#IT TAKES SO MUCH BRAIN POWER TO MAKE WORDS GO BUT WHEN THEY DO WOW
Note
any fics of fucking Vox so hard the power completely goes out in the making? i looove what you've written for him already, would be really cool if the glitches were visible in the writing too!!
warnings — Pegging, small use of ‘mommy’, Vox being a whiny bitch
summary — Vox takes it in the ass so hard Hell has a power shortage because he’s just a whore like that.
a/n — OMG I LITERALLY LOVE THIS !! god any excuse to write Vox getting absolutely wrecked is a YES.
“Fuck,” Vox’s back arched and his hands went to grip the top of his screen, “Fuck ju—zzs—st like that.”
His voice buffered as you pushed your strap deeper into him. He was on his back with his legs wrapped around your torso so your plastic dick would have easy access to his ass.
You had to hold your hands on his chest to keep him from squirming too much.
“Needy tonight, aren’t we, Vox?” you snickered as you moved the strap inside him.
“God, fuu—ck you, bi—tcc—tch,” he hissed before you cut him off by aggressively forcing pushing deeper into him.
He yelped and moaned, throwing his head back on the pillow.
“You’re in no position to be saying that, sweetheart,” you start moving the strap faster and rougher.
He let out a glitched out whine and stared up at you with pure hatred, and desperate arousal.
Your hands that rested on his hips now dug into him hard enough to break skin.
“A—ah,” he whined, “What’s wr—oo—ong with you? S—slow down.” he whined at how rough you were being but then followed it up with a long drawn out moan.
“Aw baby,” you leaned down and caressed his screen, “Your going to have to learn to be nicer if you want me to slow down. For now you’ll just have to take my cock like the slut you are.”
He surprised himself by whining at your harsh words. Your fingers glided down and brushed over his nipples. He then shocked himself even further with the fact that, despite this humiliating position, he arched into your touch, craving any and all attention he can get from you.
You noticed how desperate he was, and smirked. He looked pathetic, sweaty and panting, covered in markings from your teeth, and looking up at you with a dark clouded expression, waiting to see what you do next.
To his delight, you continued to roughly ram into him, going at a rapid pace, nails once again digging into his hips.
“ohmygodohmygodoh—tsk tsk,” he moaned loudly as his hands clung to the sheets. At this point he couldn’t get one sentence out before glitching.
“Wow, look at you” you remark, rolling your hips, “what a little attention whore you are.”
He whined and threw his head back. At this point, there was a low static-y humming coming from him.
“‘m not—bzz— ‘m not a whore,” his protests were weak at this point. If he wasn’t being interrupted by malfunctioning mid-sentence, he was being cut off by his own whimpers.
“Oh, but you are, sweetheart. Only a whore would be taking mommy’s cock so good,” you coo down at him.
The implication that he was doing good, especially because that meant approval from you, made his brain feel funny.
“See?” your hands move up from his hips and caress the sides of his screen, “your so pretty when you don’t argue with me, baby.”
Oh, that did something to him. He wasn’t around a lot of positive people, so the idea that your attention could be shown with something as kind as praise, made his throat tighten.
His moans turned into choked out broken sobs and all the brattiness from earlier drained out of him. You were sure that if he had tear ducts, he would be crying right now.
You hammered into him harder than ever, leaning over him to occasionally pepper kisses on his neck and screen.
“Nngh— mommy ‘m— bzz— ‘m sorry,” he moaned out, slinking his arms around your neck, trying desperately to bring you closer to him. To make sure he was the only thing catching your attention at the moment.
Your hips rolled fast and rough inside him, and he could feel his climax approaching.
“Sorry for— wait, you’re sorry?” You were sure you knew what he was talking about, his attitude earlier. Still, for a moment you were thrown off by the idea that this cocky, power-hungry asshole was apologizing unprompted to you.
After a moments consideration, you came to the conclusion that he must have been slowly easing into subspace. He was probably apologizing because he wanted you to, what, praise him?
All though it seemed slightly out of character for the usually pretentious, bratty man, his half lidded desperate eyes seemed to convince you.
Your grip on his hips once again tightened as you drilled into him, rougher than before.
“You’re so perfect, baby,” you panted, earning a loud whimper. His arms tightened around your neck and his nails started to dig into the skin of your back.
“So good for me, taking mommy’s cock so well, looking so pretty for me too.”
He whined loudly and the frequency coming from his head started to get louder. You were ramming into him with such concentration that you didn’t notice the lights started to flicker around you.
“c—ccl—close—,” he tried to speak but only uttering a glitched out moan. Luckily, you picked up on what he was trying to say.
“Of course, sweetheart, whenever you want,” you said, rolling your hips once more to make his orgasm even more pleasurable.
“So good for me, Vox, apologizing for being a brat, telling me when your about to cum,” you speak softly into his ear, except you don’t think he comprehends a thing except for ‘so good for me.’
He let out a choked pathetic sob and whined for more. His audio was glitching out more than ever, making him almost unintelligible.
Now the flickering of the lights around you was undeniable, even producing a low buzzing sound reminiscent of the one Vox’s head was currently making.
“So perfect, my pretty baby, ‘m so lucky to have such a good boy.”
All of the praise sent him over the edge. With one loud moan, he came.
But in a moment, the buzzing light bulb beside you exploded, and all the illuminated buildings outside your window went dark, causing a full blackout all across the city.
Vox was still clinging to your neck, breathless, panting against you.
“Shit. Was that, like, too much, Vox?” you ask, clearly concerned as you go to pull out of him.
He pulls back slightly from your neck but stops you from moving your strap out of him.
“Please— tsk tsk,” he breathes, still buffering slightly, “Please more.”
a/n — I was too nice to him at the end of this fix but DONT WORRY GUYS I got another sub!Vox request that will literally destroy him
also, i saw someone say that since vox is around so many toxic people, an actual compliment would fuck with him super hard.
so as you can see i agree with them
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel vox#hazbin vox#vox x reader#vox hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x you#dom reader#hazbin hotel smut
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.˚ 𓈒 ࣪.𝝑𝝔 Love the guys your dad hates !! ´ˎ˗
Percy Jackson x fem!dionysus!reader
Synopsis: a daughter of Dionysus needs a break from the chaos by the water, till a Poseidon boy comes and spoils the quiet.
Word count: 1610
Dionysus, the god of wine, vegetation, fertility, pleasure and insanity.
Y/N Y/L/N, daughter of Dionysus. Being his daughter didn't just make you a half-blood to one of the twelve Olympians, along with his powers of vegetation the insanity trait also followed through with it. Maybe you weren't fully demented, just slightly nutty. Your brain moves a million miles a minute and sometimes its hard to think with so many things happening around you. So every now and then, you sneak away from the hundreds of kids at camp half-blood and make your way to a clearing deep in the middle of the forest. In the middle of this clearing was a beautifully clear blue lake surrounded by an immense amount of greenery and flowers. It was perfect. And the best thing about it was that no one knew where it was.
Or so you thought.
After a long day of helping younger campers with their archery, you were absolutely wiped. When you were finally done with your duties, you rushed back to your cabin, changed into your favorite wine colored two-piece(very on brand), and quickly snuck off without being noticed down to your spot. The lake.
Arriving as quick as you could, you slipped off your clothes down to your bathing suit and made your way into the water. You laid and floated to the top, starfish style, and floated your way to the middle of the pool of water and closed your eyes to relax. After a few minutes you sank down and let the water take you. Complete silence. Under the water was complete silence and you loved it. After a few moments you needed oxygen and made you way back up. After breaking through the surface of the water, you noticed a blurred figure standing by your clothes, looking as if they were inspecting them.
"What the hell" you thought to yourself. You were convinced no one knew of your spot.
You dove back underwater and made your way to the lakeside where this mystery person, and your clothes, were located. When you got there, that's when you shot out the water, asking what they were doing and scaring them in the process.
"WOAH" said the figure as they jumped and dropped your clothes back down to the ground. You rubbed the water from your eyes and that's when you realized, this wasn't just some random person. It was a certain big three kid you may or may not have had your eye on. Specifically a Poseidon boy, or the only Poseidon boy in fact, Percy Jackson.
You wouldn't say you guys are the closest of close, but you guys would talk every now and then. As much as the both of you wanted to be able to talk more, being the daughter of Dionysus made that a little hard. Your dad was never a big Percy fan the way you were, I guess that happens when you smart-mouth a god of wine, and refuse him some wine. Though you found the interaction funny, Dionysus never really cared for any campers other than his own kids. It is what it is though.
"Oh, um, my bad didn't mean to scare you.. like that" you were a little nervous, he was really cute. "So um, what are doing here. I didn't think anyone else knew of this place.."
"Well, I noticed your always disappearing after you finish your camp jobs and stuff, you know? So, I got curious and followed you out here to see what you were doing, sorry if that's kinda weird" Percy started rambling, but the thought of him actually noticing you weren't around and following you wanting to know where you go, made you feel excited.
"Wow, you were curious about me, that's adorable" you started giggling as you said this, amused with yourself.
"Well, yeah I, uh, was" while he was talking Percy was stuttering and looking around, clearly hot in the face. Yours was just as hot though so not much room to talk. That's when you got an idea, and with that you extended your hand toward Percy.
"Here, help me get out" you asked.
"Oh sure" he happily reached out and grabbed your hand, that's when you held on tight and pulled him into the lake with you. You started laughing so hard your stomach started hurting, and if you looked down and saw a six-pack you wouldn't have been shocked.
After a few seconds, Percy emerged and looked at you wide eyed. "DUDE, MY CLOTHES" right, he was fully clothed, whoops!
"Your in shorts, just throw your other stuff back to the shore and you'll be fine" and that's what he did. You tried not to stare so instead you just splashed him and swam off laughing.
And that's how the next few hours went by, swimming and goofing around with Percy. You really liked hanging out with him and he enjoyed it just the same. Sucks your dad didn't like him. And before you two realized it, it got dark, and therefore late.
"Oh my gods, Percy we have to get back before curfew we have to hurry" you hated getting in trouble, you liked being able to stay off radar.
"Oh come on, we'll be fine if we're a little late" Percy said.
"Maybe for you, but I don't know if you remember, my dad kind of works here, so he'd punish me himself. Plus, he's not your biggest fan" you explained to Percy in a matter-a-fact tone. That's when he gave in and the two of you started running back clothes in hand. You guys made it back just about a minute or two late. Despite being past curfew, he still walked you back to your cabin, what a gentleman.
"Hey, thanks for walking me back" you said as you both walked up to the cabin door, stopping and turning to each other.
"Oh of course, no problem" Percy smiled, clearly not a care in the world if a harpie found him here. And funnily enough, that made you happy. Dare you say, you had butterflies in your stomach just standing near him the way the both of you were at that very moment.
That's when the both of you started leaning in closer and closer till your lips finally connected. It was like a dream come true, this was a perfect moment not even your dad could've ruined. Or so you thought, because as Percy pulled you closer by the waist and you pulled him in by the neck, your cabin doors swung open.
"Hey, there kids" Dionysus shouted, despite the smile on his lips, his eyes had a murderous intent behind them as he stared at Percy. The both of you jumped back and separated, standing there embarrassed. Then, Dionysus turned directly to Percy, with the same smile and crazed look in his eyes. "I'm gonna give you a ten second head start, after those ten seconds are up, I'm sending my grape vines your way. And if they catch you, they will wrap around you and you will get hung upside on the nearest tree and I will leave you there for everyone to see."
And without a second thought Percy ran for his cabin as fast as possible, looking back once to shout a 'see you later' at Y/N. "NO YOU WON'T" shouted back Dionysus.
"YES YOU WILL" you shouted and waved at Percy as he kept running. You couldn't see it, but he had a giant grin on face when you said that.
"Dad did you really have to do that" you turned to your dad and asked, with slight annoyance dripping from your voice.
"Of course I did, your my kid. And really Peter Johnson? You went out on a secret date with Peter Johnson?" Dionysus questioned.
Your face got hot when he said date. "Hey, it wasn't a da- wait, how do you know about that" you looked a him with a raised eyebrow.
"Heard about it from the grapevine" with that he patted your head as you both said your goodnights.
You walked into your cabin and changed and started getting ready to sleep. As you were now walking towards you bed, you heard a knock at your window. You completely stopped where you standing and turned your head to see your favorite forbidden kid standing right by your window waving at you. You quickly made a b-line and made your way straight to opening your window and speaking to Percy.
"Hey Percy, glad to know my daddy didn't scare you off" you said while making both you and Percy laugh.
"Not even a god, not even one of the twelve Olympians themselves, could ever scare me from you. Which is why I'm here, to see if you want to hang out again tomorrow, but this time as a date?"
Oh my gods, oh my gods, oh my gods, oh my gods. Oh. My. Gods. He just asked you on a date.
"I'd love to go out on a date with you Percy Jackson" you smiled out at the boy standing in front of you and he smiled back.
"That's amazing to hear Y/N Y/L/N" and with that he leaned back in and planted a quick kiss on your lips then made his way running back to his cabin before the harpies, or gods forbid Dionysus, knew he wasn't in his cabin fast asleep.
After watching him run off, you shut the window and made your way back to your bed, having an amazing sleep. All nightmare free, just Percy.
#percy jackon and the olympians#percy jackson#percy jackson pjo#percy jackson x reader#percy pjo#percy jackson x you#percy series#percy jackson x y/n#percy jackson fluff
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How JJK men act when you have insomnia (can't sleep)
Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader; Toge x fem!reader; Megumi x fem!reader (special thanks to @belovedvamp for that jaw-dropping gorgeous Megumi requests, like wow)
Word Count: 2.5k
Warnings: nightmares, angst to comfort in everyone, I would like to point out that Megumi is my favorite part and that I'm thinking about doing a Part 2, so if you're invested definetely let me know 😭not 100% proofread yet
Gojo Satoru
„Huh, why are you still awake babe? Aren’t you tired?”
Satoru takes in your gorgeous sight, how you lay curled up in your shared bed with your sleepy eyes darted towards him. God, why do you have to be so stunning, why does the selfish urge to keep you awake a little longer become almost unbearable for him when he knows exactly why you’re unable to sleep?
The mattress gives in under your boyfriend’s weight next to you, his hand gently caressing your head. You feel drunk, as if your body doesn’t function properly anymore. No wonder, after all you were awake for more than 30 hours by now, fighting and fighting to finally exorcise a bunch of special grade curses while Satoru was busy somewhere else.
