#maybe this is the year i actually try and flesh it out

[arogustus]

Splatband Analysis - Chirpy Chips

(Disclaimer: This analysis is based on what I get out of looking into the character descriptions we have of the splatband characters. If you disagree with what I say, that is fine, we are all beheld to our opinions. Just don't be a jerk about it.)

Splatband Analysis - Chirpy Chips

It’s the autism and ADHD squad! The chiptune chippers, Marie’s and Nintendo’s favorite band and the only one to survive Nine years together without drama (bar that one time), it’s the Chirpy Chips! Love these dudes.

Now, before we go into this, let’s address the Harmony in the room. Specifically that she has a room, in-game, where she exists in the polygonal flesh to interact with as a shopkeeper. Her autistic swag made her popular enough to be the first Splatband character to show up in the games, which means we actually know her and how she behaves. So, I’m gonna leave her for last and go about her like this: First, I’ll look into what we used to know before Splatoon 3 about her, and then we’ll compare that to her appearance in-game to see if it matches up. See if she was done right by the game. Now let’s meet these chips!

The Band

The Chirpy Chips debuted after Squid Squad all the way back in Splatoon 1, nine years ago (God). Dominating the charts thanks to their chiptune rock style, made with the help of multiple Nintendo machines (Gamers), this band has managed to outlast Squid Squad without disbanding all the way to Splatoon 3!.. Ok, actually that’s not true. According to a Famitsu Interview for Splatoon 2, the Chirpy Chips actually disbanded ever so briefly! No word as to why, but they reformed shortly after and wrote and performed Blitz It during the high of joining back. After that they’ve stuck together ever since, only really going on break because Harmony started working at Hotlantis. 

Don’t site that NoA post for Chirpy Chips Splat 3 that said there was drama by the way. The band was just on break, they are fine and NoA is just trying to stir up fake drama. It’s just like real life!

All of these guys are autistic. Like, that’s not a theory, but a fact. None of their descriptions make them sound neurotypical, that’s for sure. The band just seems to vibe perfectly with each other despite some of their issues, and they all go at their own pace. Turns out the secret to surviving in the music industry all along was to make neurodivergent friends. 

One of their performance tricks that they do is to glow in sync during songs. It’s a super cool visual to imagine, though probably done through artificial means, at least for Orion and Sid. As far as I know, there aren’t any bioluminescent crabs or flapjack octopi. Anemone and squid on the other hand do have glowing members, but it doesn’t confirm if they do it naturally or are using artificial means too. Either way these guys are a colorful bunch. And also none of them know how to dance, emphasizing further that these four are all dorks.

Noiji

Noiji is the hyperactive guitarist of the band, a stark contrast to the significantly less energetic rest of the band. He’s described as uncontrollable and bright, with a sunny disposition and an irresistible urge to run up and down slopes. He sounds overwhelming, and maybe impulsive if that slope running thing can be applied to other actions, but somehow he manages to get along well with the others. What is his secret? Also to keep with the neurodivergenceness, he has a special interest for vending machines. He would have loved them in Side Order, that’s for sure. Honestly I love vending machines too, they’re really cool, but just too expensive for someone of my income level (for now, anyway).

He used to be a part of a punk band called BariBari before he joined the Chirpy Chips.Surprising considering his colorfulness, but he seems to either formerly be, or still is, a punk. No word why he left the band though or what happened to it, but during that point he met and befriended Orion and formed the Chirpy Chips with them. They’re described to be on good terms with each other, which makes sense since, again, they knew each other before the rest joined up. 

Orion

The band's bassist and composer, a shy flapjack octopus. Yeah, despite being an octopus, they’re not an octoling, likely because of the fact the flapjack doesn’t naturally produce ink. They must be classified as something different to the inkfish, but what that is is something I don’t know. They’re an introvert, they don’t enjoy standing out or performing in front of crowds, and the compositions they upload independent of the band are done quietly. Makes one wonder how exactly someone like them made friends with Noiji. They’re an intellectual, geeky type, with a taste for outdated and strange subjects, as well as a preference for chiptune that they ensure the bands music keeps to. 

Surprising us all, Orion also got actual dialogue of sorts in the Splatoon 3 Chill Season 2023 update! Specifically in the form of Harmony reading a letter written by them. As Harmony herself describes, they talk the way they play the bass, EXTRA. Mostly in the form of excited statements and jokes about the band's lack of dancing ability. Kind of a stark difference from what we know of them, either because they’re doing this via text without having to face anyone, or because they’ve become more outgoing over the years. Either way an honor. Also canon they/them! Good for they.

Sid

The band's drummer, and the eldest among them. They’ve been drumming for a while, having performed for several other bands before joining the Chips, and they have a strong reputation in the community because of it. It seems that because of this, they’ve taken something of a silent mentor role to the others, supporting them in the background without ever taking the lead. Sort of a big brother style relationship going on. 

They’re described as easygoing, but with a hidden temper that only ever surfaces once a year, where they become way crabbier. To me it says that they don’t really express their frustrations often, just letting them simmer before they snap and vent it out. And even then they don’t draw a lot of attention that way. 

Harmony (and fish)

The anemone of the hour, the band’s vocalist and visual designer. As said above, I’ll first go over the info we knew of her before her appearance in Splatoon 3, and then compare it to what we’ve learned now to see if it was faithful to her character. 

She’s described as relaxed and going at her own pace, but to the point of being unmotivated. She’s frequently late for practice, and considering the state of her fish, who is “dying” of neglect (quote marks there cause the little guy is still alive somehow), it sounds a lot like executive dysfunction. I would know, I’m like her sometimes. Her singing voice is mentioned to also have been pretty flat and listless, but it seems years of performance has made it change to a much livelier tone in the intervening two years. She talks loosely and moves peculiarly, something the fans secretly enjoy. Why secretly? Is there a stigma against it? Her listless singing is mentioned to be a hot topic, so it might be the case.

We see in the bands’ album art for Splatoon 2 that she’s the one who mixes the chiptune music on nintendo consoles. Easy to say that she’s the pre-requisite in-universe Nintendo fan for this game. There’s one in pretty much every franchise. Skipping to “3” a bit, we can also assume she’s the one who edited the trailer, which shows off a lot of fun visuals and jokes, as well as her just goofing off like the dork that she is. For how reserved she comes off, she’s got an eccentric, goofy side hidden under there.

But now we’ve actually met her as Hotlantis’ shopkeeper! She’s a fan of the place, so despite the threat of having to work retail, she’s staying in the area in the actual manager’s place while he’s gone. She’s a fan of the store and all its useless knick knacks. As for herself as a person, it’s safe to say it all matches what we used to know of her. She’s pretty self-paced and blunt, commenting on your achievements out loud no matter how rude it sounds. She admits to it too if she beats you at tableturf, she doesn’t really know how else to talk. Her lack of motivation shows up anytime she needs to recite something Barry told her to do. She just plain doesn’t want to do any of it. She still does the work she’s willingly doing, she’s just going at her own pace. 

The fish is a fish, no telling what is up with them. Though according to some artbook information in “3” (correct me if I’m wrong), the reason they’re so sick is actually because Harmony’s hair isn’t protecting it very well. They’re still sticking around anyway, granted we’re not sure how clownfish do without an anemone, but it still seems like they’re staying of their own volition.

—

Harmony’s, and later Dedf1shes inclusion, gives us all hope we can see more of our favorite obscure characters in the games themselves. And looking at Harmony, we don’t have to worry too much about them being out of character, since she’s pretty accurate to the info we know.

I love these weird goobers. They should continue showing up. But now we are in the finale. Ω-3 is all that’s left now. See ya next time!

[skeblinn]

stare into the abyss and the abyss grabs you by the scruff of the neck

(for context, in this rewrite/au the markings on elise's back/arms is the seal placed on her to contain Iblis, and the inhibitor rings are a treat given to keep her from bursting into flames!)

[sheepfish03]

Happy new year! I’ve been dealing with a bit of artblock, in that nothing i draw looks polished enough for my tastes, so I decided to do something in a messier style on purpose, and i think it helped?

[imwritesometimes]

I think the huge chunk in the middle of my wip notebook that is just manic notes, outlines, time lines, entire chapters complete with edits from the last (almost) year that I abandoned should idk... have the decency to tear themselves out and set themselves on fire

[smithsparker]

now the question is. am i going to study for my test that is 40% of my grade. or am i gonna write for zukka week

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

uh oh! worlds stupidest little guy used the wrong lotion and now everything smells like my childhood bathroom and the year is 2016 and its february which means its almost valentines day which is perhaps the most accursed date on the calendar and the year is 2016 and your least favorite little guy is in full blown survival panic mode!

[gikairan]

Gone down a research rabbit hole tonight.....

I need to work out how fast a certain character can travel across a continent, and this particular journey is likely to have an impact on how I pace some of the early parts of the story.

Now I'd previously decided that this is possible with a technology equivalent to steam trains. Its not powered in the same way, but its basically a steam train. Without them, its likely to take months to get anywhere - as the next fastest method of transport would be Horse after all.

But in order to work out what timeline these events happen in, i need to know how fast a steam train actually went.

And this leads me to finding out British steam trains could go up to 50mph on the best lines.

So, fine. How long will it take a 50mph train to travel.... uh... London to Beijing! The driving distance is apparently 6,540.67 miles. Thats 130.8 hours of travel at the top speed of 50mph. Or 5.4 days of non stop travel at 50mph.

Now theres going to be stops along the way - potentially adding a few days. It wont travel at that full speed the whole way, which adds Many Hours. I also dont think its a direct route - i think this technology is too new for there to be a direct connection between locations that might be as far apart as 6,000 miles. So theres potentially days of downtime waiting for the next connection. Also, the very last segment of the travel HAS to be on horseback, because its too rural to have Trains. That bit of the journey needs to be calculated.

But if i want to be generous, the train side of things might be a 2 week journey at best. It also needs to be done in both directions. So, like.... a month of travel? I could reduce the speed to 30mph! Thats 7.7 days of non stop 30mph travel! So maybe.... 3 weeks? 4? Or 2 months of Trains total?

.... I, uh, kinda wanted this part of things to be more like... 6 months long....... 😬

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Ahhhh I've been waiting for your requests to open, I've been following you since your first Price fic and never had an idea to request until like 2 weeks ago 😫 so, I've been thinking, what about being in a relationship with Keegan but getting separated when ODIN hits the earth and not meeting again until about 5 years later? 👀 Love your writing, hope you have a great day 🩵 :)

For The Weak And Weary

PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: When ODIN struck you had thought he had died, sky alight with fire. It had taken years to accept it, much less live with it. But after Dallas falls, would you get a glimpse of your Lover's phantom again?

WORDCOUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Angst, depressive thoughts, PTSD insinuations, gore, wounds, blood, death, canon-typical violence, (1) suggestive joke, alcohol, hallucinations, fluffy reunion, tears, verbal arguments, etc.

A/N: Just because I'm a sucker for sticking to the game timeline I made it ten years, lol. Enjoy, Anon! Very fun prompt.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You could never make sense of what Keegan went through in 2005 during Operation Sand Viper. It would be pointless to try and wrap your head around it from what little you knew. All that mattered was that when he came back on leave, something in his eyes was…damaged. Hell, he’d only been sixteen—the both of you had known each other since you were kids, you knew when something was wrong.

And this was entirely new to you.

He smiled less and snapped more; got spooked when you dropped something in his family's kitchen like a grenade had gone off. Maybe, you reasoned, he thought one actually had. 

But through it all, you could still see how much he cared about you. When you were old enough you’d both moved into a nice place in the suburbs and started a relationship—a life shared between the two of you. 

You knew he loved you from the way he’d grip you close at night and breathe into your scalp. How when you were sick from the take-out dinner he’d brought home, Keegan would hold back your hair and rub circles into your spine as you threw up. He never shied away from telling you how beautiful you were; prided himself on it. Keegan loved to show you off.

But there were times back then when you wondered if the same Keegan that had been so fulfilled to join Ghosts had died, and, in fact, a phantom was instead puppeting his skin. He was so quiet now.

If you’d known that the world was going to end on July 10th, 2017, you’d have never let him walk out that door angry. You would have grabbed his hand and pressed your lips to his, whispered affirmations into his flesh and sobbed at the cruelty of it all.

