#frenchie writes stuff

[frenchiefitzhere]

Hello! If you would be interested (if not no pressure) “nightfall” from the micro fic list with either Avior/Starlight or Milo/Sweetheart?

Love you!

~Star(litAngels)🌟

"Early to Bed, Early to Rise" 🌞🌞🌞

Milo had always been a morning person. 

“Blame it on my Ma always banging pots and pans in the kitchen at 6 a.m. every day,” he said as he bent down to lace up his shoes at the side of the bed.

His mate groaned and flung an arm out toward him. Milo picked up their hand and kissed it. “I’ll be back in a bit, Sweetheart. Just a short run.”

“Why do you have to wake up so EARLY!?”

He popped up and began to stretch, one leg up on the hope chest at the end of the bed. “It’s just how I like to start my day. You could come with me sometime you know?” At that, the shifter took a pillow to the face.  “Or not,” he laughed.

Milo bent down over his frowning mate and kissed them goodbye. “Love you. I’ll see you later.”

🌜🌜🌜

“I have an idea.” Sweetheart drew one finger delicately down the line of Milo’s jaw, which was grinding and clenching as he angled his elbow trying to round the corner in the video game he was playing.

“What?!” he groused back.

Sweetheart took the same finger and poked him in the side. “I think,” they approached his ear, placing their lips millimeters away and whispering, “we should go for a walk.”

“You’re funny, Sweetheart.” He didn’t look away from the TV screen. “It’s almost midnight. We’re already in our PJs.” He yawned. “I’m tired.”

They kept their voice low. Hushed. Close. “Well, not everyone’s a morning person. But you know? Usually around now, I get a little…restless. Want to do something about it?”

He still hadn’t looked away from the TV. With one exception—the winter solstice—Milo had a tendency to get grumpy in the evening, so it took a lot to draw his attention away from a quiet, relaxing activity. Except that there were some sounds he was especially attuned to. When he heard the rustling of clothing being removed and looked to his left, there was no one there.

“Sweetheart?”

A whoosh. The sliding door opened. 

Milo shifted. His wolves’ ears heard the quiet padding of stocking feet making their way out to the backyard.

He stepped through the door. At nightfall, their little lawn had a blue glow under the moonlight.

He heard giggling halfway to the stream that ran behind their new house. Milo bounded forward.

He was on the hunt.

I may still have been in the same mode I was in when I wrote this:

[biihanka]

Someone already pointed this out but NO ONEEE being close to Izzy when he died except Ed was disgusting???

You mean to tell ME that Fang would not be there to hold Izzy's hand too??

Or that Jim would not be freaking out trying to stop the wound from bleeding after seeing Izzy be shot for a SECOND time????

Or that Frenchie would not be bawling his eyes out because he finally got to be more friendly and intimate with Izzy???

Anyways, I've seen this film before and

[izzy-b-hands]

I've written five fics in a day

Oh I am In The Soup mentally, aren't I

[frenchy-and-the-sea]

FFXIV - Cutting Corners

Still on my slow posting schedule kick! This one again features @colonelcupquake‘s Wickit as the famed Warrior of Light, and @urdnotgrunt‘s Onion as Tritchet’s fellow troublemaker. <3

~700 words

-----

Worse than trying to make it through the Moonfire Faire's signature obstacle course was trying to make it through as the Warrior of Light. 

By all rights, it shouldn't have been a problem. Wickit’s title was more well-known than her face by the common adventurer, and her stature meant that she was easily overlooked in a crowd. Unfortunately, she had been a Limsan pride long before she was the savior of Eorzea, which meant that it had taken only one familiar face to start a whisper chain that had grown into a frantic, cheering crowd gathered at the course’s start, all watching as the famed slayer of primals balanced precariously on a span of wood barely wide enough for her foot. 

She was long regretting her decision to bypass the newest addition to the course, which actually provided a walkway large enough to run on, and whose only obstacle seemed to be the periodic appearance of explosives designed to knock participants away. She could have managed that, she thought. No one would call Wickit Pock the most graceful person in the world, but she could tough through an ill-timed explosion and keep her feet better than most anyone else. She could’ve run a sloppy course, but she would have finished it.

Not so with her current endeavor.

The wooden platforms jutting from the tower’s base had already begun their rapid dissolve into something more spoke-like, more suited for a carriage wheel than something an adult would reasonably put their weight on. Wickit had already nearly lost her footing on the last two, and had taken to tucking down closer to her knees in order to keep her admittedly awful balance in check. She could see the next four — the last four — looming above her, slanting into a dangerous thinness in the fading half-light of the sun. 

Somewhere behind her, she heard a shout, and another cheer began to pick up. She swore quietly under her breath.

“I’m just going to wear a helmet next time,” she muttered as sized up her next jump, feeling mildly ill. “Full helm, and a mask to boot. I’ll say my name is Tritchet —”

“Well, don’t do that. I’ve got a record to keep.”

The voice came from the finish platform overhead, familiar in a way that nearly made Wickit’s heart stop. She snatched a support strut on the tower beside her before her shuddering heartbeat could tip her over the side and turned, carefully, to steal a look over one shoulder. Sitting with both feet kicked out over the ledge overhead, draped in her pink-and-royal-purple summer finery, was her sister, elbows propped against her knees so that she could smirk down at Wickit properly. Onion stood over her other shoulder, and leaned out across the edge of the platform to wave. 

For a long moment, Wickit just stared at them both, jaw working in a vain attempt to find all of the words that she needed for no, and why, and when did you get here.

“How?” she finally settled on, feeling the already dizzying world go slightly dizzier around her. Tritchet shrugged.

“We showed up a few minutes ago. Thought we’d take the course with the famed Warrior of Light. The judges said it was fine.”

“No,” Wickit hissed, “I mean how did you get up there already? I never saw you pass!”

“You went a different way,” said Onion, shrugging. “I took the new route. Wedge was the mastermind behind explosives, you know. They’ve got a safety override if you smack them in just the right place. I guess the Faire decided to keep that in the design.”

“And I jumped,” Tritchet said, nodding to the ground beneath the tower with a grin that said it had been a single, dragon-fueled leap rather than the regular sort. Wickit just stared up at both of them, appalled. 

“That’s cheating,” she said at last. “All of that is cheating! You can’t just break the course or….or skip half of it! Especially with an audience!”

She gestured with her free hand back towards the crowd, which were still whooping very faintly in the distance. Onion shrugged.

“I still ran the gauntlet,” she pointed out.

“And I did exactly what the course asked me to do,” said Tritchet primly, folding her arms over her chest. “I just did it better than everyone else. Besides, it’s not as if anyone here is racing for a prize or something. It’s all just for bragging rights anyway. And personally?” She grinned. “I intend to do a lot of bragging.”

[aurorawritestoescape]

IN HIS ARMS || QZ!Joel Miller x f!reader || 5,2k

Summary: You meet a smuggler in the QZ and can't resist your attraction to him.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, a bit of fluff, unspecified age gap, Fedra soldier!reader, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampie, mirror sex, degradation, rough sex, praise kink, size kink, reader really loves Joel’s arms (who doesn’t), manhandling, alcohol consumption, use of a morning after pill, mention of guns, mention of canon-typical violence. Reader has hair. Joel can pick her up. Pics are only for the mood, reader has no other specific physical descriptions.

A/n: this is written for PPCU Body Worship writing challenge, created by talented, sweet and beautiful @joelmillerisapunk 💖 I got ‘Arms’ and immediately thought of meaty, beefy QZ Joel. Smooches to my lovely beta @milla-frenchy 😘 Dividers by @saradika-graphics 💕 Love y’all! Hope you will like the story!❤️

MASTERLIST

“Let’s go.”

“Sure you need me there? It’s your deal, Ronnie. And you know you’re armed, right? Why do I always have to hold your hand?” you complain, while your eyes are scanning the crowd at a public hanging for any sign of disturbance. It’s not your favorite task but Fedra sends enough soldiers here to keep things under control so it usually goes smoothly. That’s probably why your friend Ronnie arranged a deal right in the middle of your shift.

“I’m nervous, ok,” he admits, glancing at you, “The dude’s fucking scary. Never worked with him before. But I’ve heard stuff. You’re just gonna stand there, that’s all. Don’t need to talk.”

You’ve known Ronnie since you were teens in a Fedra camp. Now both officers, you are still inseparable, though at this moment you’d prefer to be as far away from him as you could because in case you two get caught, you both will be a spectacle of the next hanging. Ronnie’s pleading eyes always work on you and the little weasel knows it well so you curse and follow him to the place of the meetup.

As soon as you see the smuggler, standing in a secluded spot far away from the prying eye, your heart starts beating faster. And not because he scares you. Yes, he’s huge and looks very unfriendly, thanks to his furrowed brows and the closed off stance which actually happens to be the culprit of your unexpected reaction. His pose accentuates the beauty of his arms as he’s crossing them in front of his chest. It’s a threatening sight, same as his gaze, but like a moth to a flame, you’re pulled to the man immediately. All thoughts in your head are replaced with only one - he’s fucking hot.

Ronnie slowly comes up to the man, feigning confidence.

“Who the fuck is this?” the smuggler asks, nodding at you with his chin.

“Just a friend. Don’t worry, Joel.”

“I ain’t the one to worry here, kid,” he gruffs, uncrossing his arms as his fists clench in a threatening gesture and you can sense the waves of panic, coming from your friend. “I prefer to do these things one on one. Don’t need an audience. Ya got me?”

“Yeah, ‘k. Next time I’ll be alone.”

“Hope so.”

Joel looks you up and down and you suddenly feel too hot. Standing a step further from him than Ronnie and not saying anything, you’re ogling the man with hungry eyes. Joel seems to relax and the men finally exchange the goods— pills for your friend and ration cards for the smuggler. They’re talking about the product, scheduling the next deal, and you should be on the lookout, should be attentive to the surroundings, like you always are, but your mind, as well as other parts, is fully focused on the stranger.

Joel’s hairy forearms are thick and strong and every little move makes his muscles flex and bulge out of his rolled up sleeves of the denim shirt. His shoulders are broad and the fabric, containing them, is strained to the limit. You’ve never been a biter in bed but suddenly you want to sink your teeth into his arms, lick them all over, glide your hands over the vast expense of his skin, grab them and feel them tighten around your body, encompassing you fully, while his cock stretches…

“Hey!” Ronnie exclaims, interrupting your horny daydreams, pulling on your sleeve and you blink at him, trying to shake away the visions of the man, doing filthy things to you.

“Let’s go!” he says for what appears not the first time, and you smile awkwardly, noticing Joel’s smirk. His arms are crossed again, but now he’s looking at you with a twinkle of curiosity in his piercing eyes, his heavy gaze lightened up.

You take a step away, following your friend, but Joel stops you.

“Sweetheart, wait!”

The pet name hits you right in the pussy and you pause and turn back, confused by why he’s calling you.

“C’mere,” the man motions for you to return to him with a shake of his head, his bear hands shoved in the jeans pockets.

“We’re in a hurry, man,” Ronnie frowns, thinking he’s coming to your rescue, but you turn to him and say,

“It’s ok. Wait for me over there.”

You have no idea what Joel wants from you, but you’re eager to find out. Not hiding his anxiety, your friend takes a few steps away from you and stands at the gate, glancing in your direction from time to time while his hand is resting on his gun.

“Yes? Joel, right?” You ask, coming up to the smuggler and using every last drop of your will not to leer at his mighty arms again.

“Yeah. What’s your name?”

You reply with a little smile and see a smirk tug at his plush lips when he asks, “Like what you see?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been starin' at me like at a piece of meat. No use denyin' it."

You avert your eyes, chewing on your lip. You probably should be embarrassed to be caught ogling the man, but life in this miserable world taught you to take what you want whenever you can. Especially if it's being handed to you.

"I'm not." You look back at Joel with defiance in your gaze. "I think you're hot."

Joel’s chest expands when he takes a deep breath, the shirt’s buttons hanging for dear life. His piercing eyes turn a shade darker as he asks,

"Wanna do somethin' about it?"

Your heart rate increases and the warmth of arousal between your thighs makes you shift on your feet.

"What are you suggesting?"

"Come over to my place tonight. Around 8. Ask your friend for the address. He knows."

You don't reply for a few seconds, making it seem like you're thinking about your answer, although your pussy has been aching since the moment you saw the smuggler so there's no way you're going to reject his invitation.

"'K", you reply, feigning nonchalance, while excitement is twisting your stomach.

“What?! Are you out of your mind? You're gonna see him?” Ronnie hisses at you, as you two are walking back to the square. “He’s dangerous! Do you realize that? He’s huge! Have you seen his arms?”

“Oh, I’ve seen his arms alright,” you reply with a dreamy smile, sensing butterflies in your belly.

“Fuck, you’re so stupid when you’re horny. If I find you tomorrow dead in a ditch, I’ll tell your lifeless face ‘I told you so!’”

“Jesus, man,” You giggle, playfully punching Ronnie’s shoulder. “I’ll be ok. I promise.”

