#as if even neglect were a form of intimacy
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Solidarity begins at home
I don’t need to be empowered by adults; I need them to stop having power over me.
—Lilah Joy Bergman, age 9
While friendship is made vapid by Empire, coupledom and the nuclear family become the container for all other forms of intimacy. As anti-racist, Indigenous, and autonomist feminists have shown, the nuclear family—where one generation of parents lives with one generation of children, separated from everyone else—is a recent invention of Empire.[62] It was (and is) a crucial institution for the privatization and enclosure of life. It is also central to the maintenance of a culture of authoritarianism, abuse, and neglect that underpins heteropatriarchy and white supremacy. It evolved as a way of reproducing wage-laboring men through the unpaid labor of women. Violence against women and children within the family was condoned as part of a civilizing process, and it became a conduit for intergenerational violence, and for the accumulation of white wealth and property through inheritance.
Through feminist struggle, some of the most brutal, state-sanctioned violences of the nuclear family (such as legalized rape and abuse) have been challenged, but it remains a site of isolation and violence, for children in particular. One of its most brutal effects is that it makes other forms of intimacy difficult or unthinkable for many of us. Through suburbs and apartments designed for a privatized existence, the nuclear family is even coded into the built environment.
At the same time, people are constantly inventing and recovering other kinds of belonging and intimacy. They are creatively collectivizing and communalizing life, sharing income, food, and housing in ways that break down privatization and segregation. As Silvia Federici writes,
We also have a return to more extended types of families, built not on blood ties but on friendship relations. This, I think, is a model to follow. We are obviously in a period of transition and a great deal of experimentation, but opening up the family – hetero or gay – to a broader community, breaking down the walls that increasingly isolated it and prevented it from confronting its problems in a collective way is the path we must take not to be suffocated by it, and instead strengthen our resistance to exploitation. The denuclearisation of the family is the path to the construction of communities of resistance.[63]
Many Indigenous people, people of color, and queer folks have never been invited into the structure of the nuclear family, and they have always made kin in other ways. Queer chosen families have created intimate, intergenerational webs of support, and these radical ties remain alive in spite of new forms of homonormative capture. As Dean Spade writes,
In the queer communities I’m in valuing friendship is a really big deal, often coming out of the fact that lots of us don’t have family support, and build deep supportive structures with other queers. We are interested in resisting the heteronormative family structure in which people are expected to form a dyad, marry, have kids, and get all their needs met within that family structure. A lot of us see that as unhealthy, as a new technology of post-industrial late capitalism that is connected to alienating people from community and training them to think in terms of individuality, to value the smaller unit of the nuclear family rather than the extended family.[64]
Similarly, bell hooks points to traditions of informal adoption in Black communities, in which people adopted and cared for children in ways that were communally recognized but never sanctioned by the state:
Let’s say you didn’t have any children and your neighbor had eight kids. You might negotiate with her to adopt a child, who would then come live with you, but there would never be any kind of formal adoption, yet everybody would recognize her as your “play daughter.” My community was unusual in that gay black men were also able to informally adopt children. And in this case there was a kinship structure in the community where people would go home and visit their folks if they wanted to, stay with them (or what have you), but they would also be able to stay with the person who was loving and parenting them.[65]
Leanne Simpson, writing on Indigenous nationhood, notes how resurgence entails displacing settler colonialism and the nuclear family with “big, beautiful, diverse, extended multiracial families of relatives and friends that care very deeply for each other.”[66] In many ways, these kinds of relationships make possible and sustain the creation of intergenerational forms of organizing that include kids and elders, and break down divides between public and private. Simpson spoke to the importance of this when we interviewed her:
How change happens matters to me, which is why I don’t spend much time lobbying the state. I believe in creating the change on the ground, and creating and living the alternatives. In my nation, children and Elders are critical, and it means we organize differently. You can’t invite kids to a twelve-hour, boring meeting and then get frustrated because they are bored or frustrated because they won’t stay with the childcare worker they’ve never met. You can’t invite the Elders to welcome people to the territory and then not speak to the issues. I think we actually need to do less organizing and more movement building. Right now, we have activists, not leaders. We have actions, not community. My kids are also fundamentally not interested in “the movement.” They are, however, fundamentally interested in doing things.[67]
These kinds of non-nuclear kinship networks have been sustained in the face of state terrorism and incarceration, residential and boarding schools, and Empire’s ongoing attempts to privatize and destroy non-nuclear kinship networks, extended families, and webs of relationships that include non-human kin. Nourishing and sustaining these communal forms of life throws into question some of the dominant ideas about what counts as political work, about separation of activism or organizing from everyday life. They challenge the segregation of kids from the rest of the world (and from organizing and politics in particular) and the ways that elders are isolated and intergenerational connections are lost.