But you’re scared to close your eyes again, to get confronted with the horrible things you’ve saw today. After each and every mission, your brain haunts you with awful nightmares, reminds you of all the death, all the injured, all the things you’ve lost.
No, you just can’t take it. You’d rather stay up a little longer in desperate hopes to be spared than risking to have another bad dream.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it”, you mumble into your heavy blanket, eyes drifting to the window.
It began to rain, heavy droplets pounding against the glass violently, thunder erupting in the dark sky. Carefully, Satoru lays down beside you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist.
“I know you’re lying”, he mutters against your sensitive neck.
“Is it because of your nightmares?”
You turn around to face him in utter surprise. When did you ever told him about those nightmares? You always kept them to yourself, suffered through them on your own. After all, Satoru is a very busy man who shouldn’t have to worry about something like a bad dream. Yes, it seems pretty ridiculous to whine about your nightmares when the strongest of them all is the one you’re talking to.
“Don’t worry about that, I’m fine”, you lie into his face, gifting him a small smile to convince him.
But your eyes don’t lie. They show nothing but terror and dread, nothing but fatigue and alertness at the same time. Suddenly Satoru’s heart feels heavy. He should have realized it sooner, the way you always go to sleep after him when you were out on a mission. Why did it never cross his mind that all of this might be too much for you? Maybe because you’re so damn strong, maybe because you make it look so damn easy every time, carrying the weight of all those missions so that his students don’t suffer.
“It makes no sense to lie to me. Why didn’t you tell me about it, babe? I’m sure Shoko might be able to help you-“
“There’s nothing anyone could do about this”, you interrupt him immediately.
“Trust me, I tried everything out there. I guess this is just how my brain tries to cope with all those things, the people dying and stuff…”
“But you don’t have to go through this alone. We’re a team, remember? Why don’t you wake me up whenever you feel upset? Why do you go to sleep after I’m already passed out? (y/n), don’t do this to yourself.”
Gently, he cups your cheek with his hand, forcing you to look up at him. Oh, how much you hate that familiar feeling. That feeling of being useless, of being weak. Are you really too frail to even sleep after a mission? Why aren’t you able to handle the things you see like the others, like Kento and Satoru? All that training, all that power just to cry in your sleep over the things that happened hours ago.
Truly pathetic.
“Do you really think you’re alone? Especially in the beginning, Kento was plagued by nightmares each and every night so much that he couldn’t even fall asleep. Suguru and I…it is always rough, remembering the faces of those you weren’t able to save. But don’t let them keep you awake, don’t think you have to simply endure this. I’m here each and every night to hold you, okay? I’m here, you’re not alone (y/n).”
Oh Satoru.
Without thinking twice, you turn around and intertwine your body with his, desperately trying to keep your composure. How do you even deserve a man like him? A man who seems goofy most of the time but hast the softest side, a man who cares more about everyone around him than himself.
Your boyfriend, the strongest with a heart of pure gold.
“I hate when they haunt me in my sleep”, you finally give in, hiding your face against his warm chest.
“I know, babe. Trust me, we all do.”
Ever so gently, he strokes your hair and back, embraces you in his very own warmth. Satoru feels like home, like the perfection you are chasing each and every day. What would you even do without his loving arms as your home? Where would you be without his constant support? All those nights he stood by your side, watched a awful romantic movie so you’d feel good again. The countless times he cooked your favourite meal for you, only to throw it away and order food afterwards. All those times he rushed to your side when you got injured, how he always manages to be right by your side when you wake up. And oh, how tender is touch feels against your skin, how his warmth embraces you with every inch of his body. He feels so good, so comforting…
Satoru watches with a small smile as your lids grow heavy and finally close, your breath leaving your mouth evenly.
“As long as I’m the one holding you, no nightmare in the world will dare to wake you up, babe”, he breathes against your ear, holding you tightly in his arms throughout the whole night.
Inumaki Toge
You stare at the full moon blankly, mind racing. How are you supposed to get out of this alive? Are you even strong enough to lead your very own mission without someone by your side? This will be the first time you’ll be completely on your own. Without Maki, without Panda, without Toge…You trained hard these last months, you know what you’re capable of. But still…
Is it enough?
“Kelp.”
His tender voice rips you out of your poisonous thoughts immediately, glossy eyes shooting up to take in his sight. Why does he have to look so delicate with the moonlight highlighting his features? Why does his mouth have to be so damn captivating?
Why is it so easy to fall hopelessly in love with Toge Inumaki?
“Sorry, I thought y’all were asleep”, you explain visibly uncomfortably.
How embarrassing, getting caught by your crush while silently crying into the night about a damn mission. A silent yawning escapes your lips before you can stop it, tired eyes covered by a curtain of tears. God, you are so tired.
“Salmon roe.”
Before you even comprehend what’s happening, the white-haired boy takes his hand into yours gently, staring at you so intensely that you forget how to breathe for a moment. It’s like he wants to tell you that everything will be alright, that you have nothing to worry about.
“I don’t think I can do this alone, Toge. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do this…”, you finally give in.
“Bonito flakes”, he immediately replies.
Without thinking twice, he takes out a small notepad and begins to write frantically. You know he always carries a writing block with him for time that require more than a few words, more than gestures are able to say.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, you worked hard these last weeks. And you’re great! Just do as good as you always do, I’m counting on you, (y/n)! Please try to get some sleep now :)”
With every word you read your heart beats a little faster, with every word your grin grows a little wider. If he only knew how much his words truly mean to you…
“So you really think I can do it on my own?”, you question.
“Salmon!”
“Thank you, Toge”, you mutter touched.
You don’t know why, but suddenly your eyes start to burn in tears. Toge holds nothing but affection in his gaze, hand still resting on yours while squeezing it ever so slightly. He truly believes in you and your abilities, shows no doubt in your save return. Maybe…maybe you’re actually able to do this. Maybe you are indeed ready for your first solo mission.
Toge stands up again, signalling you with a gentle squeeze to stand up as well. You follow him through the dark hallways of Jujutsu High, right into the dorm you know so well.
“Tuna”, he whispers into the night before pressing you against his warm chest.
You feel as light as a feather, too stunned to speak by the way his arms feel wrapped around your body. He smells intoxicating, so good that you can’t help but sniff in and out. Is this really the first time Toge Inumaki hugged you for more than 10 seconds? It definitely is hard to let him go again.
“I believe in you, (y/n).”
Did he…Did he just speak?
“Toge…”, you breathe out, watching as his smile grows even wider.
With a last wave, he is gone in the darkness of the night, leaving you standing in the middle of your room on your own with your feelings scattered all over the place. Toge Inumaki just hugged you. No, Toge INumaki just spoke. He told you that he believes in you.
“How am I supposed to sleep now?”, you mumble to yourself.
Fushiguro Megumi
Your eyes snap open in an instant, ice cold sweat running down your face. Where are you? Is it over? You…
You breathe out. It was a nightmare. Again.
“Fuck”, you hiss to yourself while rubbing your aching head.
Why do you have to get haunted by these horrible nightmares, when will it finally stop? Even Gojo-sensei seems to be clueless about your condition, about what keeps you up each and every night.
But you know something that will help you to get through this night. Or rather someone.
Your bare feet stick to the wooden floor ever so slightly while you wander through the dark hallways on your way to his doorstep. Is he even awake? Maybe he won’t open the door at all.
Little do you know that Megumi sits in his bed with his eyes wide open, staring at the door knob in sheer excitement for your return into his arms. He knows it doesn’t mean much to you and at the beginning, it didn’t mean anything to him either. You just came into his room from time to time, searching for comfort in his hug to chase your nightmares away. And since you were friends, Megumi had nothing against stroking your head gently and wrapping his arms around you.
But something seems different now. Something about the sensation of you visiting him late at night sends shivers down his spine, your moonlit features let his heart hammer against his ribcage. It’s like he wants to hold you even closer, wants your breath to brush against his face. Why does it dawn to him how delicate your curves look and how soft your hair feels? There is no use in denying it, no sense in fighting against the obvious.
Megumi Fushiguro has fallen hopelessly in love with you.
The knocks against his wooden floor send him to his door straight away, opening it before you’re able to think twice.
“Oh, I didn’t knew you were still awake, Fushiguro”, you mutter into the darkness.
God, how much he hates the fact that you always call him by his last name. What would he give to hear his name out of your mouth once?
“What do you want here, (y/n)?”
His voice sounds harsher than anticipated while it takes all his strength to not swallow you in his arms immediately.
“I had a bad dream again…”
The vulnerable tone of your voice kills him from the inside. Without saying another word, he steps aside, allows you to enter his dorm without hesitation. You position yourself on the left side of his bed like you always do, hiding yourself in his already warm sheets. Without hesitation, he crawls back into his bed, inviting you into his arms with a long breath.
You smell as good as you always do. Why did it take him so long to realize that you smell absolutely intoxicating, that the mixture of your shampoo, body scent and perfume is addictive? Maybe he should tell you about the way he feels, finally confess how you make his heart beat out of his chest. But how would you react?
Would you…reject him? For all these years of knowing each other, you were never more than friends. Good buddies, pals, but not more than that. None of you ever crossed the line of plain cuddling each other to sleep. Not once did your lips brush over his, not once did your hands move further than his chest. Would you even love him back?
“Come on, you have to have a crush (y/n)! Is it Chris Pine, Tom Holland? Are you more into Korean guys?”, Nobara inquired over and over.
You just rolled your eyes with a playful grin, almost making Megumi fall out of his chair next to Yuji.
“I don’t have a crush on anyone. I’m perfectly fine by myself”, you insisted.
“I like tall woman with a big ass”, Yuji interrupted out of nowhere, gaining a punch in his face by Nobara.
That was it, the first time he noticed something strange. The way his heart suddenly grew heavier than metal, sunk into his chest, took his breath away. He was hurt by your words. Megumi Fushiguro was hurt by the stinging fact that you didn’t say his name like he secretly hoped for, that your eyes didn’t even flinch towards him for the split of a second.
“Hey, are you alright? Why did you tense up like that?”, you mutter against his chest while drawing circles onto his t-shirt with your delicate fingertip.
“Oh, it’s nothing for you to worry about”, he lies into this tender night.
He presses you against his own body a little tighter, watches how your eyes grow heavy with every passing minute that you listen to his steady heartbeat. This shouldn’t mean more to him than comforting an old friend, it shouldn’t make his heart flutter and palms sweaty. But the soft snores leaving your mouth sound oh so lovely, the way your eyes move behind closed lids makes his heart skip a beat. You have to be the most precious creature on this earth, so valuable that he never wants to let you go again.
Until he has in the morning. Until you return back into his arms when nightmares keep you up another night.
Thank you so much for reading! Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul@chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @froufrousnowman @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain @risuola @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345
@polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp @wifenanami @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz @darkstarlight82 @aeliusbbg
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#gojo satoru#jujutsu gojo#jjk gojo#gojo saturo#gojo x reader#gojou satoru x reader#toge inumaki#inumaki x reader#inumaki toge#inumaki x you#inumaki x y/n#toge#toge x reader#toge x you#fushiguro megumi#megumi fushiguro#jjk megumi#megumi x reader#jujutsu megumi#jujutsu kaisen megumi#fushiguro#megumi fushiguro x you#fushiguro x reader#fushiguro x y/n#fushiguro x you#satoru gojo x reader
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Lookism: "No thank you! I have a partner!"
Silly. G/N. Y'all probably seen the meme. Your partner comes home drunk and doesn't recognise you.
Gun Park, Ryuhei Kuroda, Goo Kim, DG, Vin Jin, Jake Kim, Samuel Seo
Loud scratching and thumps at your front door wakes you. You wonder whether to arm yourself with a frying pan and then you hear your boyfriend muttering slurred profanities.
A loud bang reverberates through your home as he stumbles, drunk, through the door.
With a sigh, you crawl out of bed to check the state they're in.
Gun gazes at you, bleary-eyed and half focused. Slightly swaying on his feet, a very unusual sight of someone usually in full control of their body.
Then something clicks in his brain, eyes hardening just before he looks away. He tells you, tone disinterested, that he's a taken man.
"I don't know how I ended up here, but don't get the wrong idea."
He turns around, exits his own living room, exits his own home, and sleeps outside the apartment in the hallway instead.
.
.
"Yeah you're pretty cute," Ryuhei mumbles, words slurring together, "But my partner is cuter."
He pulls his phone out, drops it twice, unlocks it on the third attempt and shows you a picture - one that you have seen, actually one that you took of him smooching you on the cheek.
"Aren't they cute?" He beams, utterly besotted. "Let me just crash here," he says as he collapses on the sofa. "If you touch me I'll scream."
.
.
"Get your hands off me!" Goo screeches, slapping you away as you try to undress him and get him ready for bed. "My my, you're forward aren't you?"
Goo leans forward and gives you a smile halfway between utterly charming and complete sleazeball.
Then, all bravado evaporates and he sighs.
"Oh sweetheart you would be just my type, but," he pushes you off the bed, "I'm taken and very happy about it."
He lies down, burritoing himself and turning his back to you. "You can make your own way out."
.
.
Vin fiddles with his sunglasses, peering approvingly at you.
Even in his drunken haze he can tell that damn, you're fine. Except. He is also lucid enough to realise he is not looking respectfully anymore and he thinks of you, his ride or die, and his face completely changes.
He frowns and asks you what the hell you are looking at. That you have no chance. He has a partner at home that is much hotter, much better, thank you very much and yeah he's an asshole but he's not going to cheat so back the fuck off.
You roll your eyes, hackles would have been much higher if he wasn't actually being sweet in his own way.
.
.
DG takes a moment to process the situation. And when he does, he gets it completely wrong.
He plasters on his k-pop smile. The one reserved for winning over fans, interviewers and for his insincere apology videos.
"Did you want an autograph?" He pulls out a photocard from his inner pocket and a pen (and wow, you did not realise he carried a stack of his photos. You are not going to let him live this down) and scribbles his signature that comes with some love hearts and sparkles and passes it over to you.
"Here you go," he holds it out to you in both hands, not before mumbling under his breath, "You're cute but shit if you turn into another stalker..."
.
.
Jake is already asleep on the sofa by the time you pad out, which must be some super power in itself.
"Wake up," You give his shoulder a shake. He frowns, then cracks one eye open. "Come to bed."
He grunts something indecipherable and attempts to roll his oversized frame on your undersized sofa.
"Jake, cmon."