The night can’t come soon enough. Still wearing your uniform, you rush to meet the man who's been occupying your mind all day. When Joel opens the door to you, you swallow loudly seeing him in the same denim shirt and dark blue jeans. You’ve been dreaming of his huge arms around your body, so your panties are completely soaked, and having had no time to change after your shift, you hope to slide them off as fast as possible.

“Hi,” you greet the man, stepping into his apartment.

“Howdy.”Joel closes the door and stands next to you, while his gaze is sliding up and down your body. You look around the apartment, getting a whiff of his scent— sweat with a subtle trace of whiskey.

“Are you from Texas originally?” You ask, glancing up at him, slightly intoxicated by his closeness.

“Yeah. Want a drink?”

He walks to the living area and you follow before leaving your guns at the door.

“What do you have?”

“Whiskey, vodka…water.”

“Vodka’s fine,” you reply, stepping up to a worn out couch and sitting down.

“Oh, are you a vodka girl?”

“I’m a ‘whatever burns’ girl, but vodka works faster on me,” you smile and Joel smirks, crossing his arms again. You swallow loudly, seeing his sexy tan forearms in the golden light of the setting sun. Fuck, you wanna touch them.

“Why d’ya need it to work fast? Doesn’t seem like you need any liquid courage.”

“Really?”

Joel goes to the kitchen and in a few seconds returns with a half empty Smirnoff bottle and two shot glasses. He plops next to you on the couch with a grunt and pours out the alcohol.

You drink yours in one go and Joel follows. The vodka burns and calms you down a little. Joel clears his throat before he speaks,

“This morning your friend was shaking like a leaf. And you… You were practically undressing me with your eyes, sweetheart.”

You smile and drop your gaze down to your lap.

“Well, Ronnie is a nervous guy and I’m …”

“A needy little slut?”

You shoot your eyes up at him and see a smug smile, tugging at his lips, as he awaits your reaction. You should probably feel offended or angry, but instead your core burns brighter at his degrading comment and your pussy flutters, as if proving him right.

He reads your reaction immediately.

“Oh you like that, huh?”

“What?”

“When I call you a slut.”

“I don’t mind,” you mumble while your mind is shutting down with every dirty word he throws at you.

“Yeah, you looked like a thirsty whore this morning. And I see that nothing’s changed.”

You’re barely breathing at this point, as waves of arousal ripple through your body, making you squirm in your seat.

“I…I just really like your arms.” Your gaze shamelessly slides over his body, so big and powerful.

“My arms?” Joel’s brows shoot up and he turns his head to look at his arm, resting on the back of the couch, as if trying to understand your attraction.

“Yeah,” you nod slowly, ogling the muscles straining his sleeve.

“Wanna touch ‘em, baby?”

“Yes, please”.

“So polite. Wanna call you a good girl but we already know that you prefer ‘a slut’.”

Joel chuckles and narrows his eyes, watching you for a few seconds, while you’re melting under his lustful gaze, sinking in the sticky pit of desire. Through the fog in your head you hear his voice, low but still powerful.

“How about we skip the pleasantries then and get to the thing you came for.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m gonna fuck you. And let you touch my arms.”

Your breath hitches and your body tingles all over. You can’t agree fast enough.

“Yeah, ok.”

“Do you always say ‘yes’ to everything, little slut?” he smirks, playing with you like a cat with a mouse.

You try to come up with a witty response but your mind is clouded with lust so you just shake your head with probably the dumbest look ever.

“Can I use your bathroom?” You mumble and when he points you in its direction, swiftly walk there.

You close the door in the little room and check your face in the mirror. It’s the same as every day except for your glossy eyes. You rinse your face, trying to come to your senses, look a little less horny but it’s all in vain. The desire overtook your body completely so you dry yourself and leave the room.

When you return to Joel, you find him on the couch in the same spot and in the same position. Only now he’s completely naked.

A shiver goes down your spine from a new surge of arousal, tightening your core.

You barely hear him, your mind is fully occupied by the image of this gorgeous, huge man, waiting to fuck you. Everything about him makes your pussy beat with the rhythm of your heart - his soft belly, his long, girthy, slightly curved semi hard cock, resting on his thick thigh, his broad hairy chest and muscular arms. Seeing them without the confines of the clothes completely shuts off your brain and you take a step towards him, mesmerized by his muscles, wishing to feel them already.

“Take your clothes off, baby.”

You hardly hear him, taking in every inch of his body.

“Girl! Undress. Fuckin’ hell,” Joel groans and you shake your head, waking up from a horny trance, and start discarding your clothes hastily, piece by piece while his dark gaze is set on you. You should be more graceful and seductive taking them off, but your aching pussy makes your movements rushed and determined. When you’re completely naked, except for your panties, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of the last piece of clothing, but Joel stops you.

He gets up and walks to you, his big cock in his veiny hand.

“Wanna do it myself,” he mumbles and stands next to you, at your side, so close that you feel his warm breath on your cheek and breasts, his naked chest brushing against your shoulder, his manhood poking your thigh.

“Pretty little thing,” he whispers, taking in your body, while his hand slides down your back, leaving chills in its wake. You raise your big eyes at him, your lips parted. “Pity you get so dumb though,” he chuckles and lightly squeezes your asscheek. His hand stays there while the other one cups your breast and grazes your nipple with his calloused thumb, making it stiff. You moan and he groans.

Joel’s palm on your ass moves lower, and reaches your pussy, covered by the wet panties. He slips his finger between your asscheeks and rubs your drippping hole over the gusset. You softly whimper and he plants a light kiss on your cheek, stroking your folds over the fabric.

“She’s been crying for me all day, huh?” he mumbles, placing his large warm hand on your belly, the other one still caressing your cunt. “Pussy so needy she shut down your whole little brain. Yeah, baby?”

All you can do is nod, your senses fully focused on the way his thick fingers are rubbing your aching cunt over the underwear.

“She must be cold, sweetheart, being in a pair of wet panties all day like that?” He coos at you.

“Yeah”, you reply, barely breathing, already feeling your orgasm build because of his light touches. “Didn’t have time to change. I have a sexy pair at home.”

Joel breathes out a chuckle, “I bet you do, little slut. Would love to see ‘em too one day.”

The only response you can give is a mewl.

He steps in front of you, his hand leaving your pussy, and you whine. Joel tsks at you and pinches your chin with his fingers to lift your face to his.

“Oh, my pretty bimbo, already cock drunk,” he laughs, locking eyes with you.

Joel’s so huge, you should probably be scared, but all you feel is a pathetic need to be completely destroyed by him.

“Lights are on but…fuck, you’re gone,” he mocks you, looking into your hazy blown out eyes.

“Listen to me,” he commands, as his fingers slightly shake your head, getting your attention. “How do you want it? Gentle or rough, sweetheart?”

“Rough,” you croak back without any hesitation.

“Good. Then do what I say and we gonna have a great time, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good little slut.”

Your breaths are short and fast as you’re blinking, starting at him like a mindless fuck doll. Suddenly, you gasp when he grabs the back of your thighs with his massive hands and lifts you, throwing your legs around his waist. You grab onto his broad shoulders and he carries you away from the couch and to the bedroom.

He drops you on the bed, old and stiff, but you don’t care. You have no time or ability to think about anything, because as soon as you’re on your back, Joel pins you to the lumpy mattress with his heavy torso and kisses you. He’s not asking for a kiss, he’s taking it but you willingly open your mouth, welcoming his hot tongue. A happy moan escapes your mouth, when you finally glide your palms over his huge arms. He slides your panties off and cups your pussy with his huge warm palm.

“Messy whore,” he mumbles against your mouth.

Joel’s assertive, passionate and as horny as you are, and you smile against his lips, enjoying his desire for you.

He begins peppering kisses along your jaw, your neck, leaving hickeys on his way to your breasts.

You whimper when his mouth finds your nipple and gasp when he nips at it. He licks the pain away and starts sucking on it while his hands are roaming your heated body.

You grab onto his shoulders and shift your hips under his arm. Joel’s slurping and growling, caressing your breast with his lips and tongue, but you crave more so you start grinding your wet pulsating pussy against his arm. Your movements immediately send you to the precipice of your climax. His muscles flex as you rub your clit against them, smearing your slick over his tan skin, and Joel parts from your tit for a few seconds to watch you use his arm to get yourself off.

“Look at this sloppy little pussy. Gonna need a shower after this. Or…,” he smirks and gets back to suckling your other breast.

Each motion of his muscles is helping you to come as you’re dragging your pussy up and down his heavy limb. Soon you throw your head back, dipping it into the pillow when a hard climax hits you and your cunt contracts around nothing, as euphoria is coursing through your veins, taking away the last of your clear thinking.

“That’s it— take it, slut— come for me — jus’ like that,” Joel mumbles against your trembling chest but you hardly hear him, so deep in the ocean of desire, all sounds around you are muffled.

The next thing you feel is his hands grabbing your shoulders and lifting you. Joel makes you sit up and wraps his heavy hand around the back of your neck.

“Look what you’ve done, messy girl.”

He nods at his arm, glistening with your cum and slick and then growls, “Lick it clean.”

With a hazy smile you sit on your heels, getting comfortable. Then you take his arm between your hands and reach for it. Your tongue slides over his hot wet skin and you flutter your eyes shut, reveling in the sensations of his firm muscles under your tongue and the earthy taste of your juices.

“Attagirl,” Joel praises you and slightly squeezes the back of your neck to make you move your head lower and lap up all the mess you’ve left on his skin.

When you finish, Joel lifts your head and sees you staring at his throbbing cock with empty but hungry eyes. It’s leaking precum generously and you almost drool looking at it. You should probably be nervous to take his huge length but all you feel is feral lust.

Placing his palm under your jaw, Joel tilts your head up and searches for your eyes.

“Damn, lookin’ so dumb right now. Lucky you remember how to breathe, little whore.”

He laughs at you and grabs your face, as his fingers dig into your cheeks, making your lips pout.

You whine and he pulls you into his chest. You hug him as if afraid to float away and he gives you a few moments of rest while you are panting, snuggling into his embrace after the shuddering orgasm.

Then he lifts your chin and locks eyes with you. Your breath hitches as you’re struck by his handsome face, which leans down and he kisses you again, gently and slowly, wrapping you tighter in his embrace. Then he asks,

“Why do you like my arms so much?”

You blink a few times, trying really hard to understand the question, drunk on his taste and the way he’s holding you, but when the meaning finally reaches your brain, you stumble over your words.

“I… they… jus’ so big. And … fuck, very hot.”

You feel his broad chest shake with a quiet laugh. “Ready for my cock, baby?” You nod your head with a soft mewl.

“Wanna watch my arms when I’m railing you?”

“Yeah, yes, please.”

Joel hums and gets up before manhandling you off the bed and leading you to a wardrobe. He’s holding you under your arms, noticing that your weak legs are barely able to move, still tingling after your orgasm. He places you like a fuck doll in front the wardrobe door with a mirror and stands behind you. He’s so big and broad that you can see his shoulders and arms perfectly in the reflection. Your gaze glides over your own naked body, and you notice a path of hickeys along your neck and breasts and your core ignites again at the sight of his passion. Then you look at Joel, his eyes are obsidian, the expression is carnal and hungry, and you moan, feeling his cock slap your lower back.

His gaze drops down before he pushes your legs aside with his knee, his thick fingers dig into your hips and he pulls your ass, making you stick it out. Trying to steady yourself, you brace your hands on the mirror in front of you, but he grumbles,

“Not the mirror, stupid. You’ll break it, cut yourself.”

You swiftly move your hands further apart onto the wooden surface.

“Sexy but so dumb,” he mumbles as his eyes return to your ass and his cock. You watch his face, serious and concentrated, and sense his tip prod your sopping hole.

“Fuck,” he curses and pushes his cock deeper, slightly bending his knees to insert it into your tight pussy easier.

You push your ass out more for him, already whimpering like a whore, as you feel your walls slowly part to accommodate his stiff cock. It stings but you welcome the sensation of his manhood spreading your pussy until he bottoms out and you both moan at the sensation.

“Ahh— she feels amazing, baby,” he grunts and you smile dumbly at his reflection in the mirror.

“Such a sloppy cunt,” he murmurs, starting to plunge his length in and out of you with a fast rhythm, “oh, yeah — yeah — yeah—.”

His fat cock is massaging your walls deliciously, kissing your cervix with every deep thrust and you mewl with pleasure and scratch the wooden surface of the wardrobe with your nails.

“Naughty kitten. Tess will kill you if you leave marks on her furniture,” Joel chuckles through heavy panting, squeezing your hips and watching your cunt swallow his glistening cock.

“Who’s Tess?” You ask, not really giving a fuck and he doesn’t reply.

Instead he grants you your biggest wish - he pulls you flush to his chest and wraps his arms around your torso from behind. Your hands immediately fly to grab onto his strong limbs. Joel’s right arm is under your breasts, slightly pushing them up. The other one is keeping you in place, pressed to your chest, between your tits, his giant hand on your throat. His thick fingers curl around your neck but he doesn’t squeeze it, just holds you close against his broad torso.

The sensation and the vision of his powerful muscular arms bonding you to him like that, make your pussy contract and Joel growls in your ear, his breath hot and wet,

“Squeezing me already? Fuck, you’re easy.”

