throb from the inside out.

“Before,” you admitted, smiling sheepishly.  

“Didn’t even know me before,” he noticed, raising an eyebrow.

“Saw you around sometimes—” god, am I blushing as hard as it feels like I am? — “thought maybe you could… you know…”

Protect me.  Hold me.  Take care of me.  And fuck me like the world is ending even though it already did.

He smirked at you proudly, leaning in to kiss your neck this time, following some invisible trail that made you even more sensitive to the touch of his lips; after he kissed right under your ear, he whispered to you.

“Then just go ahead and take what you want, darlin’.”

After a shiver ran over you, so strong you thought it might never end, your hands shot down between you so you could get to work on his belt and fly; you felt his smile against your skin, then his teeth a moment later, as his hand rubbed the curve of your waist gently.

Both of you gasped when your fingers wrapped gently around his cock, for different reasons.  The skin was so smooth, it was hard to believe something this soft and silky was part of Joel— and it was hot, or maybe your fingers were just cold, but you hoped that didn't bother him.

He was already starting to move his hips just a bit, rocking into your touch, and you hummed when he suddenly grabbed your hand to force it to press firmer against himself.  "You thought about touchin' me like this before?" he asked in a voice that was breathy and low— you loved hearing the pleasure in his voice.

"Y-yeah," you admitted shyly; when he let your hand go, your touch wandered, your hands sliding up under the bottom of his shirt so you could feel the skin there— the firm muscle, the thin scars, the graying hairs that formed a trail down his stomach…

Grabbing your wrists, he pinned them down above your head, and you let out a joyful whine.  "Keep those there," he ordered, and you nodded as you watched him intently.

His hands traced down your body, making shivers run all over your skin; how could a man with so much strength touch you so delicately?

He purred as his fingers ran down to your panties, toying with the edge of the fabric before carefully pulling them down your legs.  You tried not to wiggle too much, but your hips were desperate for some friction, for some attention from him— they didn't have to wait long, though.  He groaned at the sight as he parted your legs, grabbing himself to rub his fat head through your folds.  "Fuck," he mumbled, your channel clenching on nothing as you saw how far apart his tip forced your swollen lips, "so wet for me already, bet I'll slide right in…"

Your back arched with a moan just imagining that, and he pushed your stomach down flat with his free hand so you wouldn't angle too far away from him, laying his body atop yours.  Though you tried to stay still, you couldn’t stop shaking as he lined himself up; it felt surreal, it felt hyperreal— his skin against yours was unlike anything you could’ve imagined.

You’d sort of wondered if he’d say something before he put it in, maybe a quick you ready? or even here it comes which would’ve been stupid but an appreciated warning nonetheless.  Instead, he just looked at your face carefully, and pushed inside.  It was sudden, sharp; your whole body tensed up and you sucked in a breath before biting your lip.

He only made it halfway in, struggling against how tight you were.  You were doing everything you could not to give away your pain, but he must've seen it in your expression.

"What's wrong?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.  "I'm hurting you…"

"No— Joel, please don't stop—"

You wrapped your legs around his hips to try to keep him inside, but he pulled out most of the way and looked down— and you winced when he saw the blood.  "Baby, you… are you— is this your—?  Fuck, why didn't you say something?"

"You wouldn't have done it with me if you knew it was my first time," you explained with a whimper.

"No, baby— I just would've taken my time with you, s'all," he sighed, "would've helped you— sweetie, it didn't need to hurt like that…"

Clutching tighter at his shirt, you pulled him down into a needy kiss. "Hurt me more, Joel," you pleaded into it with a breathy whisper, "do whatever you want to me.  I'm yours— that's all I want, just to be yours."

He kissed you back, slow but passionate; but, much to your dismay, he pulled out and sat up.

"No, Joel, I'm sorry," you whined, "I'm sorry— I didn't mean to lie, I'm so sorry, I promise I can be good!  M'gonna be really good for you!"

But he just shook his head, and you bit your quivering lip as tears ran down your temples.  He smiled, just a little.  "Such a crybaby," he scolded you softly.  "What am I gonna do with you, little girl?  You can't even keep yourself together."

He leaned down again, but he slid his knees down on the bed so he could position his face between your legs.  He kissed your inner thigh first, and you jumped because it tickled.

Then he held your hips, running his thumbs over your skin soothingly, and you tried not to squirm too much as he looked up at you with those dark eyes— much darker than before.  “You want me to taste you?” he asked, like it was your idea or something.

“Uh, yeah,” you mumbled sheepishly, and he actually laughed for a moment.  

“Yeah?” he repeated.  “Could you be a little more specific?”

Oh— he wants me to beg.  “Um— please?  Taste me, Joel…”

He smiled, but not like a haha funny smile or an oh that’s nice smile— a really dirty kind of smile, even though his teeth were actually in better condition than most out here.  “Okay, baby,” he agreed.

He was subtle about it at first, just giving gentle kisses all around; you felt… exposed, even more than you had with his face between your legs before.

“Is that alright?” he asked, his voice rougher than the last time you heard it.

“Y-yeah,” you choked, clearing your throat.  “Don’t… don’t stop, please…”

When he got back to it, he was much more aggressive— long, slow licks between your lips, sloppy kisses with his eyes shut tight; and you whined as you held on tighter to the sheets.  You didn’t realize how hard you were shaking until his grip on your thighs was bruisingly tight.  And as he held you down, he just dug in deeper: every time you thought he’d stop escalating the intensity of it all, he just did it more— he just did everything more— until you couldn’t control your moans and gasps anymore.

His tongue was the fucking devil; he slid it inside you and your eyes rolled back.  He sucked greedily on your clit until your hips bucked uncontrollably, moaning against your skin just enough that you could hear it over your own shameless cries.

"Joel, fuck, how are you—?  Oh god—"

"Mm?" he encouraged you to finish your thought without breaking away from you.

"How does that feel so good?" you sobbed.  "Oh my god— please don't stop, never stop, oh fuck!"

All he was doing was flicking his tongue over your bud, such a small interaction with a tiny little organ, and your whole body was shaking.  Reaching down and grabbing his hair, you didn't mean to tug on it so hard but you also didn't expect him to moan deeply when you did.  

His mouth moved a little higher, focusing on the bud you were sure had never been this swollen or this sensitive.  Doing so freed your opening, and one of his thick fingers prodded at it.  "Please," you panted, wanting any part of him to be inside you again.

He pushed it in, the roughness of his skin creating the perfect friction on your delicate walls.  You were waiting to feel his knuckle against you, but instead he only put it in maybe halfway, not very far at all.  It didn’t make much sense to you, until he started to rub one place just inside and a gasp instantly inflated your chest.

“Oh—” you choked, and he was licking harder on your clit at the same time that he added a second finger; you’d never felt anything like it before.  “Joel!” you squealed, hating how girlish it sounded but helpless to the control he had over your body with just two fingers and his tongue.

His rhythm wasn’t all that fast but it was relentless, the exact tempo you needed for that pleasure to build and build, toes curling and vision getting all spotty— you tried to look down at him sometimes, but your head wanted so badly to tilt back and let everything go black.

“I— oh, fuck— I’m gonna— fuck, Joel!” you sobbed, grabbing on tighter to his hair; you took one glimpse at it, and when you saw the scattered silver hairs peeking out from between your fingers, it just made you even more overwhelmed.

He hummed and looked up at you, encouraging you— his fingers pumped faster and faster suddenly, and when it hit, you felt like your whole body was going numb.  It started where he was touching you, but then a moment later it was in your head, then it was just running all over and you were too weak to do anything but give into it.

Suddenly it became too much, and the hand that had been holding him down by his hair was suddenly pushing him away; you blinked away the spots in your vision to catch a glimpse of him with that beard soaked in you, but his fingers hadn’t stopped yet.  “Oh… ohhh my god…” you whined, breathing harder than you could ever remember breathing before, your head getting all dizzy and cloudy as he smirked up at you and continued fucking you with his hand.

Your hole was pulsing, flexing over and over, waves of slick leaking out until you could feel the puddle spreading under you.  Your cheeks burned with humiliation, even though he kept praising you as his fingers milked everything from your swollen spot.  "Good girl, good girl," he said over and over, "fuck, good job, soak the sheets, baby— soak my fingers, keep going…"

"Joel," you sobbed, desperate for some relief from the overwhelming sensation.  He didn't really stop, just slowed down a lot, but he kept twisting his fingers and rubbing that one place until your quivering body collapsed completely onto his mattress.  And then he went on for just a little bit longer after that.

Then he stopped.  When you thought you might fucking pass out.

He climbed up your body and brought his two soaked fingers to your slack lips.  

"You want a taste, too, baby?" he purred.

You dutifully opened your mouth and did your best to clean his fingers off, sucking and licking as he hummed a bit; his eyes got a little darker as he felt your tongue run all over his rough fingers.

"What do you think?" he prompted when he pulled his fingers away, and you swallowed as you made a little face.

"I dunno if I like it," you admitted nervously.  "Kinda sour."

"Really?  I think your pussy's fuckin' delicious."

Your face flushed, but you didn't say anything else because he was reaching down to hold his cock again— and your heart started racing.

"Ready to do this the right way?" he prompted, and you nodded eagerly.  "S'gonna feel so much better, now you're all ready for me.  Ready for something this big inside ya— but it might still sting at first, okay?  Just hold onto me tight."

That you did, tighter than you thought you could— apparently you were stronger than you realized, especially considering that orgasm nearly took you out a minute ago.  But you had to hold on that tight as he began to push that fat head inside you, stretching you so wide before he'd even gotten the ridge of it past your opening.  It didn't sting like before, or at least not as much, but it was still completely overwhelming.  You forgot to breathe until he was halfway in: you gasped out his name, reminding yourself he was inside you and above you and everywhere, everything.

"See how much— fuck— how much easier it is now?" he grunted, sliding into you slowly until his hips met yours.  "See how you're takin' all'a me?  God damn, still tight as hell, though."

You were delirious already, he hadn't even moved yet.  You didn't think it could get much better than his mouth on you, than coming because of him, but this?  This perfect stretch, this addictive friction, knowing he was completely inside you and that he liked how you felt?  This was ecstasy, bliss.  And he hadn't even fucking moved yet.

"Gonna have a hard time being gentle with you now," he admitted with a growl beside your ear.  "You've got one of those perfect little pussies that just needs to be fucked hard— suckin' me in, just beggin' for it rough and fast."

"Joel," you whined, "fuck me however you want, please… I can take it, I swear, I want you so bad…"

Still, when he moved, it was slow and patient.  Too goddamn slow.

"Fuck," you sobbed, back arching up off the bed as he carefully savored every detail of you.  "Fuck, Joel, I can't— I can't believe you're— I can't believe it's you.  I wanted you so much I couldn't fucking breathe."

He smiled at you, and leaned in to kiss your neck; you let out what could only be described as a joyful whimper.  “Wanted you too,” he finally admitted.  “Tried not to, you’re so young… jus’ couldn’t help it after a while.”

"Faster," you whined, "please, fuck, please please—"

"You are so goddamn spoiled, you know that?" Joel grunted— but then he did it, he fucked you even faster than you'd imagined.  His thrusts were still deep and long, but they came at you quicker than you could process and you nearly screamed.  

You were even more sensitive after he’d made you come the first time; it was just overwhelming, the feeling of him, and you felt like your mind had left your body— like your mind had left you entirely.

“Y’feel fuckin’ perfect, darlin’,” he praised lowly, kissing your neck with all the gentleness and patience his thrusts lacked.  “So good for me.”

Maybe it was pathetic, but being good for him felt fucking amazing— not just physically, obviously.  It felt like having a purpose; you’d never really felt that before.

You lost track of time; honestly, you lost track of everything.  Everything that wasn’t this had fallen away, and it was just you holding on for dear life as Joel wrecked you all over again with every motion.  "Hear that?  How wet you are for me?" he groaned, and yes, there was a squishy-wet sound that filled the room with each thrust.  You tried to answer him, say something witty about how he made you that wet so many times, but only moans came when you opened your mouth.  "I asked you a question," he reminded you.  "Can you fuckin' hear it?"

Whimpering, you could only bite your lip and nod.

"Oh," he smiled, "I see— you get stupid with cock in you, huh?  Get fucked right and that silly brain just turns off?"

You nodded again— wasn’t much else for you to do.

"Just gonna be a dumb whore for me now?" he asked.  "Just kidding, I know you already were."

“Fuck— Joel—” you choked.

"No no, it's okay— it's good,” he soothed you, kissing a tear from your temple that you hadn’t even realized was there.  “You don't need to think.  I don't need you to think.  You can just be my fucktoy, okay?  You can just be my slut.  Say it."

"I-I'm your slut, Joel…"

He hummed appreciatively; your moan caught in your throat, and you tried to hide your face in his shoulder— you couldn’t believe he was still dressed, for all you knew he still had his boots on, and meanwhile you were stripped of everything.  Not just your clothes: you were stripped of all pretense (didn’t need it) and dignity (didn’t want it).  You’d thought of yourself as his for quite some time now, but now that he’d really made you his, it was more than you could’ve imagined.

When you came with him inside you, it wasn’t like how it was before— definitely similar, obviously the same thing at the core of it, but very different.  Before it was so… sudden, like a firework going off and then glittering into darkness (at least, that was how you understood fireworks to be, you’d only ever had them explained to you).  This was more like a deep pressure that just built and built and built, and then at some point you’d crossed that threshold and you were there but it didn’t go away, it just stayed at the peak while he kept moving inside you.

He grunted as your walls beared down on him, watching the tears of ecstasy stream down your face.  “Tryin’ to milk my cock, huh?” he accused with a snarl to his tone.  “S’that what you want?”

You weren’t really paying attention, you couldn’t while he was fucking you like that.  Digging your fingers into his shoulders through the flannel shirt, you just whimpered and nodded.

“S’workin’, baby,” he smiled, “little pussy’s got me so tight— is it a little too much, honey?  You’re cryin’...”

“I— I always cry,” you sniffled.

“M’not gonna make you take too much more,” he promised, “doin’ so good honey— gonna let you rest soon—”

“No, d-don’t stop,” you begged, and he laughed a little.

“I’m close,” he explained, and even though that should’ve been obvious, it made you feel better.  “Normally takes me a little longer, but… never had a pussy like this.”

That was probably just flattery, but you were happy to believe it.  Happy enough to just lay back and let that pleasure wash over you, but of course, he expected more of you than that.

"Tell me where I can come," he ordered.  

"Fuck, Joel— anywhere you want, anywhere," you pleaded, struggling to keep your train of thought but desperate to appease him as best you could.

"Inside you?" he pressed.

"Yeah, fuck, anywhere," you insisted.

"I bet that's what you want— you want it inside.  You want this cunt full and dripping."

“Fuck— yeah,” you agreed, “s’what I want— please, please—”

“Shh, don’t need to beg,” he assured sweetly, kissing your neck again— burying his face in the crook of your shoulder, until his panting breaths echoed on your skin.  “Don’t need to beg, darlin’, gonna fill you nice and deep—”

“Please,” you said again, ignoring his assurances.

“Just like you need it—”

“Please, Joel— love you so much,” you sobbed, your thighs starting to go a little numb where his jeans were rubbing against them and your clit getting sore from the way he stayed deep inside and grinded himself against you.

“I know,” he promised again, “jus’ say it one more time.”

“I love you, Joel,” you cried, and it was over somewhat suddenly: he stayed still, and you could feel his grip on you tighten, and you heard that sound that was like a groan and a sigh at the same time.  You’d hoped you’d be able to really feel it inside you, the warmth of his come, but everything was so hot that it was all the same— what you did feel was full, even more than you had just from his cock in you, and it was enough to make you clutch at his shoulders again despite having almost no energy left in you.

Though he stayed inside for a little while after, he did eventually have to pull out; you were too exhausted to even think about trying to close your legs when he stared down at you— at his come leaking slowly from your hole.

You knew there would need to be a conversation soon about what this all meant— what should happen now with the business, with your relationship, even just what should happen tomorrow morning since you’d both given in to instinct rather than take the safer route and have Joel pull out…

But that would have to wait; you still couldn’t think straight, you couldn’t think about anything but him in fact.

Thankfully, Joel was just fine with the silence.  He just held you, let you wander between sleep and wakefulness, and wiped that last stray tear away from your face.

“I’m sorry I keep crying,” you offered quietly, breaking a long silence.

“I don’t mind,” he promised.

[the-irreverend]

The Inferno Theory: The Chara Theory to End All Chara Theories

Here we are! Nine years of Undertale. And seeing how Chara is heavily associated with the number 9 (AND THAT TOBY FOX FINALLY TALKED ABOUT THEM), I can't think of a better way to celebrate the occasion than by dedicating this 5000-word-long theory about them? Y'all remember when people used to make long-ass theories about Chara? Yeah, they're coming back with a vengeance! To say I have a colossal hyperfixation is a massive understatement. No character in all of fiction has had a bigger impact on my life than this little rose-cheeked, cocoa-addicted freak. I’ve been a Chara fan for as long as I’ve been an Undertale fan, and you can bet that my understanding of them has changed a lot since. And now I have the pleasure of sharing said understandings with y’all!

Once upon a time, there was an aroace autistic who, like most of y’all, had a very unhealthy obsession with Undertale. And unlike most of you, he thought the Genocide Route was really fun. Most fans talk about how unhappy they felt killing everyone, but for me, I felt like a polar bear at a baby harp seal convention. I got a disturbing level of happiness out of turning everyone to dust. Hell, the only unhappiness I felt was when I couldn’t turn Monster Kid to dust.

Oh well, at least I got a good consolation prize!

I was one sadistic son of a gun, and so I was even more delighted to find out I had a secret admirer/partner-in-crime and that they joined in on the fun because I was such a goshdarn inspiration to them. Not wishing to disappoint my self-appointed partner, I erased the world without a second thought, eagerly awaiting what we might get to do together.

So you can guess I was pretty taken aback when, instead of a warm welcome, they started lecturing me about how I couldn’t accept the world’s destruction and that I was the one fully responsible for it (even though they were eager to take credit for it earlier). I didn’t think much of it at first. Initially, I just thought that they were just irritated that I was undoing what we had worked so hard to accomplish.