You start to drag him to your bedroom, your touch finally waking something inside and he bolts upright, removing your hands firmly off him.
"I have a partner." He tells you with no room for any misinterpretation. "But," he scratches absentmindedly at his stomach, "Do you have any food?"
.
.
Samuel does as he's told. Obediently removing his trousers, and unbuttoning his shirt, taking it off-
(Truly, you had no ulterior motive, you just wanted to remove the stink of alcohol.)
When, maybe for the first time in his life, he is afflicted with modesty and a startling clarity.
He yanks his shirt back on and pulls his trousers on with surprisingly sober efficiency.
"Absolutely not," he glowers at you, "This is not happening. I'm taken."
#lookism x reader#lookism#gun park x reader#ryuhei kuroda x reader#ryuhei x reader#goo kim x reader#vin jin x reader#dg x reader#james lee x reader#jake kim x reader#samuel seo x reader#gun park#ryuhei kuroda#goo kim#vin jin#diego kang#jake kim#samuel seo#wannaeatramyeon
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little aphrodite
sex on fire chapter nine
the amount i had to write jean-marc in this chapter makes me nauseous. anywho. these two heal my soul and make me weep. please enjoy a little look back at the ceo's experience of paris.
pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader
summary: we're going back to paris. this time, through joel's eyes.
warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, alcohol consumption, ostentatious flaunting of wealth (eat the rich i say), sugardaddy!joel, softdom!joel, oral (f and m receiving), daddy kink, praise kink, cursing, angst & pining, and...well. the ceo falls in love.
word count: 7.5k
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He wasn’t even sure you’d say yes when he asked. Thought you’d find it a bit much, flying halfway across the world just for one lousy meeting. He had what he’d say when you turned him down in mind, already: Sure, yeah, no problem. No, I just thought – Yeah. ‘s alright. I’ll bring you back som’ as a souvenir.
But you didn’t.
Oh, yeah? you’d said. Your face seemed to light – humored, impressed even. It made Joel feel braver. Reassured. You’ve a habit of doing that to him.
Mhm, he replied, chewing on the sub you’d ordered him after his conference call. He can’t remember what he promised Human Resources he’d have done within the hour. You walked in as he was saying it, and – well. Two days, he said, swallowing, Saturday Sunday.
And are you gonna make me take minutes while you meet with this Jean-Marc? You wiggled your fingers as you said it, letting the name drip through your lips in some kind of dreamy song. I don’t make the flight back unless they’re typed up by the time we leave? That the catch?
No catch. You don’t even gotta come to the meetin’.
I don’t have to –? Wow, Miller. You’re spoiling me, no? You kicked your leg, one knee hooked over the other. Your skirt shrinking up your thigh.
You were sat in the chair on the right, opposite his desk. You always sit in that one – and Joel’s still trying to figure out why. The working theory so far is that it’s at a good angle to watch the city below, and at the same time, see exactly who comes and goes in and out of the office during lunch.
But there has to be more to it, he thinks. He suspects. Martha’s desk is, like, five feet from yours. She spends her lunches in the conference room with Deb, shaking salads doused in balsamic vinegar and sharing cross-floor gossip. They invite you every day, and almost every day, you turn them down in favor of his shuttered office, the muted swish of cars on the street, the mock gasps and clutch of invisible pearls when you share that same fifth-floor gossip with him over the desk.
You’d been talking while he’d been thinking about the damn chair. He hadn’t heard a word of it. Huh? he asked, and you rolled your eyes.
Ain’t never listenin’, you muttered, peeling the damp paper back from your own sub.
Say it again, Joel said. Was just making a mental note to book dinner for us over there.
You scoffed, licking mayo from the corner of your lips. Why you making mental notes for anything? That’s what you pay me for.
And you were right – it is what he pays you for. Pays you to be his shadow, his right-hand man, his eyes and his ears and his entire brain, some days.
But lately – he doesn’t know. It’s different.
Truth be told, he has no idea what’s gotten into him. Looking at you the way he is. You’ve fucked around twice, now, and both times have been…nothing short of fucking amazing. Both times, Joel’s thought he might come within the first two minutes. Pushing inside your velvet walls, watching the way you roll forward, hearing the lewd moans pour across your lips.
He’s always thought you were attractive. It’s pretty fucking hard to ignore. Physically, sure – the look of your body, the way you know how to dress it. And the prettiest, softest face he’s ever seen. You can win him over in any discussion without a word, just by fluttering your eyelashes at him.
But you’re more than that. He thinks of you both as friends, maybe something more. Something deeper. It’s in the glances you steal, the silent lines tossed between one another. The way you read one another like an open book. Sometimes, he wonders if you actually can read his mind.
You’re intelligent, you’re funny, and you’re a hard fucking worker. Always on time, always seemingly juggling thirty things at once, and never letting him down. Nothing is too much, it seems; everything just is as it is. And he likes that about you. Simple. No baggage.
The morning of the flight, you send him a voice note telling him you’re downstairs. “And I ain’t lugging two cases up to the top floor only to bring ‘em back down when we’re leaving, Mr. CEO.”
He’s striding past Martha for the elevator before he’s even done listening to the message.
“Uh-uh!” she chirps, dashing over to slip between the brass doors behind him.
Joel sighs under his breath.
“I know better than to rely on you to remember all this stuff,” she says, holding up a file he’d asked her to put together for the trip.
She’s right not to – he’d probably leave that file in the car, or put it down somewhere and walk off without it. You’re the only one who can be trusted with it – with anything. You’re good at your job. And yet, he resents the fact that Martha’s about to lump you with even a fraction of responsibility for the next four days.
So when the Rolls pulls off and Martha is nothing but a pin-sized silhouette through the back window, still waving from the sidewalk, he pinches the folder in two fingers and tosses it to his left hip. Out of your grasp. You smile, eyes rolling, and pop your earbuds in. Joel breathes a laugh, eyes dipping again to skim read some contract on his phone. His hand is locked around your thigh. He likes that you just let him do it now.
Likes a lot of things about you. Likes that you put your music on shuffle, and then skip eleven tracks until you find one you actually want to listen to. Likes that your fingers twirl around the light chain of your necklace – the way they do anytime you’re nervous – and when he asks if you’re alright, you bareface lie to him and squeak, Yep.
Likes the glow the morning sun casts on you when you emerge from the car on the tarmac, pooling in the dimples on your cheeks, bright gold. The way you tug on the loose cotton of your sweatpants, bashful. Shy. And he likes that, when he follows you up the steps to the plane cabin, your awestruck expression lasts all of five seconds before that quick wit kicks straight back in.
“Feelin’ pretty guilty about all the air pollution,” you tell him, and Joel silently says his fifth thankful prayer this morning that he thought to ask you and not Martha.
He watches you settle into a seat by the window, watches you crane your neck to survey the view from the tiny circle of thick glass. He thinks about what he’d do if you were alone right now, if there weren’t crew slowly filing into the jet behind him.
He floats the idea. Tells you about the bedroom up back, tells you it’s cozy. You read between the lines just like he wants you to. And when the plane’s in the air, you follow after him.
You fall into bed together the same way you do when you arrive at the hotel. A tangle of limbs, of sweat and stuffy plane air. He sleeps the soundest he has in months – years, maybe. Pushed off by the sound of your breathing, the dip in the mattress by his side. The warmth which radiates from your body, the soft brush of your hand against his.
He puts it down to the travelling – the eight-hour flight, the plushy super king waiting on the other side. He puts it down to the way the world feels different, this side of the Atlantic. The privacy he feels come over the two of you, like sneaking into the next room: your voices muffled through the wall, your movements reduced to vague shadows beneath the door.
He watches you through sleepy eyes as you prance around the suite in the morning, twirling in and out of the bathroom while you get ready for the day. He wonders if this is what you’re like every day – if you spend your Monday mornings beaming like a little kid, toothbrush hanging lopsided from the corner of your mouth, white bubbles lining your gums. He wonders why he’s wondering. Why a part of him wants to see that version of you, too.
This version – now following his lead down Avenue Montaigne, doe-eyed and wonderstruck – is over all too soon. He’s dragged from her, from you, before he’s ready to leave.
His phone vibrates in his pocket right as he’s leading you out of some ridiculously overpriced jewelers – an irritating reminder of his meeting in an hour’s time.
“Fuck,” he whispers, holding you steady as you spin around to glimpse at the baroque building. “Hey, pretty girl,” he squeezes your hand, “I got some bad news.”
Your bottom lip pouts, eyes gleaming. It’s enough, he thinks, to convince him to stick around. If you asked him to, he’d text Jean-Marc right now and tell him to fuck off. But you tell him to go, tell him you’ll meet him back at the hotel once he’s done and you’re tired. With a teasing smirk and a tiny wave, you see him off down the cobbled street. He watches from the back window as you set off again, heading towards another iron-gated store.
Denis pulls up alongside the towering hotel, totters around the car to meet Joel as he stretches out of the Maybach. The square-jawed man stands with his hands linked, and nods enthusiastically when Joel thanks him.
“The shopping – I will take it back to the hotel,” he assures his boss, a wide smile on his lips.
He’s a good guy, Denis. He’s chauffeured Joel to five of these meetings over as many years – he knows the drill by now. Knows it’ll be a couple hours and a few whiskeys before he gets another call to pick him up.
His nodding doubles, more obedient when Joel asks him to make sure he listens for your call. “You mind stayin’ nearby that part of town?” he asks. “Just so – when she’s done, y’know…”
“Not at all,” Denis says, flapping two palms to the ground. Swatting away Joel’s concern, his worrying, his missing you.
He replies, a little absentmindedly, passing by the head of gray hair with a distant smile. “Thanks, Denis. See you later.”
Five meetings, five trips over here to be pestered by some obnoxious little man in an obnoxious little robe and obnoxious little loafers, and still, Joel never knows what to expect. He strides beneath the golden archway entrance into a domed lobby, every surface spotless and shining; marble counter in the center with a symmetrically-suited clerk sat behind.
She stands and smiles politely to Joel as he approaches, recognizing him with a flutter of her eyelashes. He feels the absence of your arm on his, an ache at his elbow.
“Monsieur,” she croons, pale fingers reaching for the telephone. She whispers something softly into the receiver and then nods, folding her painted lips together as she places the handset back into its cradle. With a floating hand aimed at the elevator behind her, she says, sultry and dreamlike, “He is ready for you.”
Joel fights an eyeroll with every fiber of his being. He wanders round the circular desk, bunches his shoulders into the tight elevator, and jams his thumb into the button marked P.
The doors shudder open when he reaches the top floor. He steps out slowly, waiting for the Frenchman to pounce on him like some kind of wild cat. Wouldn’t put it past him, Joel thinks. As he’s scanning the room, counting the six bouquets dotted around, there’s a single clap from behind the veiled curtains. A silhouette out on the terrace.
Jean-Marc swings between the sheer white, calling out to the lonely figure in his entryway. “If it isn’t my favorite American,” he sings, taking Joel by the arms and squeezing roughly. “How lovely to see you again, Joelie. Please, come.”
The sunlight blinds Joel when he steps out into it, peering over the city skyline under low brows. Jean-Marc is already sat at the top of a thin, glass table, pouring golden whiskey into a square glass and scooping two bulky ice cubes in. The nectar swirls around when the glass is held out to Joel, the ice tittering as he accepts it.
The table, a rocky terrain of pain au chocolat and brioche, pools of citrus spreads and dishes of butter. Joel keeps his hands to himself as Jean-Marc slaps jam onto a croissant, bronze flakes fluttering all over the table as he attempts to regale Joel with some investment into a casino.
“Riccardo says it is too much; I told him to go to hell. We will double the cost of the place, I know it, Joel. We have the eye for things like these, men like you and I, hm?”
Men like you and I, Joel thinks, lips tilting. He balances the glass on his thigh, watches the ice cubes turn over themselves. He thinks of you, thinks of the man you see him as. Thinks how tall he stands against the man Jean-Marc must see sat opposite him right now.
Thinks how rotten, and ugly, and how small the latter is. How easily you and your words could crumble him. All show, all sitting on perfect terraces with pretentious dickbags disguised as friends, drinking pissy whiskey with a plastered smile on his lips.
How comical it all is – the sound of yapping across the tabletop, These idiots would pay millions for manure if you painted it golden, the sprawling sheets of green-leafed plants, the headache-inducing flowers, the buckled loafers and the signet ring catching the sun.
How much he misses the weight of you on his hips, forearms flat on his chest, ear against his heart. The sound of your laughter lilting in his ear. The rosy smell of your skin and the feel of your eyelashes, featherlight on his cheek. He feels the distance between the two of you like elastic strung apart, stretching thinner and thinner, weaker and frailer, ready to snap into two halves at any moment.
“Anyways,” Jean-Marc says, lifting the wine bottle shakily. It clinks brashly against the lip of his glass, a painful scrape. Joel wonders if he’s already halfway to hammered. “Tell me how you’ve been, Joelie.”
Joel tells him he’s been fine. Business is fine. Money is fine. Company’s doing fine. Everything’s fucking fine. Easiest answer to avoid further questioning, to satiate Jean-Marc’s constant thirst for news, or intel, or just plain gossip.
He slips up, though. Makes the one colossal mistake he spent all morning hoping and praying and drilling directly into his brain that he wouldn’t.
Jean-Marc asks how his flight was, sticking the damp end of a cigarette to his bottom lip.
Joel says, “Good, yeah. We got here, maybe, ten o’clock last night.”
And Jean-Marc’s eyebrows arch. His hands freeze, match held against the striker strip. “We?” he asks, white stick flapping between his teeth.
“Uh,” Joel shifts in his seat. Your gentle wave, the corners of your lips, the toss of hair over your shoulder. It’s as though Jean-Marc can see his thoughts played on a reel before him, the haste with which Joel attempts to wipe you from his own mind. “Yeah,” he clears his throat, “Jerry ‘n Lisa. Len and Pol.”
The Frenchman’s eyes narrow, a grin pulling on his pink lips. “We,” he says again, whipping the match roughly against the strip. Speaking into cupped hands, a cloud of white billowing from his leathery fingers, he murmurs, “Joel brought company with him to Paris, yes? Who is the lucky tourist? Une petite amie?”
Joel’s tongue dabs at the sickly wash of whiskey on his lips. He thinks to grab the fucker by the throat, throttle him until the idea of you rattles from his skull, spilling back into Joel’s safe hands where you belong.