“I can’t keep pretending that you’re okay!” You yell, tears in your eyes, at the man standing tense in the kitchen doorway. Blank blue eyes stare lifelessly. “Keegan—this is killing you.” 

It was early morning by then, and the neighborhood was quiet. The house that the both of you had moved into years ago was littered with the remnants of a happy home. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, and freshly baked bread on the counter. All you’d tried to do was give Keegan a hug, slipping your hands around his waist when you’d entered. 

He’d balked back, jerking to the side and nearly elbowed you in the gut before he saw your wide eyes and stopped himself. The way he’d looked at you…how could eyes be so dead?

“You need to talk to someone,” you put your foot down, shaking your head. “I-I don’t know a therapist or…or someone who can get you proper help because I can’t keep acting like I can live like this.” 

Every mission, every time he went away, it always got worse. 

Keegan’s eyes get sharp, hands at his sides clenching. He speaks in a low growl. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink, alright? I’m fine, you just startled me.”

“Bullshit,” your mouth hisses, glaring. “You thought you were back in ‘05.”

The man points at you, strong jaw clenching, “Don’t.”

“Keegan,” you plead, “please, I love you! I don’t care about this, I just want you to be alright. To be able to live your life—”

“What you want is to try and change me!” The black-haired man barks. Your eyes blink in shock. Keegan rarely yelled. “I already told you I was fine, why don’t you get off my back all the time?” His eyes flash, pupils going to slits as his hands shake at his sides. Why did he look scared? Your breath stills, lips slightly open, with tears dripping to the tile. “Fuck, it’s like I can’t come home without you pesterin’ me ‘bout something!” 

A stiff silence falls.

“Kee—” He snaps a hand to his mouth and rubs at his stubble, suddenly unable to look at you.

“...Forget it.” It’s low and shaky how he says it, eyes wide, before he darts into the foyer and slips into his boots. You listen to the sounds of panicked shuffling before the man wrenches open the front door and slams it shut behind him. One of the picture frames falls and hits the ground with a shattering of glass.

You flinch and tense, taking down a terse breath and sniffling tightly. Trying to get your lungs to work properly, your feet take you over to the picture as they feel weak and uneven; a stuttering mess of steps before you bend down. Your fingers bleed as they shift the glass away, taking out the image of you and Keegan on your hike through the mountains. 

Smiling faces mock you, and you break at the bright and open affection Keegan wears as he looks down at you—eyebrows curved up and smirk like a knife to the chest. 

You loved him so much it hurt to breathe when he was away. 

He had needed time, you knew, but what you didn’t know was that time wouldn’t be available. Around noon the world had opened into a ball of fire and death. 27 million dead. Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Houston, and Miami…all gone…at least, that was what everyone in Dallas was telling you. 

When Keegan had been away taking a walk to calm himself, you’d been home alone. The earth caved, the ground shook; houses burst like balloons. By the time you’d crawled from the rubble of your home, all you had was the picture and the clothes on your back. People were screaming—you were screaming. But you knew that you couldn’t stay here if you wanted to survive. 

And then you’d made it to Dallas by sheer luck and the few tricks Keegan had taught you; had thought that he had died in that first strike by the Federation. You carried that guilt and self-hatred for not holding your tongue for a few more hours. 

So much could have been different in these ten years. Better. You never got over him for even a second. 

But the reality was that you couldn’t think about all of that now, because if you didn’t focus on holding your breath you would be dead in the next three seconds. 

Your hand is anchored to the body of your sniper rifle, finger hovering over the trigger as you hide behind the outcropping of rubble in the decimated cityscape; the air is hot and humid despite the weight of the night. It sticks to your skin in a sheen of violent sweat. Yet it’s still not as potent as the blood. 

Teeth gritted, you hold back whimpers as Federation soldiers stalk the grounds, scores of them—legions. An entire army that had breached the walls and executed everyone insight, soldiers, civilians, if it once moved it didn’t anymore. The burning in your shoulder was agonizing, head smashing itself back to the rubble in an attempt to stifle your own ragged need to scream into the night as layers had peeled back to allow a bullet to pass through. 

In the ten years you’d been here, you’d taken up the mantle of quite the sharpshooter; pulling on Keegan’s lessons when he was on leave and wanted to bring you to the firing range. You had even picked a rifle similar to the one back in your destroyed home—held in a plastic case and treated like royalty by your long-deceased lover. It wasn’t the same, but the jet-black Lynx made you steady like the picture in your breast pocket did. 

A reminder of what was lost and why you had picked the knock-off up in the first place.

Footsteps get closer as the sweep of a flashlight cards above your skull, if possible you go even more still, lips pulled in and heart rampaging. There were barked orders and yelling, but no more screaming. 

How long had you been unconscious after taking that shot to the shoulder? Fear was breeding with horror—was…was everyone dead?

Spanish is loudly called not five feet away, and the flashlight leaves as your breath does. You let off a quiet gasp and suck down air greedily. Eyes flashing from one shadow to another, you look for any opportunity to slip away from the city. In the wind, you could smell fire, and taste it on your tongue as you licked your lips. 

All around you can see the limp shadows of bodies and the apartments, large skyscrapers were on fire deep in their frames. The city was entirely lost.

How the federation got into the walls you would never know, though there was concern about the enemy soldiers rounding up civilians outside the walls and executing them. Maybe one cracked before the bullet entered their skull.

You bite hard into your lip to force back your pain. Trying to shoot a rifle would be useless at this point, you might as well have lost the limb. Slinging the gun’s strap over your head, you look back and forth along your visible perimeter, checking for hostiles as you unsheathe your combat knife and cradle your limp arm to your chest. 

If only Keegan could see you now.

Rounds of gunfire make the air burn with urgency, and you take the time to peek out behind as sweat makes a trail down your dirty face, dripping off of your chin as you breathe like a wheezing dog. Your wound needed tending, and you had the med pack on your vest with the supplies, but you can’t do it here.

Where’s safe? If Dallas has fallen…is there anywhere that’s still standing? A location hits your brain as your gaze darts from one abandoned street to another. You take a deep breath and whine as you force your legs to stand and move quickly, feet shifting as quietly as you’re able to make them. 

“Fort Santa Monica.” Now a stronghold, you’d heard US soldiers here talking about the large presence of military power out in California—numbers so great they rivaled those that had lived in Dallas. 

You stumble over a spasming body and slam your uninjured shoulder into the bulk of the building’s wall, groaning loudly like a wounded boar. 

“Fuck!” If you made it out of the city, that would be where you would have to go; to warn them of what was coming. The Federation had found a way inside the Dallas wall, and that meant if they had enough tenacity, they could do it to them too. 

Everything would be done if another city fell.  

Holding your knife tighter, you push off the wall and grit your teeth harder, mind running on that edge of hysteria and forced calm. It’s in these moments where you have to pull on old memories to keep you going—even if they end up hurting more than the open wounds you carry. 

Keegan had his bad moments, but you always got through them together. Years and years of knowing each other inside and out; memorizing bodies and thoughts like they were second nature. He would want you to keep fighting, tell you to get your ass in gear and go…and you would never let him down. 

You owed him that much even if some days you wanted more than anything to join him. 

Blade in hand, you hear muttered speech from up the alleyway and pause, feet splayed but still swaying as you come to a slow stop. Your ears ring at garbled sentences, foreign words spilling into one another. 

Panting, you listen closely, limbs vibrating. More gunfire echoes over the air, screams and death that get ingrained into your head like a brand into sizzling flesh. Skyscrapers burned and buildings fell with great earthquake booms. Everything is under a sheen of distance.

Get out of the city. Get to Fort Santa Monica.

“Kill who I have to,” you slur out, itching at your neck as you leave a trail of blood behind you. A single pair of footsteps walk quickly forward near your corner and you hold your breath, bringing up your knife as pain pounds in your arm. 

Deep blue eyes sit in the back of your mind, counting you down as they always did.

Keep your arm steady for me, Doll, a phantom tells you. Breathe...

When the first shadow of a Fed soldier graces your eyes, you strike. 

—

It’s roughly nineteen days from Dallas to Santa Monica, and that was if you kept up at a steady walking pace. If the crude sling you’d fashioned from bandages found in your med pack was any indicator, it would be double that. 

On the first day, you had hiked half-dead over the destroyed landscape of what remained of the USA, licking your wounds and counting your losses. You’d had your pick of abandoned houses, taking a red brick one just because it looked nice and you were about to pass out from blood loss. The only reason you’d made it this far was that the bullet had thankfully passed right through you, making sure that if you moved too suddenly no more damage was being done internally. You packed it with a sterile rag.

Sitting in the home, pictures gathering dust on the fireplace mantle, you tipped back a bottle of whisky you’d found in one of the bedrooms, grimacing at the sting. It was better to be drunk for what you were about to do. 

Heating up your combat knife in the fire you had started in the hearth, you watched the metal grow an eye-flinching white as you stared off into nothingness. 

“You remember when you showed me that scar, Keegan?” You always talked to him. Others had given you shit for it, but they knew the purpose. If you didn’t talk to someone, even a ghost, you would give up. 

The guilt was eating you alive, and it would overtake you eventually. Hadn’t in ten years, but it would…you knew it, everyone did. 

Keegan was everything, and nothing looked the same when you lost him.

“The one on your thigh?” Pulling the knife back, you turn to the leaking flesh of your shoulder, gushing blood as black desecrates the sides of your eyes. You’d taken off your vest and shirt. If you tried hard enough you could imagine Keegan standing in the corner, watching. Always watching. “You said you had to dig a bullet out and cauterize the wound—when I asked you said you barely felt it over all the adrenaline.”

The ghost tilts its head, eyes sad and lips pulling taunt. Your lungs take in a shaky inhale and your hand quivers; only you feel how your eyes burn with unshed tears. 

“I never thought about it before,” right as you growl and shove the knife into your skin, you bark out in fear, “But I think you were fucking lying!” 

On day two, you knew you had to avoid the remains of Fort Worth, so you decided to increase your distance and cut that landmark out entirely—too many remnants of Federation. They were everywhere now, and you needed to keep low; get out of Texas. You scavenged properties and took stock. 

Four magazines for your Lynx, a pouch with five protein bars, one bottle of water attached to your belt, and your knife. Normally you’d have a pistol at your thigh, but you’d used it up in the firefight back home. When you’d woken back up, it had been gone.

And, of course, you had the picture. You kissed Keegan’s face and placed it back in your breast pocket, caressing the material softly before clearing your throat and addressing the obvious. 

With what you had getting to California was a pipe dream. 

You’d been on the radio all day, clicking through channels and pleading for anyone alive to reach out. Nothing. Static. 

I’m the only one left. The thought was intoxicating, pounding in your skull like your hangover. Everyone is dead. 

While you had become somewhat of a loner in the last ten years, especially with the few months you’d been by yourself in the beginning, Dallas had given you a chance to build bonds again. Ten years, and in an instant it was all wiped out. 

It rang a devastating bell.

Somehow, you had cheated death where so many others had failed—not only in Texas, but back with ODIN too. You had survived, but somehow Keegan hadn’t. 

Keegan, the one who never spoke about ‘05 and jerked awake from nightmares years later because of it. Keegan, who wanted nothing more than to stay at your side when he was home and keep you on his chest when watching movies. Keegan, the love of your life.

The only love of your life. 

“I really wish you were here,” you mutter, grimacing as your arm gets jostled as you stumble over a piece of rusted metal in the empty street. “Who gave you the right to go away before me, huh? We were supposed to grow old together, Russ. You promised me that.” 

Garbage gets blown over the road when a hot breeze shifts the air, bringing the scent of dirt and the noise of rustling trees. Nature has reclaimed the towns and suburbs—great patches of ivy and long grass that rise to your hips. But the silence was a curse.

The only thing keeping you going is the thought of delivering your warning to Santa Monica, from there…

Your lips thinned. What even was there left? How many times could you go from one place to another, starting over with stories of your past and having to brush the pitying looks off as you fake a smile? 

Shaking your head, you recall memories from the better days as the light gets low in the sky. 

“You’re doin’ too much, Sweet Thing,” Keegan mutters, and you turn from the stove top with a bright smile to face him. 

He had just gotten out of the shower, towel ruffling through his dark hair as he stands in the kitchen entrance and watches you cook for him. The shirt hangs off of his wide shoulders, and gray sweatpants are loose over his formed hips—his strong brow line raises in a casual expression. 