But as this game taught me time after time, you should never trust your first impressions. Those first impressions would crumble to dust when they said this.

To say I was completely baffled is an understatement. Why the hell would this prepubescent genocidal maniac be so obsessed over whether or not I think I’m above consequences? So obsessed to the point they would tell me to go to hell if I told them no? It was at that moment I realized there was something more to this character than meets the eye. But for a long time, I couldn’t seem to figure out what that something was. And it didn’t seem like anyone could figure that out either.

I’m very much a veteran of the fan wars that have emerged surrounding Chara. In fact, one might even say I am a deserter of sorts, as I am a former member of the Chara Defence Squad, Offense Squad, and Neutralist Squad. But I’m not gonna be a stuck-up and say everyone’s a canon-ignoring idiot except for me and that I’m the only one who knows what Toby Fox intended Chara to be. Even though I ended up with a very different take than yours (and will certainly argue why it’s the best), I owe you all your discussions a huge debt, and I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t gotten invested in your interpretations, to begin with. Not to mention that, contrary to what some may argue, you’ve made some valid points to complement them.

And while the debate that resulted from Chara’s ambiguous morality has led to a lot of controversy and even toxicity, it has also been a source of some FANTASTIC CONTENT. Like seriously, would we have gotten those badass renditions of Stronger Than You if no one thought Chara was an awful person? Would we have gotten Man on the Internet’s beautiful rendition of Star if no one thought Chara was a good person (turned awful)?

It would be utter hypocrisy for me to ask of you to approach me and my arguments (or anyone who accepts them) with understanding and good faith only to then not do the same to anyone who doesn’t agree with me. In this theory, I will definitely argue why some points made about Chara are flawed; points that you might hold yourself. But that doesn’t automatically mean that you (or your takes) are intellectually or morally inferior to mine. And besides, I’m not Toby Fox.

So with that said, why did I eventually came to disagree with pretty much everyone about Chara? Because, one way or another, I couldn’t find a take that clicked with me personally as I felt there were various inconsistencies and issues holding them back. I looked at YouTube videos, subreddits, Tumblr essays, Twitter threads, and even forums on the Steam Community. But I couldn’t really find what I thought were satisfactory answers to the questions I had about Chara’s motivations, role in the game, and relationship with the player.

And then, one day, I found those answers. It all happened when I asked myself: “What if Chara didn’t turn against me… because they were always against me from the start?!”

I don’t mean that Chara only saw you as a means to an end. I mean that YOU were the end. What if Chara didn’t use you so they could screw over the monsters but they used the monsters so they could screw over YOU.

You probably think I’m insane, don’t you? And you’re right! I AM INSANE! AND SO IS THIS WHOLE DAMN THEORY!!! But somehow, someway, it just works!! And I’ll show you why and how!!!

What you are about to read is the culmination of six years of reading and critiquing Chara takes and theories of every kind and quality, whether it be Judgement Boy’s Who is the Real Villain of Undertale to Wandydoodles’ Oblivion Theory. Six years of examining the arguments and counterarguments of Chara defenders, offenders, and neutralists alike. Six years of looking in every corner of the UTDR fandom. From the tranquil lands of Quora. To the dark recesses of Reddit. To the intellectual wastelands of Twitter. To the fiery hellsite of Tumblr. So, without further ado, get ready for some of the most pure, unadulterated, high-octane, universe-collapsing neurodivergence you’ve ever seen in your life!!!!!

Part 1: The demonic heritage of the "demon who comes when people call its name".

Have you ever had one of those moments where you’ve asked yourself, “What the actual hell is this guy talking about?” I bet you’re having that moment right now. Everything about their character post-death, including their motives, their methods, and their relationship with you, is perfectly reflected in one of their most famous (or rather infamous) lines:

When most people hear the word demon, the first thing that comes to mind is a being made of pure evil whose only purpose in life is to destroy all things good in the world. Right?

Well, yes, but actually, no. It’s a little more complicated than that. To argue that Chara is a demon because they’re simply “an evil little twerp that enjoys being evil” doesn’t do them or their role in Undertale justice (although that hasn’t stopped people from trying to argue that). To understand why calling themselves a demon is EXTREMELY important, we need to dive into the wonderful (and totally not controversial) world of religious beliefs!

In ancient and modern religions, demons are a little more complex than just ethereal jackasses with a vendetta against virtue and righteousness. Though they vary from faith to faith, most demons have a specific set of qualities and tropes that make them integral to whatever faith they’re in. You also see these demonic qualities in fiction that’s derived or inspired by religions, and since Undertale’s lore and worldbuilding have a heavy emphasis on the spiritual and divine, you can see them in Chara. Since Undertale is a game of “Western” origin, you can definitely see they share qualities that are all too familiar with devils of “Western” religions. In classic devil fashion, they target those with weak integrities or suspect morals; they tempt you with the promise of fulfilling your desires at your and everyone else’s expense; they’re able to control your body as you grow their power through your sins, and hell, they even do the thing where they make a deal for your soul. Also...

But though it's evident that Chara encourages you to do “evil,” THEY THEMSELVES are not responsible for it. Yes, Chara encouraged you to kill, but YOU are the one who acted on those encouragements. In fact, YOU are the one who encouraged THEM to help you out! They walked down the dark path with you, but you didn’t really give them anywhere else they could walk. You had all the power and every chance to turn back and no reason to keep walking. And yet you persisted.

But that does beg the question, why did you walk it at all? What could possibly inspire you to give all of these characters happiness, satisfaction, and peace and then rip it all away? Because you decided that giving everyone the most satisfying ending was not satisfying enough for you. Because there was more that you could experience for yourself, even if it meant making everyone else experience something absolutely horrific. It wasn’t enough for you to fill the glass only halfway. You needed to fill it to the brim. You wanted to reach the absolute. Even if doing the Genocide Run was a bad experience for you, you CANNOT deny it was a fulfilling one. And Chara knows it, too. It ain’t exactly a coincidence that fulfillment and fullness are recurring motifs in Chara’s character.

Like all demons, Chara is able to tempt the wicked and sinful by targeting our greatest weaknesses and deficiencies. It’s no different from how Succubi and Incubi target those who succumb to the sin of lust. That’s why you won’t go after my aroace ass anytime soon. But I digress.

But Chara doesn't just tempt us by exploiting our need to fill the glass to the brim but also because of how they exploit the satisfaction we get from watching it fill up, that is to say, the satisfaction that comes from trying to achieve fulfillment.

We humans are addicted to progression as much as we are to completion, and in an RPG like Undertale, the satisfaction of progression comes in the form of NUMBERS. Not just the numbers that flash on the screen when you battle enemies but also the ones that go up when you finish said enemies off, whether it be your hit points, experience points, and so on. And Undertale isn’t any ordinary RPG; it’s one where its RPG elements are interwoven into the fabric of the game’s universe. Because of that, Chara is able to use these elements in their world to influence those outside of it.

But Chara does not just influence us through the numbers that increase but also the ones that decrease. That’s why the first thing they do when we reach Snowdin is give us a tally. 

It’s not just there to measure progress. It’s also there to incentivize us to keep progressing. It gives us a small dose of satisfaction that’s enough to distract us from the mundanity and misery of the murder run, like a loading bar on a loading screen. And just like with loading screens, the farther it progresses, the harder it gets to turn away. Why would you want all the lives you’ve taken and the stats you’ve gained to amount to nothing? Why would you want to hit reset and go through those brutal fights with Sans and Undyne again? You can’t empty out the glass, not when you’re that much closer to filling it to the brim. Speaking of Sans and Undyne, it’s quite interesting that even though they barely know you, they know exactly why you won’t take your foot off the pedal, so to speak.

But that’s not the only thing driving you, isn’t it? Chara knows that there was something else that was spurning you along. Something more powerful and more dangerous than your addiction to progression and completion: PRIDE. 

Perhaps the real reason you kept giving in to sin until it was far too late was because you didn’t think it would be too late. You didn’t hold back because you thought you would be able to go back. You thought you could just absolve your sins with the press of a button like you did in countless worlds before. You thought you could dive in, touch the bottom, and come back out of the water. But what were you getting into? How deep would you have gone? And would you have gone in if you knew you couldn’t possibly return? You know you wouldn’t. And Chara knows it, too. That brings us back to the dialogue I showed you at the beginning of this theory. The one said changed everything I knew about this character, and I firmly believe that this is the MOST important line of dialogue in the entire franchise.

PART 2: THE PART WHERE I (PRETEND TO) DESTROY 9 YEARS OF ESTABLISHED FANON!

When I say that that little blurb about being above consequences is ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL, I do not say that lightly. It isn’t just important to Chara's character, but the game of Undertale as a whole! Anyone who’s serious about Chara’s character should never take this for granted because Chara sure as hell does not.

It’s not just our refusal to accept the world’s destruction that’s a huge-ass deal to Chara; it’s the arrogance and complacency that accompanies it, rooted in the position and privileges we have as the player. It matters to them so much that they’re willing to completely forgo bartering for our soul (which they say they want) if we don’t admit that we have that belief!

And yet, despite Chara taking this subject so seriously, the people who are analyzing their character ironically don’t. Generally speaking, most people simply brush this line off as nothing more than something they do to help them on their quest to achieve their goals. So, with that said, let’s talk about what those supposed goals actually are.

In all my years of reading and assessing countless Chara theories and interpretations, I’ve discovered that everyone actually agrees on what Chara's goals are. They just can’t agree on why they want them. Said goals are A) reach the absolute, B) max out their numbers/power, C) erase the world, and/or D) eradicate all monsters. But what if it’s actually the other way around? What if those things were the means to an end rather than the ends themselves?

What if the true goal of the “demon who comes when people call its name” was just like that of the demons of old: not to be your partner in crime, but to torment and punish you for your crimes? To make you face CONSEQUENCES!

I’m not making this argument simply because it makes Chara look more badass (though I think it totally does, lol). I firmly believe that Undertale’s post-Genocide content is written so that Chara’s character can only make sense if that was Chara’s goal from start to finish. Because if Chara’s endgame was any of those four I mentioned earlier, their character kinda falls apart because they're awfully inconsistent about fulfilling them. And those inconsistencies are evident in the Second Geno Ending.

Discrepancy 1) They say they will “appear time and time again” to help us “eradicate the enemy and become strong,” and yet they call us perverted for eradicating everyone time and time again.

You can argue that they didn’t want us to recreate the world in the first place and just move on to another world, but if so, why let us come back at all? And if it’s to get our soul, why do they keep around this world after we have it? This leads us to...

Discrepancy 2) They tell us to ERASE the world and move on to the next, and yet they allow us to restore it without a hitch after we give them our SOUL, seeing how there’s no black void when we start the game again.

If Chara was powerless to stop us from coming back, this wouldn’t be such a big deal. But they CLEARLY DEMONSTRATE that they’re able to stop the player from restoring the world, as seen in the first post-genocide ending. And yet they don’t use this power after the first time the world is erased (WHICH YOU WOULD THINK THEY WOULD WANT TO USE SINCE THEY WANT TO ERASE THE WORLD AND MOVE ON TO ANOTHER)! Seeing how the world is back again without us doing anything makes the restoration of the world like something that Chara CHOSE ON THEIR OWN VOLITION. And what makes this all the more damning is...

Discrepancy 3) They tell us they’re down bad for increasing our ATK, DEF, EXP, and LV to the max and erasing the world and everyone in it, and yet they TELL US TO DEVIATE FROM THE ONLY ROUTE THAT ACCOMPLISHES THAT (which, as stated before, they call us perverse for doing it again).

So, let me get something straight. You tell us you want to ”eradicate the enemy” and “ erase this pointless world,” and yet not only are you allowing us to undo all of that, you want us to do something INSTEAD OF THAT??? It’s funny how you lecture us about how we cannot accept the world’s destruction BECAUSE, APPARENTLY, YOU WON’T EITHER!!!!! Also, before I forget...

Discrepancy 4)

WHAT KIND OF MISANTHROPE DEDICATES THEIR WHOLE LIFE TO WIPING OUT HUMANITY, GETS GIFT-WRAPPED A CHANCE TO DO THAT, AND THEN JUST PASSES IT UP?!?!?!

On behalf of misanthropes everywhere, I am DEEPLY disappointed in you!

So it doesn’t matter if you believe Chara is always evil, good, or detached from morality entirely. Because Chara has the same goal across all versions, they all succumb to the same inconsistencies!

Funny how most people see them as this embodiment of the addictive nature of levelling up and consuming everything in a piece of media and all that jazz WHEN THEY SEEM TO CASUALLY GIVE UP ON IT!!!!!!

And if you argue they want a Soulless Pacifist Run when they suggest “another path,” then ask yourself, what does that give them that a Genocide Run doesn’t? Keep in mind, aside from a scribbled-out photograph, we don’t see how many monsters or humans they killed besides the main characters or how much power and stats they gained from it. And it’s not like we see them erase the world afterward since only the genocide run has that infamous wall of red 9s. Not to mention, the genocide run is the most secure way of accomplishing their goals since they have the backing of the player. Not only that, but it’s also the safest and most efficient way to erase everyone and increase stats to the fullest, and we all know how Chara feels about efficiency.

So Chara has no reason to pick the Soulless pacifist ending over the Genocide Run if they want to achieve their end of increasing numbers and consuming the world… unless those things were a means to an end rather than ends themselves.

Indeed it is coming together! That’s the other reason their statement, “You think you’re above consequences,” is so damn important! They’re not telling us why we sinned, but it reveals they intend to make us suffer for those sins, and how.

That’s why Chara is seemingly so inconsistent about erasing the world. Because it was never about the world. It was all about YOU.

[SIDE NOTE: I’m sure many of you will point out that if Chara wanted us to get a Soulless ending in this world, then why would they encourage us to “move on to the next?” I don’t think this is too big an issue for two reasons. First, this line is meant to emphasize that, like all demons, Chara is inescapable and that no matter what world you go to (within their own universe), Chara will always follow you now that you’ve unleashed them. Second, because their goal concerns us and not the world they’re a part of, their character avoids the aforementioned inconsistencies that hamper the other Chara theories much more severely, in my opinion.]

Part 3: Contrapasso

Now I’m sure some of y’all might think that Chara doesn’t need to yearn for our torment to achieve the impact of the Soulless ending and that just because Chara is a demon doesn’t automatically mean they need to screw us over. You are right in that not everyone who makes a Faustian Bargain needs to have malicious intentions toward the people they’re taking advantage of (Kuybey from Madoka Magica is a great example of that). But Chara does need it! Not only does it make their character more narratively cohesive, but also makes their character more thematically impactful. And it’s more in tune with their demonic nature for them to want to torment us.

Because demons represent something more terrifying than evil itself. They represent the terrible price of embracing it, a price that all evildoers fear more than anything, and that all demons want seek to inflict upon us. Like most demons, Chara isn’t encouraging us to sin to fill the emptiness in our soul (or even their own). They did it to perpetuate that torturously empty and unfulfilled state for all eternity, a state which even themselves now endure.

Now, you’ve probably noticed that I’ve talked a lot about the themes of fulfillment and emptiness, and it’s for a good reason since those themes are heavily featured in Undertale. I mean, how could it not? Because concepts of demons, hell, and sins (which are explicitly mentioned in the game) are deeply intertwined with the concept of emptiness. The theologian Thomas Aquinas once defined evil as not a presence but as an absence (of that which is good). Darkness is the absence of light; war is the absence of peace; bigotry is the absence of tolerance; pride is the absence of humility, etc. You see this reflected in not just Christian theology but also fiction as a whole, as a lot of villains are motivated by a desire to obtain something that they believe can’t be without. Whether it be wealth, status, recognition, power, the death of an individual, or even just sadistic pleasure.

Since demons are beings that are inseparable from evil itself, the life of a demon is forever cursed by unceasing and unbearable emptiness. Hell, the word damnation originated from the Latin word damnum, which literally means loss! They’re not exactly partying in hell while your immortal soul is being slow-roasted for eternity. They’re burning in that lake of fire and brimstone along with you! They can’t end their damnation, not because they don’t want to but because they simply can’t. They’re fated to be bereft of the satisfaction or fulfillment found in Heaven or Earth, a fate that is worse than death in every sense of the word, especially since they can’t experience death anymore. Because of that, a demon embodies what is perhaps the most terrifying form of evil of all: not one rooted in a desire to rid the emptiness and unfulfillment within themselves, but a desire to inflict them upon others. Because as a wise philosopher once said:

We see this horrific state of mutually assured suffering everywhere across fiction. From goofy, lighthearted tokusatsu's...

...to nightmarish sci-fi dystopias...

...to a little indie game made 9 years ago.

Oh yeah. Don’t think I was gonna talk about emptiness without mentioning everyone’s favourite homicidal fauna-turned-flora, especially not with lines like this.

Take one to know one! And it can’t be a coincidence that the game emphasizes the theme of emptiness when giving the spotlight to the three characters that have committed the most “evil”: Flowey/Asriel, Chara, and YOU.

Quite the unholy trinity going on here, eh? It truly is fascinating how the emptiness led us to work with each other to exterminate all monsters. And it’s also interesting how the unique kind of emptiness we have eventually led us to work against each other. Whether it be Flowey wishing to preserve his sentimentality for his long-gone sibling, us players wanting to maintain our (perverted) sentimentality for the world of Undertale, or Chara weaponizing these sentimentalities to exact their misanthropic hatred.

Remember how I said that Chara was a lousy misanthrope because they keep letting us bring back the humans they wanted annihilated when they were alive? That does make them a lousy misanthrope… unless their misanthropy found a higher priority target: YOU!!!!! Chara’s desire to torment us didn’t come out of thin air. The same hatred that drove them to wipe out the humans of their world years ago is the same hatred that’s driving them to get at the humans of our world, even if it means destroying those who once embraced them. And now, that hatred is more potent and destructive than ever before, so much so that it’s no wonder Toriel was able to feel it when she endured that fatal blow after the Geno Run began.