He almost fucking lies. Almost says it’s just Martha, or Drew, or his fucking mother. But Jean-Marc is like a rat, scurrying along after a source of water. He’ll find it in the end. They always do.
He breathes your name, reluctant to let it go. Jean-Marc cocks his head, leans in, a swirling snake of silky smoke lifting from the cigarette between his fingers. Joel repeats it, voice louder, but flatter. Breaks it into too many syllables. Lets his host hear every bite of annoyance.
“She’s my assistant,” he says, and Jean-Marc claps again.
“Your assistant! How wonderful. And where is she today? She is not…” his fingers circle the air, disturbing the trail of smoke, “…assisting you?”
“Gave her the afternoon off.” Joel lifts his glass to his lips. The geometric shape amplifies his voice, bass like the growl of a bear. “Busy couple days. She deserves some downtime.”
He hates the sound of your name as it peels from Jean-Marc’s tongue. Like a hangnail, the residue a gorge of bloody, torn skin. Your name is Joel’s favorite sound, he realizes now, and the way this little asshole keeps butchering it boils an anger so hot and so quick under his skin that he’s not sure he can hold it at bay.
It’s not as if he owns you or your name – far from it. He has no desire to be anything more than a placeholder: somewhere for you to slot your hand, rest your head, curl your body against. Still, he feels a direct protectiveness over you right now. An impulse to stand in front of Jean-Marc’s tiny figure, arms wide, stopping him from picturing you or learning about you or meeting you.
Which is, of course, exactly what the little fucker suggests.
A wet pff sound as he rids his mouth of bitter smoke, and he offers to host breakfast in the morning.
“No, no, we, uh –” Joel’s hands are up, like pleading with the man, whiskey kissing the lip of its glass, “– you don’t have to – Look, Jean-Marc, I’m sure you’re busy enough with all –”
“Nonsense!” Jean-Marc waves a hand. Ash sprinkles down the cuff of his robe. “It would be my pleasure. Shall we say, ten?”
Joel grumbles, eye following the flight of a bird in the distance. What are you doing right now? Are you back in the suite, trying on the outfit you picked out together? Are you still wandering down the streets, drinking up the lavish city like a perfect little cocktail of bliss and wonder?
And what the fuck does he have to do to excuse himself, to come find you, to wrap his arms around you and never let you leave his side again?
He feels idiotic. Juvenile. Like a stupid little teenager, pining for his junior year girlfriend. The feelings all sharp and brittle, prodding his heart roughly anytime he thinks too hard on them.
When he looks back to Jean-Marc – the cigarette tearing closer and closer to his fingers, an expectant smile on his lips – he concedes.
“Ten is fine,” he says, and suddenly, the sky casts over.
You’re on the terrace when he finally returns to the hotel room. Head aching from the alcohol and forced conversation, he drags himself over to you.
The sight of you, hair lifting in the breeze, the sweet smell and soft touch under his hands feels like the pouring of honey on a raw throat, like cool water lapping at his waist on a scorching day. And he needs more, and he feels the saliva pool beneath his tongue, and you’re touching him and talking to him and all he can think about is replacing his saliva with you – with every drop of you that you’ll lend him.
You follow his every request – parting your legs, making room for him between them, opening yourself to him like coming home after work, like sinking deep into your shared bed, like pushing your salt-slicked fingers on his tongue and chanting taste me taste me love me need me.
Petals opening, shards of orange separating. His cock throbs in his pants when he feels the circle of your hips against his jaw, the taste of sweet, sweet nectar spilling from your center. His clothes still smell of the smoke from Jean-Marc’s weedy lips; the sweat on his skin borne from three hours sat in the sun, dehydrated by whiskey, discussing money and gold and then money again.
He doesn’t want to fuck you here, like this. As that puny, pompous prick he’s felt like since the second he wandered through the Frenchman’s hotel doors. He can’t. You deserve him clean, new. You deserve the Joel you think he is – yours. Affected by your touch alone, moved by the gleam in your eye. You deserve him, Joel decides, on your terms.
And that same night, stood in the same spot, dregs of sunlight replaced by molten moonlight, staring at the dazzling Eiffel Tower against the deep blue sky – that same night, when he turns and clocks the silhouette of your body just feet from him, he realizes that this is it.
He’s sure he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on, standing in the dim light, your fingers playing with the bust of the silk robe draped over your body. The jewelry on your neck catching the light like his own private attraction, his own little spectacle. Just for him.
He forgets any other version of himself. Shakes them off like seawater flying from his body as he emerges from the ocean. Venus stood before him; hair lifting in the light, palm over her breast. And he doesn’t notice the departure of those old versions; doesn’t feel the way they tear from his skin. His eyes are glued on you, only you, everything around the two of you reducing to dark matter. There is only his awestruck gaze pointed to your radiant form, as though the scene sits alive in the eye of Botticelli or Michelangelo.
Baby, he whispers, and you move forward, dragging him with you under a wave of lust and rebirth.
He stirs the next morning to the feeling of a weight shifting across his body, two divots in the mattress either side of his waist. Something nuzzling, warm and featherlight, into the nook below his earlobe. Wet kisses trailing down his neck.
There’s no weight of you in the crook of his arm anymore. He’s scooping thin air. He lifts it, and his palm meets the baggy cotton of his own T-shirt, draped over your body, draped over him.
A laugh brushes between his lips. “Mornin’, darlin’,” he croaks, voice still low and broken.
“Hi,” you whisper back, voice like silk and sugar and tufts of lustrous clouds.
He opens his eyes and you’re hovering over him. Tip of your nose circling his, hips light as air across his own.
You look so fucking cute, he thinks. He’d take what he had last night – you, dripping in black lace and bound by satin straps – every night for the rest of his life, if he could. If you’d grant him it. But, this. This.
You – in Joel’s clothes and nothing else. You – the curl of your hair now a lazy wave, the smoky afterthought of your half-removed makeup. The smell of sex still lingering on your skin, the taste of Joel still home on your tongue. Each part of you laced with a part of him.
You – holding yourself up over him, less than an inch apart, and all Joel thinks to do is wrap his arms around your back and let you drop onto his body; his strong, solid body, which accepts the weight of you with only so much as a tiny grunt over his lips when you fall on top of him.
You giggle. He swears he feels butterflies in his stomach. He prays you don’t feel them, fluttering purposefully against your ribcage.
“You’re an idiot,” you mumble into his collarbone, words curled by the smile on your lips. You suck a mark into the hot skin, teeth and flesh and sel et sucre, and then push off from his chest, nudging his thighs wider with your knee.
Your tongue drags a wet trail down his chest, from solid sternum to suppler stomach, following the thickening of hair the lower you move. You leave wet kisses along the crests of his hipbones, the gentle slope of skin leading you to the wide base of his cock, already stiff.
Joel’s breath hitches when your tongue sweeps across it. Your eyes lift and lock with his, fingers taking a heavy hold of him. He smiles, tongue sitting patiently behind his teeth.
“Go on, angel,” he nods, “put that pretty little mouth on daddy.”
You obey instantly, as hungry for it as he is, your tongue swiping from the base of him up, curling around as you reach the head. Swollen, gleaming, slit dripping with slick precome that you lick with just the tip of your tongue and send a roll of pleasure across every nerve in Joel’s body.
He falls back, hands searching for the back of your skull as your lips sink further down down down, tightening around the smooth skin, stopping only when they meet the tuft of hair decorating his dick. His tip pushes against the back of your throat. His head begins to spin.
His back arches, hands anchored on your head, holding you steady as you bob up and down. His shoulders push heavy into the mattress, tummy sucks in until the points of his ribcage mold through his skin. And, oh – you’re so soft with it, so wet and so warm and so good with your tongue, kitten licks over his tip, wet fist wrapped tight around the width of him.
You lift your hand and meet his halfway up his stomach, fingers intertwining, Joel’s knuckles instantly whitening.
“Doin’ so good, baby,” he groans, gasping when your throat constricts around him again.
You gag, choking with a wet grunt, but you never pull away. A quick pause, a heavy breath from your nostrils, and your movements resume.
“’s alright,” Joel coos, fingers rubbing against the back of your hand, “you got it. Atta-girl, fuck.”
His hips begin to lift, slowly jerking up into your mouth. He looks down, loosens the grip you have on his hand only to run his thumb delicately across your cheek, dabbing lightly at the tears in the corner of your eye.
You suck hard around him, cheeks hollowing, tongue flattening to his underside to let him fuck your mouth – a rhythm of sopping sounds and heartbeat hums from your throat. He’s close. He’s so fucking close.
“Just like that,” he tells you, and you blink up at him. Moans muffled by the mouthful of cock, saliva and sex slipping from your swollen lips. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come. You’re such a good girl – you want daddy to give it to you?”
Mhm, you mumble into the warmth of his cock, the vibration of your throat on the eager skin enough to send Joel over the fucking edge. He throws his head back, lifts his hips up to you, and fills your mouth at the same rate he fills the room with the sound of his orgasm.
You take every last drop. You’re so good for him. Once he stills, once the screaming in his ears subsides, once the room slowly desaturates back to normal, a faded, blurry normal – he sits up and hooks his hands under your arms, pulling you up into him.
You collapse against his chest for the second time this morning, giggling and licking the last of his come from your mouth. Joel guides your jaw towards his, lips meeting in the middle, and licks the salty aftertaste from your tongue.
He rolls you both over, your thighs sitting safe on his hips.
“I know,” you sigh, head rolling against the curve of his arm beneath, “I know. You don’t gotta tell me.”
“Tell you what, angel?” he asks, one eyebrow lifting.
“Best head you ever had. I know.”
He scoffs, lips finding the hinge of your jaw. You giggle into his ear, a sound softer than birds cooing at the break of dawn, sweeter than the first bite of ripe fruit – the sharp taste bursting across his tongue and coating his teeth in sugar, numbed by the holy coaxing of feathered doves.
“You’re good with it, I’ll give you that,” he murmurs, and the giggle erupts into a laugh which fuels him enough to follow your roll out of bed, tear his shirt from your shoulders, and slip into the shower behind you, kneeling before you when you turn to look.
Joel’s second encounter with Jean-Marc in as many days, goes about as well as the first.
He balls his fists as he introduces the pair of you, watches like a caged and bound animal as Jean-Marc’s eyes loop all around your face, your shoulders, the pull of your dress around your waist.
He knows he’s being quiet. The glances you keep stealing at him tell him you know it, too. He wishes there was something he could say, something his lips might be able to carve into a neat little sentence. Tongue sanding the jagged edges of what he’d really like to say into a joke, a quip to ease the tension you so obviously feel.
But he can’t. His tongue isn’t blunt, isn’t defensive. It’s sharp like the kiss of venom, protective and aggressive. He knows he’d do better to hold it tight between his teeth.
The best he finds himself able to do is keep a heavy hand on your thigh, let you wrap your fingers around his own, squeeze you in place of whispering in your ear.
You hold your own, up against Jean-Marc. He knew you would. He learned less than a week into working with you, not to underestimate you. Your quick tongue, the million and one observations hidden behind the flash of a frown. He knows you can read Jean-Marc – probably better than he can, having known the guy ten years.
It doesn’t make it feel any safer, though. Luring you into a lion’s den. He knows you’ll make it out alive, but he can’t stand the thought of the claw marks in your skin.
That feeling washes over him again – that urge scored so deep into his bones that it hits marrow, to put himself between you and anything which might come to harm you. He swallows it down with the acidic sting of orange juice – slots it somewhere safe in his chest until he can assess whatever the fuck it is. Whatever the fuck it means.
His hand tightens around your leg when Jean-Marc mutters something to his assistant. Joel decides against asking you what it means, for fear he’ll tear the Frenchman limb from limb, strips of satin robe strung across the paved patio.
The assistant – tall, thin, looming over you like impending doom on legs – offers to show you the view of the city. And as Jean-Marc settles into your empty chair, the image of that torn satin robe shunts closer towards reality.
“I wonder if you might indulge me,” Jean-Marc slithers, pinching thin air with one hand and resting the other on the back of Joel’s chair.
“I wonder,” Joel mutters, finger tapping angrily on the table.
“She is a wonderful character. Beautiful, and very smart, I can see. I would be crazy not to ask, you must understand, Joel –”
He can’t help himself. He bites before Jean-Marc lays the trap. His head shakes. “She’s – she’s –”
And suddenly there isn’t a single word in the English dictionary worthy of describing you. Not a single combination of letters, of sounds, of syllables and phonetics that would do you justice.
He settles for, “I wouldn’t be anywhere without her.” It feels fucking redundant. It is fucking redundant.
Jean-Marc nods. “And you know that I see the value in things, hm?”
Joel dead-eyes his opponent, gaze narrowing. “What are you sayin’, Jean-Marc?”
“Well,” he shrugs, gesturing to the shadow pointing out the Eiffel Tower, “Paul is fantastic. Dedicated, hardworking. But it is a lot, for one person. I am sure you can understand, being that you have two assistants yourself.”
“And you wanna take one of ‘em out from under me?”
Jean-Marc chuckles, shaking his head. Tutting. Teeth grinding. He senses the bitter tone, hears the distortion of words squeezing through gritted teeth. “Not at all, my dear Joelie, not at all.”
Placating. It pisses Joel off more.
“I simply would like to raise the question of: would she like to be…taken?”
“Taken?”
“Hired. By me.”
The smug grin which pulls over taut lips incites Joel with a desire to punch the luminous veneers from their gummy holders. His fist balls again, nails digging harshly into his palm. He swallows roughly.
“She seems…she seems happy enough where she is to me.” He glances over, catches your eye for a fleeting second before Paul’s ghostly hand perches on your shoulder and turns your attention away again. Resigned, he adds, “You would have to ask her. I ain’t speakin’ for her.”
Jean-Marc’s leer only grows. “Ask her,” he repeats, nodding. “That is an idea.” He pushes out of his chair with a squeal of wood across stone, calling to the party, “Why don’t we take a drive? There is so much of the city I would love to show you – both of you, of course.”
Before he knows it, Joel’s on his feet, too, panic hammering through every muscle in his body. He tosses some half-assed excuse to the breeze; a half-truth, a desperate attempt to pull you away from the beady eyes and sharp claws of Jean-Marc and his assistant, and back over to his side. He takes your arm and scatters, pulling you past four, five, six bursting bouquets, your heels clicking along the polished floor, your head spinning.