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it,” you tease, hearing his low chuckles as you turn back to your pan. “You look good, y’know.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Keegan grunts, smirking, and his feet pad over to you, tossing the towel to the counter as his presence looms over your back. Large hands grab onto your hips and a nose burrows into your hair; inhaling deeply before gradually melting to the curve of your spine. 

You smile and hum, pushing back so you can rest on his chest. A chin sets itself on your head, deep massaging fingers making you pur as they bunch your sleep shorts.

It was late—nearly two in the morning. Keegan had only gotten home a short while ago, but sleep wasn’t going to stop you from spoiling him. A wine bottle was on the island counter, two glasses, and the food was nearly done from what you could scrounge up on short notice.

“...Good to be back,” the man grumbles into you, kissing your head and slowly sweeping his arms around your waist as you sighed softly at the contact. 

Your face gains heat. 

“Well, I’d sure hope so, or else this would be awkward.” You huff to hide the bright smile in your voice. But like a moth to flame, you hear, as well as feel, Keegan chuckle against your spine. His grip squeezes you for a moment. 

“How was it when I was away?” He asks as you move around the contents in the pan, nose brushing your neck as his lips travel to kiss behind your ear. He breathes against the flesh as his low rasp makes you shiver. “Any trouble?”

“Negative, Sergeant,” you raise a brow and smirk over your shoulder at him, seeing his blues spark as he gazes hard into your eyes. A faint twitch to his lips is what you get before his hand captures your cheek; anchoring your face as he descends to connect his mouth to yours.

He sighs into it, arm still around your waist—tight as if you were a pillow. 

“Keep talkin’ like that and we won’t have to wait long for dessert, will we?” 

Days three through seven were uneventful beyond the constant agony of your arm and tired legs, but on day eight amid a waterless walk in the sweltering heat was when the hallucinations began. 

Keegan walks beside you, his footsteps mirroring your own as sweat pools down your forehead and drips off your nose. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you—he just walks, looking exactly like he did the day he died. 

At first, you’d flinched back and blinked wildly at the sight, panting, but then he’d disappeared and your heart had shattered. It worried you with what you were seeing, but it was also a strange comfort to be able to ramble to…something, even if it wasn’t real. Hungry and with a dry tongue, you were on the verge of calling it quits.

So on day eleven, without a wild animal in sight to give you a proper food source and all the water having to be purified, you started talking to him while licking the inside wrapper of your last protein bar. 

“But I never understood why you hated sleeping in shirts,” you licked your lips to get the remnants of granola off of your flesh, pushing away the greasy sheen from your cheeks. Your arm was burning up—every heartbeat was felt as it moved the skin around red and infected flesh up and down. Puss was leaking out from the crude stitches you had made of embroidery thread from that first house you’d found. 

“And you always kept the room freezing.” Continuing, you drop the wrapper to the ground and then take the meat of your fingers and get what little flavor you can off of them, grunting through realization. “That was a ploy to have me use you for heat, wasn’t it? Jesus.” 

The man in the corner of your vision smirks, tilting his head and chuckling from where he leans against a tree trunk. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Knew it.” Glaring at nothing, you stand from your overturned stump and nearly fall right back over, stomach yelling at you as your vision swirls. 

You dig a hand into your hair and grip at the strands, pulling and groaning. “...God.” 

Keegan comes over and stands above you, your eyes staring down at his feet as you get light-headed. You focus on his shoelaces, counting the Xs and taking down shaky breaths. When you blink like a cat with dirt on its face, the shoes are gone entirely and you stand back up to your full height.

“...Keegan?” You ask after a moment, the words disappearing into the trees, but no one’s around. 

Your sight goes to your wound and your jaw tightens, moments of clarity slipping in as a knife would into your consciousness before the curtain settles once more. 

You bend over and vomit what little nutrients you had, spending day twelve sleeping through a fit of nightmares and fever-induced delirium.

Nothing about the remainder of the time you can recall to memory—bits and pieces always flash through on long nights, but they’re only walking montages. Dragging feet, looking at your hand as if it was a foreign object as you turned it back and forth; everything in a sheen of sickness. Days and days and days. Little food. Less water. 

More than one-thousand miles.

But somehow, the Wall peels out in front of you as you crash through the foliage, your body giving out and collapsing down a large decline. Bouncing and getting jostled by rocks, you come to a stop without the strength to get back up, staring blankly ahead as your head connects with concrete. Your mouth is open in broken inhales, pain not even registering. 

Shouts echo, the pound of rapid feet. 

Green eyes meet yours, a youthful face with a beanie and stubble. He’s saying something to you, glancing over your gear and your obvious near-death situation—his hand jostles the side of your face. But your eyes shift behind him gradually, attention falling to someone more important. 

Before you finally let yourself rest, you stare at the smiling face of your steadfast phantom.

—

The doctors and nurses at Fort Santa Monica were nice, if a bit secretive about the entire operation. Seeing as you weren’t an official soldier, no dog tags or patches—no name in the database—everyone was a bit hesitant to tell you anything. 

Until you said you were from Dallas, of course. 

But no one was eager to rush you in your state, even if the information was dire. You had been hooked up to an IV and bedridden for a week straight; talking to nothing on account of the dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Some days you spend unconscious. 

But what really pissed you off when you got back into it, was the fact that they had taken your Lynx and your gear—your picture.

You’d almost grappled onto the first nurse you’d seen when you’d woken without it. It was a beacon, your prized possession of damaged corners and taped tears. Water damage that may or may not have been from sobbing fits in the first five years. 

In fact, that was the entire reason you had snuck out so late in the first place. 

Stalking down the hallway in the white shirt and camo pants that had been given to you on the fifth morning you had woken up here, you pad along with no shoes, only plain gray socks. You limp with bandaged flesh all along your healing shoulder and your feet. 

The doctor had explained that you’d entirely skinned the bottoms and your heels were a mess of blisters and open wounds. 

“Take my property,” you grumble under your breath, shuffling along and rubbing at the back of your neck. “What gives them the right?” 

You weren’t going to stop until you found it. 

Reading the name tags on the walls, you silently wonder where they would have taken your stuff as you slip out of the medical ward, listening to the buzzing of the lights and frowning. As you’re limping along the next hallway, a man suddenly turns the corner on nearly silent feet. 

“Woah!” You halt immediately, heart jumping in your chest. A hand catches your shoulder before you run headlong into him. 

Green eyes lock with your own, wide and blinking quickly. Brows furrow and you’re quickly looked over before a slow, teasing remark enters the air, you listen with a growing heat on your neck.

“Y’know, I could have sworn you were supposed to be in bed, Ma’am. I miss something here?” The man who had found you. 

“Wouldn’t know,” you say blandly, blinking up at him and taking a careful step back. This brunette had a casual air to him—still in his gear despite the time. He folds his arms and tilts his head at you, smirking. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

You begin to walk forward, slipping past him and hoping you won’t get snitched on. Except it seems you’ll be having a shadow, as not a few seconds later a smooth chuckle meets your ears and the man walks beside you. 

“I think I’ll be taggin’ along if you don’t mind. Security and all.” He turns to face you, sticking out his opposite hand. “Hesh.”

“That supposed to be some kind of nickname, Kid?” You raise a stiff brow but participate in the handshake nonetheless. His grip is firm but not hard. 

Hesh blinks at you, eyes swimming with amusement before he shrugs in a boyish way and shakes his head with a laugh. “Hell, you remind me of someone, Ma’am.” A moment passes in silence as you study the area. The man huffs, “Where exactly are we off to?” 

“Wonderland,” your lips grumble, tired and wanting to sleep but not until you find your picture. Hesh sighs but you can still hear the hilarity inside of it. 

“Alright then…don’t know if you’re going to be finding a shrinking potion anytime soon, though. We’re in low stock.”

“Very funny,” your eyes send a dry look, but you relent when he prods you with his eyes, taking a corner. “I’m looking for my vest.” Hesh blinks at you in curiosity, letting you elaborate as you motion to your upper shoulder. “My pouch has some of my personal belongings. I don’t like being away from it.” 

“Oh,” the brunette nods a few times, his beanie jerking along. “Yeah, that’s no problem.” A hand is waved and you stare in confusion as he pivots. “C’mon, I’ll get you there.” 

Your eyes burn into his back before you immediately speed after. 

“Why so eager to help?” Hesh smirks at your question. 

“As I see it, if you went over nineteen days of hard hiking just to get to us, you should at least be able to keep your stuff on you, Ma’am.” Your lips flicker in a smile. 

“You’d be the first.” You tell him your name and miss the slight emotion it provokes in his eyes, head lightly pulling to the side but ultimately saying nothing. Hesh shrugs with a grunt, leading you to a meeting room on the opposite side of the building. 

Yelling is on the other side.

“Elias, how long has this been kept from me?!” The voice makes your head perk, evoking something inside of your chest. Hesh seems taken aback too, holding up a hand to you for momentary silence—not that you had to be told. 

“Keegan, I can’t have that happen. She needs to recover and you being there could jeopardize that. We need what she knows about Dallas.” Your body stills to a near-frozen state, and it’s comedic how your entire face falls to a blank slate. Wait a second.

…Keegan?

“She belongs with me—I thought she fucking died and she’s been here for who knows how long?! Why wasn’t I informed?” Rampaging feet suddenly sound off, going to the door at break-neck speed.

“Son, that’s not a good idea. This is what I was worried would happen if you found out.”

“I didn’t exactly ask, did I? As far as I’m concerned, nothing else matters besides getting back to my Girl,” the bark is ferocious and violent, more of an animal’s than a man’s. “Now where the hell did you put her before I tear this damn fort apart and—” You shove at the door before Hesh can grab you, throwing it open and letting it hit the opposite wall with a great boom of wood. 

Your wild eyes instantaneously lock into sharp blues, pulse pounding in your ears. It’s like all the air is taken from your lungs in a great punch. 

Oh, he’s so similar to how you remembered him to be ten years ago. 

Keegan stands only a few feet away, turned in your direction with his eyes so wide and small you might faint. There’s black face paint in his sockets, making the cerulean all the more bright and shocking to the senses. He’s still tall, still built, if only a bit more rugged than when ODIN struck—there are lines on his forehead and his scars are more faded. Small differences in the way he holds himself like the difference between a rabbit and a hare. Keegan’s black locks are shorter now, but still…his.

Lips part in silent shock, an entire halt of your nervous system. 

The entire universe holds its tongue as you two stare at each other; walls and rooms blur into a mess of matter and reality—this couldn’t be real. 

Keegan’s feet shift for a moment as if to steady himself as his fingers twitch. In his hand, he holds your picture, his body covered in gear and weapons. He blinks as you tell yourself he’s a phantom, simply that same ghost come back to haunt you as tears sting the backs of your eyes. But then he speaks, and it’s the same voice you had slowly lost the ability to remember in year three. 

“...Sweetheart?”

His ghost never spoke. His ghost could not imitate the phonics of his speech or the rhythm of his throat. His ghost could not make you recall the memories you’d long since boxed up.

You jerk forward just as he does, bodies colliding into a feral grip of flesh and fabric, hands latching and faces burying. Sobs rip from you as Keegan’s shaky breath echoes right next to your ear—his chest hitching and arms snatching your waist and lifting you up as easily as he always had. He holds you up without any thought of putting you down, legging your legs dangle as Elias slowly exits the room and corrals a highly confused Hesh with him.

The door shuts, but neither of you notices. 

“Keegan—” Your voice is high with emotion, hardly believing what you're seeing—what you’re touching. “Oh, my God.” 

He had been alive all this time? Ten whole years and you’d thought he was dead. But by the way he was barely letting you breathe from in his iron clutch, you imagined Keegan had thought the same about you. It was…incomprehensible. 

“Shh,” he whispers, his shushes cracking and flinching between broken gasps of your name. “Shh.” He sets you down on the floor only to have his firm hands travel to your cheeks, turning your head to each side in a desperate need to understand if you were really there.

Keegan’s eyes are wet, but no tears let themselves fall quite yet. 

“I’m so sorry!” You hiccup and the man kisses your cheeks—your browline and nose. Every piece of you he can as you both stay so intimate you might melt into one another. “I thought you were gone, I-I should have stayed and looked for you, I didn’t—”

“You’re alive?” Keegan’s hands rub across your body, gripping and tugging you closer and closer. “My Girl’s alive?” 