Do you think witnessing what soullessness did to sweet little Asriel wasn’t already terrifying and tragic enough? Just try to imagine what it could‘ve done to a vengeful, traumatized, chocolate-addicted problem child so consumed by hatred that they poisoned themselves just for a chance to wipe out their own kind. All of that hatred of humanity is still alive and well, and now it has no humanity to hold it back. 

And what could be a more fitting target for a MISANTHROPE that calls themselves a DEMON… than a HUMAN that wants to play GOD?

After all, the only thing demons love more than tormenting mortals is warring with Gods.

Why else do you think that Chara winks right at you if we make Frisk stay with Toriel? Because that’s who the Soulless Ending was meant for. It’s when they’re finally able to unleash all that animosity and hatred that’s been lurking behind that smile ever since we killed everyone in the Ruins. It’s the moment that they’ve been patiently waiting for because they knew that’s when it would hit you the hardest.

And what makes the Soulless Pacifist Ending very special compared to other “bad endings” isn’t simply because they destroy those we pretend to care about (may I remind you that you did do the genocide run, after all). But they destroy something much more valuable to us as the players: OUR OMNIPOTENCE. Chara doesn’t destroy people for the sake of destroying them. But because in doing so they destroy our arrogant belief that nothing could possibly challenge the invisibility and invulnerability we players take for granted.

It's all too human that those with the most power are the least willing to lose it (or even take responsibility for it). And in a world where we should have absolute power, we thought there would be no consequences for abusing it. So what could be a more fitting and frightful punishment than having to actually face them? Missing out on the best ending in a video game is one thing. But to forever lose the power to achieve it ever again?! Now that’s terrifying!

Throughout myth, legend, and religion, sinners are often punished in a way befitting of the sin they’ve committed. In Greek Mythology, Tantalus was damned for trying to feed the Gods the flesh of his murdered son with eternal hunger and thirst despite being within arm’s reach of water and food. In Dante’s Inferno, those who succumb to wrath are forever doomed to fight each other in a river of mud. And since Undertale is no stranger to concepts such as hell, sins, and demons, you can damn well be sure that there’s going to be damnation fitting for the sins that drove you to complete the genocide run.

You completed the Genocide Run because you believed ending their lives would be fulfilling. Now, you can no longer get any fulfillment out of saving their lives.

I mean, where else can you get your precious fulfillment? Those paltry neutral endings? They only offer a fraction of what the pacifist ending offered. And the genocide ending has been drained of its satisfaction like the pacifist! Would you do all that tedious grinding and brutal boss fights just to hear your so-called “partner” lecture you again on perverted sentimentality and say you should choose another path, even though there’s nothing that they could offer? Of course not. In the end, you’re just like poor Tantalus agonizing in the pits of Tartarus, feeling the water vanish from his hands just before it touches his lips.

The ultimate triumph of Chara isn’t making you suffer a total defeat, but perhaps something much worse to you as a gamer: a pyrrhic victory. It’s like having a Twinkie that's been drained of the creamy center. Everything is still there except the thing you treasure most. You’re damned to play a challenge forever deprived of any and all fulfillment you once got from it, a satisfying journey that will always be doomed to reach a dissatisfying destination.

In the end, Chara leaves you with the world exactly as they described it the first time they met you face-to-face: POINTLESS.

You can have the world exactly as it was before (and the people within it). But in the end, Chara will always have the last laugh.

Figuratively and literally.

Welcome to hell!

Part 4: Why Consequences Matter

Woooooo!!! Man, that was quite the read, wasn’t it? And yeah, I wasn't kidding when I said this is going to be autistic as all hell! I don’t doubt you have a lot of thoughts in your mind, and then you’re gonna share them by the time you’re finished reading this post. Some of you might think this is the Chara theory to end Chara theories. Some of you believe that this is the worst thing that has happened to this fandom since Sebastian Wolff. Some of y’all, I’m whitewashing them because I argue they’re driven by a desire to punish the wicked by any means necessary. Some will think I’m demonizing them because I say that they’re, well, a demon. 

[SIDE NOTE: Just so I don’t miscommunicate what I believe about Chara’s morality, here are some key points to take away from this theory. A) Chara sought to make you pay for the evil you committed. In fact, the idea that the Soulless Ending is Chara punishing our sins has been around for a while, especially by those who think Chara was “corrupted. B) However, in this theory, Chara's actions are all done with the intent of accomplishing that goal. This means that Chara was aware of what they were doing, they wanted to do it, and that THEY KNEW IT WAS EVIL. C) But you still have to remember that Chara is also A LITERAL CHILD. And D) They’re a child who endured a great deal of hardship (and possibly trauma), which made them so embittered and vengeful. Also, E) Remember that they’re also soulless, just like Asriel when he was Flowey.]

But I think most of you were gonna look at this interpretation of Chara and feel the same thing that I have about most of yours: a take that’s not without issues, but not without a fair bit of interesting points.

But regardless of what you think of this theory overall, there’s one thing I won’t leave up for debate: I deeply treasure Chara’s character. Not just because I think they’re fun, cool, or interesting but also because I firmly believe they’re invaluable Undertale. And yet, at the same time, I think they’re severely undervalued by the fandom. And who can blame them?

The characters of Undertale speak very little of Chara, and Chara speaks for themselves even less. But just like Johan Liebert from the anime Monster, even though they’re not seen too often, they still manage to exert a massive presence and impact within Undertale’s narrative. And that presence is made all the more impactful because they perfectly represent the themes of the narrative: and that theme is CONSEQUENCES, or more accurately, the CONSEQUENCES OF VIOLENCE.

From the violence that drove Chara to climb Mt Ebott to the violence their brother Asriel inflicted in hopes of being with them forever. From something as grand as a war between two civilizations to something as small as dismembering a snowman. Everywhere you look, you will see that violence (and its repercussions) haunts the story and characters of Undertale. But what makes Undertale stand out from other media that tackles this subject is that it’s not just an integral part of its narrative but also its metanarrative. The most ingenious way it does this is by giving meaning to the actions/mechanics that we take for granted, specifically monster encounters.

Our Lord and Saviour Toby Fox said it best:

Because the monsters of Undetale are treated as something more than just enemies to be killed, there are going to be consequences for choosing to kill them away. Some argue that it goes too far in how it admonishes you for killing even a single monster, even to the point of being preachy (I’m looking at you, ScottFalco, but that’s a response for another day).

That argument is deeply flawed because it fails to account for the fact that without these ramifications, the game’s themes would be rendered null and void. The last thing that a game with a narrative centred around the consequences of violence can afford to do is afford you the luxury of avoiding them. And that principle especially applies if you dare to choose nothing BUT violence. //////If you were to bring them all back as if nothing happened, then your decision to commit genocide would be completely meaningless, which would totally disservice Undertale themes regarding violence. There needs to be consequences. LASTING CONSEQUENCES. Undertale can’t drive home its messages and them without lasting consequences. Undertale can’t deliver those consequences without Chara in the driver’s seat. And Chara’s character can only be at their most narratively cohesive and thematically impactful if seeking to make us suffer consequences was their intended destination.

Regardless of whatever detail about Chara you’re discussing or what side of the discussion you’re on, one thing is very clear: they’re absolutely essential to Undertale in the same way that Mephistopheles is essential to Faust, the Cenobites are essential to Hellraiser, and Kuybey is essential to Madoka Magica. And they’re the only ones with the means, motives, and deep-seated misanthropy to hold this whole damn game together.

Sans is right. We deserve to be burning in hell for what we did to those poor monsters. And I can't think of anyone more qualified to have us humans “burning in hell” than a self-proclaimed demon with a seething hatred of humanity.

And how fitting is it that the skeleton who judges our sins is followed by a human child who punishes us for them?

BUT HEY, THAT'S JUST A THEORY!

A CHARA THEORY!

THANKS FOR READING!

[horrorisunknowntoyou]

STRESS FILLED NIGHTS

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem-Reader

TW: Anxiety/ paranoid, Stress cleaning, biting nails.

Summary: You were used to Simon's night terrors and anxiety, but what happens when your the one struggling without even knowing?

A/n: I wrote this, because I'm having a really hard time sleeping so this is a self comfort thing for me. I'm tired man. Also Ghost is OOC . And this is unedited or whatever.

Tick...Tick...Tick...

You starred up at the ceiling, the clock on the wall continuing to tick on the wall. You peer over to your left, picking up your phone from the nightstand. At this point taking off the charger as it's full battery at this point. The light illuminating from the phone slightly blinding you as you check the time.

2:13 am

Sighing, you put your phone aside, it's been hours already and your still not asleep yet. Your husband by now is peacefully asleep, but your still awake. You turn to your side, facing the now sleeping Ghost. He looked so...peaceful you just stared at him slowly breathing, looking pretty in the blue mood light on him. Something only you and you alone can see, no one else can. Your hand gently reaches out as gently push and piece of hair aside, smiling at how cute he is.

Eventually you layed back on your back, staring at the ceiling once again. After 20 minutes of looking at the ceilings texture to see if you can see any images from it for fun. Or messing around with your hand in the blue light you eventually got sick of it.

Quietly sitting up from the bed, making sure to not make any sounds to wake your husband up. You put your house slippers on and left the room. Once in the hallway, you let out a relaxed breath. Since your awake, might as well make yourself useful.

" Think y/n, what can I do currently?..." You thought as you take a left turn reaching the living room. You flick the lights on " Oh, I can tidy up the house abit, as long I don't vacuum or do anything loud, it should be fine." At this point you were getting shaky because you were exhausted. But you ignored it as you started to sweep the floor, humming to yourself quietly.

You swept.

You wiped the tables and counters clean.

You moped the tile floor.

You clean the dust off souvenirs and photo frames and more.

You left the kitchen spotless.

You even clean your fucking gun.

After all of that, you just sat on the couch silently with out a word. You were biting your nails, trying to figure out what else to do before being alerted to Simon's panicked voice.

"Y/n?! Y/n where are you? Y/-"

He immediately rushed over to the living room panicked. He soon relaxed once he saw you just sitting on the couch.

"Y/n, it's 6am...what the hell are you doing this early?"

"Cleaning."

"Cleaning?" He gave you an almost dumbfounded look. " You know what time it is, right now?"

"6:25 am."

"How long have you been cleaning love?"

You were starting to avoid his eye contact, biting you nail more. "I-i..I don't know."

Ghost just stood there sighing, "why didn't you ask for my help?" He says, almost hurt. " Your going to get a migraine. "

"I know...I don't know...I just.." you starred down at your carpet rug. " I was scared, I couldn't sleep. And I thought it was better if I'm awake that I should make myself useful..."

Ghost, walks over to you, kneeling in front of you, his calloused hands gently forcing you to look at him. " Y/n, y/n look at me. Your hurting yourself doing this. "

"I don't understand." You said truthfully, your hand gently laying on top of his.

"love, your exhausted, your literally shaking right now....Listen, I may not be good at the whole comfort thing compared to you. But since you watch over me during my night terrors it's only fair I do the same with you."

"But...I don't have nightmares like you do though, I'm just...a little scared to go to sleep."

"Even so, you still need sleep."

You thought about it, and slowly nod. You then gently leaned into his arms and laid your head on his shoulder.

Ghost then stood up, and wrapped his arms around your waist and picked you up. Carrying you back to bed, flicking the lights off.

He walks into your shared bedroom, closing the door behind him. Getting in bed with you, now that he can see your face closely, your eyes were bloodshot and exhausted.

You quietly spoked to him, as he now gently moves a strain of your hair aside. " Did I really scare you? I'm sorry if I did..." You yawn softly, " I thought...me leaving would protect you...or something."

"Protect me? Ha. But you did startle me. "

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You didn't intend to. I was just... surprised to not see you beside me. "

"hmm." Your eyes fluttered abit. Less talkative.

Ghost noticed, that him quietly talking to you was finally making you relax.

" I would appreciate if next time this happens, you tell me. Alright?"

You nodded.

Ghost continue to talk to you, sometimes telling you his awful jokes. And once you finally stop responding to him. He looked over to see you finally asleep. Haft your face hidden away in the pillow, taking soft slow breaths.

He pulled the blanket over his shoulders, gently pulling you close to him , wrapping his arms around you protectively falling suit and falling asleep with you.

Both of you peacefully asleep.

A/n: IM SO TIRED UGH

[glassrowboat]

Red Ribbon. Chiori.

Summary: A not so peaceful morning with your girlfriend. Well, not when you're up to mischief anyway.

Word count: 900+

Authors note: The start of a small series I'm going to write of the seven colors of the rainbow in ribbons with some of our genshin faves! Also, a slight spoiler for Chiori's kit.

The small shop was always such a cozy place to huddle up in, the one specific chair that had been covered in loose scraps of cut out fabric currently occupied with your figure as you fiddle with a spool of something or another. Pretty red ribbon right under your fingers as Chiori slowly walks around the pinup body adorned with a dress.

The click of those overly complicated heels filled the room as you watched Chiori circle around the mannequin in the center of the room, its fabric body adorned in layers of cloth. Another commision she was working on no doubt as she snipped a loose thread. Precise as possible, that is until she tries to toss it over at you.

The string falling on the ground between you two. Apparently it was your fault you had become her designated place to pile scraps after you took the chair she would usually use for such a task. Red ribbon being wrapped around your finger and undone again and again mindlessly as you watched her.

“Now where did I put that?” Talking to herself again, a habit she would never openly admit to, Chiori pat down the apron she had on that held her tools. “(Y/n) have you seen-”

“This?” Holding up the spool of ribbon you had been playing with a smile easily crossed your features, even as her eyes narrowed. “No, I haven't.”

“Then you have no issue giving it to me.” Walking over to you Chiori tried to snatch the item in your hand, her sleeves rustling from the action as they flowed behind her. You never got how those kimono sleeves didn't get in her way all the time but she always pulled it off somehow. Good for her.

That however wasn't enough of a reason to give in as you climbed up further on the chair, feet pushing against the cushion as you stood up from your curled up position, knees no longer pushed up against your chest as you held her prize high in the air.

Hopefully she doesn't deem this offense enough of one to use her visions abilities. Stupid teleportation abilities.

“If I recall correctly, taking possession of another's items could be considered a crime. Would you truly really want me to take you to court over this, (Y/n)?” A flick of her dress, those same sleeves billowing in the wind as she crossed her arms. Oh she was so cute when she tried to look mad.

Deciding to play along you held the ribbon up higher, making sure it was above even your head. “Well, when I go down to the Fortress of Meropide should I come back with a fit rate of the Guards uniforms?”

Wait, is she actually considering it? Head tilting, pretty brown hair shifting over her shoulder as Chiori stood in silence before softly shaking the thought off. “Just give me the ribbon back.”

Huh, this must be for a commission if she's being such a little stickler. Not that that would lessen your need for a bit of mischief. As they say, breaks are healthy. “How about a deal?”

“A deal for my own possessions?”

What's a synonym for stickler again? Hypercritic, perfectionist, nitpicker.

“Don't make it sound like that.” Even if it is true. “Come on pretty, a kiss is all I want and then I'll give it back. Please?”

A small sigh could be heard as she glanced back between her prize and you. Red ribbon tickling at your wrist as the spool unwound from your earlier actions. A standoff is currently happening in Fontaine's very own Chioriya Boutique. At least there's no guns involved, just a miffed geo vision haver and her lover.

“You make such a big deal over a kiss?” She asked, brows furrowing as she looked up at you. “Next time just ask instead of acting like this.”

But where's the fun in that?

“Well?”

Leaning down just enough so she could get on the tip of her toes, or more like those heels, you pucker your lips to try and coax her into giving what you wanted.

Oh that heavy sigh. Yet there her pretty face was coming in closer. The details of Chiori's eyeshadow clear to you, the pretty light tint of powder as her eyelashes fluttered closed. “Fine.” And with that she kissed you.

The rich, heavy taste of coffee from Cafe Letece you had gotten for her earlier filling your senses. She had always been so insistent the run there was better than opening some random can she had imported over from Inazuma despite the fact she went through all the effort to have Kirara deliver it in the first place. Perhaps it was the fact she was so selective when she wanted the taste of home.

Well, the taste of your home was her as Chiori slowly pulled away. Her soft lips abandoning yours as the spool was snatched from her hand, robbed right under your fingers as the cardboard that it was wrapped around was replaced for air. Not even the sticker smacked on top labeling the thing for sale you had been picking at earlier was clinging onto your skin.

How rude.

“Beautiful,” you cried out as you hopped off the arm chair, stumbling over the floor as you landed, trying to chase after her in the small shop. “Wait, wait! Come back I want another!”

“Then it seems you'll have to find more ribbon to bargain with.”

Ignoring you Chiori went back to the pin up mannequin in the center of the room, holding up a strip of the ribbon to the sleeves of the dress as she pinned it in place with small metal needles.

Well…that's your girl alright.

“Love you, my pretty.”

[hanckocks-dagger]

oh, the night's so blue

masterlist

John hancock x f!reader

Description: After a drunken one night stand with your boss and mayor, you'd planned on hiding out in your room for several months. Those plans get delayed when Nate, general of the Minutemen and your childhood friend, asks you to join him on a quest in the west of the Commonwealth.

Tags: Drunken one night stand, Hancock is a pining simp, and a slut. Reader is not SoSu, has afab characteristics and is referred to with she/her pronouns through the story. No y/n

Warnings: Smut! Drunk sex, consentual but I'll throw in the dubcon tag anyway, talk of violence, guns and drugs a lá Fallout ofc

Word count: 6.1K

Notes: So this is a one-shot that sort of feeds into an idea I've had in my head for a while, of a reader that knew Nate from before the bombs, who either ended up in Vault 111 as well or something similar, but got out about a year before Nate did. This might end up turning into a series of semi-connected one-shots or I might just cut it off here, but I definitely have some other ideas for this story rolling around in my head. More story focused than some of my other fics, delving a bit more into what actually living in the game's story would be like, but of course a hefty dose of our lovely Hancock. But I really like Nate, and I didn't want to make the reader the Sole Survivor so we could see the two of them interact. Also my Nate build is usually high charisma, high strength and low intelligence (idiot savant perk ofc), so he's a bit of a himbo <3 my fav type of man.