Creating intergenerational webs of intimacy and support is a radical act in a world that has privatized child-rearing, housing, subsistence and decision-making. Challenging the nuclear family is not about a puritanical rejection of anything that resembles it; it is about creating alternatives to its hegemony, to the dismembering of social relations, to the spatial division of people through suburbanization, incarceration, schooling, dispossession, and displacement. This entails the proliferation of relationships that may or may not be based on blood but are built on care and love. The Latin American political theorist Raúl Zibechi argues that non-nuclear family and kinship networks are at the heart of Latin America’s most transformative and militant movements, including those of Indigenous peoples, peasant farmers, landless and homeless movements, piqueteros, and women’s and youth movements.[68] These collective forms of life are based in new forms of dwelling, subsistence, and resistance. At the same time, Zibechi is clear that these are “only tendencies, aspirations, or attempts in the midst of social struggles.”[69] Relationships of mutual support are not a destination but a continual process of struggle.
As people renew intergenerational relationships and bring their whole lives into struggle, new forms of politics emerge. In this context, Silvia Federici argues,
This is why the idea of creating “self-reproducing” movements has been so powerful. It means creating a certain social fabric and forms of co-operative reproduction that can give continuity and strength to our struggles, and a more solid base to our solidarity. We need to create forms of life in which political activism is not separated from the task of our daily reproduction, so that relations of trust and commitment can develop that today remain on the horizon. We need to put our lives in common with the lives of other people to have movements that are solid and do not rise up and then dissipate. Sharing reproduction, this is what began to happen within the Occupy Movement and what usually happens when a struggle reaches a moment of almost insurrectional power. For example, when a strike goes on for several months, people begin to put their lives in common because they have to mobilise all their resources not to be defeated.[70]
Federici here gets at the way in which care is not only a means of maintaining struggles, but a transformative part of struggle itself. While Empire works to privatize and individualize our daily lives, many movements are reproducing themselves more autonomously by collectivizing care: from cooking to cohabitation to learning to just being present with each other.
Friendship, kinship, and communalization have also been at the heart of working across the hierarchical divides of heteropatriarchy, white supremacy, colonization, ableism, ecocide, and other systems that have taught us to enact violence on each other and internalize oppressive ways of relating. To make kin across these divisions is a precarious and radical act. Everyone knows how difficult this can be, and how people fuck up, hurt each other, and blame each other. Those conscripted into oppressive roles can always fall back into old habits. In some cases, people are able to talk about all this in ways that are subtle, gentle, and more attuned to each other’s tendencies, triggers, and gifts, and genuine relations of support emerge. In the context of queer, anti-racist disability justice, Mia Mingus speaks to the centrality of strong relationships for undoing oppression:
Any kind of systematic change we want to make will require us to work together to do it. And we have to have relationships strong enough to hold us as we go up against something as powerful as the state, the medical industrial complex, the prison system, the gender binary system, the church, immigration system, the war machine, global capitalism.
Because we’re going to mess up. Of that I am sure. We cannot, on the one hand have sharp analysis about how pervasive systems of oppression and violence are and then on the other hand, expect people to act like that’s not the world we exist in. Of course there are times we are going to do and say oppressive things, of course we are going to hurt each other, of course we are going to be violent, collude in violence or accept violence as normal.