His tears drip to your face as he hovers above you, and you both shake with the weight of years. 

“Me?” Your chuckle through sobs—you want to scream and wail at the same time. Blue eyes flutter and ragged breaths puff on your forehead. “What about you, you asshole?” 

Keegan shakes his head, and you stare deeply into him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks as he sags forward. He had stubble now, spreading out to grate your flesh. 

The man forces a weak huff. 

“Christ,” is all he mutters before he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so unyielding you expect to have your air stolen. Ten years to feel him kissing you again—to feel his warm flesh under your hands and his heart rampage into you. 

You’d do it all over if it still amounted to this.

Your body shivers and you reciprocate with just as much fervor; this emotion of relief is so overwhelming and all-consuming that it makes your head light. You suck down quick breaths between the sensation of your lips meeting, Keegan doing the same. 

Unconsciousness was better than letting him leave again, your lover sharing that sentiment as chests slid against one another. Soft hair slips through your fingers as you grip Keegan’s hair, cascading through locks as he groans into your lips and tries to hide his tears from you. 

He pulls away and immensely shoves his head into your neck. 

“You’re here,” he whispers quickly. A hand quivers at the back of your head as your tears wet his gear. “You’re right here. You came back to me, didn’t you, Doll?” 

You cry, “I’m here, Keegan.” The man sobs when he hears you say his name, his knees giving out as you both fall to the floor and not letting the other move beyond the caress of skin and lips.

“I missed you,” Keegan gasps, “so much. Don’t you understand? I was nothing without you. You took it all from me, everything. Every damn thing.” 

You press kisses to his neck and racing pulse, healing him inside and out without even realizing it; it was only fair, he was doing the same back to you. 

The picture lays long forgotten on the floor.

“Never let me go,” your voice forces out, as he rocks you back and forth like a child. “Never again, Keegan. Please, I love you too much to go through that again.”

“Never,” he immediately promises, pulling back and kissing your lips again—neither can stop themselves from this. Blues eyes blink quickly, cataloging your face and every little blemish he’d have to relearn and study; to find the story behind. Keegan had never been happier. He felt like he might break from it. “Over my dead body, I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight. You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh genuinely for the first time in ten years and say you’d like nothing better as he pulls you back in and plants his mouth to yours in reverent worship. His arms trapping you to him as yours do just the same.

Not to leave again anytime soon. 

TAGS:

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[0cta9on]

Train Ride to Heaven

length: +3k words

Genre: Smut

NewJeans Hanni x Male Reader

(Author's Note: The winner of the first smut poll! I wrote this entire thing in 1.5 sittings, so it's very rough and unedited. Nevertheless, hope you horny sickos enjoy it <3)

【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★

A weary sigh leaves your lips as you rest the back of your head against the trembling glass of the subway. Eight years of college, even more years of brown-nosing just for a sliver of a chance at a promotion, hours of sleep lost from nights working overtime, and where did it land you? A thankless office job that considers you more of a number than a living, breathing human being. After all that, you get to go home to a loveless marriage with a woman you know for a fact is cheating on you with her personal trainer, but you’re too tired to do anything about it. Hooray for you.

You feel the subway slowly creep to a stop. A few more of those and you’ll finally be able to sleep and pretend like you're dead for a couple hours before doing it all over again. A lone girl, at least 18, walks into the car and takes a seat directly across from you - an odd move considering the entire car is completely empty aside from you. You try to ignore her, opting to get some shut-eye before you get to your stop, but you can’t deny the shift in the atmosphere from her presence. She’s a pretty young girl, all alone at this time of night. You could do anything to her and no one would even know. You shake your head at the thought. No good can come from a perverted old man like yourself.

“Psst…”

Although, there’s no fault in thinking like that if it stays in your mind. A cute girl like her could easily be taken advantage of. In fact, she’s lucky that you’re here instead of an actual sicko that would try to put their hands all over her.

“Psst… Ahjussi…”

This shitty marriage has got you all pent up. Not like you would have any energy left in you, especially after a day like this. Lucky you. Maybe if you pray hard enough, whatever god is up there will pity you and summon a woman that’ll throw themselves at you. If only life were that easy.

“Ahjussi!”

Your eyes shoot open from the sudden noise. The girl sitting across from you giggles to herself as she smiles at you. It isn’t immediately obvious due to her innocent features, but you can tell that she’s hiding something behind that smile. Something sinister, even. How exciting.

“What?” You ask. Her sly smile only grows as she subtly raises her skirt. Little by little, she reveals the supple flesh of her thighs, firm and plump. You know in the back of your mind that this is wrong, that she shouldn’t be exposing herself to an old man like this, but the second you see that little bit of white cotton in between her legs, all common sense flies out the window. Suddenly, she lowers her skirt, much to your disappointment. Your emotions must have been obvious as she cackles sweetly, pointing at your face. Embarrassed, you lean back and shut your eyes, hoping she’ll leave you alone for the duration of the ride.

“Ahjussi~” she teases in a sing-songy voice. “Open your eyes~” Like a fool, you follow her orders without a second thought. This time, however, the reward is greater than you could have ever imagined. Her white cotton panties are there in full view for no one else but yourself, drawing you in like a siren. The girl bites her lip as she traces circles around her crotch, more for you rather than herself. Your cock begins to strain in your pants, begging to be set free.

“Come here,” she says, beckoning you with a single finger. You quickly do as she says and sit next to her. Up close, you can see just how deceivingly innocent she is with her big, round eyes and her thick, pouty lips. Anyone would walk by her and assume she’s a classy and upstanding student, not a little slut teasing random old men in a subway (Not that you mind).

“My name is Hanni, what’s your name?” She asks, gripping the sleeve of your blazer while she plays with herself under her skirt.

“I-I, u-um, m-my name is-”

She brings a finger to your lips, silencing you. “Actually, I don’t really care, I’m just gonna call you daddy,” Hanni giggles. You force yourself to take a deep breath in an attempt to remain composed, but inside, you’re cheering like an addicted gambler finally hitting that sweet, sweet jackpot.

“So Daddy, what are you doing riding the train home this late at night?” The lilt she puts on that word is enough to drive you insane, but you try to hold back, not wanting to scare her off if you appear too eager.

“Uh, y’know, just getting home after a long day of work. Boring office job and all that. Nothing you would find any interest in,’ you sigh. Hanni pouts, looking at you with a sympathetic expression.

“Awww poor daddy, you must be so stressed.” She holds onto your arm, pushing her perky breasts into you. Your wife has never given you so much as a glance in your direction whenever you showed up exhausted from work. She’s probably too busy texting her personal trainer. Hell, she’s probably fucking him right at this very moment. It’s only fair if you get to have some fun for yourself, right?

“Yeah, I suppose I am pretty stressed. On top of that, my wife has been cheating on me with this personal trainer guy she met a couple months ago.” As soon as you mention your wife’s adultery, a hint of a smirk appears on Hanni’s lips.

“Oh no~,” she says, feigning pity. “Maybe I can help you… feel better?” She puts your hand on your chest and inches it downwards, all while maintaining eye contact with you. Her face is close enough for you to feel her breath on your chin, but just far enough for her to escape if you try to kiss her. All you can do is wait as you feel her hand getting closer and closer closer to your raging erection. Everything fades away but the pumping of your heart and the gentle brown of her eyes. Finally, a guttural groan escapes your mouth as she grasps onto your cock, stroking it through your pants.

Hanni giggles at your expression. “Does that feel good, Daddy? Do you like it when I play with Daddy’s cock?” All you can do is nod as she continues to toy with you, rubbing and squeezing along your shaft. It’s been so long since another person has touched your penis that you almost finish right then and there, but you continue to hold it in with steely determination.

“Daddy’s cock is so big and thick, I don’t know if it’ll fit in my tiny, little mouth.” Hanni leans into your ear, tickling your skin with her breath as she whispers, “Maybe we should find out.”

“Y-yes, god yes,” you practically beg.

“Then tell me what to do,” she says. “I’m your little whore for the night. Treat me like one.” Those filthy words coming out of her pretty mouth is a memory that you will never forget until the day you die.

“Fucking suck my cock, you slut,” you command her, a little too enthusiastically. Even in the prime of your relationship, your wife would never let you talk to her like this. To have your commands followed by this cute girl is heart-poundingly exhilarating. You feel like a whole new man.

Hanni fiddles with your belt buckle at a snail’s pace. You try to do it yourself to get the ball rolling, but she swats your hand away.

“Let me do it by myself, Daddy~” she pouts. With a nod, you lean back and let her have her way, succumbing to the desires of her cuteness. If she wanted to, she could easily take over the world with her looks alone.

After unbuckling your belt and unzipping your pants, all that’s left is the fabric of your underwear separating your dick from her glossy lips. Hanni places a few gentle kisses on your bulge, drawing a moan from your belly. Giggling, her fingers hook around the waistband and pull it down at a tantalizingly slow pace, leaving you to wait as your heart threatens to burst from your chest. Finally, your member swings up, almost hitting Hanni in the face. Her jaw drops as she gazes at your length, a look of surprise and a little bit of fear in her eyes.

“Oh shit…” she whispers to herself before shaking her head and putting back the sultry appearance she had before. “I can’t wait to choke on your big, fat cock, Daddy,” she smirks as she begins to stroke your shaft. Hanni’s hands are much softer than your wife’s, and even more skilled as she cups your balls, applying just enough pressure so that it doesn’t hurt. You watch with bated breath as she leans forward, eyeing the tip of your cock for a moment before it disappears into her open mouth. The sound of your moan echoes throughout the subway car as Hanni sucks on your tip, slowly taking in more of your length with each bob of her head. Even your wife’s cocksucking skills pale in comparison to hers, you almost feel bad for the guy that she’s fucking.

“Yes, good girl, Hanni. Suck that dick, you fucking slut,” you encourage. You notice her ass sticking up in the air, and thanks to the rumbling of the train and her bobbing motions, her skirt rides up just enough for you to peek at the white panties covering her ass, giving you the bright idea to reel back and her a good, hard spank. She moans into your cock, heightening the sensation. 

“I bet you like that, you little whore.” You yank her up by the hair, forcing her to look at you, saliva covering her mouth and chin. All the inhibitions and common sense you had before are completely gone, leaving nothing behind but animalistic desire.  “Say it. Say that your daddy’s little fucktoy.”

“I’m daddy’s little fucktoy,” she repeats, giggling at you. Satisfied, you release her hair and sit back, watching as she alternates between deepthroating your shaft and sucking on your balls while she strokes your entire length with her spit. You would happily quit your job and live at the subway instead if it meant you get to have this petite sex doll all to yourself every night.

Suddenly, the train comes to a stop at one of the stations and a man stumbles inside. The two of you scramble to cover up, hiding any semblance that the two of you are doing anything indecent. Much to your dismay, the man sits nearby, making it difficult for even small gestures to go unnoticed. He’s clearly not a student nor is he an office worker, so why the hell would he be riding the subway this late at night!?

“Wait,” Hanni whispers, pointing at the man. “Look.”

Confused, you watch as his body begins to sway with the movements of the train. Upon closer inspection, you notice that his eyes are struggling to stay open and his clothes are disheveled. Clearly, he’s either drunk, faded, or both. Finally, BAM - he knocks out on the seat, completely unconscious.

Hanni stifles as she gives you a knowing look. “He’ll be out for a little while so…” She bends over the seat, shaking her butt at you. “Fuck my little pussy with that cock, Daddy~,” she teases, winking back at you.

Pounding with excitement, you release your cock and stroke it back to life, while your other hand pulls down her white cotton panties, finally revealing her pinky honeypot to you. With Hanni’s saliva as lube, you line up your tip with her cunt, teasing her moist folds.

“Are you ready, baby?” you ask

“I’m so fucking rea- MMPH!” She struggles to stifle a moan as you completely bottom out inside of her, all in one thrust. So slick and so tight, you don't even care about comparing her to your wife anymore. All you want to do is ruin her little pussy and use it as your personal cocksleeve. You sink your fingers into her hips, pulling her into you with each thrust and watching her cute ass jiggle against you.