He can feel the blood thrashing through his veins as the elevator arrives back in the lobby. Can see the shadow of Paul the assistant still over your shoulder, the place his hand sat like charcoal on white linen. He feels red hot, anger mixed with panic mixed with a word he hasn’t let slip just yet. He covers it by answering your questions shakily, diverting the ones about the conversation on the terrace.
And then you’re back in the safety of Denis’s car. You’re back to being on your own, together. No third set of eyes watching your every move, studying you like you’re some doll to be observed, or worse. You’re touching him again, holding his arm, caressing his cheek. His breathing eases, his body relaxes into the backseat of the Maybach.
You tell him you’d like to see the Louvre. So Joel takes you to see the Louvre.
Joel Miller has never been in love.
He’s said it, sure. Said it plenty to Avery.
G’night, love you.
I’m so proud of you, sweet; I love you so much.
Thanks for makin’ dinner, babe, I love you.
It began to take the form of breath, passing over his tongue with as much ease and instinct as his lungs would push out air. She looked at him a certain way – he’d say he loved her. They’d talk about the future – he’d tell her he loved her. They fought, over his working hours or the interest rates at different banks or whose family to spend Christmas with – and he’d remind her he loved her.
He meant every single one. He did, truly, love her. He loved her auburn hair, the way it’d sweep over her shoulders like a wave of fire. He loved the way she would pause to take thirty photos of the sky at sunset. He loved how homely she was, how simple and warm she could be. Her recipe books lining the shelves in her kitchen. Her pajamas folded neatly at the foot of her bed, waiting for her at the end of the day.
He loved her enough to spend four years with her, a life split nearly down the middle. Never seeping into one another. His side of the bed, and hers. His items in the fridge, and hers. His fucking bathrobe, and hers.
But right now, standing in a jam-packed room, maneuvering awkwardly around museum guides and backpacked tourists, avoiding the knee-height glass barriers and dodging fucking selfie sticks – Joel knows: he has never been in love.
Not until the moment he turns from some headless bust to search the room – the dark marble walls and great, carved arches; the white Parisian sky illuminating everything in a pale glow. Not until he catches a glimpse of you amongst the sea of bodies – stood before the Venus de Milo, staring up in wonder at Aphrodite like she’s the first thing in the world you’ve ever truly seen. The gentle lean of her body, the low sling of marble fabric around her waist, the soft dimple of her navel.
The way your eyes scan every detail of her form – every fold draped over her thigh, ever chisel mark and chip in her torso. The round swell of her breasts and the wavelike swirl of her hair. Barely blinking, afraid to lose sight of her for even a second.
Joel’s never been in love. Not until this very moment.
He only turned to make some quip about…well, now he can’t fucking remember, can he? Something irrelevant. Something so mundane, so meaningless, so dull that he wishes he could take back every word he ever said to you and use the breath more wisely – use the time spent making stupid jokes and work orders, just to look at you. Watch you, like he is right now. Every other thought, every worry and concern drop weightlessly from his mind, with such ease that he doesn’t feel the loss.
Your fixed stare up at the statue’s set face, the slow pacing of your heels, ankles crossing over one another as you pivot around her. And the look of wonder on your face – as if Joel instantly recognizes eight-year-old you, thumbing through the pages of the first art book she was ever gifted, copying the curled hair and round shoulders of the marble goddess in a pencil sketch.
Haloed by the towering windows behind you, arms crossed over your chest. Lips melting from a content smile to agape, and then pinning back in a smile again.
And suddenly – he can’t remember the flame of hair over his ex’s shoulder. Doesn’t remember a single meal she ever cooked for him. In the blink of an eye, he realizes he doesn’t want a life neatly split anywhere.
He realizes that his life, the way he wants it, was always meant to be meshed with yours. Intertwined so tightly that there is no his and hers. Last night at dinner, you couldn’t decide between the bœuf bourguignon and the confit de canard, so Joel ordered both – as well as what he wanted – and the two of you picked at three separate meals. Holding out forkfuls to feed one another, comparing and judging them like professional chefs on a fucking cooking show.
Back at the hotel, you fell asleep in his arms. Your head nestled under his chin; your arms curved around his shoulders. In the center of the bed, laying at an angle. When he got up this morning, the robe he threw around himself smelled like your perfume. The terrycloth on your shoulders, tinged with the weak scent of whiskey.
None of it – not the relationship you had before any of this happened, not the strolling over one boundary to the next, not the blurring of lines between colleague, and friend, and lover – has been neat. None of it has made any sense. And maybe that’s why he fucking trusts it so much.
Joel spent the first two weeks after you fooled around in his office swearing he wasn’t that guy. Staring himself down in the mirror with a balled fist, a pointed finger that said, You don’t sleep with your fucking assistant, you idiot.
And now, standing opposite you in a crowded room and only seeing you – he knows. He finally gets it.
He loves you. He – no, fuck.
He doesn’t just love you.
He’s on his knees, dagger through his heart –
blood spilling all over the pristine floor –
pathetic and adolescent in its nature –
butterflies tearing through his stomach as destructive as a hurricane –
in love with you.
He thinks to say it. To wander over and kiss your shoulder, hook his chin into your collarbone like he did in the Dolce and Gabbana store, and whisper, Hey. I love you. Did you know that?
But he knows that’d be fucking insane. Knows you’d probably unstick yourself from him and back up, tripping in your step. Paris ruined.
He knows he’d probably get so far as curving around your back and then bottle it, anyway. The words would die in his throat. You’d just lean back into him, none the wiser. You’d still make his heart pound.
Pound the way it does when you reach for his wrist and drag him off into the next room, and the next, and the next. And with every piece of art your eyes fall upon, another fragment of your soul is revealed to Joel. The depth of da Vinci, the color of Bruyère. The scale of Veronese and the beauty of Canova.
And with every part revealed, a desire blooms in him to learn the next part. Understand you; know you better than he knows himself. See you, the way he’s seeing you right now.
He takes his ex’s lead, when you’re stood in front of the Mona Lisa. All those fucking sunset photos, like she was afraid to forget what it looked like. The thought becomes urgent, pushing past every other meaningless word in his head.
He taps you on the shoulder, says your name lightly. When you turn, he’s already holding the phone up, watching your delayed motions through the screen. Please don’t let me forget this. Don’t let me forget you, like this.
“Smile,” he says, and you do.
“You’re cheesy,” you tell him, wandering off from the painting.
He’s still staring at the photo. At your dimpled cheeks, your red lips. Staring at your eyes, seeing a new glint in them that wasn’t there before. Like eight-year-old you smiling back at him, trusting him, knowing him.
Joel breathes, “She’s beautiful,” taking your waist in a steady arm to guide you out of the room.
You misunderstand him. He knows it. He doesn’t correct you.
She’s beautiful – the Mona Lisa. But she only became beautiful the second you laid eyes on her. The second she handed you a piece of your soul, the transaction laid bare for Joel to witness. A bucket list item ticked, or simply your childhood self, stood before one of her own seven wonders.
Everything is only beautiful after it comes into contact with you.
There’s a change in you, the morning that you leave. Something low-lying, melancholy and blue. Joel feels it under your skin, in the grip you keep on his hand the entire car ride from the hotel to the airport.
“You good?” he asks, walking up the steps of the jet, shelled around you. Safe, with him, safe with him.
You nod, but you’re watching the Maybach roll off, rounding the corner back to the airport. The same way you watch the city disappear beneath the clouds as the plane takes off.
The same way you glance over to him, your glossy eyes twinkling, pearly tears swimming across your waterline. Joel gets it. Figures he feels much the same.
He leads you slowly back through to the dark cabin bedroom, where you peel the shirt and sweats from your body. He watches from the bed, arm outstretched and inviting you to burrow into his side, curl around his body, loop your legs through his. His own little Aphrodite, the curves and the dimples and all the beauty to go with her.
He sinks his shoulder to let you nuzzle into him, let your slow-closing eyes follow his movements like rocking you back and forth to sleep. You link your arm through his, locking your bodies tight together. Joel slows his typing down, moves gentler, so you can fall asleep without being nudged too much by his arm.
You mumble something into the sleeve of his tee. He pauses. Looks down at your already closed eyes, your parted lips.
“What’d you say, baby?”
You take a deep, slow breath. Already sleeping, he thinks. And then, in the sigh that escapes from your mouth, you whisper to him.
“Please don’t ever leave.”
#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#ceo!joel miller#ceo!joel#sugardaddy!joel miller#the last of us#the last of us fic#tlou#pedro pascal#joel miller smut#sex on fire
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Look just bare with me sit in my brain for a second imagine Stina is trying to flirt with reader and failing miserably and Katie is just sick of watching the awful flirting. Katie is trying to help Stina flirt with Reader and Stina is still failing. Katie tells her to take the physical approach and Stina like does that girly slap readers arm like “omg you’re so funny”. Katie is just absolutely astonished at how one can be so bad at flirting and she’s annoyed that Stina isn’t getting it. So Katie does what Katie does best and tackles Stina and that is how we get to the picture and she’s just like politely, quietly, yelling that this position is what she meant by flirting. And then we have Stina who is just like “that’s so aggressive. Why are you like this?” Like idk I just feel this would be funny.
tongue tied II s.blackstenius
"i like your boots today y/n/n, they look very...very clean today." katie winced at the poor attempt at flirting which dropped from the blonde swedes mouth. "thanks stin." you chuckled with an amused smile before jogging off after viv for some shooting practice.
"what the hell was that!" katie shoved the blonde who watched you go with a pained look on her face. "i don't know! she makes me nervous." stina huffed, pulling her hair out and scraping it into a messy bun as katie shook her head.
the poor woman had been tongue tied around you ever since you were signed and joined the club this season, and stina's painstaking crush seemed obvious to absolutely everyone but you.
which was probably due to the fact stina couldn't flirt to save her life, and as much as she wanted to ask you out she just couldn't find the words.
katie determined to wingwoman the blonde had already established early on in the most unsubtle of ways that you were single and interested in woman, bluntly cornering you after training and firing a few questions your way until leah noticed the interrogation and dragged you away to safety.
it had been almost three weeks of stina tripping and stumbling over herself trying to let you know how she felt, too worried of rejection to directly ask you, but her poor attempts to feel out if you'd be interested by 'flirting' were just...painful.
"thats not how ya flirt with someone. you wanna make sure they know you like them, compliment her not her boots!" katie explained with a roll of her eyes as the tall blonde beside her nodded slowly. "try again, go on." katie pushed stina toward you, following just behind where she was still within earshot.
"wow that was a good kick! very uh strong and powerful." stina smiled after you knocked a goal into the top right corner, cheering as viv clapped you on the back. "oh my god." katie mumbled to herself, smacking her hand against her forehead, this was harder than she'd thought.
"was that better?" stina asked hopefully as katie caught up with her and you ran off again, this time chasing after gio who'd poured her water bottle down your back. "no, it was somehow worse." katie affirmed making the taller woman groan.
"when i said compliment her i meant like her eyes or how she looks good in the training kit or her laugh! something about her not about football." katie sighed, spotting lia walking toward them.
"like this, watch."
"oi wally, your biceps look good in that vest today. wanna bench press me?" katie grinned cheekily at her friend who playfully rolled her eyes but blew her a sarcastic kiss before continuing on past them.
"see! like that. now you try to flirt with me." katie ordered as stina nodded along. "uh the way that you have your shorts rolled up makes your thighs look big." stina tried, katie simply face palming again with a deep sigh.
"katie this is hard! i could do better in swedish but she will not understand." stina groaned, grumbling to herself in annoyance in her native language as she folded her arms over her chest, watching you kick the ball around with noelle and lotte on the other side of the pitch.
"okay, flirtin 101. new tactic!" katie clapped as stina nodded, eagerly listening. "when she says somethin funny, you smack her arm and laugh. like this!" katie smacked stina lightly on the shoulder and forced a laugh.
"okay. but what if what she says is not funny?" stina frowned as katie sighed. "you wait until she says somethin funny stina!"
~
"okay girls we're down by two. we need to isolate lessi and beth, that's whose causing us the most trouble." leah commanded in the huddle, the team split into four smaller teams for a wind down game.
"you're telling me. beth's flying today she's practically dancing around me!" you sighed tiredly, having been going one on one with the speedy blonde all game. "that was funny!" stina laughed as the huddle broke apart, punching you in the arm a lot harder than katie had demonstrated.
"ow! stina what was that for." you scowled at the taller blonde, rubbing your throbbing arm and shoving her lightly, katie pinching the bridge of her nose. stina apologizing hastily as you ran off to resume the game, looking to katie with wide eyes who held her hands up and jogged off after you onto the pitch.
once the game had finished, your team unfortunately losing by one singular goal the training staff called for free time before everyone was expected in the gym in an hour.
"what did i do wrong!" stina yanked her bib off and rushed right over to katie who was stretching. "ya punched her!" the irishwoman laughed with a shake of her head. "this is never going to work!" stina groaned, dropping to the floor with a groan.
"because ya don't listen stin! look, you do it like this." katie jumped on top of the blonde who screamed as she did, repeatedly demonstrating a light playful smack and laugh as stina struggled to throw her off.
"okay okay i understand! get off of me." stina grunted, finally shoving off the rambunctious brunette who fell to the floor as the swedish woman pulled herself to her feet with a determined huff.
"good. go get her!" katie ordered from the ground, pointing toward you where you were practicing your juggling, seemingly lost in your own world. but you were rudely snapped back into reality as a body slammed into you, a mess of blonde hair tackling you to the ground as you gave out a yell.
"you are very funny. go on a date with me!" stina sat on top of you as your eyes widened, both in shock from her words and the way your body had just been smacked into the ground.
"oh my fucking-" katie watched on in disbelief, flopping onto her back and burying her face in her hands with a defeated sigh.
"okay. but you could have just asked me stin!" you threw your head back, clutching at your stomach as you laughed at the abrupt unexpected situation, stina eventually joining you.
"then its a date, when we get back to london. i will organise it!" stina grinned happily, jumping up off of you and offering you a hand up. "sounds good. but next time just come talk to me, no more tackling or punching me!" you teased, kissing her cheek with a wink before you ran off with a beaming smile toward lotte to fill her in.
"katie! i did it! did you see?" stina bounded over to the irish woman who peeked out from her hands, frowning at the elated look on the blondes face. "that worked? she said yes?" katie scoffed, jumping to her feet as stina nodded eagerly.
"jesus, well. now i guess we have to work on your flirting for the date."
"wait you have to flirt on the date!?"