We must roll up our sleeves and start doing the hard work of learning how to work through conflict, pain and hurt as if our lives depended on it—because they do.[71]
Between the authors of this book, friendship has required us to negotiate divisions ingrained in our bodies by ageism, patriarchy, capitalism, and ableism. Sometimes these divisions get in the way of our capacity to connect in ways that are enabling and transformative. Patriarchy has socialized Nick, as a man, to be self-assured, (over)confident, rational, and individualistic. carla has been socialized to be submissive, caring, diffident, and to put others before herself. Even as we worked against some of these tendencies, carla ended up doing more emotional and caring labor for this project and Nick ended up doing more labor when it came to writing and editing. We have also been learning to challenge these divisions, always partially and inconsistently, through processes of mutual growth, support, and (un)learning. In part because of our very different life experiences, skill sets, and perspectives, our collaborative process has enabled us to produce something new together and made us both more capable in new ways. Neither of us could have written this book, or anything like it, alone.
#joy#anarchism#joyful militancy#resistance#community building#practical anarchy#practical anarchism#anarchist society#practical#revolution#daily posts#communism#anti capitalist#anti capitalism#late stage capitalism#organization#grassroots#grass roots#anarchists#libraries#leftism#social issues#economy#economics#climate change#climate crisis#climate#ecology#anarchy works#environmentalism
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Bryce Emley, from "A List of Waters"
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WHIPPED
Pairing - Tommy Shelby x fem!reader
Summary - You strain from your husband who will not give you attention. He doesn't like that.
Warnings - NONCON, domestic violence, dub con, manipulative, belt whipping, spanking, tommy is mean, degrading words, breeding kink.
Word count - 3k+
Notes - You voted, you received.
Something in Tommy’s intellect changed overnight. Every once in a while, his mind would travel back in time to the war. But now, when he awoke from his nightmares, he still felt like he was crawling through the tunnels. The hairs on the back of his neck stuck up more frequently, his hand rested on his gun a lot. Feeling too skeptical that he’d need to fire it at any second.
It had impacted your newly wedded marriage, but you didn’t dare to say anything to him. You showed you cared by holding him a little tighter at night. Whilst he laid on the bed like a stone figure, staring up into the ceiling as he refused to fall asleep.
The sex had turned emotionless like flowers dying without water. The intimacy was dead. It made you down in the mouth and filled your heart with despair. You only wanted to kiss him, talk to him, be held by him. But he had forgotten who you were.
Over the weeks, your sadness turned into anger. You refused to be upset by his neglect any longer. So, you found other ways to find pleasure in your life and quickly realized that the only way to get your husband’s attention was jealousy. It frustrated Tommy when you started to ignore his presence, venture out without informing him and associating with his family more than him. Tommy would lecture you, wagging his finger at you. You’d only simply nod your head, awaiting for it to be over. Then it would repeat all over again. But Tommy’s mind was too caught up in his business to find the time to truly teach you a lesson.
Until now, the surprisingly last straw was Arthur whispering something into your ear, resulting in you playfully slapping his shoulder and giggling like a teenager. Tommy’s head snapped to you two, everyone in the reading room still watching Tommy as he awaited for you to acknowledge him.
After a pause, you finally looked up to Tommy and the stare off commenced. Your eyebrows were furrowed as Tommy’s eyes twitched, he knew you had never been unfaithful. But his mind was now racing with thoughts of the possibility occurring if he didn’t put a stop to his behavior.
“Well, we will have a break. It seems that my wife has forgotten her manners and I must reteach them…” Tommy declared confidently as he lit another cigarette between his cold lips.
All heads snapped towards you and Arthur’s face turned beet red.
“Thomas” you sighed as you pressed your hand to your forehead, cheeks turning a shade darker from embarrassment.
Any other time, Tommy adored it when you called him by his full name. But this time, he felt as if you were challenging him, trying to humiliate him in front of his family. Tommy took three large strides towards the door and motioned for you to exit in an exaggerated manner. When you merely continued to stare back at him dully he snapped.
“Get the fuck up!” Tommy raised his voice, causing everyone in the room to flinch.
Tommy’s eyes were strained, a vein popped out of his forehead as his hands formed to fists.
“Tommy” Arthur protested, leaning forward in his seat.
Arthur was always so loyal to Tommy, but grew to be highly protective of you. He was prepared to cop the fire instead, take a beating if he had to. It was his doings anyways, not yours.
“It’s alright Arthur” you soothed his guilty look, looking confident even though your heart was pounding in shock at your husband’s outburst.