You whine and Joel nibbles on your ear lobe and rasps,

“Hold tight, baby, it’s gonna be a wild ride.”

As soon as the words reach your ear, he begins rolling his hips and dragging his cock in and out of your tight pussy, hard and fast.

You grab onto his bulging muscles better, and as he’s increasing the pace, you’re scratching him with your nails, leaving white marks on his golden skin and whimpering.

“Yeah, take it, dumb little whore. Gonna fuck the last of your brain out of your pretty head.”

Your breasts bounce while he’s fucking you and you bite your puffy lips, trying to muffle your moans, but Joel commands against yout ear,

“Want you to be loud, baby. C’mon. Let them all hear how good im fuckin’ ya.”

You would do anything he told you this moment so your lips part and you let your pleasured noises out, as they mix with the sound of skin rhythmically slapping against skin and his animalistic groans.

Reveling in the sensation of Joel, pounding your crying cunt, you let your hands wander all over his forearms and shoulders, squeezing and scratching them slightly, wishing to memorize the feeling of their strength under your hungry touch. Your vision is shaking with every mighty thrust of his hips but you’re watching the reflection of you two closely, drowning in the image of this tall broad man using you like a mindless fuck doll, caging you in his powerful arms and tears well up in your eyes at how amazing it feels. Your mind and body are focused on this pleasure, suffering and worries of the reality are gone and the drops of pure happiness spill and fall on his arms.

Joel notices you crying and stops fucking you, swiftly pulling out and turning you around.

“What is it, baby? Did I hurt ya?”

His dark eyes, a second ago filled with carnal desire now worried and concerned, dart all over your face and body, searching for the reason of your tears.

You grab onto him and shake your head,

“No, no, i’m fine — feels so good - you feel so good, Joel.”

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he breathes out, pulling you into his bear hug and rubbing your back with his warm hands.

“Please keep fucking me,” you mumble against his hairy chest and he barks a laugh before throwing you back on the bed, making you squeal with excitement.

Joel lies down and manhandles you to straddle him.

“Sit on my cock, little slut,” he commands, eyes darting between yours, reading your reaction.

“Yes, yes,” you mumble, wrapping your hand around his hot hard cock and lifting your hips, hovering over it. You don’t make him wait and immediately sink down on his weeping manhood, as your mouth falls open and your head tilts back.

Joel’s hands are holding your hips when you start riding him, and then snake up to your breasts to knead them, pinch and twist your pebbled nipples.

You run your fingers over his forearms from the elbows to his wrists and grab his hand, intertwining your fingers. Not pausing your lustful dance on his cock, you gently kiss his palm, his hand, then your lips glide down, leaving open mouth kisses over his wrist, the underside of his forearm and his elbow, darting your tongue out and tasting his salty skin. You lean forward, your nipples brushing his chest, and kiss his biceps, using your tongue, and Joel moans, watching you practically make out with his arm.

“Fuck, you’re hot, baby,” he groans while you’re lapping at his skin with your eyes shut. You’re softly whimpering at the sensation of his body, big and strong under you, his cock caressing your walls, making your pussy flutter around it, pushing you closer and closer to your second climax.

“Shit,” Joel curses, pulls your head off his arm and kisses you, while hugging your torso with his python-like grip. He’s holding you tight and you whine, not being able to move your hips and chase your orgasm. Sensing your impatience, Joel plants his feet on the bed and begins jackhammering his fat cock into your slicked up pussy, giving it to you rough and fast, not sparing your little hole.

You’re moaning against his scruffy cheek, your body shaking with his feral thrusts but Joel’s iron hold is keeping you in place.

“Usin’ you like a fuck doll you’re, yeah? Brainless little slut. Made just to make my cock happy. Perfect for me.”

His filthy words, leaving his mouth through gritted teeth, are barely audible because of the loud slapping of his body against yours and the squeaking of the old bed.

“Joellll…,” you moan, and after a few more thrusts explode on his thumping cock, caged by his strong arms, sobbing with heavenly pleasure flooding every inch of your body.

“Hnggg—shit—can I come inside?” You hear a gruff roar in your ear and with Joel fucking your brains out right this moment, you breathe out, “yeah, oh, yeah.” You crave to be full of him, drip him for days after, getting turned on just from the memory of him. As soon as you agree, Joel starts spurting his hot cum into your pulsating cunt, filling you up, emptying his balls into you.

You’re lying still, nuzzling his neck and taking everything he’s giving you, milking his cock to the last drop with your contracting walls.

Gradually intense ecstasy morphs into a pleasant satisfaction and you both bask in the afterglow of your orgasms. You feel almost high on endorphins, not used to such an amount of happiness in your veins, in your life.

Joel softens his embrace but still holds you, letting you rest and you almost doze off, lulled by his warm chest rocking you up and down like a giant wave.

“Don’t sleep yet, ya need to take a pill,” he gently shakes you, sleep heavy in his own voice.

“Oh, yeah…fuck, you came inside,” you murmur, blinking at him, as your mind fog slowly clears up.

“I have a Plan B, don’t worry.”

He moves you off him and lays you down on the bed, then gets up, making the bed squeak.

You can’t move your limbs even if you tried to so you’re lying there, feeling his warmth between your legs, kisses of the afterglow all over your heated skin and smile lazily when he returns to the bed with a glass of water.

“Look at you, as cock dumb as they get, huh?”

He plops down next to you and hands you the pill.

You sit up with a tired smile, swallow the pill and chase it with a few sips of water.

“Good girl,” Joel takes the glass from you and shakes his head when you murmur that you need to go.

“No way. Sleep here. They'll hang your ass if they catch you out and about at this hour.”

You turn your head to the window, just noticing that it’s completely dark outside, only the street lamps illuminate the room with a yellow light.

“Aww, you care about me, Joel? Don’t fall in love,” you giggle but your heart flutters as you look up at the man, so handsome and huge, looming over you.

“I’ll try,” he deadpans and shakes his hand, motioning you to scooch.

You shift to the other side of the bed and he lies down on his back with a grunt. You’re still sitting up, shamelessly admiring his naked body.

“Quit starin’,” he mumbles with eyes closed and pulls you down onto his chest.

You’re lying on his shoulder for a few moments and then whisper,

“Can you big spoon me?”

“Jesus…,” he sighs but turns on his side, scooping you in his embrace and you smile, closing your eyes as your hands gravitate to his arms, heavy and secure around you. You press your back into his warm chest and fall into a deep and peaceful sleep.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!💖🌸

Masterlist

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If you'd like to be tagged in my future fics, let me know!💕

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Being Their Younger Sibling And Part Of The Boys

Requested: Hi! Cliche preference I am sorry, but how would each of The Boys act if R their younger sibling who helps out with the boys is like this really sweet and genuinely nice person to all? Would they be protective, or annoyed, just an idea! Love your work! - anon

A/N: Not cliche at all my love! I absolutely adore this idea! I will 10000% be writing more about being Homelanders sibling!! Thank youuuu I hope you like it!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜

Butcher wants nothing to do with you. When you're old enough, years after Lenny's death, you escape home and track down Billy. You had nothing. Billy took you in under the guise that it would be temporary and it wouldn't meddle with his work. Bit by bit you learned from M.M. and Frenchie about Becca and Ryan and Vought. You make it known you want to help. Billy forbids you and threatens The Boys: if they even so much as look at you, he'll kill them. Stubbornness runs in the family, though. You worm your way in whether he likes it or not. It's not that didn't miss you or think about you, he just can't bear the thought of you getting hurt. Or killed. Especially at the hands of Vought. It's become a habit for everyone to call him Butcher and you Little Butcher so as not to get confused. Now that there's two of you to keep track of, everyone's a little more annoyed and a lot less forgiving for poor behavior.

Hughie worries about you so much. This life has taken everything from him, he can't imagine why you'd want to join. Still, he knows he can't stop you. You were always coming to his defense as kids, sticking up for him against bullies. You were his backbone for a lot of your childhood. When you want something you go for it. He can't help but lecture you, even over the smallest stuff. After your father passes and your mother finds her way into your lives, he's extra protective. Especially after Tek Knights party, he doesn't let you out of his sight. He's not glad it happened, but he sure is grateful it was him and not you. You've been stabbed and hurt and nearly killed. He jokes that it's taken years off hid life, but there's some truth to it. You're all he's got. He can't lose you. He can't let this life kill you.

Annie stopped talking to your mother a long time ago, but she never stopped calling you. Like your sister, you got a dose of V and trained hard, wanting to be the first pair of siblings in The Seven. After Annie publicly leaves and turns her back on them, you're not sure what to think. Tired of her avoiding the questions, you confront her. You track her down and barge into where The Boys are. You guys get into a pretty serious fight, one everyone can hear through the thin walls. Annie abandoned you. She left Vought and became this fantastical symbol. She had a life and you weren't a part of it. You wanted her to stop lying and avoiding you and tell you exactly what was going on. It takes most of the night, but she tells you everything. In the end, she wants to send you back home with your mother, but you refuse. The Boys need every advantage they can get, that includes you and your abilities. She's not thrilled, but she understands you're an adult, she can't stop you.

M.M. forbids you. Janine is getting into trouble and he's having panic attacks and he just can't have you trying this now. He can't babysit you on top of everything else. You remind him you're an adult, that you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. He can yell and scream all he wants, you both know you're not going to stop wanting this. It was your grandfather and father too who were killed by Supes and the stress. You didn't walk away from that unscathed. You had a right to be upset and a right to want to stop Vought. You kept your distance, but Marvin was blowing you off any chance he could get. You got his address from Monique and made a surprise appearance. Butcher tells you everything. You're furious your brother didn't tell you sooner. You could have been a part of this from the beginning. Butcher reminds you it's never too late, but Marvin tells you to go home and leave it to the professionals. You don't. You can't. This is too important. He doesn't like it, but he can't stop you. He never could.

Frenchie couldn't have been happier to have you in his life. Your upbringing was harsh, your father a monster. When he left for New York, he had to make a choice: leave you behind or take you along with him. In the end, he left you behind. The guilt killed him, but you never blamed him. Not then, not now. You learned a lot from him, you're as equally as skilled. As soon as he becomes a part of The Boys, he asks Mallory to look for you. You vanished though. He'd assumed your father had killed you. It isn't until years later that you reappear looking for him, for Serge. You might not have an entire team of powers and knowledge, buy you're smart and skilled and you track him down. He doesn't recognize you at first. You're so much more grown up. But he knows your voice. You're the only one who calls him Serge and most of your conversations are entirely in French. Neither of you are particularly proud of your pasts, choosing instead to live in the moment. When you ask if you can join him he's over the moon. His baby, his best friend, reunited again.

Kimiko can't believe it's you. Like your sister, you and Kenji were captured by the SLLA. Then you and Kimiko were later taken and given Compound V. After that you two were split up. She never thought you made it. It's years later that you escape, killing everyone in your path. Police plaster your face all over the News where Kimiko recognizes you immediately. You're older of course, but you'd always be her baby. She can't let it happen all over again like how it went with Kenji, she can't lose you. Kimiko hunts you down, alongside The Boys, who are wary of you. She assured them you couldn't hurt a fly. The carnage you leave in your wake tells a different story. When you do reconnect, she makes sure they don't draw any of their weapons. You two sign for what feels like forever before she takes you back to The Boys hideout. It hurts her, but she wants to know what happened in all the years between. You and your sister are unstoppable. Literally. You were never meant to have normal lives. This was how it was supposed to be. Trying to be normal just got you hurt.

Bonus! Homelander absolutely fucking hates you. You were created long after him, but you had the same upbringing, the same childhood. The only anomaly was that you turned out far more humane. Because of this, Vought needed extra time to break you in. You never did, though. Not as severely as your brother. Vought was going to turn your debut into this grand political scheme, a massive fuck you to anyone who thought they could stop them, but before they could, you broke out of the labs. Eventually you found your way to The Boys. You and Homelander have identical abilities, though you're not layering through people's skulls or letting entire planes worth of people die. None of them believed you at first, but after you told them about your upbringing and your powers, they had no choice but to believe you. You were exactly what they needed. You and your brother were equals. John wanted you dead just like he wanted the rest of The Boys dead. Keeping you alive was necessary for now. So, he let you live.

[breeyn]

An essay rebutting the “bad writing” claims of s2 ofmd. Spoilers herein.

I’ll preface this with saying you’re obviously allowed to like and dislike whatever you want. I am in no way opposing that. And your reasons are your reasons. Have at. (Also - this is a collection of observations from the past few days, I’m not calling anyone out)

I AM going to rebut the idea that season two was poorly written and lost the spirit of what the show is about.

My favourite movie of all time is Empire Strikes Back. It’s been my favourite movie since I was four. I’m pretty sure it’s a fave of David Jenkins, too. He and Taika have made absolutely no attempt to hide their love of all things 80’s - Prince, the Princess Bride, Kate Bush, Star Wars, etc.

I have ancient video tapes (that I can’t play because who has a vcr) where Lucas is interviewed by Leonard Maltin? Malkin? I dunno. Who cares. Maltin asks him about the Star Wars (original trilogy) story arc. Lucas says “in act I, you introduce all the characters. In act II, you put them in a situation they can’t get out of, and in act III, they get out of it.”