Also just a small and totally irrelevant thing, but I headcanon Nate/the sole survivor as choosing not to smoke, just because the player isn’t able to smoke in the game. Just a fun tidbit I threw in there. Also, I’m a smoker and I have friends who aren’t and the relentless back and forth teasing is always fun. They all vape anyway, so it’s just a race for who gets cancer first lmao. 

Cross posted on my ao3!

"What's the status on the top shelf stuff?" You yelled out from the back room, wiping drops of sweat from your forehead before they could drop into your eyes. Sure, the new beer tap was ingenious, making the closest thing to actual fresh beer since you'd come out on this side of the cryo-chamber, but goddamn were the canisters heavy.

"Almost out of moonshine, luv," Charlie called from the bar, tinny cockney accent carrying through the open space.

That was fine, you could drop by and speak to Vadim tomorrow before opening, as long as Hancock could supply the caps and lend you some help to carry the bottles back.

"Anything else?" You grunted, heaving a full canister back out to the front, bending down to connect the pipes.

"I think you should start carrying some Fireball, I know how much you used to like it," A new voice spoke up from the other side of the bar, startling you into banging your head on the underside of the bartop. You cursed, shooting to your feet, finding a ginning, familiar face on the other side.

"Nate!"

He said your name back with the same amount of enthusiasm, slouched in one of the barstools, familiar bright blue vault suit looking a little worse for wear.

"When did you get in? How did you get in?" You asked, eyes flitting about. Sure enough, there in the background, spread over one of the couches was mayor Hancock, speaking with a smiling Magnolia and a broody looking MacReady.

"Just landed in town, figured I'd come say hi before crashing at the Rexford."

"Well, shit," You breathed, wiping your sweaty hands on a dishrag, "Can I get you a drink? I want to hear about this oh-so-secret mission you were on."

"Sure, I'll take a beer."

You fished over a clean-ish looking glass, gave it a quick wipe for good measure, and poured. The movements were practiced, muscle memory from a lifetime ago taking over as you tilted the glass, filled it, flicked the spout the other way for some top foam. You slid it over the bar, accepting Nate’s smile as payment. 

You grabbed yourself a glass, calling out to Charlie as you filled the glass with ice, “I’m calling it a night, just leave me a list of whatever needs to be done in the morning.

You poured yourself some of the top shelf stuff, nothing good by pre-war standards, but nowadays it was rare and mostly didn't taste like it was 200 years old.

You stepped around the bar, planning on planting yourself on a stool next to Nate, but he was already rising to his feet, heading for the rest of the group.Hiding your awkwardness, you trailed after him. You knew MacReady tangentially, sometimes bringing him drinks into the backroom, keeping an eye out for disagreements and sometimes running up to get Ham when things were getting out of hand. Magnolia was your coworker of course, and there was plenty to talk about after long shifts, but she was– technically speaking– about twenty years your senior, and married to her job in a way you weren't.

Then there was Mayor Hancock. A charming flirt at the best of times, happy to stand up for you on the job, as the owner of the bar, after all, but there was always something about him you never managed to crack, never straying away from genial small talk. Small talk, of course, these days, meant discussing the last Super Mutant raid, or let him rattle off about his favorite chems. As you approached, he tipped his hat at you and you responded with a little curtsy, using your free hand to tug on your apron like a skirt. 

You fell onto the couch beside Nate, stirring your drink with a finger, using your other hand to untie the apron around your waist. Being off your feet felt good. There were no clocks in the Third Rail, and no windows, so your sense of time tended to get a bit skewed, but seeing as Ham usually tossed out the stragglers by 5 am and you'd had a mess and a half to clean up, you assumed it must be closing in on dawn. A rough 12 hour shift made your liquor feel earned, as you sipped at it, feeling the warmth spread through your chest.

"So," You said, catching Nate's attention before he could get sucked into the others' conversation, "What was the notorious General of the Minutemen up to this week? Liberating some more settlements?"

"Mmm, actually doing some work for the Railroad," His tone went hushed, unnecessary and strangely endearing, as everyone in the bar knew and was at least non-committal about their activities.

"Ahh," You replied, matching his tone. "Did it go well?"

"It went fantastically. I brought my own team in," He motioned with his beer toward Hancock and MacCready, "But we ended up getting some help from another agent, too. And, man, what a lady," he went a bit starry eyed, making you laugh.

"Got a little crush, Nathaniel?"

He snorted, and you spotted the tinge of red in his cheeks with glee. 

"Nothing like that, but what a powerhouse. You should have seen her, mowing them down with a minigun."

"Don't sell yourself short, Nate, I've seen you in Power Armor before. Unstoppable force and all that."

Ever humble, Nate's cheeks turned rosier, and he glanced down at his drink. You watched his Adam's apple bob, the shy smile that graced his features.

To put him out of his misery, you turned to the group at large, "So, does this mean you've returned our beloved mayor back, or are you heading out again?"

Hancock's attention snapped up from MacReady so he could grin at you, "What, you missed me doll?"

"Well, you do sign my paychecks," You smiled back at him, then remembered, "Oh, yeah, speaking of, I have to go over to Diamond City tomorrow to get more of Bobrov's best, maybe I can steal Nate to help me ferry it all back."

He hummed, "What d'ya say, brother? 100 caps to keep my favorite employee safe?"

From behind the bar, Charlie gave his best impression of a grunt, "I resent that, mayor!"

"'M sorry, Charlie, you just don't have her charm."

"Or her tits," Magnolia chimed in, twirling an unlit cigarette in her fingers as she smirked at you.

You flushed, eyes flitting around, finally landing on Hancock and MacReady's empty glasses, "Refills, boys?"

"Thought you'd clocked out," MacReady said, even as he handed over his glass. "Well, I'm the club's ambassador even after hours, gotta keep the reputation up."

"You best not be giving free drinks to every sorry brother that walks in here," Hancock called after you as you stepped behind the bar.

"Mm, no," You sing-songed back, "Only my favorites."

The night passed easily. You stayed by Nate’s sidelistening to him tell tales of the people he'd been meeting, the farm he recruited for the minutemen last week. He didn't delve too far into this last mission, always the good soldier who followed orders. You spent about twenty minutes trying to guess his secret Railroad code name.

"Mmmm, buttercup."

"Not even close."

"Sugar bomb?"

The look of offense he gave you was so scathing it had you spitting out half your beer over the table, doubled over in laughter as he complained.

"It relates to my prowess as an agent, not some pre-war pet name!"

"Fine, fine, uhhhh. Striker? Shadow? Tank?"

"Honestly, these are terrible. Never open a baby naming business."

"Uhm, excuse you," You said, taking a sip of beer to try and reduce the heat in your cheeks, "I would make excellent raider names. Chainsaw, evil-eye, uhhhhh," You cast your eyes around, searching for inspiration, "Ricky."

"Ricky?" MacReady asked, eyebrows knit in confusion, "What's wrong with Ricky?"

"Dunno," You shrugged, "Doesn't he just sound like an asshole?" You put on an air, repeated 'Ricky' in an ominous voice, which got MacReady and Nate to crack up again.

Magnolia vanished up to the surface after a bit of flirting with Hancock, insisting on her beauty sleep. As was your usual, you whistled after her, calling lewd, joking comments as she walked up the steps. As was her usual, she gave you a scowl and the middle finger.

"Ehhh, I'll get her to crack one of these days," You murmured into your beer, that tipsy, never ending giddy smile stuck on your lips. You caught Hancock's eye where he sat, now alone on the couch, spread eagle with his gangly limbs. When he spotted you, he gave you a grin, cigarette in his teeth.

Suddenly you desperately wanted a smoke. You patted your own pockets, found that you'd left them at home. You cursed the you from the morning for whatever logic had made that choice, suddenly desperate for nicotine.

Your head, resting against the back of the couch, lolled to look over at Nate. Who, of course, didn't and had never smoked. Goody-two-shoes.

So, you clambered to your feet, ignoring the ache that made itself apparent, and collapsed over besides Hancock.

"Does the good mayor have some cigarettes to share?" You asked, hand on his knee, leaning in close to be heard over a playful argument MacReady and Nate had started.

Hancock's smile got wider somehow, those deep dark eyes crinkling at the corner, giving the appearance of crow's feet.

"For you? Always." He dug around in the deep pocket's of that crazy coat, pulling out a cigarette case. Instead of handing you one, though, he plucked the one from his mouth and stuck it into yours.

Brain slowed by a long shift and plenty of alcohol, it took a moment for the action to catch up with, fingers rising slowly to pluck at the cigarette. You blinked at him, but he seemed unphased, pulling out another cigarette from his case and lighting it.

You leant back in the couch as your brain caught up on his move, staring blankly at a gesturing Nate, MacReady equally engrossed, somehow having missed the interaction that now had your brain reeling. Hancock's arm was stretched out behind you, tantalizingly close, fingers almost tickling the hairs at the back of you neck. You felt the chill of goosebumps, shook off the urge to shiver.

You puffed at the cigarette instead, slowly sinking back in the couch, reverting back to the sort of talk you were used to with the mayor, "How'd you like the trip? Nice to get out of the city?"

Hancock took it in stride, as he did everything, "Oh, yeah. Makes you forget what's out there, staying too long in these walls."

You hummed your assent. You stuck to Goodneighbor because you wanted to stay alive. The furthest you'd ventured in the last year was scoping out that brewery for the Rexford. But Hancock was a ghoul, and even so was more careless with safety than anyone else you knew. Getting out of the city, with only yourself and the stars as company... it was a romantic idea.

"So, what, we're gonna become the Railroad's home base now?" You teased,

"Not exactly," Hancock replied, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, "But Nate knows his shit, and he trusts them. They're doing good, dontcha think?"

You considered this, rolling it around in your liquor soaked brain, "I guess it depends on whether you think the synths are just robots or... y'know, slaves being put through just as much pain as we are."

Hancock nodded, eyes trained on you, expression curious. For all his flirting, Hancock was easily one of the more respectable men you'd met, always willing to listen, even if he was usually a bit too out of his mind to interpret it. He was whip-smart, too, when he was sober enough to put a thought together.

"I suppose it depends on if you believe in the soul. Do you, Mayor Hancock?" Some deep-seated, long ago buried urge reared his head. You remembered being a kid, sitting in a diner with high-school friends, batting your eyelashes at a crush of yours, a coy smile on your face, trying for a sultry voice and missing it by a mile. But now you were about two hundred years older, and had a few years of experience under your back.

So when you looked at Hancock through lidded eyes, purposely hollowed your cheek as you sucked on your cigarette, the one that had been in his mouth before yours, you could appreciate his reaction. The widening of his eyes, the way the hand behind your head seemed to move just a bit closer, the minute shift of his hips as his body turned further towards you.

"I think I'm a bit too sober for those kinds of questions," He snickered. Being a Ghoul made determining age difficult, but sometimes you were sure Hancock was young, younger than you even, the way he carried himself, the carelessness of a teenager.

You smiled back, soft, put your cigarette out in an ashtray on the table, picking up your glass instead.

Hancock said your name, sultry, and that hand finally brushed your shoulder, a gentle, teasing touch.

You answered with a smile, a tilted, " John," followed by a sip from your drink, one you concentrated all your effort into drinking as normally as you could. If you let your tongue slide over your lips to catch the lingering taste, well, no one had to know.

"You know," You said, voice hushed as if you were revealing a great secret, "I feel like I don't know you well enough. You haven't been around enough since you hired me."

"I knew I left the bar in good hands," As if to prove his point, his fingers teased over your bare forearm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. "Maybe, I should- ah- give you a tour of the Old State House sometime."

The innuendo was painfully obvious, accompanied by a lecherous wink, but you felt your face flush anyway, ridiculously charmed by his brazenness.

Charlie ended up kicking the four of you out, insisting on sweeping before the sun came up. On the way up the stairs, conspicuously a few steps behind Nate and MacReady, the two of you got a bit too handsy, after you'd spent the last couple of minutes petting the velvet of his coat, hypnotized by the luxurious softness of the ancient costume, as Hancock rattled off history facts about Boston, some of which you'd half remembered from history class.

"Found the old fucker's diary in a closet on the second floor," He'd said, as your fingers traced down his arms, across his chest, barely disguised fascination. You wanted to steal his hat, tuck it onto your hair, flick it the way Hancock often did.

"That old bastard was– was kinkier than you could ever imagine," His voice stuttered as your fingers traced near his navel, studying the stitching on the waistcoats he wore.

"Oh yeah?" You snickered, loose enough with drinks to lose your impulse control chasing after whatever felt good in the moment. Mostly that had been cigarettes, but now it was the idea of kissing him, of feeling that mouth on you, anywhere.

"The mayor of Goodneighbor," You breathed, smoothing out his collar, "Keeping himself busy with five hundred year old porn."

Hancock laughed with you.

Outside, the two of you stumbled apart, leaning against the brick wall to share a cigarette, Nate and MacReady somehow still talking, even if Nate was shooting you curious glances and MacReady smirked every time your eyes passed over him.

Eventually, though, when a too loud sentence awoke a grumbling drifted who threatened to hurl a bottle at Nate, it was time to call it a night.

Nate clapped Hancock on the shoulder and kissed your cheek, which got him a punch on the arm, a bit harder than you meant to with the alcohol in your system. He took it like a champ, of course, calling out, "Have fun!" As he rounded the corner towards the Rexford.

MacReady vanished with a tip of his cap, leaving you with smoke in your mouth and the morning sun in your eyes.

"You want to take that tour now, doll?" The brush of a teasing hand over your lower back.

You thought about your dusty apartment, of waking up in a few hours to repeat the same shift for the millionth time. A cold bed, empty.

"Yeah," You breathed, hand catching on the fluttering sash around Hancock's waist, setting a firm pace and tugging him along with you like a dog on his leash. His hands found your hips before you even made it to the door, pinning you against the old wood to kiss you, deep and warm and wet. Your arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer, till you stood hip-to-hip, chest-to-chest.

Somehow, one of you got the door open, falling through the door, walking each other in an embrace towards the staircase. The kiss deepened, Hancock licked into your mouth as you bumped into the banister, struggled to keep your balance.You let him lead, pushing you backwards up the stairs, hands always gentle, ready to catch you if you tripped.

It was a drunken fumble, your shirt rucked up, trying to get all his stupid buttons unbuttoned as you staggered to the stairs, his lips suddenly attached to your neck.

His hands moved to your exposed waist as you reached the second floor, greedy hands moving over the expanse of skin. You huffed against his mouth, finding it unfair as you struggled to even get under his ridiculous fucking shirt, finally managing to sneak a hand under it, nails gently scratching against rough skin. You weren't exactly versed in Ghoul anatomy, but you'd heard enough complaining from drifters at the bar about the lack of feeling in their skin to know you'd have to push a little deeper, press a little harder. Sure enough, as Hancock lead you stumbling towards his bedroom, you pushed your hand up to his chest, pressing down into the meat of one of his shoulders, you received a deep groan against your mouth.

Then suddenly you were in the Mayor's bedroom. Clean enough, by the wasteland standards. Strewn with chems, as you'd anticipated, but the bed looked as clean as you could be.

Hancock had ended up behind you, hands sneaking around to your ass, your collar pushed to the side so he could kiss the exposed skin of your shoulder. It felt... nice. Soft. Softer than you'd anticipated from him. It sent an ache through you, not to your core, though electricity tingled, desperate for attention you hadn't provided it with in years. The ache was in your heart, extending out to your lungs, stealing your breath the way his kisses had, as he gently guided you towards the bed.

You spun around in his arms to capture his lips again, nipping at his bottom lips, hands moving to his waist, sneaking down into his waistband. The two of you danced around the room, lips locked, hands moving as clothes were unbuttoned, tossed to the side, shoes pulled off.

Then you were naked, falling onto a surprisingly plush mattress, as Hancock dropped his coat onto the back of his desk chair, pants unbuttoned and half falling off his skinny hips. He left the hat on, even as he stripped everything else off, and it made you huff a quiet, airy giggle. He grinned back at you, always happy to be happy, as he crawled on top of you, bracketing you between his legs.

His dick was the same as the rest of him, scarred and pocked, but you found you didn't mind in the slightest as your hands wandered downwards, teasingly gentle touches running over him, drawing out airy breaths and groans.

You were quick to guide him into you, pulling him down for a kiss when he entered you, sending shocks of burning pain through you, uncomfortable but manageable. Still, he noticed, unfocused eyes blinking down at you, a frown on his face.

"What's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong," You breathed, even through the tension of your muscles, "Just– uh– been a while. Gimme a moment."

He seemed unsure for a moment, looking as if he wanted to pull out, but you forced a calm through your muscles, slowly feeling him inch his way further inside, until the two of you were hip to hip. You breathed through the sting, shutting your eyes and guiding his face to your neck, happy when he got the hint and nipped at your skin. Your breath got shaky when he found a perfect spit by the junction of your neck and your shoulder, feeling his teeth sink into the flesh, soothed quickly with his tongue, with his spit-slick lips.

"Okay," You breathed eventually, one hand holding the back of his neck, the other clutching at the muscle on his back, "You can move."

"Are you–"

"Hancock," You said, voice firm. In a more sober state, his caution would touch you, but you were desperate to feel the drag of him, to feel his hips working. "I'm a big girl, it's okay. You can move."

He bent down to kiss you as he slowly pulled his hips back. With conscious effort to keep your muscles calm, your side of the kiss was a bit half hearted, but you gasped into his mouth as he pushed back in, the stretch not painful but, "So fucking perfect," You breathed, "Just like that."

Hancock was amazingly receptive, somehow cataloging every moan and twitch, and he had you pushed into the mattress within minutes, gasping and shaking beneath him. His hips drove into you at a perfect pace, his mouth moving to your tits, gentle bites at the soft skin, pulling your nipples into his mouth to flick at them with his tongue. Your whispered words of direction quickly dissolving into moans and gasps of his name.