Tommy saw red when you reassuringly pressed your hand to his chest. Without waiting any longer he marched towards you. You jumped up from your seat before he could yank you up. But he still latched onto your bicep and pulled you out of the room with no care as you winced from his hold.
“Tommy… You’re hurting me!” You cried as he pulled you up the stairs.
There was no answer from him. Only the sounds of grunts through his hard expression as he led you to the bedroom. Shoving you into the room, Tommy slammed the door shut and stomped around in circles, his hand tugging at his roots as he heard the shouts and cries of his fallen fellow soldiers. Your arms crossed over your chest, a frustrated expression set on your face by glue.
“Thomas you’re being dramatic” you pointed out, shaking your head at his behavior. The embarrassment had drenched you completely, he was too furious to notice how awful he had made the situation.
Tommy’s head shot towards you and he glared at you.
“Pardon? You parading yourself around my brother in front of my entire family is nothing more than me being dramatic!” Tommy roared as he marched towards you. “Why don’t you fucking respect me!” Tommy yelled, his pale skin now red as he grabbed onto your shoulders in a warning touch.
His anger spattered onto you as you felt your chest tighten, you scoffed at his words, not intimidated by his hold on you. “Oh calm down Thomas!” You hissed at your husband.
You fell to the fall before the pain even shot from your cheek. Before the redness even grew on your timid skin. You choked out in shock as you raised your hand to the burning sensation on your cheek. The back of Tommy's hand was still positioned in the air from where he hit you. Tommy had never hit you before, he had vowed to never do it.
“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down” Tommy growled.
Swiftly, he bent down to yank you back up to your feet. When you struggled against his hold and tried to smack him away he hit you again with the front of his hand this time. Then he hit the other cheek just as hard. You screamed out in fear but his hand was swift to smack over your mouth.
“Who do you fucking think you are? Huh! You wear my name! You’re in my house!” Tommy lectured, shaking you around like a ragdoll before he shoved you back to the ground.
Tommy went back to walking around in circles, his hand roughly massaged his chin as he wondered what to do with you. His disobedient wife. You laid on the floor, frozen in fear as you stared at his polished shoes twirling around the room. With your hands pressed against your stinging cheeks, tears shedded from your aching eyes. Your sobs were silent and rough.
A heavy sigh left his lips as he looked down to you. Slowly, he undid his belt and slipped it out of the loops of his pants and folded it in half. Tommy fell back onto the brown leather armchair in the corner of the room and lightly slapped his belt against his knee.
“Come here, lay over my knee my darling…” Tommy spoke in a soothing voice, but had a wicked grin on his lips.
You looked up at him with fearful eyes, then your stare was stuck on his belt slapping against his pants. Knowing his intentions, you whimpered out pathetically and shook your head against the floor.
“N-no” you objected weakly.
“It wasn’t an offer” Tommy grunted, he leaned towards you, the grip on the leather tightened. “Do it before I show you how strong my foot is” Tommy warned, tapping his foot impatiently.
It took you a moment to get up, you were too busy having a little silent breakdown as you whined at his response. The smirk on his lips grew larger as he watched you gradually crawl towards him, wincing to yourself as you climbed up onto his lap and laid stiff on top of him.
Tommy sighed as he pulled up your dress, his hand rubbed your ass briefly before he yanked down your panties to your knees. The leather brushed over your backside and you gripped onto his leg in fear as you sobbed quietly.
“You seemed to have mistaken my kindness for weakness, my darling. I have no problem with showing you my ruthlessness, the many tales you heard of me before we had even met” Tommy explained as he dragged the belt all over your skin.
“You’re scaring me Tommy” you sniffled out.
The inside of your throat felt swollen and your chest ached. A harsh slap with the belt landed on your rear. It caused your panicky yelp to echo throughout the room. When you tried to impulsively wiggle yourself off of him he smacked you again with the leather.
“You’ve lost your privileges to address me by my first name, correct yourself right now!” Tommy ordered, his hold on his belt tight as his free hand went around your back to keep you trapped.
“Tom-uh Mr Shelby?” You answered unsurely, your expression wincing as your shoulders raised.