That’s how it works. This is how stories and literary structures work.

Of course you’re not satisfied with season two. You’re not supposed to be.

The arguments I have read on why s2 loses the spirit of s1 is because no one heals. No one learns anything. No one moves forward properly. The person who makes the biggest move towards healing dies. The two main characters end the show doing the exact fucking thing they had promised themselves and each other they wouldn’t do. Our romantic lead still doesn’t understand his value or make any headway on addressing his tragic flaw. It makes no goddamn sense.

My gremlins in weird: it’s not supposed to. In Act 2, EVERYONE LOSES. This is how it goes.

I’ve read a lot of people saying “but this felt like a series finale, not a season finale.” We all know that outside politics play a part here, the strikes make everything precarious. I remember the last writers strike. It destroyed tv for fifteen years. Anyone remember Pushing Daisies? Some of y’all have never had your fave show cancelled with zero resolution for the characters and it shows.

Daddy J did us a kindness. He softened the blow of a tough season. After the brutal cliffhanger of s1, he gave us a little softness and hope. All those things you’re mad aren’t resolved? It’s because THE STORY ISN’T OVER.

No one on earth thinks “stuff all your trauma into a box and ignore it” is good advice. A way to actually live. This show did not have enough screen time to throw out dialogue for no reason. There was foreshadowing in s1 for s2, and there is foreshadowing for s3 in s2. This is a well-crafted story by very smart people who care very much for these characters. There is zero chance Frenchie explained the box in his head for no reason. The reason people have not resolved their trauma and growth is because they haven’t done it *yet*.

And friends - it’s not thinly veiled. They straight up fucking tell us what they’re doing.

Luke Skywalker spends the first two movies fucking up and desperately trying to prove himself and just generally being an idiot. Sound familiar? He ignores the lessons he is supposed to be learning to go off and do what he feels like doing, and loses fucking badly. At the end of Empire, Han is gone, Luke and Leia wave goodbye to the Falcon that has Lando and Chewy - the rest of their crew - aboard. Everyone has lost everything they care about. Vader is undefeated. Yoda is pissed. Nothing is resolved.

You see where I’m going?

If you think I’m stretching this too far, welp, when Ed tells Stede he loves him - the climax of the finale - Stede quotes Han fucking Solo. Like - *it’s right there*. The story structure. The reason everything is unresolved.

So yeah. They wave goodbye to their ship because they have wounds to heal (like Luke’s hand). The people aboard the ship have things to find. Ed and Stede have *not* learned their lesson about whims and how not to be like Anne and Mary. It’s not stupid that they’re doing the same thing, and it’s not pointless that we were shown Anne and Mary. It’s all relevant.

The resolution comes in Act 3. None of these people are done. The story is far, far from over. And just in case the studios want to be dicks about it, David Jenkins was lovely enough to not repeat my enduring heartbreak over Pushing Daisies.

Thank you, @davidjenks 🖤

[billybangbang]

Rough Hands, Soft Skin

Butcher x reader

Trigger: Just fluff, and the reader is in pain. This is all self-indulgent.

Butcher had been back for two weeks from his suicide mission blowing up Stillwell. You all had been hiding out with Frenchies contacts below a pawn shop. It was not the Fourth Seasons Inn but it would beat being held by Vought at a Black Ops sight. You had been a University student before all this happened. Now you have lost everything, no contact with any of your friends, no going to classes and finishing your PhD, no family, absolutely nothing. You had been holding on to the hope that one day you could come out of hiding. And all you had to hang on was your Thesis. It might have been stupid to continue working, researching and writing on your paper but it was all you could hold on to.

 The others left you alone for the most part, except Butcher who continuously made off handed comments about your ‘work’. “Ain’t ya’ a Goddamn opptimist, ay luv. Hate to burst your bubble, sweat’art but this ain’t gonna have a happy ending. So why don’ta put that head of yours to good use, would ya’? You would look at him with an uninterested expression not caring what he had to say. You would pick up your laptop and your books and go to your room. Or what counts for a room in this shit hole. At least you were one of the lucky ones who had a small bed in a closed room. You did not know why you had gotten the room, or that Butcher had ripped the boys a new one when he came back and saw you were sleeping on the sofa in the middle of the ‘living’ room. “Ain’t you a bunch of dumb cunts, aye? Whatcha think some guys, you don’t even know, walking in here, looking over seeing someone tasty sleeping on the couch?” Ever since the deal with Becca, Butcher had been especially protective of the women around him, at least the ones without superpower. He had kicked Hughie out of his room, under your protest, and now it was your room. 

You walked towards your bed, sitting down cross legend and leaning on the wall. You worked like this for hours, until late at night when you were sure most people were sleeping. Your back was killing you, especially now sitting on a bed hunched over, your breast weighing you down even more. But you could not sleep, you could never sleep. After another cramp in your arm, and a twinge in your shoulder you got up. Getting all your books and laptop you walked out towards the kitchen/operating table. Pushing aside some drugs and straggling guns, which to your surprise felt so normal, you put down your stuff. You were getting yourself some water, not aware that you had eyes on you. Butcher watched you from the couch where he was taking up residency for now. He had been watching you for days now. Seeing the exhaustion, the struggle to keep your back straight and you always popping your neck. He knew this situation was tearing on The Boys. Normally he would tell everyone to suck it up and get on with it, but he had to admit he had a soft spot for you. He could not understand it, he knew why he was easy on Hughie. He was like his little brother. But it took him by surprise that he was also fond of you. 

He watched you for a little while, unable to sleep himself. You were sitting on the table, your brows furrowed, constantly going back and forth between writing something on your laptop, reading something in a book and taking notes. He had no idea why you would be willing to do this. Sounded like hell to him sitting in front of a Laptop and typing away. He was always more of a get shit done type of guy. Pain and struggle, physically exhausting himself until he could not keep his eyes open anymore.�� 

You stretched your neck for the fifth time, groaning when you pressed your fingers into a knot in your left shoulder. It had been bugging you for days, and only got worse, but you refused any drugs from Frnechie. You might be a dealer now but you knew not to take the products that you are selling. You leaned back into the chair and stretched your back, a loud pop rippling down your spine. “Fucking ‘ell, aye. Got bubble wrap in ya spine, or what?” YOu jumped at the rumbling voice. You saw Butcher laying on the couch, one arm behind his back and one leg propped up. How could he make being sprawled out on a couch so alluring? 

“I guess you have never written a paper before.” You turned away from him trying to focus on you writing again, bracing for any mean comment he had brewing up in that head of his. You heard rustling, and footsteps coming closer. It made you even more tense. Butcher stood behind you leaning forward to see what you were writing. “Ain’t really in a line of work you have to fill out paperwork, ya kno?” You raised an eyebrow, “True that.” 

The clacking of your fingernails on the keys sounded in the room, Butcher had been standing behind you for a few minutes not saying anything just watching you work. No comment, just arms crossed, watching. It made you feel something akin to annoyance, nervousness and discomfort. You hated people reading your work before you knew it was as close to perfect as it could get. You just tried to ignore iit and keep writing, when another wave of pain ran up your arm towards your neck, pulling your head towards your shoulder. Butcher huffed behind you before you held his big warm hands on your shoulder. It made you jump, shooting him a questioning look over your shoulder. Grimacing at the movement you turned towards your laptop again. “Ya’ gonna break your back if ya’ keep going like t’at.” He just left his hands on your shoulder, the warmth felt nice. “Yeah well, I don’t think a broken back will be what kills me…” “Yea’ I guess ya’ write, that don’t mean you gotta make it harder for you.” You huffed, close to tears now, from the pain and the exhaustion. You leaned forward putting your head in your hands. “It’s all I got,” you whispered through tears. 

Butcher watched you hunch into yourself, you appeared so small in that moment. He knew how you felt, holding on to the one thing you had and trying to act like that one thing will get you through it. Breathing out slowly, his brows furrowed he pushed you back towards him. His hands were still on your shoulder, making you straighten yourself. He slowly began tracing your neck and shoulders, feeling the knots underneath. He slowly started rubbing one prominent knot on your left shoulder. He applied as gentle pressure as his tough hands were capable off. You hissed out in pain. Even though it was painful, you breathed out in relief, his hands working on. He pushed his thumbs in your shoulder blade drawing up, you let out a painted moan. “‘s okay, just relax,” he encouraged. You closed your eyes, just focusing on your breathing and how warm his hands felt on you. “Can you–” You pointed towards a knot below your shoulder blade. He gave you a grunt in acknowledgement and tranced his hands down towards the spot. “I gotta ya’, luv.” 

Butcher continued working on your back and slowly you began to relax, leaning into him even more. You started to become sleepy and your paper was completely forgotten. “Feels good,” you mumbled. Butcher smirked to himself, feeling his heart racing a bit at your words. 

Your breath hitched, when he pulled your sweater to the side, his hands touching the bear skin on the nape of your neck, massaging down your right shoulder. His hands were rough, weathered by the work. You could feel the calluses on his, his smell inviting you senses. It was all him. The rough edges, the tobacco smell, the spice musk. All you wanted to do was sink into it deeper, until it was all you could feel, see, smell. 

Butcher now was loosely touching your skin, most of the knots loose now. But he did not want to stop feeling the softness underneath his finger tips. He had felt you slowly relax underneath his hands, making him feel like he had accomplished something today. You had a way to sooth his mind and he wished he could just wrap his arms around you, feel your skin underneath his hands, while drifting off to sleep. 

You had leaned into him, your head resting on his chest, his hands wandering down your arms below your sweater. You were so exhausted, you could not keep your eyes open, slowly falling asleep without realizing. 

Butcher felt you getting heavier, smiling to himself. “Common, sweat’eart. Let’s get’cha to bed.” You let out a “hm,” but made no attempt to move. Chuckling to himself he stepped back, your head falling back before you woke up a bit catching it. He walked around towards your side, and suddenly you were lifted up. Butcher had wrapped his arms around your back and underneath your legs. If you were not so tired you would have felt yourself going hot at the action. But now all you did was lean your head against his shoulder and closed your eyes. 

Butcher walked towards your room, pushing your door open with his foot. Papers with notes scribbled on them littering your bed and floor. He sat you down on the bed, holding you up with one arm and pushing the papers off the bed. He chuckled to himself, thinking if you were awake you would smack him over the head for this. You slowly layed down, curling yourself in your arms. Butcher took your shoes off and pulled the blanket out underneath you. You grumbled at all the rustling. You scooted closer towards the wall, the small bed leaving little room. Butcher thought about it for a bit. He wanted to lay down and hold you while you slept. Yet, feeling your soft skin underneath his fingers and the difference between his weathered hands and your smooth skin made him pause. Instead he pulled the blanket up toward your shoulder, allowing himself to trace your arm one last time before turning around, softly closing the door and making his way back to the couch. 

[seungkw1]

the truth is out there — csc

♡ pairing: choi seungcheol x gn!reader ♡ theme: x-files au ♡ wc: 8.2k ♡ warnings: none ♡ a/n: started rewatching the x-files recently and the idea of this popped into my head so i simply had to write it!! also, y/ln refers to ‘your last name’ bc ya know. agent stuff.

‧₊˚✩彡 moodboard by @myhimbomingi ‧₊˚✩彡

When you joined the FBI you didn’t expect to end up working in the basement with a peculiar agent obsessed with all things extraterrestrial, but your new assignment is certainly taking you places you’ve never been before.

10 September 1993 Washington, D.C.

taptaptap

The light knocking on your desk pulls your focus away from the almost-completed report on the screen of your monitor. Most would call report writing the boring part of the job, and while you don’t necessarily disagree your high levels of attentiveness allow you to efficiently plug away at the otherwise mind-numbing task - so, you don’t mind it so much. That is, unless you are interrupted. 

“Hey Frenchie, the Bergmeister wants to see you.” 

Stifling a sigh, you look up at your bothersome coworker, Soonyoung, who is currently leaning over your desk while eating a sandwich. You grimace as you see the multitude of crumbs he’s managed to drop all over your paperwork in the five seconds he’s been standing there.

“What does he want?” you ask, not bothering to hide your annoyance.

“Didn’t say,” he mumbles through the large bite he just stuffed into his mouth.

The Bergmeister is the inane moniker Soonyoung and his pals call your supervisor, Assistant Director Bergman, behind his back. Frenchie is the irritating nickname nearly half the office now calls you, to your face, due to an unfortunate incident involving French dressing and the light gray pantsuit you chose to wear on your very first day on the job. You figured they’d get tired of it after a few days, but that was several weeks ago at this point - and much to your chagrin it seems to have stuck.

You give Soonyoung a very obviously fake grin to accompany your obviously sarcastic response. “Thank you, Agent Soonyoung - helpful as always.”

Soonyoung winks at you. “For you? Anytime.” You imagine grabbing his sandwich and bopping it on his head. 

The muted sounds of landlines ringing, keyboards clacking, and fax machines whirring drift past your ears as you walk steadily to Bergman’s office, maintaining a false air of confidence as to mask your anxiety. You’ve never been called into his office alone in the two months you’ve worked for the FBI - you quickly leaf through your mind for anything you’ve done that could be a potential mistake, but you come up empty handed. 