Almost the exact second the thought of your clit popped into your head, his fingers were there, moving tight circles, pressure just the right side of too hard. You arched into him, a moan so loud it would have made you self conscious if you weren't too focused on driving him deeper, getting him closer, getting as much of his skin on you as you could.

Your orgasm approached with mounting tension in your muscled, strangled cries of more, harder, "Please, John."

You came with a strangled cry, every muscle in your body tensing and then going completely limp, gasps of air as your peak faded, replaced by a pleasant buzzing sensations. John's pace slowed as you shook, hands leaving your clit to grab at your hips, pull you towards him as he chased his own release. You were happy to let him, your hands exploring him leisurely, gripping at his biceps, his shoulders, wrapping around his neck to guide him into another kiss.

You could tell when he got close, the way his hips jerked, thrusts growing rushed and sloppy, desperate, the way his breath quickened, the way his dark eyes seemed to darken even further. At the last moment, he pulled out, wrapping his hand around his cock, haphazard pace the same as he fucked into his fist, a few more pumps and he came over your stomach. You tensed under the surprising heat of it, but relished the soft groan that escaped his mouth, head tilted back, mouth open,

He half collapsed on top of you, breathing against your mouth, only his arms holding him from falling into you. With every inhale, his expanding chest brushed against your breasts, every touch sending electric shots through you.

He collapsed beside you, still panting, one arm curling around your chest, just under your tits, pulling you into his side. "Just– give me a second, I'll get you something to clean up."

"Mmm," You breathed, relishing the heat of him, positive he was warmer than a normal person, the way it radiated off him, heating your skin at the contact points, "Don't worry about it. Deal with it in the morning." Your words were slurring, eyelids heavy.

"Mmm," Hancock agreed, tucking his face into your shoulder. He held you tight, like little kids held onto teddy bears. It was... nice. Unfamiliar to you, but, as you buried your head into the soft pillow, you supposed it was something you wouldn't mind getting used to.

You woke with a start, unfamiliar footsteps thudding above your head. It took a moment to reorient yourself, to recognize the walls you were blinking at, the hand tucked around your waist, the soft snores in your ear. Your head thudded, your mouth dry as a desert, tasting like cigarettes and whiskey. 

"Shit," You whispered, slowly extracting yourself from Hancock's warm arms, getting to your feet. Stark naked. Your pants were slung over a chair, one sock still in the pant leg, the other tossed onto a desk, surrounded by several tins of mentats and empty jet canisters.

"Fuck," You breathed, hopping around trying to get your socks on. One of your boots was on its side, halfway under the bed. Your shirt was hanging on the fucking doorknob and you tugged it on, ignoring the stale smell of sweat and alcohol that clung to it from last night’s shift.

You swept the room, but couldn't for the life of you find your underwear. The thought of leaving them somewhere was mortifying, but when Hancock shifted in the bed, you decided not to risk staying. You pulled your boots on, leaving them unlaced as you crept over the ancient floorboards. Seeing as Hancock was managing to sleep through the ruckus of the drifters on the top floor, you doubted the creak of the house would wake him, but you were still extra cautious as you cracked the bedroom doors open, just enough for you to slip through and rush down the staircase, pointedly not looking at any of the Neighborhood Watch.

Out in the semi-fresh morning air, you took a deep breath, mumbling another curse to yourself as you began a quick jog home, trying to avoid any knowing glances as you rounded a corner and shouldered the door to your apartment building open.

Shower, underwear, find Nate, get him to ask Hancock for the caps while you cowered in the background with sunglasses and a baseball cap over a dark hoodie. Fuck.

The shower was cold, obviously, and you counted your blessings for having running water at all, even if it was a bit too irradiated for comfort. You did your best to scrub fast, hands brushing through sweaty, greasy hair, soaping the necessary areas. You very pointedly did not linger on the dried, flaking cum on your stomach, exorcizing it with a washcloth and curses.

You were busy drying your hair with your dirty shirt, because whenever the water lingered too long it left an uncomfortable sheen over your hair and smelled a bit like a bog. A knock sounded at the door, sending ice through your veins, a response equivalent to the roar of a Deathclaw or the clicking of a Mirelurk.

For a moment, you contemplated crawling onto the rusty fire-escape outside your living room window and walking into downtown Boston to let some Super Mutants eat you.

Instead, though, you stepped over to the door, moments quiet as you contemplated what the fuck you were going to say. Last night was a mistake. You're my boss. I haven't had sex in two years and I'm sorry for leading you on, can I please have my panties back?

Another knock startled you out of your thoughts, fast and panicked, followed by the call of your name from a voice that definitely did not belong to Hancock.

You opened the door to a panting Nate, already back in his suit and armor, gun tossed over his shoulder.

"Nate?"

"Hey! Have fun last night?"

You flushed, even though his expression was nothing but kind; curious and happy for you, like a good friend should be.

"Uh. What's with the get up?" You deflected, which Nate took in stride.

"Distress call from the Minutemen, they asked me to head out west to Graygarden."

"The... farm run by robots?"

"Oh, that's what it is?"

"Wh- Never mind. What are you doing there?"

"Something about the water supply and Super Mutants. I'm leaving in a few minutes"

"Okay, that's fine, I'll drag someone else with me to Diamond City, no stress."

"No, I want you to come with me."

You blinked, hand tensing on the door frame, "Nate I'm not a fighter."

"Yes you are," He said, looking so genuinely confused it made your heart seize a bit, "We fought together. At Anchorage. Did you forget?"

"No, I didn't–" You swallowed. 

After returning home, witnessing massacre after massacre, you'd sworn to yourself you wouldn't get involved in that kind of shit. Even after the world ended, you'd managed to keep that promise. At night, alone in your cold bed, you could still hear the hissing of sentry bots, the creaking of power armor, the whistling of bullets. "I don't do that anymore, Nate."

Nate pulled one of his more serious faces, a rare sight for a man with seemingly endless drive and relentless optimism, even after losing more than you could imagine.

"Look. I understand what you're feeling–" You took a breath to interrupt him, because his blind patriotism had driven him forward when you'd lagged behind, weighed down by the blood on your hands. Nate pushed forward, "I know you don't believe me, but I really do. And nothing helped me heal those wounds like helping people."

"Helping robots." Your voice was flat.

"Who provide food for over a dozen settlements. You'd be doing good."

You bit your lip, casting your eyes over your apartment to avoid the earnest look in Nate's eyes. Sure, you were... content in your life. Goodneighbor was as safe as any settlement could be, you had steady income, some sort of purpose. But you remembered the day Nate had walked into the Third Rail with Nick Valentine on his heels, bleary eyed, vault suit still pristine. The way your heart had sung, the way an aching loneliness you'd felt since coming off the ice had faded.

Was this what the rest of your life would be? Slinging drinks, small talk with coworkers and bar patrons, waiting for the next time Nate would walk in through the doors like some yearning wife waiting for her husband to return from war?

Besides, you weren't going to be able from Hancock in his own fucking town, not for long.

You shut your eyes, feeling the phantom weight of a gun in your hands.

"Fuck. Fine."

The smile on Nate's face was like a kid's at Christmas.

"Great! I'll meet you at the front entrance in..." He glanced down at his pip-boy, "Thirty minutes?"

"Okay."

And he was off, leaving you standing in your doorway, blinking at nothing wondering what the fuck you'd agreed to.

Under your bed there were some loose floorboards you'd been using to store the important things. Your spare caps, your vault suit and pip-boy, your 10mm pistol and your combat shotgun. The former was familiar to you, used centuries ago in a war no one understood anymore. You'd grabbed it on your stumbling way out of the vault, and it was a good thing to or you would have gotten gored by some very territorial mole rats before even making it to a settlement. The shotgun had been stolen, in your trek to downtown Boston, taken off a raider you'd knocked out with a lead pipe. He'd clearly made some adjustments to it, with a hair trigger, less recoil than expected and a scope you'd never needed to use. You'd been meaning to sell it since you'd gotten in, but it had ended up in the floorboards where you'd simply hoped it would stay unless you were strapped for cash.

A knapsack was quickly filled with everything you needed, a change of clothes, a portable water purifier, all the food that would go to waste if you didn't take it with you. You tucked some spare caps into a hidden inside pocket, wrapping them in cloth to keep them from rattling. Your spare 10mm ammo, a few packs of cigarettes, a lighter, a flashlight.

The pistol was strapped into a thigh holster, a gun belt held your shotgun rounds. The shotgun went around your shoulder. They felt heavier than you remembered them being, their weight an oppressive reminder with every step you took out of your apartment. You'd need to let Charlie know you wouldn't be in for a while, and you'd need to stop by KL-E-0's for some spare parts. Easy enough, it was just the matter of avoiding certain tricorn-hat wearing mayors.

You kept your head down as you made your way through the street. You cut a more imposing figure with your armor, with the glint of weapons. People moved out of your way as you jogged towards the Third Rail, sliding in through the door like a mouse darting into its burrow.

You rattled like a tin can chime as you walked down the steps to the bar, announcing your approach before you could be seen, a cat with a bell. You were skittish, pausing at the last step to peek into the lounge, trying to spot a red coat, a familiar smile. Coast was clear.

"That the new uniform, then?" Charlie's voice nearly sent you flying, a squeak leaving you as the Mr. Handy suddenly appeared in view. The three eyes didn't exactly convey emotion well, but you could hear the dry amusement in his tone, maybe a hint of judgement.

"No, I uh–" You shook yourself, loosening the cotton in your brain, "Nate asked me to accompany him on a mission. Shouldn't take more than a week."

"Seven days and I'll file a missing person's report." Dry, dry, dry.

"Right," You breathed, gripping the banister like a life line, "Right. I appreciate the uh– The thought, Charlie. I'll see you around." Saliva filled your mouth, and you had a second to panic about throwing up on the floor as your stomach rolled, before the feeling faded.

Charlie didn't dignify you with a response, going right back to... whatever it was he did when the bar was closed, so you turned around, rattling right back up the stairs. First vacation in two years.

Again, you kept your head down as you walked through the alley towards Kill or Be Killed, pointedly avoiding letting your gaze slip to the Old State House, like the building itself would summon him. Something burned in your chest, not quite shame, but the next thing to it. In another life, you would've considered chewing on a baby aspirin, kept the landline in view, ready to dial 911, if you were having a heart attack. Now, though, you shrugged it off, grabbing your canteen and taking a greedy drink, washing away the cigarette taste that still lingered in your mouth.

KL-E-0 was in her usual place, piercing red eye landing on you.

"Well, don't you look dressed to kill."

You'd wondered, sometimes, if she had been especially programmed to sound so sultry, or if it was just her natural charm.

"Heading out for a while," You dug your bag of caps out of your pocket, placing it on the table as your eyes roamed over the wares available, "Think you could spare some grenades and shotgun shells?"

"Let's get you outfitted, killer."

The word left a sour taste in your mouth that had nothing to do with the cigarettes. You made it through the trade quickly, enough ammo to last you several encounters, enough grenades to get you through a couple rough spots. You left with your pockets lighter, your bandolier, pack and shoulders weighed down.

"Have fun, baby."

"Yeah, thanks, Kleo."

Nate was standing by the entrance, a respectable distance from the Neighborhood Watch, a focused frown on his face as he fiddled with his Pip-boy. He looked up when you approached, frown turning to a bright smile.

"So," you said, shouldering your gun, "Ready to head off?"

"Not quite, we're still waiting on the rest of the party. You know how he is, always fashionably late."

You didn't manage to get out your confused "Who?" Before a familiar hand was clapping Nate on the shoulder, saying, "So! Ready to get this show on the road?"

Fuck.

Notes: This is so insanely self indulgent it’s crazy, but I do hope you enjoyed at least a little <3

[sanccharine]

15:47 | mm

pairing: assassin!momo x handler!reader

summary: good speakers are good liars, too bad momo is neither. co-written by @eternallyghosting chapter summary: momo puts a man in his place

warning: use of guns sidenote: we don't know anything about guns,,,and we gave up on researching and being accurate, sorry ;-;

word count: 2.6k

a/n: as promised assassin!momo is here, also this connects to 15:34 (momo finds a gun). additionally, indigo wrote everything, i didn't do jackshit for this part, im just here to post and disappear like avatar aang

masterlist

You were seated on your recliner, taking advantage of the quiet in the house to read one of your all-time favorites, a copy of Metamorphoses you had treasured since you were a teenager, before the silence was disturbed by a beep on your phone.

As you hurried to put your book away, you frowned at your phone screen lit up with a notification from your shared calendar.

This Friday, 5-6 pm. Momo had not added anything more.

Figuring she must have woken from her nap if she was scheduling things, you called out to her.

Silence. Before you could say anything again, you were interrupted by another beep, signaling the change in the time slot from 6-7 pm.

And then another, shifting it back to 5 pm.

You sighed. What was going on?

Deciding you were done with your reading for the time being, you got up to carefully place your book back in its curated spot on your bookshelf before making your way upstairs.

You pushed open the door to your bedroom to find Momo fiddling on her phone in bed, the sheets tangled around her.

“Hey,” you leaned against the doorframe, “what’s this?”

“Hm?” she yawned.

Pointing to your own phone screen, you asked again. “What’s this Friday?”

“Oh!” Momo rubbed the sleep out of her eyes mid-sentence. “It’s for our shooting class.”

“Our what now?” Hearing Momo casually mention shooting came as a surprise to you, no matter the amount of hours you had spent in her earpiece discussing the exact same thing.

“Remember that gun we have in the back of our closet?”

How could you forget? For all its innocence and claims of self-defense, it was a thrilling reminder of what you both faced on the daily. Well, Momo did. Although you supposed sending her out there, day after day, knowing what she was getting herself into put you on the frontline as well. 

Yes, you had trained for this, and yes, you had signed the contract agreeing to be the permanent handler of Agent 64, but a hidden part of you would always put up a fight whenever a new mission file came along, wanting nothing more then to go back to when you were just Y/N and she was just Momo.

Seemingly unaware of your inner turmoil, Momo continued, “Well, I have a license, but I think you should also get some practice in. Just in case, you know?”

Just in case.

“A gun date!” You exclaimed, trying to make light of the situation. In all honesty, it had completely slipped your mind, what with unpacking and settling in as well as meeting all your neighbours who insisted on inviting you two over for meals.

She rolled her eyes. “Sure, yes, a gun date, if that makes you feel better.”

Nothing about this situation would, but you would take it. After all, it meant getting to spend more time with Momo. And despite everything you knew about her capabilities and renowned skills, you had yet to see her actually wield a weapon. This could be fun. You wondered if she would actually shoot as she had been trained to, or if she would fumble her shots on purpose. 

Her pride wouldn’t let her. You hid a smile as you thought about Momo at the range. Perhaps you would come up with something to bring out her competitive spirit. After all, you had to get your shots in too.

You nodded as you finally stepped into the room, moving closer to the bed. “So, Friday then?”

“Yep, I had emailed the closest range the very day we moved in, but they only just got back to me saying they could pencil us in for a slot.”

“Sounds good,” you hummed noncommittally, throwing yourself backward onto the bed. Momo did not seem like she would be getting out of bed anytime soon, and your sleep schedules were messy anyways. Dinner could wait.

Despite your previous reservations (and you wouldn’t say this out loud), you were actually excited to go to the range with Momo. 

It had been an easy week for the two of you; having no immediate missions meant Momo could stay around and help you organize the house. It had been weeks since you had moved in, but there was still so much to do. You and Momo had found an easy rhythm of working, wherein you would organize and dictate the layout of the house, while Momo helped build all your furniture. After all, I am good with my hands, she had smirked.

Although the session you had booked was at five, you had to leave much earlier. Curse this town and its lack of accessibility. Although, you mused, that was precisely why you had chosen to relocate here, so you couldn’t really complain. 

Momo had volunteered to drive, so you sat back and shuffled around the playlists on your phone as she pulled into the freeway with ease.

You wouldn’t say this out loud either, but you had been thinking of silly bets you could make with Momo to make the shooting session more fun.

“I’m pretty sure I’ll get like, eight bullseyes,” you began confidently.

She kept her eyes steady on the road, but you could see a smirk make its way across her face.

“Pshh, in your dreams.” Her fingers tightened imperceptibly on the steering wheel. Aha, so her competitive spirit had awoken.

“How about… ” you drifted off as if deep in thought, “loser does the dishes for two weeks?”

She shook her head. “Make it three and then it’s worthwhile.”

“How about laundry? Or gardening?” As you continued to think of new ways you could torture her with chores, she suddenly straightened in her seat.

“Loser goes out for dinner with Mr. Jones.”

You shuddered. “Ugh, I wouldn’t want to wish that on you, babe.”

Her smirk never left her face. “You seem pretty confident.”

“Oh, yeah! I told you already, how hard can it be?” You mimicked explosions again, only for Momo to swat your hand away. 

“Fine, if you’re so confident, then dinner with Mr. Jones it is,” she said resolutely.

“You’re on.”

Although Momo was a highly sought-after assassin, you were not one to back down from a challenge. Settling further into your leather seat, you spent the rest of the ride jokingly trash-talking her, thinking of gross food combinations that your elderly neighbour would probably have on his dinner table.

As Momo pulled up into the tiny parking lot attached to the gun range, you couldn't stop the restless shaking of your legs. You weren't really worried about handling a gun; despite not being in the field you were confident in your abilities and comfort with a gun. As strange as it sounds, you were nervous about seeing Momo wield one. 

Momo sensed your nerves and put a warm palm on your knee, her touch comforting. "Hey, it'll be fine. An instructor will be guiding us."

You managed a shaky smile as she continued, "and after all, it's for self defense, right?"

Right, self defense...

A strange look passed Momo as she said that, one you couldn’t decipher, though it disappeared when she nodded. 

Your instructor turned out to be a burly, unsmiling man who made no effort at conversation. You supposed that was just as well, you needed no distractions in the range. 

As he talked through the make of the gun, as well as its safety features, both you and Momo tried your hardest to act as if you were paying attention. Chancing a glance at her face, you could see her eyes trained only on the pistol in the instructor's hand. Not because she needed a reminder on how to load a bullet, but because she had already planned out an entire scenario in her head where she would have to face the opposition without having ready weapons. You could see it in the clench of her jaw, her unblinking eyes seemingly boring holes into the unsuspecting pistol.