#woso#woso x reader#stina blackstenius#stina blackstenius x reader#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso blurbs#arsenal women#arsenal wfc#awfc#awfc x reader
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✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧
"What if - ooh, what about Patricia?"
Robin rolls her eyes, picking at the grass by her ankles. She's tempted to throw some at Steve but she doesn't really wanna see the blades phase through him right now, even if he'll play up his outrage to distract her.
He's been doing that a lot lately. Trying to distract her from the fact that he's - that -
"Okay, okay, hear me out - Chrissy Cunningham."
"The cheerleader?" Robin wrinkles her nose. "Steve."
"It could happen!" Steve says defensively, sticking his tongue out when Robin gives him her most 'seriously?' face she can muster. "Don't judge a book by its cover, or whatever."
"You're literally meant to do that, that's what the cover's for!"
"Well then, why do people even say that?!"
"I don't know!"
"Is it always like this with you two?" The grouchiest voice cuts through them and Steve spins around in place, floating up even higher so he can stare down at Eddie.
Robin just snorts. "Pretty much."
"Don't be too jealous, Munson," Steve coos, turning himself upside down with a wide grin. "You'll find your soulmate at some point, probably."
"Oh wow, probably," Eddie grouses, and Robin has to bite back a laugh when Steve, still upside down, floats behind him with a silly face stretching out...the scar on his chin. "I am ever so gracious for your faith, oh Generous King."
"This guy's a riot," Steve laughs, poking a finger through Eddie's shoulder and making him jump in place. "Bobbie, can we keep him?"
She wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. "I'll end up being the one taking care of him if we do."
"I'm right fucking here," Eddie glares at the both of them, which is just prime material to get them snickering. "Whatever, did it work or not?"
And with that, the laughs cut off.
Robin remembers.
Steve's dead.
"Hey," The ghost of Steve floats over to her, sitting down beside her on the grass. "It's okay -"
"It didn't -" Robin chokes out, avoiding Eddie's eye, staring down at the dirt that she's plucked bare of green. "It didn't. They couldn't see."
The air is silent.
"Probably for the best," comes a sigh and Robin feels rage boil through her blood.
"What the hell?" She glares up at Eddie, who holds his hand up in surrender.
"Look, I know you're both desperate to get your little 'Party' up to speed but like...I mean, just look at him." Eddie waves to all of Steve's ghost, who looks more and more affronted with every word Eddie says. "Do you really think it's a good idea for actual children who watched him die to see him again in the exact same get-up? With the same wounds?"
Robin pauses but Steve just glares harder. "Oh sorry, I didn't know I was supposed to go shopping at Ghosts-R-Us and pick a whole new outfit! What, you think I want to be stuck in this uniform? In the shorts?"
Eddie's face goes red and Robin distantly thinks 'serves you right' as the echo of "watched him die" cycles through her brain. "Well I - I don't know, you're a fucking ghost, you should have ghostly powers or something!"
"Have you ever met a ghost before?!"
"Have you?"
"Stop," Robin chokes out and she immediately gets the chills as Steve waves a hand through her shoulder. "Just stop."
She can't feel him, because he's gone. He's gone. He's gone -
"I'm right here, Rob," Steve's voice murmurs to her and she sobs. "I'm always with you, promise."
"I'm so sorry," she cries, burying her face in her hands and curling up, grief pulling down at her heart. "I'm so sorry, Steve -"
"Shh, it's okay, birdie," he says and she almost feels the warmth he should have. "It's not your fault, it's okay."
"I thought - I just - if we tell everyone, maybe they'll know what - how to - I'm sorry -"
"Wasn't your fault, Bucks," Eddie says gruffly, sitting down next to her roughly. "Just what happens sometimes. That kinda shit...'s out of our control."
She sniffles, burying her hand deeper into her own skin, hoping it'll suffocate the tears out of her, or maybe make her pass out so she doesn't have to think about all of it for a bit, or scratch away the endless void of pain inside her chest -
"Birdie, hey, look at me."
She doesn't.
"Robin."
She can't.
"Please?"
With another choked out sob, she looks up to see Steve Harrington, smiling at her like he never left. Like she didn't leave him.
"No matter what happened, or what happens," he says softly, nearly see-through fingers trying to brush her hair out of her face. Maybe she should get bangs. "I'm always with you, Robs. Not even until death do us part. Platonic soulmates for the rest of time."
She wails and shoves her face into his shoulder, not even caring if she passes through him. A hand pats her back, probably Eddie's, and she sobs louder because why did he get to see Steve? Why did she force him to know? Why couldn't they just be happy?
"Woah, how the hell -"
Robin blinks.
She's sobbing into Steve's shoulder. He's patting her back.
She quickly moves back and stares, Steve's own surprised face staring back, no bruises or scars or Scoops uniform in sight.
"What -"
And in a snap, his face turns back to battered and the warm red sweater he was wearing just a second ago turns back into the bright blue sailor shirt. His hair loses its fluff and goes back to that sad, wiry, bloodied mop.
He changed.
"So you do have ghost powers!" Eddie says triumphantly, as Steve sputters.
"I guess?!" He looks down at his hands, reaching out to touch Robin's fingers, but all she feels is the cold. "How did - why did it stop?"
With one last sniffle, she cups the air around his fingers and looks up at the both of them, her Steve and their spontaneously adopted Eddie (in retrospect, maybe they are weirdo magnets? Better think about that later). She says, with as much determination as she can muster, "This isn't over. We're getting you back."
#didn't actually anticipate writing more for this but people were so nice about the one shot i posted!#so here's another as a treat!#i do plan on writing another part eventually though it's not a priority atm#and i can't guarantee it'll all be resolved by the end#stobin#steddie#writing#ficlet#au content: ghosts#sailor✧writes#the dinguses (affectionate)
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heheheheheh re6 vampirehunter!leon meeting vampire!user and he’s like so cocky and arrogant only to be absolutely ruined and submissive to vampire!user i’m giggling n twirling my hair
omg anon sorry this took so long to answer i had to wait until my brain was working again but like. wow. love this concept!! i feel like i might have seen this before i think it might have been a cai bot??? not sure but whatever the case u are so big brain
i lowkey kinda hate this but i hope u don't lol
his whole life he's been taught to kill a vampire on sight, no exceptions. they kill innocent people!! and steal their blood!! so obviously being the selfless hero that leon is, he takes up the role as a vampy hunter and tries to keep his village safe. he's killed dozens of vampires in his life, keeping his family and friends safe. he doesn't care that it's a risky profession. he has people to protect.
but when he hears rumors of a vampire living on the outskirts of town, in an abandoned building that no one dared to enter, he knew it was his job to take care of this vampire.
and yet he goes to find them and they are just absolutely not what he expected. most vampires try to be all sultry and seductive to distract him, or some become violent right away. but this one, you, just spoke to him like a regular person.
"stay where you are," he says, his silver dipped knife to your throat.
'come now, human boy. let's not good too ahead of ourselves' the last one had said to him. they taunted him, tried to seduce him.
"i don't understand why you are after me. i haven't killed a human in... hundreds of years," you say to him, letting him keep you in a vulnerable position. there's this air of arrogance to you that leon can't help but despise.
"you're a vampire."
"and yet, you humans only seem to come after me."
"i am not going to be swayed with words," he scowls, "you're a monster."
"then why haven't you killed me yet?" you tilt your head back to gaze at him, glaring to be more precise, but you weren't planning on him being so attractive. when did human men get so pretty?
he blinks, almost confused. he expected a bit more effort to get away, but it almost seemed like you knew he wouldn't.
and, for some reason he can't describe, he eventually releases you, and you immediately struggle for the knife, throwing it to the other side of the room, and within a millisecond he's underneath you, your glaring red eyes peering down at him. he's not showing it, but he's petrified.
"this is... much more comfortable," you chuckle.
"wait, shit, i'm sorry, please don't..." he stuttered. poor thing, he's actually scared.
your fangs are inches away from his neck and he seem to be begging with his eyes for you to please, oh god please have mercy on him. he looks so ripe for the taking, it would be so easy to pierce his skin with your fangs and just... just ruin him. leave his body a lifeless corpse... or potentially make him like you. that would be a perfect irony, wouldn't it? a vampire hunter being turned into a vampire? how tragic.
he can't help the sob that escapes him, "please, i- i don't want to die.." he cries.
and you know what? maybe he's doing it to get your guard down, feed your ego. i mean, he obviously knows yours is large. and yet... some part of you thinks it's not an act, that he's genuinely scared. but whatever the case, it does feed your ego.
"will you be good, human?"
he nods, desperately, afraid for his life. and when you get off of him, and offer him a hand to get back up, he doesn't know whether to be wary or grateful, or both.
your arrogance makes you... hard to get along with, but leon can tell you're much more powerful than any of the vampires he's killed in his entire life.
but he supposes you're not completely awful. you didn't kill him. you let him escape the first time, clutch his sliver knife to his chest as he ran out of your home. you eye him cautiously. something in you.... liked that human boy.
he returns again, this time to apologize. he felt the need to kill you because you were a vampire even though you weren't threatening anyone. you were oddly docile for such a scary, and insanely powerful vampire. you were truly nothing he'd seen before.
this time, though, he doesn't hold a knife to your neck, instead just nervously wandering around the place you have made your home. it's almost sad to him how lonely you must be.
in any case, even a human man trying to kill you counts as company, so you haven't been completely against his presence in your life.
plus, when you finally do end up seducing him, as he knew you would. he's incredibly pliable, somewhat nervous, and while obedience doesn't seem to come easy to him, you make it easy for him.
andddddd then u proceed to fuck his brains out until he can't do anything but lie there uselessly while you suck the blood out of his body but i digress.
you obvi try not to kill him when you take his blood but he's so yummy!! how could you not!! such a delicious little human.
#anon#resident evil#leon kennedy#sub leon kennedy#resident evil smut#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy resident evil#sub leon kennedy smut
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Alright, here are my Top Ten funniest guesses (+1 that I bet nobody ELSE will guess) for who Inquisitor Marrok actually is!
You are most welcome to correct me or let me know who YOU think is most probable.
And just to challenge myself, I’m NOT putting Ezra. Because that would be too obvious.
1. Barriss Offee
I’m serious when I say that this is probably the most likely.
We know that she is a very important character in Ahsoka’s life, the writers could be trying to mislead us into thinking that the Force User is a man when really we have no confirmation that they are. Plus Dave Filoni has said in interviews that he refused to have the character make cameos just because he wanted to save her for later. Also, many people already speculated that Barriss became an Inquisitor after Order 66, explaining the double-sided Inquisitor lightsaber.
2. Darth Maul
Their build is a little too skinny for Darth Maul, and also wow, he must really be getting up there. And also, he died in Rebels. But when has that really ever stopped Disney from resurrecting him? I just think they should keep bringing him back. For the bit. I want the opening scroll for the upcoming Daisy Ridley movie to contain the words “Somehow, Darth Maul returned…”
3. Bo Katan
I highly doubt this because her character arc on the Mandalorian is already concluded, but I can kinda see her doing this as like, a side gig. Homegirl is probably broke from paying off Mandalore’s restoration fees. She’s not a Force User unfortunately, but when has that ever stopped her? I like to believe that Bo Katan simply woke up one day and decided to be Force Sensitive and it all kinda worked out for her somehow.
4. Lux Bonteri
If this is the option David Filoni is going with, BOOO. Yet another character who isn’t Force Sensitive. If you really think about it, Dave Filoni probably wants to include someone with an important history with Ahsoka, someone close to her that she held dear and that betrayed her and that she still has lingering feelings for.
Well actually that person is Barriss, and yknow, she kinda went MIA. Sooo the next best thing we could get is Lux, I guess!
5. Anakin (Force Ghost)
Daaaad, what are you doing here?
Well, the ghosts of Obi-Wan and Yoda told him to fuck off and get a job. So here he is. He’s putting in the work! He’s logging onto his Zoom! Ahsoka is gonna be sooo surprised when he finally takes off the mask and reveals it was him along. Just you wait! It’s gonna be so funny!
6. Korkie Kryze
Now we’re really starting to get big brained here.
In Legends, we have Jacen Solo. In the sequels, we have Kylo Ren.
But in the Brand New Republic era? Hark, a new villain arises. Korkie is embittered about being left behind and forgotten by his biological parents, Satine and Obi-Wan. And now he is out for revenge against all the Force Users and Mandalorians who abandoned him. Mwahahaha. We should’ve known he would turn out like this, he’s a ginger after all.
7. Ventress
This would technically make Dark Disciple non-canon? But I don't think Dave Filoni cares, considering he hilariously made the Ahsoka novel non-canon. Ventress is obviously very powerful and capable of dual-wielding and she would make a great candidate for an Inquisitor. Plus her and Morgan Elsbeth are both former Nightsisters so points for rapport.
8. Anakin’s Evil Clone
Hey, I mean Palpatine HAD to start somewhere, right? He didn’t just create Snoke without practice. I like to think he tried making a second Anakin at first, only to discover that Clonakin was a huge pain in the ass and doesn’t wanna follow orders just sit on the couch all day eating the space equivalent of Hot Cheetos.
9. Cal Kestis but he’s evil now
This one pretty much goes against everything we know about Cal but hey, I’ll take a live action Cal cameo any day now. I’ve been on the frontlines defending my babygirl Anakin since day one, don’t even try to lecture me about the ethics of stanning Darksider Cal.
9. Mara Jade
OK no more messing around!! I'm serious this time!
EVERYONE LISTEN CLOSELY!
I think the reason why Dave hasn't made any references to Eli, or Ar'alani, or Vahnya must be because he grew up on the 80s Legends trilogy (not the canon trilogy). Whenever Thrawn is mentioned, there is a direct reference to Heir to the Empire. The same novel where Mara Jade is introduced as the Hand of the Emperor. Coincidence? I think not! Obviously, this must be part of Dave Filoni's master plan to softlaunch the upcoming top secret Thrawn series adaptation.
10. Starkiller
My only real proof is that his name (Marek, Marrok) kinda sounds similar?
Making Starkiller canon would create a whole bunch of problems for the Star Wars timeline. I think his origin story is too Mary Sue-y for even Dave Filoni to try and integrate into current canon.
However, it would be interesting to see a showdown between Anakin's two former apprentices. Interesting, but unlikely.
And finally, for my last guess, I will tell you exactly who Marrok REALLY is. Kathleen Kennedy told me personally, so don't get mad at me! She said it, not me!
11. Luuke (the clone Palpatine made out of Luke's dismembered hand)
This is the ONLY correct answer.