“Good girl!” Tommy praised as the belt smacked against your rear again.
You chortled out as he continued on with your punishment. Quickly, you lost count with how many times he hit you as he flicked his wrist in a haphazardly manner. Sometimes he’d focus purely on one cheek. Or do slow and heavy smacks across every inch of your skin. Then he’d do quick stings across your rear.
“Please stop!” you begged, your voice dry and weak, your mouth pressed against his knee as you tried to muffle out your cries.
“Aw, my darling can’t take it anymore eh?” Tommy chuckled.
He dropped the belt onto your back and rubbed your tender backside with his bare hand roughly.
“Please I love you Tommy!” you exhorted, desperately hoping this would ease his suspicions.
The screech was piercing when he smacked your bruised skin wickedly with his palm.
“Correct yourself, whore” Tommy spat.
‘Ah! I love you Mr Shelby” you sobbed out.
Your head fell back down to his knee, your teeth bit into his leg to silence yourself but he didn't mind. Surprisingly, the pain felt nice to him.
“That’s a good girl…” Tommy grinned, rubbing your ass again roughly as if he was praising you. “I’m going to beat your ass beyond breaking point. Then I’ll know you’ve learnt your lesson” Tommy addressed.
“No Mr Shelby please! I understand!” You protested as you squirmed over him. Tommy was quick to hold you on top of him as you tried to swing your body onto the floor. “Please forgive me! I won’t do it again!” You pleaded as you tried to blink back your tears.
“Stay still before I hit you with the buckle!” Tommy threatened, his words hissing like a viper.
You mewled out, but listened to his demand. Tommy picked up his belt again and proceeded to whip you with it.
When your cries had died down and you laid still on him, Tommy dropped the belt to the ground and rubbed your black and blue rear. When his fingers rubbed against your slit, he grinned to himself as he brought them into his sight. They glistered in your fluid and he sucked his fingers clean, moaning to himself at your sweet taste.
“Seems like I wasn’t the only one that enjoyed this”' Tommy commented as his fingers returned to your cunt, fondling with your folds and teasing your nerves by randomly pushing in a digit. “Have you learnt your lesson?” Tommy cocked an eyebrow to you.
As you tried to turn your head back towards him, you nodded to him. “Yes Mr Shelby” you spoke out breathlessly.
“Which is?” He questioned.
You choked on your words as you blinked back your tears. “To be a good wife to you!”
“Such a good wife…” Tommy soothed as he caressed your bruised ass. “Stand up and strip for your husband” he instructed as he leaned back into his seat.
Through gritted teeth, you stood on your two feet and slowly stripped till you were completely nude in front of him. Your body shook like a leaf in the wind as you resisted not to cover yourself with your arms. Tommy sighed to himself as he looked your heated figure up and down, and then he pulled out his length and gradually stroked himself a couple of times. Not failing to express how aroused he was through his groans.
“Come here and sit on my cock eh?”
“Mr Shelby please” you begged weakly, eyes stinging with discomfort.
Tommy leaned forward and pointed his finger to you. “Shut up before I change my mind, bend you over and fuck your ass” he warned, his pointed finger completely still.
You nodded your head like a begging dog and practically ran over to Tommy despite the pain that shot through your rear. You straddled your husband, his hands were on your hips as he grinned up to you, his cock pressed against your inner thigh.
“Who do you belong to?” Tommy asked as his length pushed into your throbbing, soaked entrance.
“You Mr Shelby!” You answered through a groan as you slid down his shaft.
“Good… No more talking to anyone, at all, without my permission eh?” Tommy commanded with a resolute nod. All you could do was nod back as he rocked his hips against yours, his fingernails dug into your flesh as your walls squeezed his size.
“Mr Shelby” you whined out.
“You’re mine” Tommy growled animalistically as he leant in to bite your neck. “Only fucking mine. You wanted my attention? You fucking got it” he grunted as he rutted himself deep inside of you.
Your eyes rolled back as you held onto your husband tightly as he drew blood from your neck. The pain dissolved as the pleasure quickly built up inside of your core. Your mouth had fallen open as you were moaning out shamelessly, Tommy slapped your ass and you squealed.