Fuck that stupid company. Fuck your stupid bitch of a wife. Your entire life you were told what to do, how to act, and what you should look like in order to succeed in life. You followed everyone’s orders to a T, even going above and beyond to obtain that success that was oh so coveted. But look where you are now - eight inches deep into some girl you just met tonight. Fuck the “high-paying job” and fuck the “hot wife”. If this isn’t success, then you don’t know what is.

“O-oh my g-god… Y-you’re so f-fucking h-huge…” Hanni squeaks in between thrusts, desperately trying to control her volume. You’re unsure how much longer you can manage, but it doesn’t matter. Whether she likes it or not, this slut is gonna leave with a gallon of your cum deep inside of her.

Hanni’s body begins to shake violently. “I-I… I’m cumming!” She shrieks wildly.” You pull out of her, watching in astonishment as she squirts all over the seats. And your wife said you could never dream of satisfying a woman - if only she could see this now. 

“H-holy shit…” she says, leaning her head on your shoulder as she gasps for air. “That was… fucking insane.” Both of you laugh as you wait for her to get down from her high. Miraculously, the man didn’t notice her ear-splitting orgasm, still completely out cold.

Suddenly, Hanni straddles your lap, wrapping her arms around your head. “I noticed that you didn’t cum yet, Daddy.” She gyrates your hips, rubbing her wet slit against your tip. You figure she would still be sensitive after the first round, but it’s clear she was built purely to fuck. “Maybe we should change that,” she says, biting her lips.

“Maybe we should,” you smirk. Hanni kisses you as she drops her hips onto your cock, causing her to moan into your mouth. Not wanting to give up dominance completely, you shove your tongue down her throat, filling two of her holes at once. The wet slapping of her bouncing on your cock echoes throughout the car, and at this point, you don’t care if that man wakes up or not. He could be completely conscious and recording you right now, but you still wouldn’t stop plowing this little minx. In fact, you secretly hope that he is recording right now - the whole world should know that this fucktoy named Hanni is yours and yours alone.

You rip open her top, exposing her perky tits. They are on the smaller side, but they’re big enough to jiggle with each bounce and that’s good enough for you. Hanni grabs your head as you latch onto her tits, licking and sucking every inch of her chest. The pressure begins to build in your loins and you know the end is coming soon. Wanting to milk every drop of this experience, you stand up, supporting Hanni by the ass, and begin ramming into her with every ounce of energy you have left. Rather than a 40-something-year-old man, you feel like you’re reborn again into your 20-year-old body. You feel the familiar tightening of Hanni’spussy around your member, and with one final thrust, your body is elevated to Heaven. Shooting rope after rope into her deep cunt, the high is nothing like you’ve ever experienced in your lifetime. Not even your wife- Ah, who cares about her. She’s nothing but dirt under your foot, while Hanni is an angel sent from above.

You gently place her down on the seat before collapsing next to her, shutting your eyes so you can replay this entire experience in your head. Never in your life did you think you would ever get this lucky. The train comes to a halt, and a hand pats your shoulder.

“Sorry Daddy, but this is my stop,” she giggles as she skips towards the open doors. Despite the rough pounding you just gave her, she somehow managed to look presentable in the short time that your eyes were closed. “I’ll see you around, Daddy~”

The last thing you see is her wink before hopping off the train and disappearing into the night. You’re disappointed that you didn’t ask for her contact information before she left, but you’re confident that you’ll cross paths with her again in the future. Surely, whatever god that heard your prayers isn’t that cruel, right?

As you approach your stop, you quickly get yourself sorted, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention from passersby. If your wife asks about any mysterious “stains” on you, you could easily attribute it to being clumsy while drinking. Not that she would care enough to ask anyway. 

Upon exiting the car, a police officer stops you as you approach the stairs.

“Excuse me, sir,” he says. You try to ignore him, hoping that there’s someone behind you that he’s referring to, but unfortunately, nobody else is around. “Sir, I need to talk to you for just a moment.”

“What’s the problem, officer?” You ask, hiding your panic behind a nervous smile. A whirlwind of questions swarm your mind. Is this about Hanni? Did you get caught? Was it that drunk guy that sold you out? Beads of sweat begin to form on your head as the police officer questions you.

“There has been an increase in robberies in the subway recently and I just want to ask if you saw any suspicious individuals lurking around the subway.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, grateful that the heat isn’t on you. “Well, no officer, I haven’t seen any suspicious individuals around,” you reply.

“Are you sure?” He asks. “All the victims have described the suspect as being a short Asian girl, about 18 years of age, with big brown eyes and black hair. Does that ring any bells for you?

An alarm blares throughout your head. Surely he’s lying, right? Maybe he’s talking about a different Asian girl. There are probably thousands, no, MILLIONS of people that fit that criteria. Besides, you and Hanni shared a special connection tonight. She’s the answer to everything that ever went wrong in your life, an angel sent from Heaven to cure you of your miseries. Hanni wouldn’t lie to you, right?

You dig through your pockets, frantically scrambling for your wallet and your phone. You feel something in your pocket and pull it out, only to be filled with dread at the sight of it - white cotton panties.

[cheonstapes]

HAPPY 1K THOUGH LET GO AHHHHHHH IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU

But request time gurl!😘😌✊, so what about a nerd!Miguel\dom x nerdygirl!reader LIKE IMAGINE THE FLUFF AND THE SMUT THERE BOTH BE A BLUSH MESS but I feel like Miguel would take the lead and show he dom when doing it like dont blame me! 😭✊ like he still nerdy Miguel we all know the sweet boy but let make the nerd that friend s with the popular group and have a girlfriend who is nerdy!reader and which is a very shy person then Miguel is.

Pls my life depends on this request gurl and I hope your having a great day though BYE STILL SO HAPPY FOR YOU EACHING 1k following

-🐈

miguel o’hara stars in… ‘OUR FIRST TIME’ (ﾟωﾟ)

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.miguel o’hara x reader.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

SMUT

you and your nerdy boyfie, miguel, have your first time together 🩷

cw; loss of virginity, creampie!!!!!, iloveyous, it’s actually really cute, womb fucking ig, softdom!nerd!miguel, NAWT PROODREAD!!!

2k+ words

@cheonstapes: thank you sm lovelie🩷🩷 apologies it took so long but this was so fun to write and i love your mind. i hope you enjoy beautiful! also tumblr keeps fucking up my italics and bolds so im gonna add them on later!

you and miguel had to have been the most stereotypical couple at the university.

who would’ve guessed the two biggest nerds on campus would’ve gotten together — especially when it was because of your shared interest in genetics. but to miguel’s friends, it was so sweet — a little cringe, but sweet. seeing that it had already been a year since you two started dating, the two of you not being able to hold a conversation without stuttering and blushed profusely was quite concerning.

every time you looked him in the eyes, your heart would suddenly beat a million times faster — face flushing, hands trembling as you try to come off as calm as possible. it was so embarrassing, you could cry just thinking about it. he had such pretty eyes hidden behind those thin frames, didn’t make it better that he would stare into your soul every time you talked.

but miguel wasn’t any better — in fact, he was worse. his whole friendship group being the talk of the college helped miguel to open up more, the persistent attention meaning he had to adapt to being surrounded by people. the incessant staring? that’s him trying to make himself less nervous by making you more nervous so you would stop looking at him so he could admire you without you realising — long, i know. but he loved how sweet you were, the way you were so deeply in love with him — just like he was with you.

walking out of your biology lecture, he speeds up walking to catch you on the othwr side of the room — gently slipping his hands into yours. you tense, looking up at his handsome face before relaxing — “ah, m-miggy!” he smiles so softly, wrapping his beefy arm around your waist. “hey, pretty — you finished for today?” his fingers squeeze the fat of your hips, pulling you into his chest as he leans against a nearby wall.

he always knew how to make you so fucking nervous, staring down at you like you were the centre of his world — which you in fact were. “yeah! i was just gonna go back to my dorm and study. would…well, it’s ok if you’re busy — but do you, maybe, wanna…” god, why is it so hard to ask your boyfriend to hangout! he knew what you wanted to ask, he just wanted to hear you say it. “do i wanna what, hm? i mean — i don’t have any plans later either, i was thinking of going to pete-“

“no!” a brief flicker of slight panic takes over your face, you refuse to be that much of a mess to the point where you can even ask your own boyfriend out. “i mean, would you like to come my dorm tonight? t-to study, obviously.” amazing job, girlfriend, amazing job. once again, he wore that stupidly handsome smirk — fingers kneading the soft flesh of your waist. “study? of course, babe — why didn’t you just ask?” prick.

miguel always said he found it easier to study when you were right next to him — as in, resting in between his legs as your head lay on his chest. “did you get the answer to number 8? i think i missed that lesson…” you tilt your head, looking up at him. you looked so cute with your little glasses as you studied, a small pout on your lips as you tap on his leg for him to help you out.

he was thinking a lot of things right now, and none of them were the answer for number 8. before he met you, miguel was always deep in his studies — head buried in a textbook every night. but now you’re his, he can’t think about anything else. the outline of your chest against your tight shirt, pert nipples straining against the fabric since you insist you feel better without a bra — he wasn’t a perv, but damn if you were making him feel like one.

“u-uh…i think — uhhhh…” he was really fucked. your cute little giggle and the way you shimmied around to sit on your knees, hands clutching his cheeks. “migs, you’re burning up! you ok?” he was no ok, not by a long shot. despite having so much attention on him simply because of the people he’s friends with, miguel was still very much a virgin. yeah, he’s jerked off before — but that was only after he met you. your entrance into his life awakened a part of his brain that he thought was forever stored away — and he did not know how to deal with it.

sex was something the two of you were yet to talk about, 2 years into the relationship and it was like you were kids about to have their first kiss. there were lingering touches here and there, but oh how badly he wants to feel your sweet pussy around him. “can… i touch you?” he could barely register the words that came out of his mouth before he takes in the way your face changes completely. the heat radiating from your cheeks could melt the arctic, that was the one thing you weren’t expecting to hear. at all.

of course, you were a virgin too — all in all saving yourself for miguel for when the time comes. you just didn’t expect it to be so soon. he looked so depraved already, panting softly — hair tousled from when he was laying down, you want him so, so bad. “u-uh, yeah — go ahead!” you didn’t mean to sound so enthusiastic, but miguel didn’t care — a hand immediately trailing up your plush thighs, toying with the edge of your panties under your skirt. “you’re…you’re so pretty.” he could feel his hands shaking, heart pounding in his chest — the warmth of your skin and the small moans leaving your lips were fucking with his head.

the tender skin was so sensitive, causing your thighs to tremble under his touch. he didn’t expect you to be so sensitive. fuck, did he want to tease you for it, but he couldn’t talk — not when he was already about to bust when you haven’t even touched him yet. “mmm — m-miggy.. please..touch me.” you could tell he wanted to, he just didn’t know where to start. his fingers ran up your inner thigh, teasingly running over the small wet patch on your cute panties.

he felt like a newborn learning how to walk again, the rugged rhythm in which he was working your little clit showed how inexperienced he is — but you didn’t care, especially not when you yourself couldn’t even notice his lack of technique. he fully pulled your panties down your legs, throwing them to the side — there was a sharp in take of breath from him as he stared at your bare cunt, his bulge pressing harder aganst the mattress.

“g-god, baby, can… can i taste you, please?” miguel couldn’t believe how desperate he sounded, he had dreamed about eating your pretty, little pussy out for ever now, the thought of you denying him that now would break him. “y-yeah, fuck. please, miggy.” his tongue immediately latched onto your clit, swirling and sucking it into his mouth as his fingers probed your tight hole.

he knew you would need some extra prep to be prepared for taking him, so he made sure to make you feel as good as possible — he wasn’t about to let your first time be your worst. the fat of your thighs were tight around his head, holding him in place as he steadily fucked you with his tongue. for someone who was a virgin only 20 minutes ago, he sure knew how to work that tongue — your breathy moans breaking through the sloppy squelching noises of your wetness.

“migs…i — mmph!” the sensation was unknown but not unwelcome. a firm pressure in your tummy that felt like a dam about to burst all over your boyfriend’s face. miguel’s watched enough porn to know what that sound meant, reluctantly sitting up from his position between your legs to peer down at you — drooling cock bobbing between his thighs. he licked your arousal from his lips, shakily grabbing onto your legs to push them over his shoulders.