Us Timothy Zahn enjoyers know that this was really Luuke all along. I told you, Snoke isn't the first clone that Palpatine made! I imagine he had a lot of downtime and got bored and decided to fuck around, and that's how we got Luuke.
And yes, I would cast Sebastian Stan to play him because I'm petty AF.
#ahsoka#ahsoka show#barriss offee#lux bonteri#anakin skywalker#eli vanto#thrawn#mara jade#bo katan kryze#cal kestis#korkie kryze#darth maul#my post#ventress
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Lore Olympus ep. 254 critique
Well I can officially say that Persephone is the most selfish person in the comic
What in the Disney ripoff
So obviously it’s too late and Zeus is poisoned and ✨wow, how convenient✨ Apollo is suddenly there with Leto (who btw we haven’t seen in almost 100 episodes). I don't really want to focus on his confrontation with Eros and Psyche, because let's be real, it wasn't much of a confrontation. No, instead I want to focus on this:
My first thought when I saw the whole blackmail scene coupled with this was "What in the Lion King is this bullshit." Seriously. This is almost verbatim to what Scar says to Simba (except Scar as a villain is actually intimidating and Apollo, well...).
But here's the thing. This is how stupid Apollo is as a villain. Hebe has the least to gain from Zeus' poisoning and death. Look at the list of children that could stand to benefit from Zeus' demise:
An angry War god who was banished to the mortal realm for years by Zeus for pissing him off. Additionally, Zeus slept with his then-romantic partner and was implied to sleep with her often
The estranged daughter who literally thrives on chaos and is basically the goddess of "it's getting a little too chummy around here" who has beef with not only Zeus, but also Hera
A newly revealed son who has a tendency to heavily push boundaries and can't take no for an answer. This son additionally has been making moves to gain power politically
Compare this to Hebe, who we have only seen being kind to Zeus. No where in the comic is she seen harboring any kind of resentment towards him. Even when she criticizes him, it is gentle and she doesn’t push any further when he lays down the law.
Not only that but the whole prophecy- the usurp of power prophecy that Uranus got about Kronos, and Kronos got about his children, and so on- only applies to the sons of the tyrant in question. That was established in the myths, both in the Theogony and the Metamorphosis via a prophecy that usually came from Gaia. So that immediately takes Eris off the suspect list by virtue of the fact that she is a goddess. But even then, Hebe still shouldn't be a suspect.
How is Rachel expecting people to fall for this? Even her audience in some respect is calling out Apollo for being "back on his bullshit". Yet I can almost guarantee that everyone is going to fall for it because the only 2 gods who actually know are trapped in jail, Cassandra is probably going to disappear from the narrative for a while, and the rest of the general cast of characters only shares 2 brain cells between the lot of them. I can't wait to see this drag out over the course of, like, 15 episodes.
The most selfish thing
I just… wow. I have no words. Except yes I do or otherwise I wouldn’t be making this post. So we transition to the second half of the chapter where Persephone talks about her nonexistent connection with the snow and how maybe, just maybe, this is all her. Just like her act of wrath and what she did to Minthe, she has no one to blame but herself. And then she straight up goes “nah”.
I will be the first to admit, the way Rachel wrote Demeter during Persephone's homecoming/proposal was horrific. Demeter behaved horribly to Persephone. Now, I more blame Rachel for poor writing because if you have to make side characters look worse so your protagonists can look better, you suck at writing. BUT that does not excuse Demeter's initial actions and behavior toward Persephone.
However, in this situation, Demeter is not putting Persephone down for what she’s done. Obviously, Demeter is distressed, but she basically says “You tried, but now it’s time for the adults to handle it” and Hades agrees. He fucking agrees.
Demeter is far more capable and mature than Persephone due to being around for thousands of years. Demeter has had experience, she’s worked hard at maintaining everything, and she has even had hardships and failures. But because of this, she is a very very powerful goddess. Thus it makes the most sense for Demeter to step in to handle this situation. It is what's best for everyone, most of all for the mortal realm, which has been immediately affected.
But because Persephone has been told over and over that she’s hot shit, she's special (and has been treated as such), her ego can’t take the blow. She can’t take the L. She makes everything worse because she can’t stand the idea that she’s not special and that she's not this big bad goddess who has control over her abilities.
To me, this is so selfish. Persephone acknowledges that everything is dead. She acknowledges that she is the cause of this destruction. Yet she knowingly makes it worse because her ego can not handle the fact that she isn’t miss fucking perfect. This is the epitome of a child’s temper tantrum- like how when Nemo swims out to sea to touch the boat after Marlin tells him he can't do it. Because that’s what Persephone is. A child. In this case, it does not matter that she’s the age of an adult mortal woman. She is a god. She hasn’t even been around for 100 years. She still doesn’t have a handle on her powers. Persephone is being immature and selfish by stomping her feet and going “No, I can do it." Because of that, she makes everything so much worse.
Hades naturally makes this worse by enabling her. Although I genuinely can’t say I’m surprised since Hades has a history (especially post-marriage) of enabling Persephone’s bad behavior (like rewarding Persephone with sex after destroying the apartment of Leuce and threatening to kill her). When asked rightfully by Demeter if he’s going to do anything to try and talk her off the wall since Persephone has a history of not listening to anything Demeter has to say, Hades basically goes “Nah, my hands are tied, nothing I can do”, Despite the fact that he saw the destruction she caused and ACKNOWLEDGED IT WAS TIME FOR THE ACTUAL ADULTS TO STEP IN. This could’ve been a great moment for someone who wasn’t portrayed as a force against H&P (like the main love interest/husband) to hold her accountable. To say “That’s enough”. But nooooooo. No one, not even her own husband, is allowed to get in Persephone’s way.
Thus, Persephone continues to cause mass destruction and death until she passes out (this is important to note) and Demeter rightfully loses her damn shit.
Final thoughts
This is, I think, the worst chapter of Lore Olympus. Genuinely. As I stated in my last post, I had no idea where Rachel was going to take the whole “Persephone causes winter” idea and that there was no way she could make it more feminist than the original hymn. And boy was I right. Because I guess nothing is more feminist to Rachel than an ego-fueled power trip that results in the death of life in the mortal realm and also probably a good portion of the mortals who probably aren’t built to handle this kind of weather (by Persephone’s own admission that the mortal realm doesn’t get cold).
I'd also like to end on this note: if you're going to be a writer or artist or comic writer, don't treat your audience like they're fucking stupid.
Remember that little note I made about how it's important to remember that Persephone passes out? Yeah, well, that's because Persephone is actually unconscious and not dead. In literature and media today, people often use some version of the phrase "you've killed [x]" as a way to say not that whatever [x] is, is actually dead, but that it died in a metaphorical sense. You see a great example of this in the season finale of Arcane with Jinx. Powder doesn't actually die; Jinx is still very much alive. But Jinx metaphorically obliterated Powder to make room for the new her. The new Jinx, unburdened by her old self.
And that's what Demeter is saying. Hell, Hades even said that Persephone wasn't dead after presumably checking her vitals. Anyone who read the chapter would recognize this. But I guess Rachel thinks her audience doesn't have more than a 4th-grade level of reading comprehension because why else would she put in this, frankly demeaning, message at the end.
Oh boy. Welp. See y'all in my next post.
#anti lore olympus#anti lo persephone#lo critical#unpopular lo#unpopular lore olympus#anti lo#lo hate#lore olympus critical#lo critic#lore olympus criticism#I showed my friend this and they were appalled#and my friend doesn't even read LO
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Halo 2x7 Spoilers!
What’s up y’all we’re back with another series of my irrelevant and incomprehensible thoughts on this weeks episode!
- OOH! “There’s a difference, you’re human!” “Am I? Are you?” Woah! Easy there tiger that hurt his feelings.
- also the jump to seeing him not bloody feels so jarring, and then immediately back to him being beat up lol.
- YO! Didn’t expect Cortana to pop up immediately.
- good grief the whole “you train them I choose what to do with them”, careful girly you’ll show your true colors to your partner in crime!
- KAI! All my homies love Kai, shout out Kai. And lmao John “I didn’t ask for your help” like DUDE be so fr right now you’re not doing so hot.
- wow the condors getting taken out so fast, the look on Ackerman’s face. Like, it totally just set in for him how deep in shit he is with this whole operation.
- Soren’s flashbacks mixed in between scenes of the new Spartans. Great show of how nothings changed for the spartan program. And jeez, he wants to go back? Some real Stockholm shit.
- WHAT THE HELL KAI! “I made a mistake. Maybe you don’t know that but that’s what humans do.” Can everyone just take a CHILL with bullying John?! Good grief it’s like everyone’s go to when they’re upset with him is saying he’s not human.
- live laugh love John going sicko mode fr
- Also woah! Surprise with the spike! Not surprised that the crazy lady is crazy though! And “those Spartans are my life’s work” “I’ve heard that before” LMAOO bad word choice when talking to the angry spartan with trauma.
- THE ARMOR YEAHHHHHH!!!! Aw Vannak’s armor nooo
- “he wasn’t scared, just didn’t understand.” What if I cried. What if I started sobbing.
- also John’s “I’m the proof” hell yeah you are buddy what a power move
- starmap moment was cool. Halsey as usual charging head first and the two science brains just not having the perspective needed.
- Kai’s “they’re mine”, I love her she cares so much about both of her teams.
- good grief Halsey drives me NUTS with how tunnel visioned she is.
- damn Makee, alright girly that was maybe a bit much but I get it.
- alright Soren’s situation just got a lot more complicated!
- THE SUIT! HES IN THE SUIT! He’s so cool I love him. Also “what it would mean to me” from Perez just breaks my heart. And her humanizing him! When literally this episode has had multiple of the opposite!
- oh FUCK YEAH John just walking through the building like a badass. All those people stopping and looking at him! He knows how awesome he is
- Holy shit the Halo!
- and that’s it?? Omg the writers are killing me.
Alright y’all I hope that was somewhat coherent. This show drives me nuts with the cliff hangers but John truly has skyrocketed to the top of my list of favorite characters. Also he’s attractive, so that helps too lmao. Anyways season finale next week will probably kill me! :)
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Well, the Isa fic got sad, I got 100% achievements on Xbox, the Steam and Switch versions are tempting me like crazy... time for some Copium. Who wants a new fic preview!? This one's set after First and Only, so it's going to get spicy~
---
They're testing boundaries together, and no matter how addled their brains get with such honeymoon behavior they still summon the cognizance to ask each other, "Is this okay?" or enforce rules like, "Tell me to stop if you're uncomfortable."
And Ariane is never uncomfortable with Elster, but every now and then she needs to tap out because it veers dangerously close to overwhelming when she's pinned to a wall, their lips locked and tongues tentatively learning to dance, Elster's powerful body pressing into hers...
And that's before teeth get involved. Ariane fucking loves it when her neck is marked by Elster's lips and tongue and teeth. Every bite elicits an exhale that carries hints of a moan, and Ariane eggs her on in any way she can – clawing her fingers up and down Elster's strong back, grabbing her hair, even sliding her leg up an outer thigh.
Elster's shell is hot under her fingers, and if Ariane were in her right mind she would find that unusual because the Replika's body temperature varies between cool and warm depending on how much work's been done, but she's never felt hot to the touch until now. Ariane's clothes stick to her body and a thin sheen of sweat forms on her exposed skin; Elster's making noises, little huffs and grunts, flexing her body as if trying to shrug something off, and that just makes her abdomen rub against Ariane in a way that makes her mewl.
"Elster..."
"Ariane... wait a minute," she husks with a roughness that nearly causes the Gestalt's knees to buckle.
Ariane's about to ask if she's alright when Elster pulls away enough for them to properly see one another, and the words die in her mouth with a whimper. The hallway's dim lighting makes those eyes do that thing where the red pupils shine like the eyes of a dangerous creature, and not helping matters at all is the puffs of actual steam emanating from her mouth with each labored breath. The musculature under that armor plating is tensed, bulging with effort.
It's the hottest thing Ariane has ever seen.
Elster pushes herself away and blows steam off to the side as if she'd taken a drag from a cigarette. The unexpected arousal slips to the side of Ariane's mind and concern takes over.
"That's never happened before," she points out.
"No."
"Are you okay? Did I touch something I'm not supposed to? We can set up like a 'no touch zone' if you want!"
"No, no, I just... I need to cool down. Overheating."
"I didn't know Replikas could overheat."
"We can, same as Gestalts. We need an internal temperature to function. Think of it like, warming up an engine on a cold day so it doesn't stall. I might need a cycle in the calibration pod just to be safe."
Ariane nods along. "That makes sense. But what caused it? As far as I know, ship maintenance isn't exactly strenuous..."
Elster looks like she has an idea but doesn't feel her hypothesis is appropriate to say out loud, which is only giving Ariane ideas. Instead she opts for rolling and flexing her body like before, maybe trying to discern some unknown itch, but it's terribly distracting for Ariane, whose legs turn to jelly and ends up sliding down the wall at the sight of those abdominal muscles at work.
Elster chuffs. "Wow. Are you okay?"
"You," Ariane points at her accusingly, "are too hot for your own good."
"I am steaming right now."
"Shut the fuck—!" Ariane laughs, long and loopy. "Elster Five-One-Two, you absolute dork – I swear to multiple religions censored by the State, and I don't care if it's treason or heresy or whatever, but holy risen mother of god does the mere sight of you do things to me."
Elster ducks her head with a crooked smile. "I hope those things are good."
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intermission: and how do you say, i love you?
previous × masterlist × next
if you were to ask heizou at what moment he knew he was absolutely, head over heals in love with you, he wouldn't be able to give a clean cut answer.
it's not only the fact that he would end up rambling on and on. he believes that every moment he has with you has cemented his love further from the first moment he locked eyes with you.
as silly as it may seem to some, specifically a certain snarky friend, heizou believes that he experienced love at first meeting when he met you.
it wasn't the most romantic meeting in heizou's eyes, especially since it was one of the most embarrassing moments of his life.
heizou knew that his companionship with sango and her club wasn't meant to last. it wasn't only that he wanted to chase bigger cases, while she was content with anything that ended up in their hands.
their differing visions and sango's quick temper added onto the reason behind their split. heizou knew it was for the best. if he wanted to get those big cases, he needed to put himself out there. and he wasn't sure how much longer he could deal with that short temper. however, it didn't make the pain of hurting a trusted companion any worse.
which was why he ended up staring blankly at the vending machine after school.
maybe ending their friendship was going a bit far. leaving the club didn't mean that they couldn't be friends, right? was chasing those big cases really worth it if it meant he lost something?
heizou sighed. well, whatever might have been isn't something he should be worried about.