Bergman’s door is ajar - you rap your knuckle against it twice as you step inside. He peers up at you through thick, round lenses. 

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes, come in, have a seat - and shut the door behind you.”

The heavy door closes with a deep thunk. As you lower yourself into the chair facing the desk you notice you’re joined by a man you’ve never seen before. He says nothing, but looms in the corner of the room, smoking a cigarette. 

“I’ll spare you the bullshit, Y/ln,” Bergman starts. He looks more tired than usual. “Have you heard of the bureau’s division known as the ‘x-files’?”

You feel your normally stoic face contort into a confused expression. Whatever you were expecting him to say, it wasn’t that.

“Well, yes, sir… but isn’t that an unofficial department?”

He takes a sip from his styrofoam cup of coffee. “Correct - it’s not official, but I assure you it is very much a ‘functional’ operation.” He all but rolls his eyes at functional. 

You shoot a glance at the unintroduced man in the corner, but he remains expressionless. Bergman continues. 

“I’m sure by now you’re well aware of the reputation surrounding this subsect and its…proprietor, shall we say.”

You give a single nod. By your second day in the office you’d heard all about the x-files: cases allegedly involving aliens, the supernatural, and all sorts of nonsense you chalked up to pure baloney. You’d also learned of the lone employee who spearheads the whole operation from the bureau basement: Agent Choi. Nobody seems to take him, or it, seriously - so much so that you had begun to doubt if it was even a real department, and if Choi even existed. But apparently, the rumors were true. 

“I am not at liberty to discuss the reasons behind this decision,” Bergman tells you, “but all you need to know is that this assignment is significant in nature.”

Assignment?? Surely he doesn’t mean…

“I’m not sure I understand,” you ask hesitantly, “am I-”

“Being assigned to the x-files? Yes.”

Your stomach lurches. You open your mouth to inquire what exactly it is you’ve done wrong, but clearly he anticipated this exact response. 

“This is not a punishment - though I certainly know why it might seem that way. But, it’s imperative that we receive reliable insight into the operations of this endeavor.”

You sit there in silence for a few seconds, dumbfounded. “So, you’re asking me to spy on Agent Choi.”

Bergman waves his hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, I know how this sounds. And essentially - yes, you will be our eyes and ears into this otherwise elusive project. Choi will know we’re sending you there to report back to us, but we don’t care. We are confident you will succeed in providing us with useful information.”

You wait for him to go on, to elaborate in any capacity, but apparently he’s finished. 

“Alright then, so when do I-”

“Immediately,” Bergman interjects. You purse your lips, trying to hide your displeasure. 

“Yes sir,” you reply as respectfully as you can muster. 

“Great. We’re counting on you, Y/ln.” You glance once more at the smoking man in the corner, but he remains silent. 

“Dismissed.”

You walk out of Bergman’s office, still trying to process what the fuck just happened. You have the misfortune of passing Soonyoung’s desk on the way back to yours - he opens his mouth, clearly about to say something annoying again, but you briskly zoom past him before he can get a word out. You make a beeline for your desk, grabbing only your purse and coffee cup before heading toward the elevator. 

X-files, here I come, I fucking guess. 

—-

Your eyes take a few seconds to adjust as you step into the dim basement. The elevator doesn’t come down to this level - you spent a good ten minutes trying to locate the correct stairwell that would even bring you here. You make your way through a seemingly endless hallway of dusty filing cabinets, forgotten boxes, and broken computers before you find yourself in front of a nondescript door, not quite shut - the only thing signifying that you’ve arrived at your destination being the makeshift paper name plate with S. Choi written in ink. You raise your fist to knock but before you can do so you hear a voice call out from inside. 

“Come in.”

You push the door in, its hinges giving you a high-pitched squeeeeak as it opens. You make a mental note to find some WD-40. 

The sad excuse for an office is equally dim-lit as the hallway, but it’s a sight to behold: a desk at the center of the room - neat, but stacked with newspapers and case files, a small lamp lighting up the open file in the desk’s center; a bookshelf nearly reaching the ceiling, overflowing with books on seemingly every topic under the sun; archival boxes stacked as tall as the numerous filing cabinets, which are also topped with more boxes; a massive bulletin board filled with articles and photos; but most notably, pinned the wall, is a poster featuring a flying saucer, accompanied with the text I WANT TO BELIEVE.

In the bizarre room sits a dark-haired man typing at his computer, his back to you. 

“I presume you heard me coming,” you state. 

“From a mile away,” he replies, still typing. 

You wait for him to turn around, say hello, anything - but the clickclack of his keyboard continues.

Several seconds pass, but the man says nothing. Apparently, it’s on you to break the silence.

You sigh under your breath. “I’m Agent Y/ln, I’ve been-”

“Assigned to the x-files to spy on me?” he interrupts, eyes still glued to the monitor. 

“They told me you’d know that,” you admit. 

The typing stops. Choi turns around, the heavy desk chair giving an unpleasant creak as he leans his elbow over its back, finally facing you. His appearance takes you by surprise: strong eyebrows, plump red lips, soft dark-brown eyes - you weren’t expecting to find such a handsome face attached to the man with a reputation for being a “crazy UFO freak”, in the words of your coworkers. He’s much younger than you anticipated too, around your age - and seemingly so… normal. His eyes do a quick scan of your figure - his expression barely changes, but a quick flash of interest tells you you’re not exactly what he expected either. It is extinguished almost immediately. 

“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t be the first time.” His tone is passive, but you detect a hint of somberness in his words. His warm eyes lock onto yours. 

“Name’s Choi, but I’m sure you already knew that. You can call me Seungcheol, though.” If it was anyone else, you’d think it was flirtatious in nature - but you can tell that was not his intention.

“Okay. Well, Choi, what exactly am I to do here?”

An eager grin lights up his face. He rises from his chair, grabs a case file off the pile on his desk, and opens it - throwing it back down onto the desk, facing you.

“I’m so glad you asked.”

You quickly skim the details: a series of disappearances in a small town, all teenagers. So far, no bodies have been found. Local law enforcement has compiled a list of suspects, but they don’t seem to have many leads.

“Okay, so we have a potential serial killer.” 

Choi shakes his head. “That’s what the local police think. Which seems reasonable, unless you’re familiar with the location.”

You glance back at the file. Spirit Lake, Iowa.

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s a known UFO hotspot. Sightings have been reported for decades, most notably in 1967 when there were three different sightings - one of which was caught on camera by two different witnesses.”

He hands you a stack of old polaroids. You flip through the grainy photographs, which all appear to showcase an ambiguous but distinct saucer-shaped object in the night sky.

You stare at your new partner. “Choi, this could be anything. Most so-called UFO ‘sightings’ are nothing more than aircraft that are very much from Earth.”

“The U.S. Weather Service officially stated that it was a weather balloon, however no weather balloons were launched within 500 miles that day. There were also no flights - civilian or military - on record for the area that night.”

“And have you considered that this could all just be a hoax?”

“Sure, it could be. But what if I told you that in 1967 there were also three recorded disappearances, all coinciding with the UFO sightings?”

He hands you a separate case file on the 1967 disappearances. All of the cases are closed, as the three who went missing eventually turned up again - unable to account for what happened to them, but otherwise unharmed.

You close the file, setting it on the desk. “So let me get this straight: you think these people were all abducted by aliens. And you think the exact same scenario is happening again, this year?”

“There have been three recent UFO sightings in the area reported, and we have three missing teens. It all matches up.”

You stand there in silence, at a loss for words. Guess everyone was right, you think to yourself. The man is insane. 

“Okay, let’s say you’re right,” you finally respond. “How exactly are we supposed to contribute here? Looks like they’ve already exhausted all leads. Why the hell do we need to fly out to Iowa?”

Choi gives a knowing smile. “They found the first girl this morning. Alive. Barely remembers anything, but unharmed.”

“And you want to go catch some little green men.”

“Actually, ‘little green men’ is a misconception - known encounters have widely reported extraterrestrials to be gray-skinned and not that much smaller than us. But anyway, more or less - yes, we’ll be in search of evidence that alien life is making contact with humanity.”

You stand there in disbelief. So this is where you’ve ended up - in the basement with a madman on a wild goose chase. As you’re thinking about quitting on the spot, Choi goes back to his computer.

“Anyway I’ll get us booked for the first flight out of here tomorrow morning,” he informs as he resumes his typing. “Want me to pick you up?

“No, that’s quite alright.”

“Suit yourself.” 

You wait for him to say something further, but he doesn’t. You turn to leave. As you approach the doorway you hear the creaking of his chair once more. Looking back, Choi is facing you.

“It’s nice to meet you, Agent Y/ln.” 

His expression is sincere. You may be stuck with a madman, but at least he’s not a complete asshole.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

You feel Choi’s eyes follow you as you exit the room.

—

11 September 1993 Spirit Lake, Iowa

The gravel driveway crunches loudly as the rental car slows to a stop. Your partner shuts off the ignition and turns to face you, his left hand still resting on the wheel.  

“Ready?”

You glare back at him. “You’re acting like this is my first case, Choi. I’ve done this before.”

You open your door and exit the car before he can reply. You’ve barely gotten started on this investigation, but he’s already on your nerves. 

You approach the cottage-style house and ring the bell. A disgruntled-looking woman in her 40s opens the door.

“Mrs. Miller? I’m Agent Choi, and this is my partner Agent Y/ln.” You both raise your badges. “We’re here to speak with Alexandra, may we come inside?”

Mrs. Miller practically scowls at you. “She’s already spoken to the cops three times, leave us alone.” The door slams shut in your face.

You and Choi shoot a look at each other. You hear a voice shouting inside, followed by loud arguing. The door reopens to a young girl, high-school age, with jet black dyed hair, heavy eyeliner, and a nose ring.

“Ignore my mom, she’s a huge bitch,” the girl says as she steps outside, slamming the door behind her. She marches past you. “I’ll talk to you, let’s walk.”

Choi raises his eyebrows at you as he turns to follow the girl. You join him.

“You must be Alexandra,” he says to the girl, who is still walking.

“Alex,” she corrects. The girl finally stops, turning around to face you. “Are you going to take me seriously or are you just going to laugh in my face like the cops did?”

“I believe you,” your partner assures her. 

The girl turns to you, arms crossed. “I take it you’re the skeptic then?” Before you can respond she continues. “Trust me, I am too. I’ve always heard all the stories growing up about the abductions in this town, but I thought it was all bullshit. But I don’t know how else to explain what happened to me.”

“Can you start from the beginning?” Choi asks.

The girl sighs. “Yeah, sure. I was driving home from my friend Becky’s house, by myself. It was pretty late, like around 9pm. I was on Campbell Road, I had just passed the old schoolhouse. It was dark as shit and nobody else was around. Then suddenly there was this crazy bright light, it was all around me and I couldn’t see anything. I remember slamming on my breaks, but I don’t know what happened after that. I don’t know how long I was out, but I do remember waking up a few times and I swear I was in some like laboratory or something. I was laying down but I couldn’t move - I could just barely make out some figures standing over me. Then, next thing I know I’m walking down the road again, right where I was driving. No fucking clue how I got there. A deputy found me and took me to the hospital. They told me I was gone for six days. I had to talk to the cops like a hundred times, but there was nothing else wrong with me so they sent me home. And now everybody thinks I’m fucking crazy.” 

“Nobody believes you, then,” your partner empathizes.

“The cops think I’m lying and that I ran off with my ‘boyfriend’ for a week,” she scoffs. “I don’t even have a boyfriend. But of course that’s what my mom believes now, so now I’m fucking grounded.”

“I’m sorry,” Choi tells her sincerely. 

“Do you have any connections to the others who have gone missing?” you ask.

Alex shrugs. “I mean, we all go to school with each other, but I don’t really know them.”

Choi finds a piece of paper and a pen in his jacket pocket and scribbles something on it, then hands it to the girl.

“This is where we’re staying, if you remember anything else give us a call.”

On the drive back, Choi appears to make a wrong turn. 

“You were supposed to go left,” you tell him.

He shakes his head. “I want to check out the location where Alex was taken from.”

“Why?” you ask, “There’s nothing there. When they found the car they towed it.”

“Just want to check it out.”

You can tell you’re not going to get any further answers out of him, so you just sit there in silence, listening to whatever is on the local radio playing quietly in the background. Your stomach starts to rumble, so you glance at the clock: 4:54pm. No wonder, you think to yourself. You hadn’t stopped for lunch, so you were well overdue for a meal. You made a mental note to look out for restaurants on the way back.

“There’s the schoolhouse,” Choi points out a few minutes later. “We must be close.”

The sound of static fills the car as the radio cuts out. You fiddle with the knob, trying to find something else, but nothing is coming in. Guess we’re out of range.

Suddenly, the car goes silent as the engine dies. You’ve barely rolled to a stop when your partner jumps out of the car and starts running back the way you came.

“Where the hell are you going??” you shout after him. No response. With a sigh you exit the car as well. You see him standing in the road, looking at the ground. He turns as he hears you coming, pointing down to the road. 

“See the tire marks? This must be where Alex hit the brakes.”

You look at the ground to see the black marks, indicating a car had braked abruptly.