“baby, ‘m not letting you cum until you’ve had my cock in you — ‘s not how it works.” he felt like he was going insane, the sight of your pussy, so tantalisingly close to his length — the chubby tip poking against your entrance. you could only nod, you couldn’t argue with that — not when you’ve been waiting for this moment. upon getting your approval, he wrapped a beefy hand around his cock — smearing his pre-cum along your puffy folds.

he was so slow when he pushed into you, the sheer girth of him stretching your poor pussy thin. “fuckin’ hell, baby— s-so, so tight.” his strong hips pounded against your pelvis, your skin tinging a faint shade of red. your body was jostled against the headboard with every thrust, a thick rim of cream forming at his base. miguel was lost in the feeling of your cunt, drooling mindlessly against your neck as he rammed deep inside of you.

“m-miguel…!” the harder he fucked into you, the shakier your voice was — whiny moans and heavy grunts reverberated through your small dorm room. he couldn’t believe how good fucking you felt, your velvety walls gripping onto him like a life line. miguel was completely delirious, only letting incoherent mumbles — a bruising grip on your waist as he brings you back against his cock.

“ohhh, f-fuck…! iloveyou, so — shit, so much!” your pussy was so good, he didn’t even realised it slipped out — i love you. he really did, and in this moment — there was nothing else but the two of you, connecting so beautifully as you give yourselves to each other fully. he messily sucks on the skin just below your ear, simply grinding into your womb as his hand trails down your back — squeezing the flesh of your ass to pull you flush against him.

“i…i love you too, migs.”

you..you love him too? fuck. his hips stilled, gooey cum filling your cunt raw as he pours all of his love into you. miguel’s back heaved, his arms giving out under him as he falls on top of you — wrapping an arm around your waist as he carefully rubs your clit. his heart was soaring, smiling down at you as he fucked himself into overstimulation — determined to see you cum all over his cock.

“my pretty girl, you’re all mine — wanna see you cum. you gonna cum for me, yeah?” god, his voice was husky and deep — tickling your ear and sending tingles down your spine. your legs trembled, cunt spasming as it gushed out that clear liquid. it coated the sheets below you, splashing against his stomach — a low, gravelly moan leaving miguel as he filled you with his cum once again.

the two of you laid in silence for a beat, panting softly as he rested on your chest. one of your hands moved up to cup his face, picking up his glasses from your bedside stand — placing them on his face, albeit with wonkily but it matched that dopey grin on his face. “i swear to god, i’ve turned you into an animal, migs! you sure that was your first time?” giggling, you kissed his lips softly — nimble fingers brushing through his sweaty hair.

“guess i got a bit carried away, huh?” he sighed, softly rubbing your tummy. “‘s not my fault i’ve got the most beautiful, sexiest, most loving, caring, perfect, goddess of a girlfriend anyone could wish for.”

miguel was embarrassingly in love with you, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

-smack myass like a drum

[azrielsdove]

Ive been loving all the fics youve been posting. I had this lil idea that hopefully sparks joy for you if ur requests are open. Its an azriel x reader. Where reader is very cold hearted and kinda mean almost bitchy like nesta. Hates to be touched eapecially on her back. Azriel hates her cuz she so unpleastant and so incredibly difficult. The bond snaps for azriel and hes so so confused because he for sure thought elain was for him. Reader always looks at azriels hands almost disgusted but the truth is that she had her wings cut off and the stumps burned down to her flesh, so her entire back is scarred like azriels hands. Her face isnt of disgust but since he hides his hands she assumes he'd be disgusted in her. Azriel softens up to her when he finds out she has a soft spot for children, maybe she teaches orphaned children in the city. Idk i just like the idea of a cold hearted reader thats just as scarred as azzy but actually has a soft heart for kids. Or maybe shes always longed for a family of her own but cant get passed her own insecurities. You can change whatever you'd like to fit your writing style. ❤️

Thank you love!!!! I am OBSESSED with this idea and took off with it. I decided to turn it into a mini series, when I started writing the Readers POV it was getting wayyyy long. I hope I have done your idea justice, here is part 1 <3

Cold Hearts: Azriel x Reader

Chapter Warnings: None

Pt. 2 Here

***

Azriel couldn’t stand her. She was nothing but cold and hateful to everyone, especially to him. When she had first come to stay with Rhysand in Velaris, he had tried to be kind to her. Rhys hadn’t told anyone why he brought her, and she certainly never opened up about it.

The first day he met her, she was sitting silently in the small library in the House of Wind. Azriel had smiled at her and given a “Good morning.” She had turned sharply to look at him, her gaze focusing on the hand he waved with. He watched the look of disgust come over her face before she turned back to staring into the fire.

Azriel had been a little taken aback. Sure, he struggled with the way his hands looked, and was no stranger to the dirty looks. The look on her face had been nastier than he had ever seen. She looked at his hands like they caused her pain. He left the library after that, not sure what to think.

Many years had gone by since that first meeting, and Azriel preferred to stay far away from her. No one else wears very fond of her either. He still didn’t know why Rhys had brought her here, nor why he allowed her to stay. She spent most of her days locked in her room or sitting in the library. She occasionally came to meals with the family, rarely speaking. And when she did speak? It was always some cold remark, as if she wanted to be anywhere else with anyone else.

So why did she stay?

Azriel pondered that question far too often. When Rhys became trapped Under the Mountain, he had included that everyone should be prepared for war in his last message. Azriel took it upon himself to train her. He had shown up to her room early in the morning, expecting a fight. To his shock, she willingly came.

She took to training quicker than Azriel had thought. She proved to have some skill under that cold shell she showed everybody, even if it took some coaxing for it to come out. He was impressed. Azriel even started enjoying teaching her, until the day she lashed out at him and declared she never wanted to see him again.

He didn’t know what he had done wrong.

He was trying to teach her a slightly difficult new maneuver. She was struggling to angle her body the correct way, unable to understand how Azriel did it. He had reached out to help her, placing a hand on her lower back and shoulder to move her body into place. She shot out of his grasp like he had stabbed her, whipping around to face him.

“What do you think you are doing?” She had seethed, eyes on fire. Azriel had held his hands up in surrender, confused.

“I was just trying to help-“ He had begun, being cut off by her.

“Don’t. Don’t fucking touch me.” She had glared at his hands, a stare he didn’t miss.

“I don’t understand why you must be so insufferable all of the time!” Azriel had snapped, fed up with the constant negativity and judgement that came from her.

“Maybe don’t be a nasty pig and grab up on any female you see!” She had shouted, turning to leave the ring. “Stay away from me. I don’t wish to see you anymore.”

And that was that.

Cassian had taken over her training from then on out. Azriel was fine with it. She clearly had some sort of issue with him, and it seemed to stem from his hands. His ugly, scarred hands. Were they really so grotesque she couldn’t even stand him touching her?

***

When Rhysand had returned from Under the Mountain, things got better and worse. At first, she had been kinder. Azriel had noticed how she rushed to Rhys before anyone else, how carefully she wrapped him in her arms. The two of them had disappeared after that, not seen until the next day. Azriel couldn’t figure out why the two of them had such a bond, why Rhysand cared for her so much. He had just come back and announced that the human girl - Feyre - was his mate, so it couldn’t be a romantic attraction.

Or could it?

Azriel shook his head, demanding those thoughts the leave his mind. Ignoring the spark of jealousy that ran through him. He didn’t know why he cared so much about her.

***

Elain. There was no doubt in Azriels mind that Elain was his. Rhysand had Feyre, Cassian had Nesta, naturally Azriel would have Elain. It didn’t matter that the cauldron had mated her with Lucien. Three sisters, three brothers. Anyone could read what that meant.

Azriel tried not to notice the way she had slunk into the shadows lately. When Feyre first came to the Night Court, the two had struck up a friendship. Azriel couldn’t believe his eyes and ears when he saw how fun and sweet she was with Feyre. It further confirmed his belief that she was so disgusted in his scars that she couldn’t stand to be near him. She had even started to being nicer to Cassian, her training with him going much better than yours with Azriels had.

Once the bond snapped with Feyre and Rhysand, she had taken a small step back from the both of them. When it snapped with Cassian and Nesta, she had backed away from Cass as well. She barely even had a witty retort anymore, choosing to stay quiet most of the time.

Azriel felt like no one else had noticed the change in her. However, he had to admit, so much change had happened in such a short time that he couldn’t blame them for not realizing.

Why did he realize?

Even as she created small friendships with the others, she ignored Azriel. She only looked at him to stare at his hands. He had taken to wearing his gloves around her at all times, but she just stared as if she could see through the fabric. He had spent decades trying to be nice to her, for nothing. She rarely spoke to him, mostly just gave that look to his hands.

She was always going to be cruel to him.

***

Azriel was trying desperately to find a Solecist gift for Elain. He knew he had a reputation for gifts, and he wanted to make sure what he got Elain was perfect. As perfect as she is.

And he had no idea what that would be.

He was wandering the paths of Velaris aimlessly, peering into the stores as he passed, trying to see anything that seemed like Elain. He was getting worried that he would never find anything, turning away from yet another shop.

He stopped when he saw her.

She was inside a little building, large windows open for anyone to see in. He watched as she stood at the front of the room, facing a small group of…children? He angled his body a little to see clearly into the room, listening to her voice come through the window. Her tone was kinder than he had ever heard it. Azriel watched with wide eyes as she demonstrated a defense move-a move he had taught her.

And now she was teaching it to children.

He watched for the rest of the class, amazed at how well the kids grasped onto the concepts she was teaching. He felt his heart skip when her laughter floated out the windows, a bright smile on her face as she looked at one of the students. He had never seen her like this before.

When the class ended he watched as one of the smaller children ran up to her and threw their arms around her legs. Azriel expected her to jump back at the touch, instead watching her bend down and wrap her arms around them. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He couldn’t believe any of this. He turned and headed back to the House, the gift for Elain long forgotten.

***

He wanted to approach her. He wanted to ask about the children he saw her teaching. He had a sudden desire to know more about her, to see who she may be under that cold exterior.

Azriel should have known she wouldn’t let him.

It was a few days after he had spotted her in town, and he had finally found her alone in the little library. He cleared his throat as he approached her, hoping to get her attention. Of course, she ignored him. He shouldn’t have been hurt by it, but he had been so hopeful after seeing her with the children.

Azriel called her name.

Her head slowly turned to him, eyes blazing. “Yes?” She asked coolly. Azriel have a small smile, refusing to lose his nerve now.

“I saw you, in town? With the children? I-“ He started, cut off by her suddenly standing.

“Spying on me, are you?” She asked, anger all over her face.

“No! No! I was shopping, for Elain, and I happened to walk by!” Azriel was gesturing wildly, not wanting you to think he was following you. “I saw you and then I saw the children and I was interested. You were, nice to them.” He cursed the words as they came out of his mouth, sounding just as sorry as one could imagine.

She scoffed. “Why would I not be? They’re kids.” Her words were sharp and Azriel felt embarrassment creep up his neck.

“Well, you’re not really nice to anyone.” He bit out, temper rising as she laughed.

“You don’t know anything about me.” She said, looking at him curiously.

“Oh? Is that so?” Azriel felt the words coming out before he could stop them, all the things he had wanted to say for years. “Maybe that’s because you don’t let anyone get close to you. I tried to be your friend in the beginning, just for you to be cold and nasty. You are always cold and nasty. I’ve noticed you slowly losing the friends you have made, slinking off into the shadows. Do you ever stop to think that maybe it’s because you’re a cold-hearted bitch?”

She looked like he had slapped her.

“W-what?” She stumbled out, eyes wide.

Now it was Azriels turn to scoff. “Don’t pretend to be innocent now. You rarely speak to anyone except for Rhys, and when you do it’s usually to tell them to leave you alone! Even when I was trying to train you, you lashed out at me for just trying to help. You have always acted like I disgust you, always glaring at my hands. Do they really upset you so much that you have to act like i’m the worst thing you’ve ever encountered? That you have to look at me like that and flinch when I touch you? I tried to be nice to you, just for you to react like that.” He was breathing heavy, all the hurt coming to the surface.

He watched her eyes flash and then suddenly, she was yelling at him. “How dare you? You have no idea what you are talking about. Are you so self centered that you truly believe everything I do is about you? Do you ever stop for one second to think that maybe, just maybe, I have my own shit to deal with?” Her cheeks were colored red, her hands clenching into fists.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “We all have our own shit going on. It doesn’t mean we take all of our miserable feelings out on everyone else!”