" excuse me? "
startled, heizou fumbles with the coins in his hands, letting them scatter at his feet
" oh, sorry for the fright "
heizou crouches to pick up his coins, mumbling an 'it's fine' to the person behind him
he notices a hand join his in picking up the scattered change. looking up, he locks eyes with you
his breath hitches. oh, wow, you were stunning. heizou never really had a type, but you seemed to become the standard at the moment.
" sorry again for scaring you. you were just kinda staring intensely at the vending machine. i hope everything's okay "
with those words, you left him with a red face that concerned the passing students.
after that, heizou did what he does best. he did some research regarding you.
you were a good student overall. a lot of people who knew you said you were a good friend. witness accounts, read itto, told him you would be a good match for him.
" you guys are both pretty smart and good looking, right? so, c'mon, with the brains and looks, you guys are practically a power couple! "
still, heizou wanted to affirm his attraction to you by watching you in your "natural environment," which meant attending an after school play.
so, that's what heizou did. bringing along a few of his friends, he went to watch you on stage.
now, he knew that the theatre club wasn't as popular as most sports club, but he was quite shocked to see that his friend group took up a large majority of seats. he only brought along four friends.
heizou wondered if it was always like this. how were you able to keep the club afloat like this? who funded you if the shows didn't bring about much profit? why did you keep putting these shows on?
and heizou didn't mean to demean you in any way while he searched for answers. he just wanted to know what drove you. and he got his answer once you arrived on stage.
passion. your movements, your speech, everything you did on stage was full of passion. you reminded him of himself when he first wanted to do detective work.
the circumstances were against him. not a lot of people supported him. he almost quit, but he knew that detective work was his passion. why should he walk away from something he adored so much? it would just take time to show that he could do it.
when all the actors gathered on stage for their bows, heizou is sure he clapped the hardest for you.
that's when heizou knew that he was head over heels, completely, totally enamored by you.
a/n; lil filler chapter to put a little more focus on heizou's love for y/n. we're already halfway through the story, so i hope you guys will stick around until the end (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)
taglist... @duckyyyx @cooldudejorts
#genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin x y/n#genshin x you#heizou shikanoin x reader#genshin shikanoin heizou#shikanoin heizou x reader#genshin impact shikanoin x reader#shikanoin heizou#genshin shikanoin#genshin heizou#heizou x reader#heizou#the not so tragedy of heizou and y/n#nene.writes
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game grumps fav quotes masterlist
this post will be compiling every quote that makes me brain go brr, the videos are not included bc i am lazy
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
"It's Clifford the big red stab wound" - Dan
just the entire brain juice clip
"[As Monika] Shutting down" - Arin
arin saying "motherfucking" in the middle of a sentence and dan completing it with "jesse eisenberg"
the entire thruth seeker power washing episode
"(paraphrased)
Dan: Well it wouldnt have happened today cus I'm rocking that manbun because it's 180 degrees outside
Arin: Hmhum- 185
Dan: Yes- Oh yeah, I was thinking 180 because that's the angle that I took when I walked outside and was like 'nope'"
"Are you seriously? No! why? I'll miss you" - Dan as Arin is about to eat a disgusting mix of cheerios flavours
"I'm such a stupid moron why did I even born!" - Arin
"No, I was uh- lying." - Dan
"All these people… they want this cleaning dick!" - Arin
"Essentially the audio version of yassified by space bear" - Dan
"Arin: It's making my butthole quiver
Dan: That's my job!"
"Arin: It's BPA free!
Dan: Buplic bissplays of affection?"
"I've created the nipple forest!" - Dan
"You're bringing a new vessel for microplastics into the world" - Arin
"[talking about a guy who watched his family get sick]
Arin: To each his own man
Dan: What does that- that is not an appropriate time to use that-"
"Arin: Do you want to touch boobs with me?
Dan: I mean of course but I don't see what that has to do with anything going on right now"
"Ah Man! But I made so much far go process… wow" - Dan
"Oooh I feel on the toilet…" - Arin
"I am merely a vessel for God's soft serve chocolate ice cream" - Dan
"Arin! I'm a motherfucking starboy, and I don't need to listen to this!" - Dan
"I know! But doesn't- don't the people want the best of the world- hold on [laughs]" - Arin
"I've been hearing the term 'serving c word' lately, I don't fully know what it means" - Dan
"DID I MAKE THE BEEFY TEA?" - Dan
"THATS ARIN IM DAN THERE IS NO GOD THIS IS SONIC HEROES" - Dan
"[Quoting Arin] Sonic Heroes: Life can't always be good!" - Dan
"[Talking about being secretly in love with Sonic] I'm like god! I show my love in mysterious ways!" - Arin
"PUT DOWN THE PHONE, AND FUCKING GAME GRUMPS!" - Arin
"Cheetahs have stripes that go in a circle" - Arin
"Do you think I came out the pussy drawing fucking Mozart?" - Arin
"Show me your Math Dick, I wanna suck it" - Arin to Dan
"There's gotta be religion to the fact that God hates me!" - Dan, after losing a turn in Wheel of Fortune
"Arin: What's up Princey-Paysas!
Dan: How you doin' Pooplers! We're play- we're playing Pooplers."
"Arin: I'm a toilet boy. I'm a toilet boy.
Dan: [in the starboy mellody] I'm a motherfucking toilet boy~"
"Arin: I can't believe you! The power that you possess within that intestinal tract
Dan: Thanks, god- if only it were this easy in real life"
"[About Weird Al]
Dan: But, like, it's okay uh- we're still buds, and he sends us Christmas cards every now and then
Arin: That's true- Every now and then? Every Christmas!
Dan: Christmas, mostly. Yeah."
"You're sawd?! I'm the one who has to move the sticks around! You just get to hang out on bed! I'm over here moving buttons!" - Arin
"Let's fucking go-varies!" - Dan
"You know, all it takes to make a dungeon into a sex dungeon is a little bit of planning" - Brian
"That cake is sus" - Dan
"Theres not a dry spot on my pants anymore" - Arin
"You know what I call my beard? A chin-chilla" - Arin
"Dan: Uhm- Some times you just like- Drive things home, by like, sort of finding another way say the same thing you know what I mean?
Arin: Yea
Dan: Like- Man this place is full of guys I'd like to fuck and Your Dad!"
"I would marry cheese if I could" - Arin
"Cut my life in two cheeks" - Dan
"Arin: Can you hear the baby kicking?
Dan: The ass baby?"
"Oh my god he's hot again" - Arin, about Ganon
"[Beat boxing] Fourgive me, fivegive me" - Arin
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my apologies to bravern himself but my own committment to the bit is not nearly as powerful as his bc i cannot figure out how to get the number ten into the word bravern [sadface]
ANYWAYS THOUGHTS god i loved this ep............lulu.......bang brave bang bravern is abt loving ppl so damn hard you take the narrative itself into your hands and give them a better ending. when superbia said that basically verbatim i YELLED
thank god this show is only 12 episodes cause i have a feeling they are gonna explain the time travel logic of NONE of this and i am so happy about that LMAO. just do it!!! have fun!!! this is a wow cool robot show i don't care abt the paradoxes or whatever i'm having a good time lmao. i mean i'm not opposed to them explaining it but it would def melt my brain. also i feel like if it ran past 12 eps it probably would've gone for a more monster-of-the-week situation at parts and also the ~mystery~ of bravern himself would've gotten pretty frustrating so i am just. rly loving the pacing overall tbh
isami is so fucking funny. he's trying SO hard to live in an ultraserious narrative but everyone else is chomping at the bit to get on with their unhinged looney tunes antics INCLUDING THE CAMERA ITSELF. like we don't know much abt him as a protagonist but i really do adore him on the whole. peak fiction fr fr
in the uncensored theater of masami obari's mind in which this show ends with a smith/isami wedding i think that one dude (googles) Thomas J. Plumman would be the officiant cause why else is he witnessing the boxing match AND isami fucking SNIFFING THE SHIRT??????? true allyship i suppose LMFAO
on perhaps the only serious note of this whole post i am thinkign SO hard abt how like. even in the Bad Ending Timeline, isami and smith/bravern still achieved their goal! like. the world was saved! it looked fairly peaceful! the deathdrives (minus superbia but he was just kinda chillin) were gone! they'd done their job and that wasn't enough! and i am ALSO thinkin abt bad-ending-bravern's last words being abt the curry he ate while human.........i mentioned this already but i think my prediction is leaning slightly more "human smith comes back somehow" after this ep. i still think it could work with whatever route they go tbh, but those factors plus ofc bravern saying "there are things that ONLY YOU HUMAN SMITH can do for isami" are making me think that we gotta like. Get Smith Outta There or something ("you have been saying this since like ep4" AND I HAVE NOT BEEN PROVEN WRONG YET!!!! [is immediately proven wrong when the preview drops on sunday LMFAO]) i DO wonder what would happen to bravern himself in this scenario however because he is a funny guy and i do not wanna lose him either :[ but tbh i'm just excited for the ride that the final two eps will deliver :]
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“The plan has changed. I’ve hired someone to do what you couldn’t do the first time.”
NONONONONONONONONO GRIAN PLEASE GRIAN NO GRIAN PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE GRIAN NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONNONONONONONO
THAT TEASER YOU POSTED SOME TIME AGO MAKES THIS SO MUCH WORSE NONONONONONONONONONONONO
He knows what he has to do, what he’s meant to do. It’s the role he’s been cast to play.
Secret life parallels oh lordy lord. i am SO UNWELL. no. NOOOOOOO. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH i legitimately dont have any words. the only way i can properly express how im feeling right now is just AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
He’s not naive and hopeful like Grian is, or as kind as Mumbo can be. He’s selfish and cruel, and his loyalty is fickle.
this is legitimately one of my favorite parts of scar's character actually. i don't have the brain power to properly analyze this, but something about how honest he is about this is so. augh. this trait is what's ultimately going to be his demise (at least, he thinks so). he'll lose grian and mumbo (possibly through death) because he chooses tubbo over mumbo and grian. he knows and he's not proud of it but it's vital to his survival anyways so he does nothing to fight it.
i dont think i make sense at all and theres a great possibility ive mischaracterized him entirely (it wouldnt be the first time, sadly) but i love it regardless. i love how flawed he is. how flawed they all are. i love how tragic their stories are. grian with his unwavering hope and optimism that gets constantly tested (and possibly crushed at some point) and scar with his insistence to not get close that eventually stabs him in the back and mumbo with his guarded but oh so big heart that he's tentatively given out only to get hurt in some way. please correct me if any of this is wrong, btw, id rather be corrected than live in ignorance of the truth
No amount of rope can pull him out. It’ll snap apart under the weight of his actions, so why try? There’s no real point in it.
this is why you need a grian, scar. sigh.
He needs to stop being Scar and start being the Grim Reaper. He sucks in a breath, throwing Scar away.
oh this is fantastic because scar cares so deeply for them and would do just about anything to protect them, because as much as he tries not to, scar cares and loves. but that's exactly the problem because he cares for and loves tubbo so much he'd do just about anything to protect him, including sacrificing grian and mumbo. but scar couldn't possibly do that when he cares for them so much. so he weaponizes the grim reaper, who doesn't care for anyone or anything besides getting the job done.
im genuinely just rambling here there's zero coherence to be found in any of this
“We figured we should take advantage of the peace while we can,"
wow youre really just pulling out all the stops to make this hurt as much as possible arent you
But even then… surely it wouldn’t take this long to heal.
this is SOOOOO CONCERNING are you KIDDING ME???? MUMBO PLEASEEEEEEEEE YOU CANT DO THIS TO ME MAN😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
“Maybe we can come back tomorrow earlier.”
i have you say you are incredible at setting the mood. having an idea of what's about to happen as a third party, watching it all unfold. grian and mumbo being right there and nearly getting to the truth, but not quite getting it because they trust scar. BECAUSE THEY TRUST SCAR!! grum and jrum being there adding to the innocence of it all and amplifying how unsettling scar's actions are. "maybe we can come back tomorrow" when there's not going to BE a tomorrow for them (assuming scar succeeds). it's so tense. it's so anxiety-inducing. it's such an intense sense of foreboding and it has my heart rate genuinely going up. infinite props to you.
He aims for Mumbo’s shoulder.
might be overthinking this but i hate that this implies the possibility that scar informed this assassin with ways to make the killing easier
He grits his teeth as he pulls another glyph from his pocket. He slams it between his hands, vines wrapping up around his arms.
GRIAN'S GLYPHS LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOO!! IT'S EVEN COOLER THAN ID IMAGINED HEHE
“Did you get hit at all?” He does a quick scan of the changeling for any injuries.
you're really making this hurt
“Dad!” the two boys cry, the word not registering to any of them in the moment.
AAAAAAAAAA YOURE GONNA MAKE ME CRY STOP IT NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Blood splatters on the ground in thick drops, spilling in the grooves of the cobble path.
i havent read ahead and i swear to god if this is grian sacrificing himself for mumbo and he turns around and sees grian's body on the pavement and screams "GRIAN!" and that's what the teaser was and that's how it ends my brain is going to be filled with unspeakable screaming until it gets confirmation that he's okay.
“GRIAN!”
I WASNT SUPPOSED TO BE RIGHT. I WASNT SUPPOSED TO HAVE GUESSED CORRECTLY. I WASNT. THAT WASNT. IM. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
IM. I HAVE NO WORDS. I HAVEN'T A SINGLE COHERENT SENTENCE. I AM JUST. WOW. IM. WHAT. NO. NO?????? NO. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HFGJFHKFHGJFK WELL. HI LMAO
reading through all of this with a big grin because excitement and Also knowing what happens next >:3c I'd apologize about the teaser thing but I am Not sorry WHEEZE
but in regards to the scar stuff, you're 100% right, yeah, along with grian and mumbo. they're all flawed characters just trying to do the right thing with the cards they've been dealt. their best qualities are Easily their greatest weaknesses. and none of them realize it but y'know. that's what being human is all about! :D
aND THE GRIM REAPER YEAHHHH. I talk about it all the time but I genuinely love scar being the grim reaper. weaponizing it in this chapter. he's such an interesting character to both study and write
but !!!! very glad to see that the first bomb of three has landed appropriately! :D
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