“Our car shut off right as we passed this exact spot,” he says excitedly, jogging back to the rental car. As you follow, you hear him trying the ignition a few times, until the car finally turns back on. 

“Look,” he commands as you re-enter the passenger seat. He points to the digital clock on the dashboard: 5:11pm. “What time do you have?” 

You glance at your watch: 4:56pm.

“Many instances of alien activity result in residual electromagnetic fields. It’s often been reported that those visiting such sites will experience ‘missing time’, a phenomenon we appear to have just experienced.”

The look on his face is energized - borderline excited. You stare back at him, unenthused.

“Choi, just because my watch is wrong doesn’t mean we time traveled.”

“Then why did the car turn off in this exact spot?”

“It’s a machine, cars malfunction sometimes,” you respond, nearly exasperated. “You’re trying to connect dots that aren’t even here.”

“These events happening in tandem indicate that something abnormal is going on here, Y/ln. You’re choosing to ignore substantial evidence.”

“Oh my god,” you mumble, holding your head in your hands.

Choi shifts the car into drive and makes a u-turn. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“That’s the first reasonable thing you’ve said all day.”

He smiles, but says nothing.

On the drive back into town, you subtly watch him out of the corner of your eye. He drives in silence, but you can tell he’s deep in thought - about what, who knows. Despite his ridiculous antics and asinine beliefs, you admit that his passion is oddly inspiring. You find yourself starting to grow fond of your new partner for some strange, inexplicable reason. 

You push that thought to the back of your mind.

—

13 September 1993

“Can you hand me the Ramos case file?”

You look around for the requested file, to no avail. You joined Choi in his motel room early in the morning to review case files, which is proving to be incredibly difficult as he is apparently one to haphazardly leave shit all over the room while he is working. 

You finally locate the folder and toss it over to him. “You know, this might be easier if the entire place wasn’t an absolute disaster zone.” 

“I like to call it organized chaos,” he says proudly.

It has been six days since the second kid, Mark Ramos, disappeared - and Choi is convinced that he’ll be “returned” today, given that Alex was found after the same amount of time. So, much to your displeasure he planned for you two to stake out the location where he was last seen: the parking lot of the gas station corner store where the boy works.

“Wow, that sounds enthralling,” you told him, deeply sarcastically. 

As you are wrapping up prepping for the stakeout, the landline on the nightstand rings.

Your partner reaches and grabs the phone, stretching the cord across the room and placing the receiver between his ear and his shoulder as he continues working. 

“Choi,” he answers curtly.

You hear a muffled voice on the other end utter a few sentences before he stops what he’s doing. A tired look washes over his face.

“God fucking dammit. Alright, thanks.” He slams the phone back onto the base.

“They just found the kid. We missed it.”

You’re secretly relieved that you don’t have to go sit in a car for hours now, but you keep that to yourself. He’s clearly peeved, and although you’ve never witnessed his bad side you’re discerning enough to know that you don’t want to be on it.

“I’m sorry,” you say finally.

To your surprise, he walks over to the bed - where you’re sitting - and plops down onto it, holding his head in his hands.

You sit there awkwardly in silence for a few moments, not knowing what to do.

“Are you okay?” you finally ask.

Your partner sighs. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just thought we had this one.”

You feel the urge to ask the question that’s been on the back of your mind since you met him, but he seems really dejected - and you don’t want to upset him. Fuck it, you decide.

“Can I ask you something?”

He lifts his head up, resting his chin on his interlaced hands as he looks over at you.

“Sure,” he answers. You find yourself starting to get lost in his big brown eyes, but you force yourself to snap out of it.

“Why are you so obsessed with aliens? I mean - it seems like more than just an interest for you. It seems… personal, almost.”

Choi exhales, closing his eyes. He sits up, leaning back onto his hands, staring into the distance with a sense of sadness in his expression.

“When I was 12, my younger brother and I were very close. We were three years apart, but we had so much in common.

He pauses, lost in thought for a moment. He continues.

“Jinsang and I always shared a bedroom. We had a bunk bed, he slept on the top bunk.” He smiles wistfully. “He loved it up there. Always called himself ‘king of the world’. Even as he got older, he never lost his childlike wonder. He was the definition of pure at heart.”

You listen solemnly. You honestly were expecting some off-the-wall answer from him - you didn’t anticipate that it’d be anything so serious.

“Late one night, I was supposed to be asleep, but I was reading a book under the covers with my flashlight. Suddenly there was a blinding light that filled the room, and a deafeningly loud whirring noise that made me cover my ears. I pulled the blanket off me, but the only thing I could make out was some dark figures standing in the room. I couldn’t see who it was, so I assumed it was my parents. I called out for them, but the figures didn’t move. It was so loud and so bright. I was terrified.

Then - I heard my brother scream. He was screaming for help, but I was paralyzed. Suddenly everything stopped. The light and the sounds disappeared in an instant. I looked where the figures were standing, but nobody was there. I didn’t hear my brother anymore either. I jumped out of bed to check on him - but he wasn’t in his bed. I started to panic. I told myself maybe he had run out of the room, but I knew I didn’t see or hear him climb down. I ran to my parents crying, ‘Jinsang’s gone!’ They searched the house, but he wasn’t there. They searched the neighborhood, thinking he had run away, but he wasn’t anywhere. The police investigation went on for months. They never found him.”

He rests his head back on his hands. You sit there silently, not knowing what to say. Your mind races, trying to process his words: So, he believes his brother was abducted by aliens? He may be strange, but he’s not mentally disturbed, I really don’t believe he would just make something like that up… But what can the explanation be? Is it a false memory created as a trauma response to his brother disappearing?...

“I’m so sorry,” you finally tell him. Without thinking you place your hand on his shoulder - but after a moment you realize how awkward that might be. He’s your assigned work partner - you met him three days ago. But, you feel his tension slightly ease - your touch seems to be relaxing him. Choi lets out a deep exhale and sits up - you quickly drop your hand back to your side. He rests his palms on the bed, just barely grazing your pinky finger. You hold your breath as a spark of electricity rushes through your body - you ignore it.

“Thanks,” he says sincerely. “I know how it sounds to other people. But that’s why I get so invested in these cases. I have to know the truth, Y/ln.”

You sit in silence for a few moments. 

“Well,” you finally speak as you get up, returning to the scattered files, “if your theory is correct we have one last chance.”

Choi perks up, a surprised look on his face. He stares at you for a moment, then grins as he processes what you just said. You grin back at him.

“Let’s go catch these sons of bitches.”

— 14 September 1993

Your stakeout plans are back on - this time you’ll be surveilling in the middle of the woods, by the lake, where the third kid had disappeared when camping with friends. Choi wakes you unnecessarily early with rapid knocking on your door. You answer in your pajamas, half asleep still. He invites himself into your room as he brushes past you and slams more files on the table. Turning to you earnestly, he begins to recant the game plan. 

“Choi,” you interrupt, trying to shut him up. He doesn’t hear you. He rambles on - practically bouncing with excitement.

“Choi,” you repeat, this time louder. He stops, his round eyes animated with enthusiasm. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s 6:30 in the morning. We’re staking out the location tonight.”

“And?”

“You could’ve at least let me sleep in til 7.”

“No time to lose!” he says eagerly as he turns back to his work, picking up where he left off. You let him yap for a minute before interrupting him once more.

“Can I at least get some coffee first?” 

You head to the nearby shitty diner together, Choi of course working through breakfast. You can tell through his excited state that he’s on edge. This has to go right - it is, according to him, the best chance he’s ever had. You spend the day going over everything, reviewing every last little detail - cooperating with whatever he needs, whether it be tactical or simply supportive. Before you know it the sun starts to go down, and you’re on your way to the middle of fucking nowhere together, to find some aliens.

Choi parks the car on the rocky path near the shore, killing the engine. It’s quiet out here - peaceful. The lake is bigger than you expected, and surprisingly beautiful as it reflects the painted colors of the sun-setting sky. 

“Romantic, isn’t it?” 

You turn and look at your partner, intending to make some snide remark, but all thoughts in your mind vanish when you see him. The golden tones of the dusk sunrays bring out a beautiful glow in his skin, his brown eyes radiating in the light; you knew he was good-looking, but seeing him this close - he is absolutely stunning.

The logical part of your brain starts setting off alarms - you know you should be feeling uncomfortable in the intimacy of the whole situation (he’s your coworker for gods’ sake!!) but it couldn’t be more opposite. The other part of your brain simply has the urge to lean in and kiss him.

“Mhmm, sure,” you reply, feigning sarcasm, veiling your true feelings.

You chat informally with Choi (“You can call me Seungcheol,” the memory of his words flashes through your mind), conversation flowing naturally as you both talk about whatever comes to mind. You find yourself laughing more often than not, and you find yourself relating to your partner more than you ever anticipated. It’s easy being with him.

Logical brain is absolutely screaming at you right now. There’s no fucking way you can allow yourself to develop feelings for your work partner - you know this. 

I’m allowed to like him as a friend, you say to yourself. You’re gonna be working with him for god knows how long, of course you need to get along. But you’re not convinced.

Conversation wanes into the night as darkness falls over the lake. You feel your eyelids grow heavy. Choi notices.

“You can sleep if you want,” he tells you. “I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

“I’m fine,” you assure him. But it’s quiet, dark - and soon you feel yourself beginning to drift off.

VRRROOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

You jolt awake, instantly blinded by the overpowering light surrounding you. A deafening booming noise permeates the air - you don’t know what it is, but it sounds like the rumbling of a thousand jet engines.

You can’t see shit, but you can tell Choi isn’t in the car. You heave open the passenger door, straining to push it open against the rush of wind engulfing the vehicle. Once your eyes adjust somewhat you find your partner about 15 feet away, camera in hand. You look up, but you can’t make out the massive object hovering over the lake - all you can see is five giant blinding spheres of light in the sky.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?” you scream to your partner - but he doesn’t hear you.

Suddenly, everything stops.

The lights, sound, and wind disappear in an instant. Disoriented in the dark, you stumble over to where Choi was standing, but you realize he’s gone - your eyes adjust and you see him sprinting down the lakeshore. In the distance you see another figure, laying on the ground. Choi approaches the figure, kneeling down next to it. You head toward them, but he turns to you and shouts from afar.

“CALL FOR BACKUP!!”

—

The figure on the beach indeed had been the missing boy. The ambulance rushed him to the hospital - but just as the previous two missing kids, he was okay. The next day you and Choi were able to get in and talk to him briefly before being shooed out by the nurse. It was the same story as the others - he didn’t remember anything, but he was completely unharmed.

Three out of three missing people now returned, safe and alive - your business here is done. You can finally get the fuck out of Iowa.

You’re pretty thrilled about leaving, but Choi is ecstatic. You remind him neither of you actually solved anything, but he doesn’t care. He got his photos of whatever the fuck was above the lake that night - it doesn’t answer all of his questions, but nevertheless he got what he came for.

It’s dark by the time you depart from the hospital, driving back to go pack up your things so you can leave first thing in the morning. 

Choi parks the car, and you walk back to your rooms. As you approach the motel, he suddenly swings his arm out in front of you to stop you - the door to your room is slightly ajar, the lock broken. Choi draws his gun, and you follow suit. Holding up his fingers, he silently counts down from three. He bursts through the door, sweeping the room. You follow, turning on the light to see the entire room has been utterly ransacked - the contents of your suitcase as well as all the files from your briefcase are strewn everywhere. 

Choi pops out of the bathroom. “All clear, but the bathroom window is open - if they were just here, they still might be nearby.” He sprints out of the room, pausing briefly and motioning for you to wait. “You stay here, I’ll sweep the area.” He’s gone in a flash.

You turn around and grimace at the absolute mess left behind by whoever the fuck was here. With a sigh you begin to clean up the mess, starting by gathering all the documents. As you sort through them all to put them back in some sort of order, you note that everything seems to be there. Your personal belongings all seem to be accounted for as well. Whatever they were searching for, they clearly didn’t find it.

Choi reappears in your room, sweating and breathing heavily. He shakes his head in disappointment. “Nobody in sight. Asked the manager if he saw anything suspicious, but he clearly didn’t know shit.”

He removes his suit jacket and throws it on the table before plopping down in the singular chair. He runs his hand through his sweaty hair as he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Anything missing?”

You shake your head. “Not a single thing.”

“Shit,” Choi mumbles under his breath. “They were probably looking for my room.”

You raise your eyebrow at him. “Who-”

He waves his hand at you, interrupting. “Don’t worry about it.”

You are worried about it, but you know he’s not going to elaborate even if pressed. 

“Okay. Well, I want to shower and go to sleep, so kindly get the fuck out.” Your tone isn’t angry, you’re just exhausted. 

Choi gets up, but instead of leaving he deadbolts the door and returns to his seat.

“Absolutely not, what if they come back? I’ll keep watch.”

You give him the most exasperated look. “Are you shitting me? I don’t need you to keep guard, I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not taking that chance,” he insists as he crosses his arms. 

You’re stubborn as hell, but in the short time you’ve known Seungcheol Choi he’s done nothing but give you a run for your money in that department.

You roll your eyes. You’re too tired to argue with him. “Fine, whatever. Just give me some privacy, alright?”