You turned your attention back to what he was saying, only to catch the tail end of his sentence. "...and make sure you store it in a reclined postion."

Your eyes narrowed. You weren't supposed to store it that way. 

Although the instructor was in the wrong you decided to keep quiet and let him finish talking. Momo however, couldn't help herself. 

“Storing it that way increases the chances of the bullet getting stuck, potentially backfiring the weapon," she said sharply, her eyes never leaving the gun.

"Um, oh. Well…” 

"Do your research before you teach civilians how to fire guns." You winced at her harsh tone.

Although the man towered over the both of you in height, he seemed to shrink a couple inches upon Momo's rebuke, speechless at her interruption.

"Carry on," she waved a dismissive hand when he showed no signs of continuing his lecture.

"Right so um, let's move on to aiming," you tuned out again when you realised these were the extreme basics you'd learnt in your first few days at the academy. 

You let your thoughts wander to the period of your youth, undergoing grueling training in similar ranges with your friends. Only then it was a much more serious matter. You sighed. How had it already been so many years since you passed out of the system? Since you moved on and became a handler? Momo’s handler.

You came back to the present as Momo grabbed your arm, leading you to get fitted with a weapon. She seemed very in her element here, which you supposed wasn't too far off from her persona on the field. Although never having seen this in person before, you decided you liked this confident Momo.

Once you had both been fitted with guns, safety goggles, and ear plugs, your instructor led you over to an enclosed room. It was a long hallway, with narrow channels created by glass separations, and targets stuck onto the far wall. 

Momo gestured at you to make the first shot, smirking as she did so. Clearly she was enjoying this.

Despite the flutters in your stomach caused by her confident aura, you forced your eyes away from her as you steadied your hand.

Taking the all too familiar shooting stance, you took a deep breath and fired.

A clear hole could be seen on the ring marking a nine. It wasn’t bad, but you were better than this.

Momo raised an eyebrow at you. “Beginner’s luck?”

If only she knew.

You shrugged, signaling her to make the next shot. 

She took the same stance you had, the same pose holding the gun aloft, her eyes narrowed on the target the same way yours had. Then why did it look so much cooler?

The sound of a buzzer led to a temporary pause in your admiration of Momo. 

You glanced at the target. A bullseye. Of course.

Her cheekbones would surely hurt at night from all the smirking she had been doing. It seemed the smile never left her face as the two of you alternated between rounds. Your instructor, after observing you two for a few shots and coming to the fairly obvious conclusion that you wouldn’t do something stupid like shoot at the ceiling, had left you to your own devices and had wandered over to chat with the employee at the weapons station.

“Alright,” Momo clapped her hands once before extending it, “warmup’s over. Let’s begin the bet, shall we?”

“You’re on.” You solemnly shook her hand, not one to back down from the ridiculous dramatics of the bet.

As she reloaded her pistol, you stood still to take stock of the situation. You had purposefully fumbled a few shots during your warm-up so as to not make your wife suspicious, but could you really risk doing that when the stakes were having dinner with Mr. Jones?

No, you obviously could not.

You’d just have to pretend to be a fast learner. After all, Momo had first-hand observed how you took on new recipes and mastered skills after a few tries. It wouldn’t be too far off to say you were already good at target practice.

You reloaded your own gun and waited for Momo to go first this time, thinking you would continue to alternate shots as you had before. However, you were sorely mistaken.

If you thought Momo had been in her element during the warm-up, this was an all-new, evolved Momo. Her eyes never left the target as she swiftly reloaded her pistol after each shot, her hands a blur from the fast motions. She did not look to see if you were shooting, nor did she wait for you to catch up. She had ten bullets and she made ten bullseyes. The sound of the buzzer was a neverending cacophony of success.

Only after silence had once again settled in the room did she move away from the shooting platform, pushing her goggles up over her forehead.

“Pick your jaw up from the floor, babe, there might be flies around here.” She sauntered over to you, casually holding the gun loose between her slender fingers. 

Holy shit. How were you supposed to one up her now?

She must have sensed the resignation on your face, as she moved closer to pat you between your shoulder blades. 

“I’m sure dinner won’t be that bad,” she said with a teasing grin.

You rolled your eyes at her before focusing on the gun in your hand, steadying yourself once again before letting the bullets fly.

To your credit, you were really good. For someone who had not been active in the field for many years, you did not disappoint on your top-of-the-year status. However, Hirai Momo was simply better. Eight bullseyes and two 9s when you had briefly hesitated in the beginning could not compare to her perfect score. 

As you turned away from the sound of the buzzer and made your way over to her dejectedly, you were surprised to find a pair of arms encircling your shoulders. You looked up and found a gleam in her eyes. She was happy, not just from winning the bet, you realised, but because she was able to share a part of her daily life with you, even just for a few hours.

At that, the anxiety over the impending dinner plans faded away. This was what you had been wanting too. Sharing a home and a bed with her was absolutely perfect, but the joy at being able to share an aspect of her life while being civilians was more than you could have thought of. Before the embarrassment at this public display of affection could draw her away from you, you pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. 

That wasn’t good enough for Momo.

“You’re pretty good with a gun, you know,” Momo hummed out before she pressed a kiss to your lips. She pulled back just enough that your noses were still touching, her eyes wide and searching. 

“Like you said,” your voice was soft. “Beginner’s luck.”

“What if I take some food over to his house?”

“Absolutely not! You have to eat the dinner he makes.” 

The two of you bickered over the loopholes of the bet while returning your equipment, and all the way till you were back in the car.

As you fastened your seatbelt, you felt Momo gently touch your palm to get your attention.

She looked strangely nervous and didn’t fully meet your eye, “I just wanted to say, you did really well back there. Seriously.”

There was that strange emotion again. It wasn’t something you understood, but you had the urge to divert away. 

“Enough to get me out of dinner?” you asked cheekily.

She groaned. “Don’t start with this again!”

Her eyes softened as she fully turned to look at you. “I’m proud of you though.”

You mirrored her position on the seat as you smiled at her. “Self defense, am I right?”

“Yeah, self defense.”

any feedback is much appreciated.

a/n: ^shower indigo with love and praise otherwise i will fucking come for you, i am in your walls. okay, im done with threats now, have a good day/night everyone :]

taglist: @someone-who-likes-broccoli @happilychaengs

[pizzaqueen]

single / taken / pining

The third part to the one where Steve tells some flirty girls Eddie’s married

This part is around 1.3 k, the fic as a whole is 4.4k / rated T

Part one / Part two

Now also on AO3!

Cocktail sits on Steve’s passenger seat, almost seeming to taunt him. Just because you finally figured out that you want Eddie, that you really really like Eddie, it doesn’t mean Eddie feels the same, it seems to say.

Maybe Eddie’s not into guys, maybe he’s not into guys who are Steve. Maybe he’ll laugh in Steve’s face if he tries to make a move. Or worse.

Fuck. Steve’s head falls back against the headrest and he groans. He might strike out with the ladies every now and then, but at least he knows where he stands with them. The copy of Cocktail seems to agree. Jesus. He should have picked a different movie.

Then again… Eddie did say to bring it. Even if it was a joke, Steve can pretend he’s going along with it. And Eddie will groan and kick up a stink about having to watching a Tom Cruise movie, which Steve always has fun with.

A small smile creeps across his lips without him noticing; he shakes his head and gets out of the car, grabbing the tape as he goes. It’s just a movie.

He hops up the steps to the trailer and raps on the door—shave and a haircut—only waiting a moment before it swings open and Eddie is there. He looks a little flushed and his hair is damp. He’s dressed the same as always, but something is different. Or maybe Steve’s looking at him differently, now that he knows how he feels.

“Hey,” Eddie says, one hand braced on the jamb.

Steve presses his lips together. “Hey.”

Something strange hangs in the air between them and Eddie stares at him a moment, then steps aside to let Steve in with a sweep of his arm. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he says, as though Steve hasn’t been here a hundred times before.

Steve snorts. Eddie’s a strange dude. But, then, Steve really likes him, so what does that make him?

“You want a drink?”

“Sure, thanks.” Steve follows Eddie to the kitchen, saying, “I brought Cocktail,” his heart skipping a beat.

Eddie turns from the fridge to look at Steve, brows raised. “The movie?”

“No, I made us some actual cocktails and brought them in my invisible thermos.”

“No need to be a wise guy.” Eddie crosses his arms, lips pursed against a smile.

“You’re telling me not to be a wise guy?”

“Hmm… Yep. That’s what it sounds like.”

“Whatever.” Steve rolls his eyes. “I meant the movie. You said to, so…” He shifts his weight and shrugs. “And I know how much you love Tom Cruise movies.”

“Mm.” Eddie’s lips twitch. “I mean, Top Gun was okay. At least it got you in that flight suit last Halloween.” His gaze flicks down the length of Steve’s body.

A tiny spark ignites under Steve’s skin. “You liked that costume?” When Eddie gives a nod that somehow manages to be noncommittal and enthusiastic at the same time, Steve adds, “Oh, so that’s why you made fun of me for it all night?”

“Hey, you gave as good as you got. You always do.”

And, yeah, Steve did. He does. It’s fun. He shrugs one shoulder, drops his voice just a fraction when he says, “So I’m told.”

Eddie blinks, cheeks pinking, then he grins. He turns back and grabs a beer from the fridge, saying, “I bet I can do that cocktail thing,” then throws it up in the air, trying to catch it behind his back.

Miraculously, it doesn’t fall, and Eddie catches it a split second before it hits the ground.

“Not as easy as it looks, huh?” Steve says.

“Hey, that was pretty damn great for a first attempt.”

“Oh, sure.”

Eddie sighs, all faux-long-suffering, and thrusts the can of beer toward Steve.

“I don’t want that one, now,” Steve says, “it’s all shook up.”

“Oo-ooh hoo,” Eddie says, wiggling his hips like Elvis.

“Just...” Steve barely holds back his laughter. “Get me another beer, you dork.” He shoves Eddie toward the fridge, hand tingling at the contact with Eddie’s skin as it slips under the sleeve of his shirt.

Eddie grabs another beer from the fridge, handing it to Steve, then pops open the can he’d thrown around for himself. Beer fizzes up, spilling over his hand, down his wrist. Eddie licks a stripe from his forearm to his thumb, then fits his mouth over the opening of the can, and sucks.

Heat rushes Steve and his mouth goes dry. He pops his own can open and gulps down the beer, but it doesn’t really help.

“So,” Eddie says, lips shining, “movie?”

All Steve can do is nod.

Eddie takes the tape, puts it in the player, and they settle onto the couch, side by side. He fast forwards through a preview of Who Framed Roger Rabbit and a behind the scenes featurette for Heartbreak Hotel—“My Elvis impersonation was better” “Yeah, sure”—and then the screen reads ‘feature presentation’ and Eddie hits play.

As the movie starts, Steve considers how to make his move. There’s a shift between them, tonight, which Steve is pretty sure isn’t only on his side. But he still feels like he might need to play it a little more subtly, just a little while longer. Feel Eddie out before he feels Eddie up (hopefully). Jesus. Keep your head in the game, Harrington.

He’s considering a few options when, beside him, Eddie yawns. It’s a little loud, but Steve doesn’t think anything of it. At least, not until a warm weight settles behind him on the couch and Eddie’s fingers brush his shoulder. Did Eddie just…

Steve glances at Eddie’s hand, resting by his shoulder, then over to Eddie. He’s not looking at Steve in a way that’s too resolute, and his cheeks are flushed. And Steve can’t help it, he really can’t. Laughter bursts out of him, loud above the sound of the television; it startles Eddie and he jerks, starts to draw his arm away.

“What?” Eddie says.

Steve grabs Eddie’s wrist, turns to Eddie. It wraps him up in his own embrace, which is a little awkward, but he wants to keep Eddie’s arm around his shoulder, as ridiculous as this is. “Did you just pull the yawn and stretch move on me?”

“No, I—” For the first time in a long time, Eddie looks lost for words. “I mean, I yawned, and I had to stretch my arm out. It just happened to be at the same time.”

“Man, I haven’t pulled that since I was, like, sixteen,” Steve says, ignoring Eddie’s protest. God, Eddie is cute.

“I wasn’t pulling anything.” Eddie tugs his arm out of Steve’s grip, folds it over his stomach. He looks genuinely embarrassed, and, beneath the amusement and the fondness, Steve feels bad.

“Hey,” Steve says softly. He waits until Eddie looks at him to add, “You know, I heard Cocktail is a good date movie.”

Eddie’s face scrunches up. “Yeah, you literally said that to those girls earlier…” His brows raise. “Wait… Are you—”

“Yeah.” Steve rolls his eyes, but his pulse is hammering. “Were you?”

Eddie nods.

Steve smiles. “So, I guess we should…”

Eddie gives him an expectant look and Steve finally leans in, brushing their lips together. It’s not much of a kiss, not yet, but then Eddie presses forward, and Steve tilts his head, hand coming up to cradle Eddie’s jaw, and it ends up a hell of a kiss.

When they part, Eddie says, “I guess Jeff was right.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Eddie says, “I’ll tell you later,” and he kisses Steve again.

They miss the movie, but Steve doesn’t care. He’s seen it before, and, anyway, kissing Eddie is so much better.

(And there’s a bonus fourth part over on AO3)

Tagging some people who (I think) wanted to be tagged (if you didn't please ignore this)

@steve-the-hairrington @shrimply-a-menace @kokoshka67 @thegingervulcan @theystoodandplayedwithsilence @artiststarme @faery-god @justrandomfandomstm @lovelyscot @brassreign @iwouldsail @criticalbeesknees @swimmingbirdrunningrock @rhaenyyras @straight4joekeery @nonbinary-eddie-munson @homosexual-having-tea @sidekick-hero @thereindeerlady @djosephqueery @spectrum-spectre

Sorry if I missed anyone! I'm not good at this tag list thing

[scaryscarecrows]

Welcome to Camp Kill Batman

When the first batch of recruits come, it’s going to rain any minute. The skies are black, the humidity is unbearable, and the jungle is silent.

It’s no wonder the Knight’s nowhere in sight when the APC pulls into the compound.

Antoine’s the one who went to collect them. He won’t scare them, and he’s not busy; Frank, the other Good Choice, had had a breakthrough on some drone thing and had left firm instructions that unless the compound was actively going to self-destruct in two minutes, Do Not Disturb. Riley had tagged along, which maybe wasn’t a great idea, but really, Trent figures, how bad can it possibly have gone?

What he should figure, he realizes later, is how bad can it possibly go. The men pile out, already bitching about the heat. They’re professionals, though, and they get lined up fast enough despite their obvious confusion.

“These the new recruits?”

Trent doesn’t jump. He just shudders a little, that’s all. The Knight is way, way too stealthy for a guy dressed like…well…that. Antoine, who probably saw him coming, just drawls, “Yessir,” in a tone that screams, no shit these’re the new recruits.

There’s another movement, small and fast like a bug, on his left. A second later Riley’s nudging him in the ribs and going, HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT. He grunts an acknowledgement. He doesn’t have to be here, but he’s a little curious, really, as to how this is gonna go.

“I want to know what I’m working with,” the boss says suddenly. He steps back, cocks his head, and Trent has just enough time to think, oh for fuck’s sake when he continues with, “Attack me.”

There’s a beat. Two. Then one of them, with a long scar down the back of his head, asks, “All of us? Together?”

“Mm-hm.”

“But that’s–”

“What you’ll be doing in Gotham. I’m giving you all an order. Follow it, or leave.”

They follow it.

About four and half minutes later, Antoine lights a cigarette, gives Trent and Riley a very, very tired Look, and gets back in the APC.

Yeah. Mark’s probably not gonna be very happy.

* * *

Honestly, Trent chalks that one up to needing to make an impression. This whole thing sounds crazy on paper. And it worked: the second and third batches are swiftly pulled aside with, “He kicked our asses like five minutes after we got here, this guy means business.”

So when batch five rolls around, Trent’s not expecting to be called over.

“Some of you are probably thinking that this is overkill,” he says. “Ages here is going to show you why it’s not.”

What.

“Sir,” he starts, but the Knight just turns to him and spreads his hands.

“Shoot at me.”

“What.”

“Your last physical said your hearing was fine.” Little shit. “Shoot at me.”

He regrets not being busy today. Oh, well. Look, this is on camera. If this goes badly, it’s on camera that he was literally just following orders.

He hefts his minigun up. Wonders, a few seconds later, why he was worried; he gets a few rounds off, sure, but the Knight just does that annoying-ass sproing, bounces off the gun like it’s a damn diving board, and probably only doesn’t use gravity to drag Trent to the ground after because that’s not the point. The recruits are suitably awed. Trent’s just annoyed. There were a thousand ways that could have gone horribly wrong and also, what the fuck.

“You owe me a fight later,” he gripes. “No guns. No holds barred.”

The Knight just laughs.

“Sure,” he says easily. “Why the hell not.”

* * *

Twice is coincidence. The third time, when the Knight opens with some absolute bullshit line about, ‘whoever kills me gets to command–and profit from–this entire operation’, Trent just sits back to watch the fun.

He didn’t know this was going to happen. Hell, the boss just got back from Gotham. Showed up a few minutes after they did, actually, roaring into base on a bike Trent doesn’t recognize.* But he hopped off, collared one of the mechanics and told them to take it to Frank, and came over to investigate. And, well, he led with that.

“There’s no way he can take on that many guys,” one of the newbies whispers. And. It’s just, well, look. Nobody is stupid enough to accuse Trent of being a fine, upstanding gentleman.

He heads over, relishing a little in the path that gets cleared for him immediately, and rumbles, “Wanna bet?” The man blanches and he clarifies, grinning, “Twenty bucks.”

Newbie looks very much like he does not wanna bet, but he also doesn’t wanna risk losing face.

“You’re on. Twenty bucks this guy gets his ass kicked.”

“Anyone else?”

There’s a few takers that agree, there’s no way this nutcase can come out of this. Trent suddenly has a wonderful, awful idea and twists over to go, “Hey, Antoine.”