“You’re clenching around me so tightly darling, you want to milk me empty eh? Get yourself pregnant?” Tommy asked, his own breathing heavy as he pounded himself into you.
“Yes Mr Shelby!”
“Keep on squeezing me then, just like that” Tommy coached as his hips thrusted at an immaculate speed. “Maybe another baby in this house would keep you tamed. Let’s give Charlie a little brother or sister eh?” He suggested, a proud smirk on his lips.
All you could do was hum in compliance as you clenched around him. It was so slippery you had to hold your body in place. His balls were slapping against you as you felt your climax climbing as high as it could. The scream from your hot lips echoed throughout the room as you held onto Tommy for dear life. He grunted in response, and shortly followed through with his own climax.
Your body fell dead on top of him as you tried to catch your breath back. Through deep breaths, your chest rose and fell as your eyes remained shut. Tommy breathed out, his hands caressed your lower back as he inhaled your scent. He was still buried inside of you, he could feel your fluids drip out slowly.
“Fuck, that was something else, wasn’t it my love?” Tommy asked teasingly as he patted your rear.
You whimpered, tear stained eyes as you looked up to your husband, he smiled softly to you, you smiled softly back. He guided your hips up, his coated cock slipped out of your swollen entrance with a pop and he helped you onto your feet.
After he slipped his member back into his pants, Tommy guided you to bend over the bed, you winced as you followed through and he examined you. Down on his knees, Tommy pulled your lips apparent with two fingers as he watched your mixed fluids drip out of you. His hands caressed over your abused skin as he stood back up again.
“If only you could see how beautiful you look my dear” Tommy sighed, his voice dark and husky.
He pulled you back up and held you in his arms, your flustered body caved against him. Your knees buckled as Tommy held your weak stance up, he murmured to you, his face rubbed against yours like a needy cat.
“You wanna come down for the rest of the meeting?” Tommy hummed in the crook of your neck.
The thought of you going back down there frightened you, the humiliation of this sudden occurrence felt too overwhelming. Having all eyes on you would cause you to have a breakdown without a doubt, you knew they heard you, your cries had echoed to the fields.
“No Mr Shelby” you answered timidly, sniffling to yourself as you tried to cry silently.
“That’s alright, you rest up, you look exhausted. I’ll come check on you later, I have some business to attend to after this, okay?” Tommy spoke innocently as he led you to the bed.
Tommy helped you in, you winced at the friction of your rear to the sheets but made no comment to your husband’s kindness. The covers were tucked in around you, Tommy petted your hair to the side and smiled at you.
“Thank you Mr Shelby” your smile shaked, cheeks still a dark shade of red.
“Sleep well my love” Tommy whispered before he planted a tender kiss on your lips.
It’s what you missed so badly, instinctively, your arms reached up from under the sheets and tried to snake around his back. But your body felt so weak, you couldn’t bring yourself up. Tommy hummed and pulled your body up, his hold on your lower back as the sheets slipped down your body already, his tongue slipped straight down your throat as your tongue massaged him. As you moaned directly into his mouth, Tommy pressed your faces together as he gently laid you back onto the bed.
“I love you” you whispered once more as your head fell deep into the pillow, your tired eyes remained shut. A low hum echoed out of Tommy as you quickly fell asleep.
Tommy walked back down into the reading room. He knew everyone had heard everything, his eyes locked with Arthur’s. As he shot him a glare, Arthur lowered his head submissively as Tommy continued on with his discussions and concerns to his family.
#cillian murphy#cillian murphy smut#cillian murphy x reader#cillian x fem!reader#smut#dark smut#tommy shelby x you#tommy shelby x reader#tommy shelby#peaky blinder fanfic#peaky blinders
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How are they with their pregnant partner? Neuvillette
Synopsis: Pregnant, your husband/companion is ecstatic. But how will he take care of you during pregnancy?
Style: Cute, fluffy, female reader, NSFW.
Bonus NSFW (18+) I remind minors to avoid reading this kind of content.
Warning: May contain story spoilers for some characters.
Characters: Neuvillette.
Note: This chapter contains Fontaine story spoilers. I advise you to finish Archon's quest before starting to read.
Ps: Sorry for my long absence, I've had a lot of health problems since the start of the 2023 school year...