Choi salutes you as he turns his chair around. “Roger that.”

You shower and make your way back to your bed. Choi is still sitting in the chair, facing the locked door, his gun and holster sitting on the table right next to him. 

“Are you going to be able to sleep in that chair?” you ask. “Looks uncomfortable.”

Without turning, he replies. “I won’t be sleeping.”

“Seriously? You don’t need to stay up all night just to-”

“I’m not sleeping, Y/ln, it’s not up for debate.”

You stare at the back of his head. Sighing, you pull the covers up and go to turn off the lamp, but you pause.

“Choi?” you call out in a soft voice.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He turns his head ever so slightly, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Goodnight, Y/ln.”

With a swift click you pull the chain on the lamp, and the room is flooded in darkness. As your eyes adjust, the moonlight seeps in past the closed blinds, and you can just make out Choi’s shadow as he keeps watch. Protecting you. 

Within seconds, you are fast asleep.

—

You open your eyes, the bright early morning sun rays peeking in through the window. You lay there, contemplating going back to sleep, when you remember the events of last night. You sit up abruptly to see your partner still in the chair, still facing the door, awake.

“Did you really stay up the whole night?” are the first words out of your mouth.

Choi turns around, his eyes tired but still alert. He nods.

“Did you know you snore in your sleep? Very quietly - it’s cute.”

“Oh, shut up” you grumble as you get out of bed.

Choi rises and grabs his jacket before heading toward the door. “Get ready, we have to be at the airport in an hour.” The door shuts behind him before you can respond with something snarky.

As you make your way to the parked car with your suitcase, you see your partner waiting for you - zoned out in the driver’s seat. 

You yank the driver’s side door open, startling him as he nearly jumps out of his seat. 

“Absolutely not,” you tell him sternly. “You didn’t sleep at all last night, I’m driving.”

“I’m fine, Y/n.”

You go to yell at him when you pause, realizing he just called you by your first name for the first time. He must be delirious, you think to yourself. 

“No, you’re not. And I’d like to make it back home in one piece, thank you.”

“Y/n-”

“Seungcheol Choi get your dumb ass out of the fucking car NOW.”

The expression that washes over his face looks like that of a scolded puppy. He clearly wasn’t expecting you to shout at him. 

“Okay, okay! Fine, you win.” He gets out of the car, walking around to the passenger side. As he opens the door he looks at you, trying to conceal the grin spreading across his face, but failing. 

“I like you like this. You should yell at me more often.” 

You stare at him, exhausted. “You’re insane.”

“So I’ve been told,” he says with a wink as he disappears into the car. 

You sigh for what feels like the thousandth time this week. After a few deep breaths, you reluctantly join your partner in the car. 

“And since when do you call me by my first name?” you inquire as you turn the ignition. The car engine comes to life with a rumble. 

Choi looks at you, his eyelids heavy. He gives you a sleepy smile as you back out of the parking space. 

“I told you you can call me Seungcheol,” he reminds you. 

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He gives no response, but shrugs, leaning back against the headrest and closing his eyes. You stare at him for a brief moment. His black curls lay unruly against his forehead, brushing against his long eyelashes. A faint shadow graces his jawline - the result of not having shaved today. The top few buttons of his shirt remain undone; he didn’t even bother with a tie. Once again, you find yourself stunned by how handsome he is. You push that thought away as your attention returns to operating the vehicle. You shift gears and pull out of the lot. 

“Take a nap, dummy,” you tell him softly. 

—

Not five minutes have passed into your drive before the sound of gentle snoring greets your right ear. You glance over to see Choi positively zonked out in the passenger seat. A grin involuntarily appears on your face - he may be a headstrong pain in the ass, but even the toughest agents eventually fall victim to the cursed necessity of sleep. 

The “highway” out of town toward the airport is nothing more than a vacant country road. You drive for at least fifteen minutes without seeing a single other car. In the absence of Choi yammering on about some off-kilter conspiracy theory, or recounting a tale of a previous case that seems too fantastical to be true, your mind starts to wander. The events of the past week replay in your head. Unlike your partner you don’t quite believe you saw an alien spaceship, but whatever it was certainly is making you question a lot of things.

Your musings are cut short when Choi suddenly jolts awake, nearly making you jump. 

“Jesus, Choi, you scared me.”

He blinks dully a few times, the gears in his head creaking back to life as he tries to reorient himself. After a brief moment of mild panic he regains lucidity, slumping back into his seat with a groan. He yawns as he rubs his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he responds drowsily. 

“Did you know you snore in your sleep? It’s cute,” you jest, repeating his words from earlier back to him. After a moment, he realizes. 

“Fuck off,” he mumbles - but out of the corner of your eye you see him grin. 

You turn the radio on low volume, tuning into the rock station the dial was already set on. A few minutes pass without words, the crooning voice of Mick Jagger supplementing the conversation. Suddenly, Choi perks up, looking in the rear view mirror before turning around to peer out the back window. You glance in the mirror to see a dark car in the distance. 

“Finally, some sign of life,” you remark. “I was beginning to think we’d entered The Twilight Zone or something.”

Choi says nothing, but you notice the concern on his face. I wish he would stop being so paranoid, you think to yourself. He turns back around but keeps his eye on the mirror. Not even a minute later he snaps his head back to look out the rear window again. 

“Shit,” he exclaims, his voice disgruntled. 

You look in the mirror again to see the same car, rapidly approaching as it speeds toward you. Your eyes dart forward again, only to see another dark car up ahead - parked in the middle of the two-lane road, creating a blockade. 

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he says through gritted teeth. 

“Choi, can you please enlighten me as to what the fuck is going on,” you ask nervously. 

“Fucking SHIT,” he shouts, not elaborating. 

“CHOI.”

“Stop the car,” he gripes, his head in his hands. 

You apply the brakes, as you couldn’t keep going even if you wanted to. The car ahead is blocking the whole road, and the trees on either side are preventing you from being able to swerve around it. 

The car following you parks, also blocking the road behind you. Two men in dark suits emerge from each car and casually surround the rental. One of them, from the car in front, walks over to the passenger side of your rental - he knocks on the glass twice. 

“Get out of the car.”

Choi unbuckles his seatbelt, taking his time, before reaching for the door handle. He pulls the latch and opens the door slowly. 

“Both of you.”

Your partner turns to you. “Do what they say,” he says quietly.

You follow the mystery man’s orders. It’s early, but the sun already stings your skin as you step out of the car.

You look at the men, trying to get some sense as to who they are, but you’ve never seen any of them before - you presume they would have nothing on themselves that would give any sort of identification anyway. The men’s guns remain in their holsters, but their hands rest on the frames. You don’t doubt that they would shoot you in a heartbeat if you made any funny moves.

“Open the trunk,” the same man orders to neither of you in particular. His tone is stern, but not overly aggressive.

You make eye contact with your partner. He gives you a slight nod.

You take the keys from the ignition and walk to the rear, inserting them in the lock and turning the key. The trunk lid gives a loud clunk as it pops open. The man signals to the two men that came up from behind you - they approach the trunk, pushing you out of the way as they open it. Choi’s hands clench into a fist, but he doesn’t move.

The men carelessly rummage through the trunk’s contents until they find what they were apparently looking for: Choi’s camera bag. The man opens it and pulls out the chunky Nikon, removing its film. 

“Hey, be careful with that!” Choi shouts angrily. 

Once the other man finishes fishes out the remaining film canisters from the bag, they put the camera back. They signal to the ringleader - he nods. The other men immediately return to their car.

The man in charge claps his hand onto Choi’s shoulder forcefully. 

“Thank you, Agents Choi and Y/ln - very much for your cooperation,” he says smugly. Choi shoves the man’s hand off his shoulder, teeth clenched. Without another word, the man heads back to his car. 

“You won’t get away with this forever,” Choi shouts after him. 

The man keeps walking. He doesn’t even turn his head as he replies mockingly.

“Keep up the good work, Agent Choi.”

You watch the cocky bastard enter the driver’s seat - both cars immediately take off. It was over as quickly as it had begun. 

You know Choi is infuriated, but more than anything he looks absolutely dejected. He leans onto the car, his head resting on his arm in defeat. 

“Who were those men?” you ask him quietly - but you suspect he doesn’t know either.

He takes a few moments before he lifts his head, resuming his posture. His saddened eyes lock with yours. 

“They’re the sons of bitches who make sure nobody knows the truth. Lying to the public, hiding information even from us - destroying all evidence that UFOs exist.”

He lets out a deep sigh. “I really thought I had it this time. Turns out, I was just really fucking stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” you tell him firmly. Softer, you add, “And I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you about… well, everything I guess.”

He laughs softly. “It’s okay, I don’t blame you. I’m the crazy alien guy in the basement, after all.”

He nudges you with his elbow, his voice friendly. “You know, you’re alright Agent Y/ln.”

You smile. “You’re alright too, Seungcheol.”

His face lights up at the sound of his first name. He smiles back at you warmly.

“Now, let’s actually get the fuck out of Iowa,” he says with vigor.

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”

—

20 September 1993 Washington, D.C.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Have a seat, Agent Y/ln.”

You sit in the sturdy oak chair across from the Assistant Director’s desk. You are, once again, joined by the nameless man - smoking his cigarette silently in the corner of the room.

“I read your report on the Iowa case,” Bergman tells you as he flips through the open file on his desk.

You wait for him to continue.

“It is certainly… of lower quality than your usual work.”

You hide a grimace. “What exactly was the problem with it, sir? I was very thorough.”

He gives you a tired look. “Yes, of course - but the report itself is not what I take issue with. What I take issue with is its contents. I assigned you to the x-files as a voice of reason - to rein in Agent Choi, not perpetuate his outlandish theories.

“With all due respect, sir, I followed standard protocol. My report gives no indication that I agree with Agent Choi’s conviction that what we saw was indeed a UFO, and that the government is responsible for some larger conspiracy - I simply detailed everything that I witnessed in Spirit Lake objectively as I experienced it.”

Bergman sighs before closing the file. “Alright, Agent Y/ln. You do good work. But next time, maybe try to prevent your partner from chasing after little green men.” 

“They’re supposedly gray, actually. According to Agent Choi,” you inform him matter-of-factly. 

Bergman stares at you, incredulous. He opens his mouth to say something, but gives up. He waves you out of his office. 

“Dismissed.”

[to be continued…]

[frenchiefitzhere]

finally

here's chapter 2 of The Falls, The Fall READ THE WHOLE THING ON AO3 (still in progress; currently outlined for 4 chapters total)

cw: gambling addiction, mention of alcoholic parent, financial issues, fluff/angst

Preview -- The Falls (Chapter 2)

“Marie, baby. What’s the matter?” His fingers twirled as he held her face, and he pulled a few small curls from their carefully pinned position at the back of Marie’s head. “Are you okay? You nervous or somethin’?”

Colm’s wrist was gingerly taken up in her hand. “Stop. They just came in and did my hair. You’re gonna mess— Never mind. It doesn’t matter…”  I’m not getting married today, anyway. Her head turned down but her hand stayed. Marie used the shield of her own arm crossing her face to hide a few more tears from her mate. 

“What doesn’t matt–? Why doesn’t it–? Marie!”

The pain of what she needed to say pinched in the center of her chest, like a closed fist around her heart. Colm’s reaction to the tiny gasping, sobs that rattled out of that same chest was perhaps the most heightened Marie had ever seen him.

He was practically shaking her shoulders, as if trying to wake her from a nightmare.

Out the window, the waterfall cascaded down from the cliff. Unstoppable.

Unlike the wedding, Marie hoped.

Preview -- The Fall (Chapter 2)

The drawer!

Colm hadn’t pushed it closed all the way.

Had Marie noticed?

If not, her mama wolf eyes had followed his rapid glances and she was now squinting at the drawer filled with betting tickets, notes from Colm’s bookie, and various and sundry paraphernalia from the track.

“What’s in the drawer, Colm?” Marie choked out, attempting to sound threatening, but Colm could hear her voice shaking with disappointment and fear underneath the steely strength. He knew her too well. They had been together too long.

Keep reading on AO3

[earlycuntsets]

07/2005 rock sound

english translation:

"mikey's way" before hitting the road again, heading for Germany, the band members take a lunch break… The waiter asks them if they prefer sandwich bread or a "French baguette"? The Way brothers choose French bread. Once served, Mikey Way's face falls in front of his roast beef sandwich. "It's raw!", the bassist wonders. (the only time of the day when he spoke…) "That's normal, it's eaten like that!", his brother replies. "Oh? Okay…"

"It was unmanageable on the day of the concert. It's too much stuff in one day. As a result, we rarely have time to enjoy the places where we stop for more than a day." Gerard then joins the rest of the group in front of the Carrousel du Sacré-Cœur. Together, the five of them happily indulge in a photo shoot organized for an English teen magazine. The photographer is keen to take advantage of the very 'Frenchie' setting of the Montmartre district. Under the astonished gaze of a few tourists who wonder what is going on, the group takes their place in front of the merry-go-round. "This is the first time we've been asked to smile for a photo shoot!" laughs Ray Toro, guitar. A fan of Jean-Pierre Jeunet's film, the group then recognizes a few places seen in the film Amélie Poulain. The tour continues, with a few comments on French architecture and culture. As soon as they arrive at the first comic book store, everyone forgets their fatigue and doesn't waste a second rushing to buy the new Star Wars figurines and other comics.