That causes a ripple of worry. Apparently, they didn’t realize they were betting with one of the Top. Oh, well. Antoine shakes a cigarette out and looks over.

“What.”

“We got a bet going over here that the boss is gonna get clobbered. Wanna pick a side?”

He shrugs, flicks his lighter open.

“Twenty that one of ‘em insists they need medical.”

Good point.

“Yeah, I’m changing mine to that, actually. All right. Anyone else?”

No.

They walk away with roughly ten new mortal enemies. Better than the one insisting that he had a broken arm; it was a sprain, and Mark was not happy to have to explain this.

Still, Trent figures, rifling through his cash, he’ll be around for newbies every time. This isn’t a bad haul.

THE END

*It’s Dick’s. Jason steals two bikes from him (that we know of), presumably for use with his own tech, though he’s also such a little fucker about it. :p

[isa-loves-you]

His Accent | Philip Graves x Fem!Reader |

| Trigger warnings: sexual situations, choaking, spanking. |

| This is dedicated to @massiww |

You were one of the new recruits for the shadow company, you were top of your special ops team and one day general sheppard asked you personally to be his company's first sergeant. You accepted graciously since you were now getting paid more but also you had a friend that was already in the company and she would talk about how hot the commander was.

It was your second week on base and you still havent met your commander due to him being on a mission since the day you arrived. Your friend Jada (sorry if your name Jada) had met  you in the shooting gallery for some mid day shooting.

“You know what I miss?” jada asked while you find a gun you want to use for your target “whats that” “I miss being able to watch doctor who, i feel like my day is taken up with so much training that when i get time to relax i automatically fall asleep, and i miss hearing David tennant's voice.”

You laughed off jadas remark and walked down to the end of the range and stood next to a man with short light brown hair but you couldn't see his face since he had it close to his gun. “So is it because a doctor who is smart makes you like him or the face?” you asked not to look at jada “I think it's the accents, I have a thing for Scottish and Irish accents' '. You and jada shot a couple of rounds before taking a break to reload “Really? I think southern accents are way hotter. "You slapped the bottom of your mag to make it sit in your gun right?Commander Graves has a southern accent right?I met him and he spoke to me with that accent. I would do unspeakable things to that man.”.

You laughed to yourself at what you did but quickly stopped once you saw jada's face that had an expression of fear. “As your commanding officer as well as your coworker I would advise you to not talk in such a way” you turned around to the man you saw in the booth next to you which turned out to be thee Philip Graves. There he stood over you with a stern look on his face but yet his eyes told an amused glare, his arms crossed and head cocked to the side god you did not regret what you said, just one look at this man and you did want to do something unspeakable to him.

“Sorry commander, I understand what I said was inappropriate and i didnt mean to say it in your presence, sir.” You wiped your smile away to show respect but your face was way hot from embarrassment. “That will be noted Sargent (L/N) please see yourself out, the mess hall should be open for lunch and all soldiers need their strength” “Yes sir”. You and Jada quickly got out of the gallery and to the mess hall.

“Wow i still can't believe you said that in front of him (y/n), you're dead” “please don't say that, i'm already shitting bricks' ' you tried to eat but your stomach wasn't allowing you to eat from the nerves. “CAN SARGENT (L/N) REPROT TO COMMANDER GRAVES OFFICE” oh fuck the nerves just got worse, you got up and looked at jada who was having a field day with your nightmare. “Have fun” jada waved you off while you dragged yourself to his office.

You stood in front of the door trying to muster up the courage you have just to knock on the door, you heard a couple of shuffles before his loud voice shouts from the other side of the door “come in ''. You opened the door to graves sitting at his desk and with no expression on his face “sit please” you didn't even try to go against him considering your life lies in his hands. “The reason why i called you in here is because of what you said in the gallery, now i would have just waved it off but i want to know, Did you mean it?”

You sat in shock trying to figure out why he was asking you this and if you did really mean it ”yes i did and again i'm sorry sir”. Graves let out a small short laugh “good i was hoping you did” graves stood up and walked in front of his desk facing you with his hand behind his back. 

“I have seen your file and I am very surprised by your record, and the whole time I was reading it I was wondering how much fun it would be seeing a strong woman like yourself cry from the amount of pleasure I want to give you”. You looked up at your commander shocked at what you were hearing but yet you were aroused. 

“Why wonder when you can see for yourself” you played back to his vulgaris flirting, graves let out a chuckle while shaking his head “honey don't play around if you don't want to be serious because i am” “I have never been so serious in my life sir” you stood up and stepped forward to his figure. Graves looked down at you trying to figure out your next move, you set  your hand on his chest and the other down his pants cupping his member over his boxers “Please commander. Fuck me.”

Graves smashed his lips down on to yours while letting his hands roam free around your body touching any and all parts of your body as you slipped your hand into his boxers and started stroking his cock. Graves lets out a low moan on your lips as you stroke faster, he part from your lips and looks at you with a hungry look in his eyes “get on the desk now”.

You sit on top of his desk waiting for him to do something, graves take a seat on his chair and proceed to take off the bottom half of your uniform. You feel the cold air hit your cunt and you shiver from the sudden cool, graves start to give your inner thighs a small kiss and bites. “Scoot closer” he wraps his arms around your legs to push you towards him more, as soon as your close enough graves eminently start attacking your slit with his warm wet tongue.

You let out loud moans not caring who can hear you, you gripped graves hair as he starts to go faster with his tongue “Close-Im close”.after you said that he started to go faster as he put his hands to the back of your knees to push your legs up higher, after a few more seconds of him eating you out you come on his face while your legs shook.

As you caught your breath, Graves stood up and unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants. Get on your knees and thank me for letting you cum. You followed his orders and got off his desk to get on the floor, you took his cock in your hands while wetting your lips for you to take him in. Graves couldn't help himself so he slid a hand behind your head and shoved his dick into your mouth and moved your head up and down his shaft. You let him use your throat anyway he wants while you put your hand behind his thigh to rock his hips with his pace, his movements got slower which meant he was close. You moved your head up and down faster while letting out lewd noises, Graves threw his head back while letting out a groan, you dug your nails into his thighs before he shoves your head on his cock one more time as he shoots his warm cum down your throat.

You swallowed his load before standing back up to look for your pants. “Woah their darlin we ain't done yet, get back on that desk”‘ graves said with his thick accent that got you into this beautiful mess. You took off your shirt before sitting on the desk “lay on your side” you did what he said and laid on your side. Graves gripped your thing and spread it so that he could see your pussy. He ran a finger down your slit before sticking in two fingers and putting them in and out.

He started to curl his finger at your g-spot while you gasped for air from the amount of pleasure he promised to give you. Your second orgasm rolled around as his fingers went faster when you clenched harder around his digits. He didn't give you a minute to catch your breath before he shoved himself into your heart, you moaned loud from his size and him not letting you take a minute to get used to his size.

“Aw come on darlin you can take it for me” he slapped your ass as he slammed himself in and out of you. Sounds of skin slapping and your moans filled the room with sound, graves snuck his hand over your body so he could clasp his hand around your neck. “Baby please i'm closer keep  clenching” you held a hand around the writer he was using to choke you to signal him to go faster. His trust got faster and more animalistic until the knot in your stomach started to bundle up with each thrust.

“Graves please” you plead for him to let you cum “im almost there sugar cum, cum on me”. You didn't wait a second longer to coat his cock with your cum, two more thrust and you felt his cum shoot inside your messy cunt as you were riding your high.

Five minutes passed before graves took himself out of you, you still laid on his desk as he got himself dressed again. “Here let me help you with these '' he offered a hand to get you off the desk and to put your clothes back on “thank you”. You got dressed but your legs felt like jelly and that you were going to fall any minute “I'm sorry but I have a meeting to attend but I don't want you to go like this especially in this state” you shared a laugh. “ It's okay, I'm sure I can get back to my corners.” You try to walk past him but his hands catch yours “No I want you to stay, I don't do this with just a random person I want to get to know you”. 

Just him saying that made you feel like you were going to cum again. “Please just stay, you can rest on the couch while i'm gone, i shouldn't be long, just 10 minutes or less' ' he guided you to take a seat on a dark medium size leather couch that was in his office. “When i cum back we can get something to eat and maybe talk a little” “that sounds like a plan” you smiled up at his excited face. He looks like a dog that was offered a car ride.

“Great just lay down and here” he grabbed the gray blazer that was on the back of his chair and draped it over you. He gave you a peck on the cheek before leaving the room trying to act intimidating for others while you drifted off to sleep on his couch with the scent of him and sex lingering in the room.

[ggren-mainz]

Umineko - question arcs playthrough -> ep 2 - 1

last part - All parts and episodes - next part

Welcome back after an almost 2-week break, it's time for the next chapter ;P. Also i decided I'll introduce my gf and family to umineko via the stageplay, as i have heard that it's pretty good. Only up to ep 3 (soon 4) now, but anyways.

edit 2 days later as this sat in drafts : Watched it with my sis (my mom deemed it too tiring) and she loved it. Her favorite is George (both the character and the actor ;P), and she had some very interesting theories, one of them being that genji is kinzo's child, which damn. Age-wise i don't think it works but at least she's thinking. Also the outro was very confusing but i think it might've revealed some stuff. I'm not sure, but I'll keep it in mind. Anyways amazing watch.

She also did the tierlist and it's so funny

Anyways

I want to start this by saying that the culprit actually showed to me in a dream. That's right, i had a premonition. Basically the dream was me and some friends running in a destroyed world from Shannon with a gun. So what I'm getting to is that I now solved the mystery, and will now just laugh for the following 7 chapters. Ha ha ha.

(pls if shannon actually has any relation with the culprit/is the culprit, do not tell me or make any jokes/imply it. I am simply fooling around because of this quite funny dream i had)

rocking that victorian newspaper boy inspired fit.

and the hippie look. Perfect case of underdressed x overdressed. Also Tomitake Flash?????

this reads like some insane foreshadowing. Or at least it's definitely related to our little characters as well. You could say that they're like fish from the perspective of the witches. anyways, I'll put s mental pin to this line and perhaps rethink it later.

glad to see she's included in the credits now.

Anyways what's with this aquarium date?? When is it happening? Basically George and Shannon are on a date, and are just having fun, being very cute.

can't really figure out if this line should mean more or not. Cause like it's not that weird, but also it could turn into something more sinister later. I'll see.

And they say romance is dead.

Oh also another thing we (me and my sis) noticed yesterday while watching the play, but George is 23 and Shannon is 16.... raises one eyebrow. Ok george...ok...

....what magic? Hey shannon i think George will understand it very well why not explain it to us?

OOooohhh so this happens before the first game time wise. ok ok makes sense.

woah woah woah this is a bit of a change of atmosphere.

so from how much i'm getting this is Shannon talking about breaking free from her fate as 'furniture'. She is on the shrine's rock (the one that was destroyed at the beginning of ch 1) and wants to break some mirror that was offered as a sacrifice. I wonder, does that mean that because she broke this mirror, the shrine broke down and as such somehow started this entire tragedy?

is the key here metaphorical, or could it be referring to the key in the ephitath?

what promise? what wish? so many questions....question arc moment....

We then have a long scene of George and his family visiting the main house, and Shannon realising her crush on him, and some discussions between the George Jessica and her. These 2 are very cute, unfortunately it seems that Eva wants to marry George with someone who would benefit them financially/bussiness wise.

and as such it leads me to the question. Did she marry like this? Was her marriage with Hideyoshi like this oooorrr....

(before this she says that she loves her husband a lot), ah i see. I mean it's not like this doesn't happen nowadays too, except instead of getting married and then falling in love it's more like getting together and then falling in love. Which is fine, but idk if in this world this is ideal, as i doubt divorce is that accepted lol. And also ofc cause we know George loves Sayo.

anyways Eva continues talking and then takes George away and then tells the girls they'll also find men they love but then leans in and whispers something so vile and malicious in Shannon's ear, that my computer crashed and i had to restart the game lmao.

after a lot of ctrl-ing this is what she says. Bad but i think my computer overexaggerated.

So Shannon feels like shit and is caught with her head in the clouds by Natsuhi who punishes her to clean the entire reception.

mayhaps i shouldn't have wondered so far lmao. (for context i was curious if Lanon was an actual character or was just gonna remain a name and then i kept seeing yasu and here i am lol)

this is what detroit become human and what i also assume nier automata (idk i only played the prologue) wished they could be.

huuuuuh??? So again this brings me back to my question, does magic actually exist? i think so. But maybe Shannon is imagining this and all those flashy bunny rabbits I see online are Kinzo's personal strippers, idk.

Holly shit guys, look! it's the witch!!

Also is this story very related to love? I didn't expect that, interesting. Maybe it's just this chapter or a sub-genre but idk ill see. Also she already has the ring on.

hmm is it really that simple? You know how they say, don't make a deal with the devil, this is how this feels.

Huh i can't believe all my questions have been answered. So this is why she broke the mirror, this is the wish and also the promise and also the magic. Makes sense.

Also wait i just had a thought. Does Shannon break the mirror each loop, or did by any chance Kanon break it last time. Because you remember he said before he died that she should wait "another 100 years in hell for the next summoner" and assuming this summons the witch...

*shakes* who is it????

hmmm this sounds...suspiciously similar to Eva. Is she saying this because she wants to intimidate her and convince her to break the mirror or is Eva somehow behind this?

and this is just the exact quote. Why is she quoting her? Just to remind her? And if she doesn't just wanna remind her and she just thinks this then why call Kinzo Father? Is she related to him? Me and my sis have talked about the possibility of her being somehow related to Kinzo, like a daughter thingy. I'm not sure, and i definitely don't have enough clues to figure it out rn but anyways. Kinda hard to fake all of this tbh.

Immediatly after this line Kanon comes in to save Shannon, and after some more talking Beatrice gives both of them a butterfly shaped burn/bruise mark on their left palms. She does that by controlling their hands, which immediately remembered me of the ending scene in the stageplay, where Shannon and Kanon "shoot" each other with their hands in the shape of a pistol. who knows. I obviously dont.

these things are getting longer and longer...

next part

[lavender-lotion]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

How many works do you have on ao3?

868, which is bonkers???

What's your total ao3 word count?

2,445,126 words! I'm aiming for 5mil within the next decade haha

What fandoms do you write for?

CURRENTLY I am (only) writing teen wolf fic! it's so strange to be back where I started, but it's also been really nice coming back to all these familiar characters

Top five fics by kudos:

1. (baby) maybe that matters more - Steter, 40k

2. The Perceptions of You and I - Seter, 5k

3. With You, I Belong - Stalion, 59k

4. Mates and Marriage Proposals - Steter, 15k

5. Breathing You In - Steter, 29k

... should I just call myself a steter writer at this point?

Do you respond to comments?

yes!! all the time. literally nothing brings me as much joy as comments do

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I reaaaaally don't write a lot of angst, but one of the unhappiest fics I've ever written is probably this one?

And Now? - Stetopher, 300 words

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

there actually isn't one fic I would say that fits this? I primarily write schmoop, so a lot of my fic would count as having very happy endings! p

Do you get hate on fics?

oooooooh yeah babes. I've gotten some mean comments lol

Do you write smut?

yes! not a favourite thing of mine, but I do write it here and there. I recently wrote a fic w/ smut that I really really liked it!

keep me warm in the cradle of your skin - Sterekira, 7k

Craziest crossover:

ooooh this is actually SUCH an easy answer for me! it's 100% this one teen wolf/x-men cross over (possibly my only one?) where Logan (wolverine) knew the sheriff from the way when they'd been lovers and he goes to find him, and stiles is a lil jean grey esque character. I think about this thing allllll the time, too. I freaking love it.

what-ifs (don’t fuckin’ matter to no one) - Logan (X-Men)/Sheriff Stilinski, 2k

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I have actually! I only know of one for sure, and it was a stackson fic that someone had reposted to ao3? im so glad I found it (I think someone sent it to me?) and I was able to report it and get it taken down!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes! I love it, it's such a crazy labour of love. if you wanna translate my work, just send me a link so I can see it!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

me & @flightinflame co-wrote an almando series where we wrote the same fic from different pov's which was a suuuuuper super fun experience! I've started a few other co-writes, but unfortunately they've never taken off and gone anywhere :(

there's nothing i wouldn't do to make you feel my love - Almando, 27k

All time favourite ship?

nope. nope nope nope I don't knowwwwwww

What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

oh!! this is marked completed on ao3 now because honestly, I'm never going to finish it, but I love love love the premise of this one and I always wished I had finished it

Love Thy Family - Stilinskicest, 12k

What are your writing strengths?

this is soooo tricky lol I hate talking about myself. I would say probably dialogue! I also really like how I write romance, specifically getting together works, and I think I do a good job at nailing down the feelings that go along with them!

What are your writing weaknesses?

settings. actions. plot. I hate plot!

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

I used to use a looooot more than I do now, and I would use google translate. it's never GREAT, so I mostly avoid it now. I'll translate like, a single sentence every now and again, but I don't do a lot with it anymore.

as for how I feel about it as a reader - as long as I can figure out what's going on from context clues, I really don't mind it!

First fandom you wrote in?

Percy Jackson & the Olympians!

To Long For Lust - Percico, 3k

Favorite fic you've written?

this is sooooo hard and so unfair and so difficultimpossiblehorrible to answer. if I had to pick one, gun to my head, it would currently be poly fic. it's the longest, plotiest, most developed thing I've ever written, and if nothing else, it's shown me that I can write things I've never imagined being able to write! once im done act 4, I wanna print it out lol

lift our faces, together, towards the glistening - Stisaackson, 159k

@lucky-bishop @mirrorthoughts @thotpuppy @like-lazarus @rosieposiepuddingnpie @kordyceps @whimsicalmeerkat

[expectiations]

Dear Tia,

I am scared of pressuring you, but it is rather difficult to keep track of whether anonymous asks have been answered already. And I saw you answering asks and just wanted to check in whether you have gotten around to my ao3 asks yet. So that if you have, I can go scavenge for them :)

I hope you are having a good day <3

(And don't listen to the River haters; I pity them, it is so much better to love her)

ao3-anon

OH SHIT I AM SO SORRY. I genuinely thought you're the same participant. Or maybe it's two? Idrk 🥹 but anyways here are my answers. And I'm assuming (🥹) that these previous asks came from the same person? So I'm grouping them into this ask too.