“I don’t! I just don’t have any interest in getting close with you. Not everyone has to want to lick the ground you walk on, Shadowsinger.” She spat out the last word like it was dirt in her mouth.

“Why not? What have I ever done that makes you hate me so? What has any of us done? The only one of us you would talk to for years was Rhysand. Did you love him? Are you bitter now that he has a mate and no one will ever be interested in you?” Azriel knew that was a low blow, but his anger overrode him common sense.

“What are you talking about? The relationship between me and Rhysand is none of your business. For a spymaster, you’re truly horrible at reading a situation.” She was angry, angrier than she had been in decades.

Azriel didn’t care. “No one here likes you. They’ve all moved on from their short friendships with you. Even your precious Rhys has found someone else to occupy his time with. Why do you stay here? You have no one.” He felt the pain in his chest at the expression on her face.

She blinked quickly, fighting tears. “You are the cruel one, Azriel.” She turned and ran from the room, leaving him in the aftermath of their fight.

It was the first time she had said his name.

He felt it snap in his chest, the tug to follow you. He could barely react, the shock of it keeping him rooted to the spot. No, he thought. No. Not her. It wasn’t supposed to be her.

The mating bond didn’t care for his concerns.

***

Please let me know how you feel!! Honestly Pt. 2 should be out tonight or tomorrow, i’m pretty far into it. I’m thinking this will be a 3-4 part mini series!!!

[hugispuso-archive]

guys i'm so sorry i keep diverting back to my 11 year old self orz

[utahimeow]

home workout | wakatoshi ushijima

summary — wakatoshi works out at home. he looks hot doing it.

pairing — wakatoshi ushijima x reader

warnings — nsfw content. minors dni. smut, blowjob, cum swallowing, pet name ‘my love’

word count — 1.3k

author’s note — please listen to this audio of wakatoshi (and kuroo) breathing heavily for the most effective experience

It’s not your fault your boyfriend is totally irresistible. He’s tempting you on purpose– you’re sure of it.

You’re trying so, so hard to focus on the reality show playing on the TV, but Waktoshi is being terribly obscene. A few feet away, he’s splayed out on a yoga mat, lifting dumbbells over his head.

It’s unintentional, the way he gasps and heaves and, ever so often, groans. It’s unintentional, yet it leaves you squeezing your thighs together and biting down on your tongue because your mind is starting to wander.

If you were a better person, you’d go to any other room in the house and let him work out in peace. But you stay seated, let your eyes creep over to the titan of a man in your living room.

He’s a powerhouse in every aspect. You’d think that maybe you’d be used to it after having him in your life for so long, but your eyes widen and drool pools in your mouth at the sight of him.

Thick, hard thighs. Veined arm muscles, straining. Carved pectorals and abdomen, clenching with every movement. Corded muscle over every inch of his body–a display of pure, unwavering strength. The manifestation of years of work he’s put into the sport he plays for a living now. Wakatoshi’s tan skin gleams with droplets of sweat, too, face flushed down to his chest.

It’s terribly, horribly teasing. It’s precisely what he looks like when he’s above you, rutting his powerful hips into yours relentlessly, face morphed into a mixture of concentration and bliss. It’s what he sounds like when he pounds away at you, brings you to tears from pure bliss.

You want him. You need him. Your mouth is too empty, you decide. So you stand, shuffling over to him with an edge of guilt.

“Can you stop?” you say, standing by his mat.

He pauses, thick eyebrows furrowing. Concern quickly fills his sharp features.

“What have I done, my love?”

“You’re hot. It’s distracting me,” you tell him, crossing your chest.

His shoulders sag when it hits him he hasn’t actually done anything wrong and he chuckles, a deep rumble in his broad chest. “I apologise. Can you forgive me?”

“I will if you let me suck your dick,” you say, already sinking to your knees between his robust thighs. There’s mischief dancing behind the batting of your eyelashes, enticing your sweet boyfriend.

Wakatoshi likes to think he’s focused– it’s what he’s been told all his life, by coaches and teachers alike. His concentration never wavers, his determination ever so stable. Around you, though? He becomes entirely unrelenting.

It’s why he doesn’t stop you as you paw at his jersey shorts, smoothing a hand up his thigh, along his crotch, up to the waistband. It’s why he nods when you peer up at him for permission to pull them down his legs, no matter how simple it would be for him to ask you politely to wait until he finishes the few reps he has left.

His boxers come down and his cock, half-hard, springs upwards in its entirety. Your fingertips barely touch when they wrap around the tanned flesh which jumps when you start stroking up and down gently.

Drool pools in your mouth, your lidded eyes dropping to the sight of your boyfriend’s perfect dick. With your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you pump up and down his veiny length until he’s rock hard and blushing and pearly rivulets of pre dribble from the slit of his tip.

That’s when you start to drag your tongue along him, from his base all the way to his head, watching attentively as his head falls back and he showcases his glistening Adam’s apple. He’s always so sensitive, falling apart at your slightest touch.

Your thumb teases his slit, smearing pre over his tip as it leaks while your tongue traces the veins that adorn his cock. And then, with a lustful hunger burning deep in your abdomen, your lips wrap around him and swallow.

You hardly give yourself a second to adjust as you take half of him without hesitation, tears welling and throat clenching as you adjust to the girthy intrusion. Wakatoshi hisses as his giant hand flies to your scalp, stopping you before you can push yourself any further.

“Easy, my love,” he says in a strained whisper.

It’s hard to take his advice when you peer up and catch the tensing of his hard muscles, the parting of his lips, and the affection that glimmers in his olive eyes. It urges you on, really.

You pull back with webs of spit connecting your lips to his cock, stomach fluttering as your boyfriend brings his hand to your cheek and strokes it with his thumb. A second later and you’re dipping your head back down to envelop your mouth around him, choosing to bob your head this time.

“Oh, f-” Wakatoshi cuts himself off with a groan, your throat so warm and tight around him that he shivers. He sighs when your free hand moves to grasp at one of his heavy balls, squeezing lightly but it’s just enough to make his cock throb in your mouth.

As you bob, you take him further and further until your nose is pressed to his pelvis and the dark wiry hairs of his happy trail tickle your skin. He squeezes his eyes shut from the jolts of pleasure that travel deep into his core, his brain turning to fog from the bliss of your slippery mouth. His flesh becomes seared, the blush on his cheeks seeping down to his chest.

Your throat clicks and splutters around him–he’s so big, not meant to be taken like this, and yet you do. With wet eyes and a numb mind, you keep him shoved down your mouth as your fingers take turns fondling one of his balls at a time.

Wakatoshi thinks he’s close to passing out. He can hardly remind himself to stave off his orgasm, too busy as he’s rapt by the burning pleasure of your tongue working his cock.

You pull away, heaving for air, but it’s only to mouth at his balls and suckle at them until they’re covered in your slobber. You trail your tongue along the underside of his cock next, watching him gulp– watching him slowly fall apart.

When you swirl your tongue and suck lightly at his tip, Wakatoshi moans. His abdomen tightens, his fingers scratching at your scalp as they tangle into your roots. He’s losing all semblance of composure. You can tell, from the way his thighs tense and ragged breaths fall from his lips.

“I’m- close,” he groans, low, through clenched teeth.

You’re bobbing your head again with determination, the lewd sounds every time you lower your mouth only bringing Wakatoshi to his edge more quickly. With your hand pumping up and down simultaneously, he doesn’t stand a chance.

His cock twitches in your mouth, and with a deep, rumbling groan that shakes his entire body, he releases. His warm load spills down your throat, his muscles bulging as pleasure wracks his huge body. A Roman god succumbing.

As you pull off of him to replenish your lungs, Wakatoshi’s mind is airy. To him, one thing becomes clear, however.

He lunges forward, scooping you up with ease despite having orgasmed just a moment ago.

“Wakatoshi!” you squeal as he tosses you upon the couch. He kisses you, messy, licking into your mouth like he’s trying to taste himself on your tongue. It makes your head spin.

“I’d like to make sure you’ll forgive me,” he says, still breathless and blushing. His hands wander up your t-shirt, fingertips brushing at your skin making you shiver. “Will you let me return the favour, please?”

[atinylittlepain]

ok so given that the oscars just happened, imagine a joel x actress!reader. before everything went to shit joel was a normal human being who loved watching movies and like any basic person had a celebrity crush. fast forward and the world has gone to shit and joel and ellie (and maybe tommy too) go on a patrol that goes wrong and get saved by miss “i just smashed a guys head in with my oscar” or something like that, just a fluff and fun imagine that isnt gonna break my heart in a million pieces like last nights episode

oh my god, your mindddddd - I love this idea :)

Big Fan

Joel Miller x actress!reader

Joel Miller masterlist

Joel recognizes her right away. After all, she starred in his favorite movie of all time.

warnings | 18+ a little angst, nothing wild, this is fluff through and through

Read part two!

.......................

“Are you–”

“I am.”

“You were in–”

“I was.”

“Well I’ll be damned.” 

“Alright, somebody better start speaking in full sentences, because I have no clue what the hell is going on.” Joel huffs, glancing at Ellie who's looking at him like he’s gone crazy, her gun still cocked at the woman in front of them.

“What? You don’t recognize her, kid? I just showed you Curtis and Viper.” Ellie’s brow furrows, but then she looks back at the woman and her eyes finally widen in recognition.

“Holy shit.” The woman laughs, eyes still focused on the barrel of Ellie’s gun.

“That’s not usually the movie people recognize me from. But I suppose it was my big break.” Joel nudges Ellie, muttering for her to put her “damn gun away, jesus christ,” and she quickly tucks it back in her belt.

He’s trying to not be weird right now, they did just kill five clickers together, but he’s finding it hard not to lose his cool over the woman who had been a silly crush of his since he first saw that cheap action movie as a teenager. He knows she did much better films afterward, remembers hovering behind the couch one night while Sarah was watching one of those awards shows, lingering just a bit longer when he saw her giving an acceptance speech with a blinding smile in a dress that probably cost more than his house. She’s certainly less elegant-looking now, but even after twenty years in a world like this, he can’t help the quick kick of his heart at actually meeting this woman in the flesh.

He clears his throat, also trying to clear his mind.

“Are you alone?” She sighs, wiping the blade of her knife on her jeans before sliding it back into its sheath.

“I wasn’t, and then I was. We were headed toward a settlement we heard about, I think a bit further north from here?” Joel keeps his expression steady, but can feel Ellie glancing at him. Movie star or not, he knows they have to be careful about who finds out about Jackson. But apparently, this woman isn’t just pretty, and she seems to pick up on the heavy pause after what she said.

“Do you two know about the place I’m talking about? Are we close?” Joel, sighs, looking at Ellie before making a decision that Tommy is probably going to smack him for later.

“We, um– we’re from there, actually. If you’re talking about where I think you’re talking about.” She huffs out a laugh, and offers them that megawatt smile Joel remembers seeing on his TV screen. Ellie, meanwhile, scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest as she glares at Joel.

“No shit. Do you think you have room for one more?” Joel’s eyes dart once more to Ellie, just seeing the subtle shake of her head, but he chooses to ignore it. How could he say no to the woman who had, embarrassingly, been one of his first wet dreams?

“You’ll have to talk with my brother, but I’m sure you’ll be welcome to stay on.” Megawatt, megawatt, megawatt. He reckons that smile could melt steel beams.

…

“Joel, what the fuck–”

“Ellie–”

“No, what are you thinking? If not Tommy, Maria’s gonna be so pissed she’ll probably cut your balls off.” He shushes the girl, glancing ahead at the woman hiking further in front of them.

“Look, she’s all alone– hardly a threat– and she’s looking for somewhere to stay–” She scoffs.

“Oh, so this has nothing to do with the way your eyeballs practically popped out of your head just looking at her?” He grumbles, hand tightening around the strap of his rifle.

“You just mind your own business, alright? I’ll take care of it.” Ellie huffs, starting to trudge further ahead of him, but not before muttering out “whatever you say, fanboy.” Joel is stunned still by her words.

“Where the hell did you get that word from?” She turns on her heel, walking backwards for a beat as she smirks at him.

“One of those old magazines. Pretty sure she was on the front page if you wanna borrow it.” Before he can get a word in edgewise, she’s already turning back around and continuing their hike back to Jackson.