A customer stares at Frank before asking him if he's in a band: "Do you play in The Cure?" Frank bursts into laughter and answers in the negative before going to tell the others his little story. After a few purchases (Misfits figurines, etc.), it's already time to get back on the tour bus. "We write a lot on our tour bus. We've practically converted the 'lounge area' into a studio! We've already written a few songs. We might even go back into the studio after the tour. It's a bit different, but it's a logical evolution since Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge," says Gerard Way, who recently did some backing vocals for Every Time I Die's new album. But the band's current news is on the road. "We're thinking of doing another tour in the United States in September," Frank continues. "For the moment, nothing is certain, but it could well be that we open for a big band with whom we've already played…" Green Day? "We can't say anything," smiles Gerard. In any case, playing with Green Day has taught us a lot. Just by watching them. They can fill stadiums and keep a constant communication with the audience. Billie Joe is an incredible frontman. We are much better on stage today, partly thanks to opportunities like these. It's amazing to go from 300 people to 10 or 20 times more. A real challenge for us and also the best learning for a young band. […] Otherwise, we really want to do splits with other bands. We were talking about a split 45 with Alkaline Trio, it will be done according to our schedules." Time is on your side!"

[izzy-b-hands]

I haven't slept yet but i DID get another little bit of the modern/hotel au ouizzy (multi ship, but that's gonna be the main one) piece done, and I'm !!!!!!! over how well this draft is going (knock on wood so I don't jinx it lmao)

[cryptfile]

hi there! i'm mila (she/her) i’m from south america (from this laaarge country called Chile) so english is not my first language. I've been on the internet for a while and i'm in my 20's trying to figure out life while writing silly little stuff and finishing my degree in Digital Animation at the same time, be kind to me or else i'll cry.

Currently my request are open! so feel free to send promps or whatever! i'm pretty social too, so if you'd like to talk or just ask about anything, just go ahead and hit that button! you can check who i write for here. At the moment i'm writing both +18 content as well as your regular nice fluff, angst, etc.

Please interact accordingly. More fandoms to come soon. Have a good time bby! x

ps: Credits to chimiyaa resources on deviantart for the nice thunder and the pink thingy you see in the first image.

SOLDIER BOY

ᓭི༏ᓯྀ nuclear seasons, [+18 mdni ] — he was friend’s with your mom. friend is a understatement cause when he appears in the middle of the night looking for revenge in your little apartment in the suburbs, you know he’s far from being nice.

HOMELANDER

ᓭི༏ᓯྀ holy terrain!!!!!! [ +18 mdni ] — when you arrive to vought’s tower covered in blood, you certainly don't expect to enjoy john’s comfort after feeling so numb.

FRENCHIE // [ RECASTED TO DEV PATEL ]

ᓭི༏ᓯྀ mountains at midnight — after a failed relationship, serge knocks on your door half baked / half bleeding-to-fucking-death.

QIMIR // THE STRANGER

꩜ drabble — qimir taking you as his acolyte.

꩜ dreamseeker — it all started when you find out he’s alive.

CARMY BERZATTO

☆ loveseat [ +18 mdni ] — after being in a relationship with carmen, you cannot help but being extra judgemental when it comes to food.

☆ drabble [ +18 mdni ] — it's just the best pie he ever tasted.

BENEDICT BRIDGERTON

⋆౨ৎ˚ ࣪ over the moon — when your husband starts to stay up painting till late you start plotting a good plan to make him go to bed with you and actually rest instead.

[pedge-page]

Are there any other fic writers like you who write the really nasty (sexy) shit? I can’t find them 🥲

Hi anon! Ive read some phenomenal sexy freaky nasty fics and i wish i kept better track of where i read them. Heres a few of my favorite writers that come to mind who i recommend if you want some fabulous slutty reads:

@aurorawritestoescape @morallyinept @milla-frenchy @romana-after-dark @covetyou @gasolinerainbowpuddles @atticrissfinch @ezrasbirdie @beefrobeefcal @frannyzooey @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @nosesitter @absurdthirst @toxicanonymity and @marisferasiop

I also try to reblog fics that i come across that give me the wowza down southa, especially if they're in line with the stuff I write (if I see a piss fic you BET I'm reblogging it here too!) I'm just not great at tagging my reblogs unfortunately. Will work on that 😉

Enjoy!

[bizarrelittlemew]

every time i see "Ed asks Lucius to write down his lyrics" used as an argument for claiming that Ed can't write i just want to. you know. point out that Stede has Lucius write down everything he says?? and does?? all the time?? and when he can't find Lucius he asks Frenchie (who actually cannot write) to do it instead of just writing it himself. and we know Stede can write. it's got nothing to do with ability to write, just that the captains don't seem to want to write stuff themselves when they have an employee whose job is to do that exact thing for them

[queermediaanysis]

So a lot is bothering me about the narrative structure of season two. If I didn’t have my own novel to work on and didn’t have several more edits commissioned, I’d write a fix-it fic for all of season two to fix the narrative stuff and to really delve into character arcs that felt off. Maybe I will anyway. Idk. If someone who actually has time wants to take any or all of this and write a fic, go for it. Can’t wait to read it. Anyway, this is a very rough outline that’s subject to change if I do write the fic, but from a developmental editing perspective, here’s my two cents nobody asked for on season 2:

Thematic elements: Atonement and coping with trauma, the crew leaving (especially in regards to Stede’s emotional wound where he’s worried about people being better off without him) and identity (especially in regards to Ed/Stede/Izzy). These are present in the show as-is, but they don’t play out well just yet. I’m focusing on these to make things cohesive.

Episodes 1-3: mostly perfect. Loved these and the pacing felt correct for the most part. I would keep the tone from these episodes through the season. Ricky would be introduced here. Zheng is fantastic and all of her stuff stays here.

What I’d change: Ned Low would be the primary antagonist for this season. Ricky would be set up through this season to be the primary antagonist next season. Ned Low’s record is Ed’s original suicide by proxy plan, and that needs to be introduced here. There needs to be a scene showing how Ned tortures people in these episodes. Izzy needs to bring it up as a concern to Ed. Ed doesn’t care about the crew’s safety, obviously, someone (Izzy) needs to mention Ned’s record and possible repercussions here. I’d also NOT play Lucius’s trauma reveal with Stede like a comedy beat. (Like seriously, I HATE that the show played SA as a comedy beat.) Black Pete would be shown crying of Lucius so it’s not just told randomly after the fact. Olu would be shown missing Jim.

Episode 4: The unicorn thing with Izzy was beautiful and I’d keep that. Stede and Ed going to Mary and Anne’s is fine. Buttons can APPEAR to turn into a seagull.

What I’d change: The Kraken Crew and Lucius need to stay paranoid longer. They need to tally things up and realize that Low’s record has been broken (I think Ed was too checked out from reality/high on rhino horn to even realize he’d broken it; Izzy has bigger things going on and likely also lost track) but that record being broken was NEVER shown in the original, just told after the fact. In order to NOT switch to a speculative genre randomly for a convenient metaphor, Buttons appears to turn into a seagull but he doesn’t literally. Revealed to the audience but not to Ed/Stede (more on this later). Stede doesn’t put it to a vote that Ed can come back. He’s the captain and decides that that’s how it’s gonna be. The crew is also gonna look to former first-mate Frenchie (whose trauma is in a box) for direction when Izzy is struggling. It’s Frenchie’s idea about the leg. Izzy is still struggling a little more after his new leg, and I think he should be shown happy at the end but with a bottle of something not far from him (but more in that later).

Episode 5: Ed’s influencer non-apology clearly written by Stede works. Ed and Stede need time apart. The cursed suit can stay for the levity of it. Ed and Fang can go fishing. The moonlight kiss scene works for the most part.

What I’d change: Izzy can be sassy with Lucius, and a bit of a mentor to Stede, but he’s going to be drinking in this episode. Not plastered drunk like ep 4, but it’s gonna clearly be a struggle and everyone is just Not Talking About It. Lucius might start to parallel that a bit and I’d like to see more interaction with them there. I’d also like to see the Kraken Crew (all the crew really) treating Izzy as their captain. Stede says he doesn’t feel like the captain and there should be a reason for that. If he forced them to let Ed back on the boat in ep 4, that can be addressed here. Izzy is following Stede so he can eventually persuade everyone they have to as well, though Izzy’s earned more trust than anyone at this point. I’d delve into him doing for Stede what he did for Ed pre-season one (“massaged the crew” when Ed’s moods seemed off to keep things running (I can’t remember the exact quote past that, but that’s essentially the idea). The Kraken Crew needs to be wary of Ed longer. They do not believe Buttons is a seagull. They all think Ed killed him and Stede says he didn’t see Buttons turn into a seagull, but he takes Ed’s side and doesn’t think Ed killed him. That starts a rift and an “us or Ed” thing that’ll play out later. Ed can try to interact with the crew and get the cold shoulder. He’s done nothing to restore his reputation. As far as the cursed suit goes, I would have them receive some sort of warning from Ned Low when they go to pawn the suit off on the other ship. Stede or/or Izzy would keep it quiet from the crew, who are only just now starting to follow Stede as the captain. Ricky needs to be shown here wanting to end piracy, and interacting with Zheng. After the moonlight kiss, I’d have them holding hands as they walk off. I think maybe Lucius would want to leave the ship here. The Swede and Buttons are gone already, and it makes sense for Lucius to want to leave but Black Pete to want to stay. They’ll both still be on board here though.

Episode 6: Calypso’s Birthday will be the plot for 7/8.

What I’d change: let me preface this by saying I haven’t worked Zheng’s plot fixes out fully. But. If we’re moving this to the next two episodes, something has to happen here. I’d keep the bit with the guilt room and with Ed giving away treasure to the urchins saying don’t be pirates, but have him say more in front of Stede about how piracy is bad for specific reasons that Stede just doesn’t clock as Ed wanting to stop. I think the plot will be along the lines of Stede engaging in more piracy. Ed will quietly be struggling with the fact that Stede is becoming a more and more proficient pirate in his own way, Ed himself not wanting to pirate anymore, and his tentative new relationship with the captain of a ship he is definitely not wanted on by anyone other than Stede. Zheng needs to interact with Ricky here about him wanting to end piracy. Izzy is a good first mate here but he’s still drinking. Lucius may start to parallel that here. Former first mate Frenchie picks up the slack and falls into a leadership role when Izzy is struggling too much, and this is eventually gonna cause him to have to deal with his trauma that’s bottled up, when he has to talk to Izzy about clearly not handling his own. Eventually, things will come to a head with the crew not wanting Ed on board. It becomes an “us vs him” thing with the crew threatening to leave if Es doesn’t. Stede will try to smooth things over but Ed will interrupt and say don’t bother, he’s leaving. He doesn’t know who he is but at least fisherman would be better than pirate. Episode ends with Stede heartbroken and Ed going off to fish in something that isn’t his leathers, so he wouldn’t be recognizable from a distance. Low pinpoints Stede’s ship but doesn’t see Ed on it, and plans to bait him out by boarding and torturing the crew.

Episodes 7-8: Nope. I’d keep almost none of this.

What I’d change: This part is also still rough and I need to flesh it out a bit more, BUT: Calypso’s birthday would be episode 7. The crew would wanna party but also wanna cheer up their sulking captain. They’re glad Ed is gone. Izzy is a good first mate here but still drinking. He encourages the party to Stede who agrees. They’re spending Ed’s treasure that he’s left, turning the poison into positivity by getting rid of the bad memories the Kraken Crew has of obtaining it. Stede and Izzy bond a lot here. Ned Low does interrupt the party (I think maybe he’s also “working” with Ricky but not really, he has his own agenda) planning to bait Ed back. The scene in Stede’s quarters would be Izzy and Stede, not Ed and Stede. Once again the crew are suffering for Ed’s actions, and THAT is how Ed can atone for it. He can save them, probably with the help of Zheng who he’ll have met when he goes off to be a fisherman. So there’s some camaraderie going there. Also, with help from Lucius and Black Pete, who will have to trust him in order to save the crew/themselves. Stede will be the one to kill Ned Low, and he and Ed will still impulsively sleep together as a coping mechanism at the end of episode 8. Izzy is still alive and well (though still drinking a lot; and I think this could be a key to Frenchie having to confront trauma instead of locking it in the box), and things aren’t smoothed out with Ed and Izzy yet, that’s for next season, Ed has ACTUALLY done something to earn the crew’s trust back, and it appears to be a happy enough ending for Ed and Stede. Also, IF Ed says “I love you”, Stede is GONNA say “I love you too” because WTAF was that in the show?! But I’d end the season with La Vie en Rose and fireworks, Izzy happy and celebrating with the crew, a happy moment for Ed/Stede, the antagonist defeated, and Ed actually having atoned for his previous actions.

All of this is rough, but it’s my original thoughts. If anyone wants to use the base of this to write a fix-it fic, go for it. I may do it myself if I can find the time between work writing responsibilities.