– one

When I wrote that DNW, I was in a messy headspace (heh) so I just wanted lighthearted fluff stuff. However, it's also okay for me to have a few angsty moments while keeping the overall fic lighthearted in feels.

Playful DoctorRiver banter? Sure! They're fine for me.

I'm a bit partial to River but if the situation fits for Mels, go ahead! Same goes for using another regeneration of the Doctor.

– two

I am glad to say that I've been doing my best to sleep before 12 am 🫶🏻✨ (except last night. that was a fluke. and totally @croxxbunx's fault 🙄)

Aw thank you! I totally missed writing fanfics 🥹

I am proud to say I'm quite good at drumming up endless prompts. I'm just rubbish at moving it from prompt-level to fic-level lol

– three

I didn't include it since the questions have been answered but thank you for the hug!! 🫂

–

On another note, I just remembered how I came up with that prompt in the first place. I found it amusing to put the Paternoster Gang in a situation where they have to deal with DoctorRiver shenanigans but in a sort of loop. Cause I have this headcanon that the Gang are sort of like parental figures to River. And also provide marriage counseling on the side. And the fun Strax and young!River, who's still quite attached to her guns, would have together!

I mean we all know how the TARDIS totally adores her Water, right? So she makes River a room full of weapons and she and Strax have such a fun time there. Totally for the glory of the Sontaran Empire of course.

Like just imagine young!River, new to Luna U, struggling to be more 'human' than 'weapon'. Fighting the urge to punch/shoot first, ask second. Here comes along the Gang, who shows her how to find her balance, who comforts her and assures her it's okay to hold a weapon while also holding her back from going on a rampage at the slightest grievance.

Strax also had a nursing stint, yes? He nurses River's wounds (you really should be more careful, boy. you are not a strong and mighty Sontaran.) and teaches her how to take care of different kinds of wounds and how to fight for the glory of the Sontaran Empire. I can just hear baby River's giggle and see her bright eyes taking in everything Strax teaches her.

Jenny and Madame Vastra. Feminominons of the Victorian Era. Also River's badass mothers who try to teach her empathy and etiquette, how to give as good as she gets. I like to imagine them dropping in on River and making sure she's eating well, helping her study. (They also totally had nothing to do with the disappearance of the Professor who tried to claim her essay as their own. Absolutely not.)

[dumbfinntales]

I'm finally done with Stellar Blade. It says I played it for about 25 hours, but honestly felt much longer. There's a lot of side content in this game. But it was a pretty fun experience and a great test for my reflexes. Maybe a bit too great. I dunno if my reflexes are getting worse, but damn this game was difficult. More below, with some spoilers!

Stellar Blade is a somewhat linear action game with slight RPG mechanics. The game is obviously inspired by Nier Automata and you can see it from the themes, the sexy protagonist and the music style. Honestly even though it was aping Nier I still enjoyed the music a lot. Especially in the first area and in the Plaza, something about the music felt atmospheric and otherworldly. I say the game is somewhat linear, because there are small open world segments where you can explore freely for cosmetics, sidequests and loot.

The combat was definitely the best part of the game. It combines a fast paced action game and something like a dark souls game to create an interesting hybrid. The game relies a lot on the parry, but the dodge as well. You can also unlock a lot of cool combat abilities and some of the later challenges really got me to use everything in my arsenal. The parry timing though was brutal. Even with an upgrade and an item that improves parry timing I still miss the parry, and what's annoying is that if you mess up one parry you get stunlocked with rest of the combo and that never felt nice.

The parrying honestly felt a lot more difficult than even Lies of P. There were a ton of moments when I felt like I should have reacted in time, but it wasn't enough. My jaw would drop on the floor and I'd utter out: "What do you mean that reaction wasn't fast enough?!" honestly I might just be getting old. I'm nearly 30 now after all.

The side content was nice, but I wasn't a big fan of it. By the Great Desert I was getting tired of the boring side quests and uninteresting locations. Some side quests were fun enough, like the one with Enya or the girl over at sisters junk. But most of it was like go see me friend, oh no friend is dead, fight monsters, report back death. Or go to a location and find an object. It doesn't help that the two open world areas look so similar. Wasteland and the Great Desert are pretty much the same. The Desert is just a big boring area that I got sick of real quick. The more linear story related areas were much better. I liked the Levoire areas where you're forced to use your gun only for combat, a fun change of pace.

But if there's one thing this game absolutely excels at it is the boss fights. They feel hectic, visceral and so good. Plus they're pretty difficult. Especially towards the end there are so many super difficult fights back to back. The final boss that I got in my story was so tough that it'd two to three shot me, and once more that parry timing was tough. Raven also nearly made me lose my sanity, her ridiculous combo chains would fuck you up if you'd miss even one parry. But the bosses feel and look great and offer a great challenge. Seriously the monster designs in this game are rad!

As for the story it was interesting, but I figured out the big "twist" right away. It was so damn obvious from the get go, but it was fun to watch play out. It was made obvious that you weren't a biological human, but some kind of a robot hybrid from the start, so I knew the Naytibas were the real humans. They kinda reveal that early on in the story and all the main characters just go "NUH UH! We can't know if this is real anyway haha, lets kill humanity :-) ". The only thing that caught me by surprise was Orcal being an alpha Naytiba who mended their ways. Interesting that some Naytiba can become more human and not become beasts.

So overall it was a damn tough, but fun experience. These developers are extremely talented. I don't see myself playing this game again any time soon, but maybe one day. Honestly I kinda wish this game didn't have as much "fluff" side content and was more of a linear action game. Or at least some areas that aren't just desert. We know earth is fucked, but the first linear level is set in an abandoned city so we know not everything is desolate.

[essayofthoughts]

Same for you: 12, 19, 23 owo

12. the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

Ripley.

Like. If we're going for the villain pick, Ripley. I don't think you should think she's a good person - she's not - or that she's nice a woobie or something. She's fucking awful! But she's also awful in a really human, engaging way and I find her so fun to poke. I think a lot of people kind of forget the pure banality of evil, the way these people can have really simple, dull motivations - Ripley wants power and knowledge and she doesn't care how she gets it. Everyone is just a tool or a stepping stone in the goal of that.

And she's canonically a foil to Percy, so that makes her REALLY USEFUL in analysing him - and him in analysing her! - so for all of those people who like a bit of dark!Percy like... Ripley! She is right there!

And she's such a bitch. She refuses to swear despite being someone who tortures people, she's clever enough to replicate guns from second and third hand reports, she's always looking to her own advantage - and she's just. Awful! She's exactly the kind of person who looked at the structural inequality of the Dwendalian Empire and decided to do the amoral shit others got away with because of wealth and when she got arrested for it assumed it was purely because of class differences and not because she's just the Worst.

And the thing is these days there's so much moralising! Oh the villain must be woobified, oh they never did anything wrong at all ever (MCU Loki, Kylo Ren, even the Betrayer Gods in CR!) and frankly fuck that.

Ripley did do shit wrong and that's why I find her engaging. She wilfully tortured people despite it being useless for information gathering! She made guns and spread them around purely to fuck with Percy! She's an awful human being and sometimes it's really fun to look at that in the distance. Over there. Way over there. Down the barrel of a sniper rifle.

Yeah.

If we're doing non-villain, minor-character fic... it's Desmond, it's fucking Desmond, I know he's not really "Unpopular" so much as "ignored" but I don't care! I will fight you all on this hill, that Desmond Otham is so revealing as to Percy's own perception of his own guilt and failure to his family ("I want you to spend the rest of your life making up for the things you allowed to happen" says Percy and WHAT THINGS Percival! This lad is a carriageboy! He's about the same age you were when the massacre happened! What the fuck do you expect him to blame himself for!? Now you blaming yourself on the other hand...)

Plus I just think he's neat! I think he's a great example of someone with a lasting consequence from Percy's reckless actions - one of those people Percy mentions who may not see them as heroes for reasons that are completely justified. And if he is the courier or returns to Whitestone and takes up another job - he's got that reminder the rest of his life. Even away from Vox Machina, he has his maimed hand.

I think he's really cool, fuck everyone who disagrees.

19. you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

N/A, I think? There's nothing I like that I'm mad, ashamed or horrified over that I can think of. I like the things I like and I know why I do so I've largely resolved any conflicts I'd have of that kind. I've definitely figured some things out writing fic that kinda annoy me (i.e. I can write smut pretty easily when there's trauma and mental fuckery involved but not like... on it's own) but that's fanfic more than dealing with fandom as a whole or the canon itself.

So uh. N/A!

23. ship you've unwillingly come around to

Again, I think N/A? I don't generally ship things, not to like... shipwar, this is my OTP or else kind of deal. I think that kind of thing is actually really unhealthy and often hoping for that ship can cause people to disconnect from the canon itself in order to back up their warped reading of the text, plus it just sets people up for disappointment! I'm a big believer in creating ships purely for the "I guess this could be neat!" kind of thing, and I don't generally get into it more than that.

Perc'ahlia is the exception, but that wasn't unwilling. They gave me too many fantastic squishy feelings and thinky thoughts, I didn't even hesitate.

🔥 choose violence ask game 🔥

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

Ghost Story - Chapter 5

Pairing: Rooster x Female OC

Word Count: 1625

Warnings: Implied sex, mild swearing

Summary: No one will miss a ghost. It'd been a running joke for as long as anyone could remember, something Ghost herself started, and she always said it with a smile on her face or with mirth in her voice. The untouchable stealth pilot in every sense of the word, no one could've predicted the depth of her turmoil over recent events, nor the extremes she would go to in order to protect the man she loved, not even those closest to her. Now, all that was left of the young aviator for Maverick, Hangman, and Rooster were the memories of the past, which would slowly fade with time. She'd come into their lives and made an unforgettable impression, and then, like a ghost, she was gone... Then again, ghosts can't die a second time.

Notes: The chapters/parts in italics are flashbacks. Also, I know I used Melissa Benoist as Juliette in India Lima Yankee but I really love her as an actress okay...

Chapter Songs: Love Me Like You Do Wildest Dreams Snow On The Beach

***

Ghost

The color drained from Maverick's face at the mention of 'Charlotte Blackwood,' and his eyes grazed over the young aviator's face. It didn't make Ghost uncomfortable, but it made her curious as to how the captain knew her mom. She wracked her brain for an answer, but none came. Meanwhile, Maverick remarked almost wistfully, "Now I know why you looked so familiar."

"You knew Charlie from Top Gun, right?" Rooster queried, his brows crinkling together.

"You sound like you know her too," Maverick pointed out.

"I got to know her. She and Admiral Winchester looked out for me during and after my time at the Academy once Ghost and I became friends. I know she knew Mom and Dad during Top Gun and that she met me when I was little, so I'm figuring that's where you met her."

Maverick rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. We dated for a while. Started during Top Gun and went on for a few months, then crashed and burned. It wasn't pretty. I haven't seen or spoken to Charlie since then."

"Oh!" Ghost exclaimed, a revelation dawning on her. "You're the student she had the affair with! I remember her telling me about you, although she never told me your name."

"She told you about that?"

"Yes, but she didn't go into a lot of detail."

"Yeah, she probably wouldn't like you hanging out with me."

Ghost shrugged, offering a sly smile. "Then I won't tell her. What she doesn't know won't kill her. Now I at least know why she didn't like me idolizing you. You're her ex."

"One of many reasons, probably."

"Unwarranted reasons, most likely."

"Maybe."

Ghost looked up at Rooster. "I should probably head home, get out of y'all's hair. Are you okay giving me a ride, or should I call an Uber?"

Rooster shook his head. "You're not taking an Uber. I'm happy to drive you home."

"Thank you so much for inviting me over, Maverick. I really enjoyed it," Ghost said, standing up.

"You're welcome over any time. We'll see you on Saturday for Penny's birthday?"

"Wouldn't miss it!" Bidding Maverick good night, Ghost followed Rooster to his Bronco, their shoulders brushing against each other, causing a tingling sensation to ripple throughout her body. She wanted to spend more time with him because intuition told her this new girl in his life would change their relationship. Rooster had never been one to keep secrets from her, so the fact he refused to tell her about this new girl spoke volumes. 

As Rooster opened the car door for her, he asked, "Do you want to hang out at my place for a bit? Maybe have a few drinks and watch a movie?"

Ghost's heart skipped a beat. Drinking alone with him was a terrible idea, but she'd missed him more than words could say. Surely they could avoid a third drunken one-night stand? One or two drinks couldn't hurt...

"Sure, that sounds fun," Ghost replied, sliding into the passenger seat. Rooster joined her on the driver's side, and without a word but a smile on his face, he headed toward his apartment. When they arrived, Rooster told her to choose the movie while he selected the drinks. Ghost picked a rom-com. Seating herself on the couch, she waited for Rooster to return. He did so a couple of minutes later with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

"What are we watching?" he asked, sitting beside her.

"The Proposal. You know I'm a sucker for Ryan Reynolds," Ghost said, watching him pour whiskey into the glasses.

"Aren't we all," he joked, handing over her drink and settling in next to her with his own. They fell into a comfortable silence for a little while to enjoy the movie, but it appeared Rooster couldn't handle the silence or didn't want to because he said about twenty minutes into the film, "Want to play a game?"

"I'm assuming it's a drinking game?" Ghost replied, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"What else?" Rooster shifted so his body faced hers. Taking out his phone, he pulled up a list and said, "Name a number between one and a hundred-fifty."

Ghost mulled it over before settling on, "Thirteen."

"Oh, we're starting out easy, I see. Who do you currently have a crush on?"

"The answer to that is-" Ghost took a swig of her drink. 

"Then that means it's someone I know," Rooster mused, squinting suspiciously at her. "Don't tell me you're still in love with Hangman?"

"I don't think that was part of the question," Ghost retorted, snatching Rooster's phone out of his hand and hoping he didn't prod further. He couldn't find out he was her crush, not when he had a date with one of her friends tomorrow. "Your turn."

"Uh, 109."

Ghost snorted into her drink. "We both know the answer to this one: have you ever had a one-night stand?"

"Yes, I have. Give me another one. That was a question we both knew the answer to. Give me... 149."

"Ooh, this is a good one: have you done it while thinking of someone else?" Rooster flushed and took a large gulp of his drink, causing Ghost to grin and say, "You realize that gives me the answer, right?"

"Yeah, but you don't know who I was with or who I was thinking of."

"Care to share?"

"No, nice try, though." Rooster patted her leg affectionately and then took his phone. Ghost gave him a number, and for the next hour and a half, they asked questions, trying not to drink and get drunk but failing as the questions became more personal. Every time they leaned forward to fill their glass with more whiskey, they'd shift slightly closer to the other until Ghost practically sat on top of him, her legs bent over his lap. His giant hand rested on her calf, his thumb mindlessly rubbing up and down and sending her mind racing toward thoughts she told herself she wouldn't bring up. Perhaps these were her cue to get an Uber and head home.

"What's on your mind?" Rooster asked, his chocolate eyes boring into hers.

Ghost rested her head on the back of the couch, trying to play nonchalant despite the anxiety and desire coursing through her veins. "How I should probably stop drinking and head home to get some sleep."

"You can crash here if you want. You can take my bed; I can take the couch."

"No, that's okay."

"What? Don't trust me?" Rooster joked, finishing his drink and setting the empty glass on the coffee table. When he leaned back against the couch, he had noticeably shifted closer to Ghost, something she hadn't thought possible. Their faces now resided mere inches from each other, and Ghost couldn't help her eyes from periodically dropping to Rooster's lips, nor could she miss his eyes continuously glancing down at her lips. 

"Rooster, I should go before we do something we shouldn't," Ghost whispered. Her brain told her body to move, but her body stubbornly stayed put on the couch next to the gorgeous aviator staring at her like she was the most beautiful person in the world. 

"Like we did last time we were drunk?" Rooster pointed out.

"Yes. You're going on a date with a friend of mine tomorrow. We can't-"

"It doesn't count if you don't know who it is and if the date hasn't happened." Rooster reached up and cupped her cheek. "I could cancel the date and-"

Yes, please, so I don't feel guilty for wanting what I do! It's what Ghost wanted to say, but what came out instead was, "No, don't be that guy. You need to go through with it. If you're keeping their identity a secret from everyone, that means you see something in this person that you haven't seen in your other dates."

"How can you be so logical when you're drunk?"

Ghost shrugged. "Because I'm a truthful drunk. And just because I'm thinking and saying logical things doesn't mean I want to follow through with said things. In fact, I'd like to do quite the opposite."

Rooster's thumb trailed up and down her cheek. "Like what?"

Ghost hesitated, then lifted her whiskey glass and sipped the remaining liquid. "I'd rather not answer that."

"You realize that gave me the answer, right?" Rooster countered, echoing her earlier words. He smiled softly at her. "One kiss. One kiss before I can't do it again."

"We said that last time and the time before that. We both know it never ends with just one."

"I know..."

Ghost should've gotten up. She should've said goodnight, grabbed an Uber and headed to her apartment. However, the small yet convincing voice in her head told her Rooster made a point. How could her friend get mad at her if something did happen between Ghost and Rooster if he wasn't seeing the friend yet? This mistake would probably bite her in the ass later, but she didn't care. She'd deal with it then. Slowly, Ghost leaned forward, pressing her lips gently to Rooster's. Immediately, she melted into the kiss. He tasted of whiskey and forbidden pleasure, and his mustache tickling her upper lip reminded her how much she enjoyed the feel of it on her skin.

Ghost wasn't sure who pushed it farther, but she soon found herself enveloped in Rooster's muscular arms and straddling his waist, unable to determine where she ended and he began, and she couldn't care less, too much in heaven with the sinfulness of the kiss. In the back of her mind, she knew two things were certain: there would be more than one kiss, and she wouldn't be leaving tonight.

***

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