Part 1 Diluc, Zhongli, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti, Albedo, Kazuha, Childe.
Part 2 Scaramouche, Dainsleif, Thomas.
Part 3 Dottore, Pantalone, Alhaitham.
Part 4 Cyno, Ayato.
Part 5 Tighnari.
Part 6 Capitano, Kaveh + Bonus
Part 7 Itto, Heizou, Lyney.
1. The moon was lighting up the night sky when you reached the door of Neuvillette's office. Silently, you gazed at him from the doorway, waiting patiently for him to take his eyes off his work and meet yours. Knowing that he had already noted your presence, his dragon senses being far more acute than those of mortals, you found a particular charm in watching him devote himself in earnest to the last files of the day.
"It's getting late, my love. "
At these words, Neuvillette raised his reptilian-glinted eyes to you, a tender, affectionate smile lighting up his face.
"You should have waited for me at home. I get worried when you walk alone at this hour."
Dropping his pen, he stood up and walked over to join you. Arriving at your height, he leaned over to place a soft kiss on your lips.
"I know, but... there was something very important I had to tell you. And as lately you've tended to neglect your wife for your work..."
Your words floated through the air, laden with gentle rebuke and nervous anticipation. As you spoke, Neuvillette, with obvious tenderness, gently pushed a lock of your hair back behind your ear, his gesture emphasizing the closeness and deep affection he felt for you. His attention was entirely focused on you, as if he were trying to read in your eyes the importance of what you had to reveal to him.
With a gentle gesture, you took Neuvillette's hand, guiding his palm until it lay flat on your stomach. A silence fell, heavy with anticipation, as Neuvillette watched your gesture, a gleam of curiosity in his eyes. Then, slowly, a flash of understanding lit up his gaze. He sensed, through the touch of his hand, the subtle but undeniable aura of a new life beginning to form within you, the existence of a little being yet to be born. A dragon.
Your husband's heart raced as he finally realized what was growing inside you. Neuvillette, usually in control, was overcome by a wave of emotions: surprise, happiness, a touch of anxiety in the face of the unknown, but above all, a deep and unconditional love for you and for this new life you were carrying.
Without a word, his other hand joined the first, as if gently but firmly enveloping the precious treasure you now shared. His gaze, filled with infinite tenderness, lifted to yours.
In this moment of shared intimacy, words seemed superfluous, replaced by tender caresses and kisses, heralding the start of a new chapter in your lives together.
2. Neuvillette's draconic nature permeated every fiber of his being, making him extremely protective and territorial, especially where you were concerned. His perception of mortals had certainly evolved after the fall of the hydro archon, but his role as supreme judge of the Fontaine court left him little room for easy trust, especially when it came to unpredictable and often cruel human nature.
Your pregnancy only exacerbated this aspect of his personality. The prospect of becoming a father, of protecting and looking after an even more vulnerable being, amplified his protective instincts. Even when you remarked to him, perhaps hoping to mitigate this tendency or channel it in a way that seemed more appropriate...
But you soon realized that it was difficult to change the profound nature of a dragon over a thousand years old...
3. The evolution of your pregnancy revealed hitherto unknown and deeply endearing aspects of Neuvillette. This new facet manifests itself in a surprising way: a soft, soothing, purring-like sound emanates from him when he looks at you or caresses you gently. This sound, unexpected from a dragon, proved to you that he was happy and at peace in your presence…
4. Neuvillette's trust in the protection of you and your child during his extended absences was a privilege he bestowed on very few people. Clorinde and Wriothesley stood out as the pillars of this trust, each with their own role and ability to look after you. Wriothesley, despite his responsibilities anchoring him to the Meropide fortress, was a devoted protector whose friendship with Neuvillette and you never wavered.
The Melusines also held a special place in Neuvillette's esteem. Their joy and zeal in protecting you and your unborn child was not only a testament to their loyalty to Neuvillette, but also a recognition of the importance of your role by his side.
5. The relationship you forged with Furina was marked by an affection and trust that transcended the past of the former archon of Fontaine. Her daily visits became special moments, when the joy of sharing sweets and laughter brightened your day. Discussions about the baby's name, possible traits, or who he or she might most resemble, were moments of pure complicity.