…

“Holy shit. Joel, look who it is!” Joel grunts, nudging Tommy out of his starstruck stupor.

“Yeah, I know. Just hiked five miles with her.” Tommy laughs, slapping him on the back before grinning at her.

“It’s real nice to meet you. You know, Joel here had your poster on his bedroom wall–” The nudge he gives his brother this time is a little less friendly, causing Tommy to grumble and rub his arm. She, however, takes it in stride, laughing lightly as she shifts in her boots.

“I’m flattered, really. It’s, um, it’s nice to meet you, Tommy.” Tommy’s eyes go wide.

“I can’t believe you just said my name. This is crazy–”

“Tommy.” Joel cuts his brother off with a hard look before he embarrasses himself anymore. He clears his throat, seeming to get a hold of himself as Joel continues.

“She had been traveling with a group, looking for this place. She’s the only one left though. Was hoping to join the town.” Tommy grins again, glancing between her and Joel.

“Well, I’m sure we can make that happen. I think Joel would kill me if I didn’t let–” He squeezes Tommy’s shoulder hard, willing him to shut his mouth. 

“That little house next to ours is still empty. Why don’t we set her up there?” Tommy’s smile at his brother’s words is all too smug for Joel’s taste, but he still nods, turning his attention back to her.

“If that’s alright with you, ma’am. I’ll let the folks know to turn the gas and electric back on for that place.” She smiles brightly at that.

“That would be amazing. Thank you so much. I owe you all big time.” Tommy snorts.

“I’m pretty sure you can pay Joel back with an autograph, he’d probably cre—“ Joel’s heard enough, resorting to kicking Tommy in the ankle to shut him up. Ellie huffs from where she’s watching their pathetic display.

“Alright, well if you two freaks are done making fools of yourselves, I’ll show her over to that house.” 

…

When Joel gets home, the first thing he does is look at that DVD. He had found it a week or two ago on a patrol shift, left in a hollowed-out RV. Ellie was less than impressed and Maria refused to show it at movie night because it’s so gory, but he held onto it anyways. He can still remember going to see it in the theater with Tommy, both of them too young to get in if not for their friend working the ticket booth. He flips the case over in his hands, and sure enough, there she is on the back cover, looking impossibly beautiful while firing a machine gun. What’s not to like, right?

He’s broken out of his revelry by the sound of the front door opening, and soon enough, Ellie is stomping up the stairs to come looking for him. When she finds him in his bedroom, sitting on the end of his bed, she glances at the DVD he’s holding, a grin spreading over her face.

“Just like you remember, huh, old man?” He grumbles, getting up to set the movie back on the bookshelf before turning back to Ellie.

“She settling in alright?” She hums, nodding lightly.

“Yep, made a beeline for a shower. Told me to thank you. I told her you’d be coming around for your autograph later.” His face crumples in indignation while Ellie lets out a cackle.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But in all seriousness, I think she’s interested– in you– which pains me to even say, but, I figure you deserve to know that the woman of your pubescent dreams was asking questions about you.” Joel’s jaw goes slack, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

“She– she was asking about me?” Ellie nods around a smirk.

“Mmhmm. And I told her you’re a grumpy old bum who doesn’t take kindly to strangers.” He huffs, but she laughs again.

“Sorry, kidding again. I didn’t tell her much. Just that you’ll be around. But if I were you, I’d “be around” sooner rather than later, before the rest of Jackson gets a piece of her. Snatch her up before there’s sweeter bait to bite down on, you know?” He thinks briefly that he needs to see just what sort of magazines this kid is reading, because he can’t quite believe what’s coming out of her mouth. He grumbles, shaking his head at her antics.

“There ain’t gonna be any snatching going on. Just mind your–” She huffs, already walking out of his room.

“Mind my business, yeah, yeah, I know. But think about what I said, old man. Better cast your line quick for this one. My guess is you weren’t the only one who had her poster in your bedroom back before.” 

He’s not letting that kid read magazines anymore.

…

When he steps out on his porch later in the afternoon, fully intent on what Ellie has affectionately started calling his “adult nap time,” he’s interrupted by someone calling his name. He catches sight of her sitting on the porch of the little house next door, waving and smiling at him like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Hey, neighbor.” He tentatively waves back, but that doesn’t seem to satisfy her as she motions for him to join her. He sighs, rather stiffly walking over to her porch and joining her on the bench seat, keeping a very respectable distance between them. Clickers, raiders, general imminent danger, he can handle. Pretty lady? That’s touchy. Pretty lady who he imagined marrying as a teenager? Just put him out of his misery already. He knows it’s ridiculous, that none of that matters now. She’s just as worn and weathered as the rest of them by this crumbled world. But that smile she keeps flashing him might just bring him to his knees.

“I wanted to thank you– for bringing me along. I was, uh, starting to lose hope back there a little bit.” He nods, glancing at her.

“No need for thanks. Just the right thing to do in this world. I’m sorry– about your group. I don’t know what happened, but that couldn’t have been easy being out there on your own.” She shrugs, waving off his sentiment.

“It was barely a group to begin with. Just some folks who happened to get out of the San Francisco QZ together.” His brain is quickly trying to knit together the movie star he remembers from the past and this woman who sits before him now, an obvious edge to her.

“Were you in California? Back when everything…” She nods, her face set in a grim look.

“LA, where else? Now that was a nightmare. I bet the only worse place to be when everything went down was New York. Bodies everywhere. Don’t think I’ll ever forget it.” She lets out a humorless laugh before glancing at him.

“That movie you like so much? I remember when I got the role, I had no idea how I was gonna pull it off. Grizzled heroine with a dark past and a penchant for violence. I was nothing like her. But now, I feel a whole lot more like her and a whole lot less like me.” She sighs, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I dumped that on you.” Joel is quick to shake his head, leaning over his thighs to catch her gaze.

“No, no. I get it– in my own way, I guess. The world changed and– we had to change with it.” That coaxes a crooked smile out of her as she looks at him. A simple silence descends between them as they share quiet smiles. She finally giggles, scrunching her nose at him.

“That girl– Ellie? I think she said something about you wanting an autograph?” Joel can feel the hot blush creeping up his neck as his face goes slack. She just splits out in a laugh, tipping her head back in delight.

“I’m sorry, I’m kidding. But, you know, what I went by, what people still call me, that isn’t my real name.” Joel’s eyebrows quirk up and she sighs, shaking her head.

“Just a stage name. I don’t really mind people calling me that, but can I tell you my real name?” He can feel the smile tugging at his mouth as he nods. Before he knows what she’s doing, she’s taking his hand into her lap, slowly tracing out her name with her finger across his palm. An autograph, of sorts. He’s pretty sure his brain short-circuits, just barely stringing together her name as she finishes. He murmurs it lowly and she offers him her brightest smile yet, still holding his hand lightly in her own.

“And you’re Joel, right?” He’s only a little embarrassed by how quickly he nods.

“Mmhmm. Miller– Joel Miller, yep.” She lets out a breathy laugh, now clasping his hand in a firm shake.

“It’s nice to really meet you, Joel Miller.” 

[wifihunters]

There's something to be said for the strangeness of therapy and understanding not only why you do things, but why certain things make you feel like Death for no reason and sometimes why other people do things as well.

And its all well and good except its... tiring.

You go, you pay, you scoop out the seeds and flesh with a blunt spoon until you hit the rind, and then you sit there across from a sad, kind professional while the two of you try to sort out how to put it back together.

And no one thanks you for it outright. Your mom calls and you actually pick up for the first time in a month and she says you sound clearer. Your brother has nothing to say about the amphetamines in your bag because he knows something changed enough that he says an "I love you" at the end of a visit and gets one back. Your wife pulls you back to reality and you find affection and touch tolerable enough to do the same for her the week after without your skin crawling.

But then you start to feel muscles pull and things strain. Anger comes (real anger, not snapped frustration, not survival fighting, but deep, indignant flares) and it fires like an engine left to coagulate for years. It feels like an unwieldy hammer too large to control and too easy to swing all at once. You're afraid to pick it up. You're more afraid to have it taken away again.

So you start to demolish your own foundation. You find the rotten pylons holding up your childhood and leave them in the mud. You cannot move them now, only balance new beams better than your parents did.

Then the hardest room is next. The cozy sitting room with the day bed you kept open all hours and days for anyone to rest on, it goes down with the rotten floor. You never knew the mold had reached out here--you thought that was hidden behind the other doors, under your own bed, not in this space. Not here in the warm light of pride, of being kind and useful, where you curled up in too small of a chair and basked, knowing you had earned love with your tired limbs and heavy eyes. You drag the day bed to the curb and apologize to everyone who knocks. The new floor is bare and cold, the silence echoes in the empty room, but you start to ponder what color paint you might like to decorate yourself in. The roller is lighter than you expected. Maybe the bedroom deserves a coat.

And you brace for some pushback. Not everyone likes the color. Someone else compliments the new couch (only a couch now, an overnight bed for the cats and no one else) and someone else asks why you took the old one to the dump without telling them first. Some of them leave. Some of them put a crack in your newly painted drywall as they do. Others stay, asking if movie night is still on. You wipe your eyes and sweep the dust and ask if they'd like a drink before starting. The foundation shivers, but the walls remain.

Its mundane and earth-shattering and boring and the most terrifying all at once. No one will stop you from quitting. Healing is voluntary and the easiest responsibility on a long list to drop, and yet now that the mold is gone you understand, maybe, what it might be like to even want a home in your own mind and skin. Not a hotel, carefully crafted with beige walls and fluffed pillows, but a home.

[potato-lord-but-not]

ok humor me here- chnt au where mostly everything is the same except it takes place in the magnus archives universe ?? and yk I’m open to community speculation and yall adding on to this because I need more opinions !!!! unhinged ramblings under read more :^)

ok ok so camp here & there is a site that’s run by The Spiral, everything outside of that is practically normal, but the camp makes everyone believe that the events that go on here are actually not that weird. It could also be a place where the bridge between the fear entities and earth is thin, so that’s why there’s a lot of activity from several different entities.

At least once a counselor mentioned “why do we keep working here every year?” And Soren was never actually fired, which just adds fuel to the fire tbh.

Most of the counselors there are just marked by the spiral, but others are marked by different entities. Some might not be full on avatars yet, but still posses supernatural qualities (like Oliver Banks until his death). Rowan is an Eye avatar, and although it’s made a point that the eye can’t really see the future, that just makes Rowan’s situation that much more worrying. Soren, ofc, is an avatar of The End. Self explanatory. Jedidiah mighhhttt be Web aligned, or even The Lonely (now that I think about it he most definitely is the lonely in someway) but I’m not entirely sure what to do with him yet. Adam is a Flesh avatar, and maybe one of the only ones who actually knows he’s an avatar (besides maybe Soren and Lucille). Elijah seems like an End avatar, with him being overly obsessed with making sure Sydney stays asleep for the greater good of humanity. His trying to sacrifice Sydney was an attempted End ritual, and would’ve most likely failed w/o intervention bc Sydney hasn’t been marked by all the fears yet.

Sydney is this au’s Jon, he’s being led into the position of the antichrist by Lucille, who is The spiral avatar. So far Sydney has been marked by the spiral (working at chnt), the end (Soren, the gravediggress, and the mold), the hunt (… the hunt), the flesh (Adam), the corruption (the hive incident), the eye (the bonfire, Rowan), the lonely or the web depending of which Jed aligns with more, andddd I’m sure others that are slipping my mind rn.

Jed (more than likely on accident) cemented Sydney as an Avatar after he killed and reanimated him, and Sydney is able to stay fit at the camp bc he feeds off the unhinged Spiral energy it creates. I also think Sydney was marked by The End at an early age, and that’s why he was chosen to be the sacrifice by Elijah (even if he doesn’t realize it) and why he’s very into death and decay.

The Magnus Institute DOES exist in this au, and they (Jon n the gang) find out about this camp due to a tired looking young man who convinced his slightly unhinged boyfriend to make a statement with him about the strange place they work at over the summer (ps Juniper is Very spiral aligned, more so than the rest of them, thinks that the camp is actually pretty normal and doesn’t know what Rowan is going on about, and seems to live in a place that Jon later finds out doesn’t exist at all)

ummmm I think that’s it for now, let me know if you have anything to add or silly thoughts about it ??