The arrival of Neuvillette, which often marked the end of these afternoons of sweetness and laughter, added another dimension to the family picture. His reaction to the mess left by Furina, oscillating between severity and underlying affection, reflected his deep concern for your well-being. His ability to scold Furina without raising his voice, while reminding her of the importance of your rest, demonstrated a delicate balance between authority and tenderness. To you, this was undeniable proof that Neuvillette would be an exceptional father to your child.
6. During your pregnancy, you showed worrying symptoms of depression. With Neuvillette often absent during the day and sometimes even all night, he only became aware of your condition belatedly, when he found you in tears in the kitchen. Crouched against the cupboards, overwhelmed by deep sadness, you didn't immediately notice his return.
The sight of your distress deeply affected Neuvillette, who at first thought you'd been the victim of an assault by a local seeking revenge after being tried for his crimes by the Supreme Judge. However, he soon realized that your emotional state was largely influenced by pregnancy hormones, exacerbated by the fact that you were carrying a half-human, half-dragon child.
With a heavy heart in the face of your grief, Neuvillette has vowed to stay by your side as much as possible, adjusting his schedule to be more present by your side. He has taken steps to ensure that he can spend weekends with you, actively engaging in preparations to welcome the baby into your life. "Don't cry anymore mon amour. From now on, I'll stay by your side."
7. As night fell, it became customary for you and Neuvillette to embrace tenderly on the living-room sofa. Positioned comfortably across his legs, with one of his arms warmly embracing you, Neuvillette would take pleasure in reading aloud to you one of those sentimental novels you so cherished. Neuvillette's soft, melodious voice enveloped you in a feeling of well-being, as you gently brushed your rounded belly, lulled by the sound of his reading.
Each time you dozed off against him, he cherished these moments deeply, placing kisses on your face as he whispered sweet nothings to you. Releasing his hand from the weight of the book she was holding, he gently slid it over you until it rested gently on your rounded belly. His tender, loving gestures, as he touched your skin, seemed to awaken a response in his child, who pressed himself against your belly, as if to draw closer to the warmth of his father...
8. The last few weeks of your pregnancy proved to be particularly trying, forcing you to spend most of your time in bed, suffering from intense back pain that made any movement painful. Aware of your condition, Neuvillette chose to take a few days off work to stay by your side, ensuring your well-being and safety.
The approach of childbirth was causing him growing anxiety. The idea of a human giving birth to the child of a sovereign dragon was unprecedented, and the absence of any references or testimonials to such a situation fueled his fears about the potential risks to you and the baby. This fear, which became almost palpable as the days passed, plunged him into a state of nervousness he had never experienced before.
Neuvillette had considered going to Natlan, hoping to find information or help to assist you during the birth. However, the idea of leaving you alone for several weeks was unbearable.
9. Neuvillette, faced with the unknown of this extraordinary situation, was overwhelmed by a multitude of emotions. Deep inside him, a tenacious hope persisted, that fate would preserve you and the child from any misfortune. The very idea of losing you, of seeing you torn from him too soon, was unbearable. With each passing day, he watched over you with redoubled attention, doing everything in his power to ensure your comfort and safety, while trying to conceal his own fears so as not to add to your stress.
As you waited, every shared moment took on priceless value, every smile, every tender gesture turned into a treasure trove of memories to cherish.
10. Your delivery turned out to be an ordeal of an intensity and complexity you'd never imagined, your cries and tears breaking your husband's heart. The pain and loss of blood plunged you into a state of vulnerability you'd never experienced before, causing you to lose consciousness on several occasions.
"It's going to be okay , mon amour, you're strong and brave. You'll make it. Just a little more effort and our child will soon be here with us."
Despite the fear and anxiety, Neuvillette's presence by your side was an unwavering pillar of support. His hand clasping yours, he enveloped you in his love and encouragement, his voice soft and reassuring.
The intervention of Baizhu, Liyue's doctor recommended by the traveler, was crucial. Thanks to his expertise and professionalism, he managed the complications with remarkable efficiency. Neuvillette, using his hydro authority, played an equally vital role, treating life-threatening wounds and using his powers to stabilize your condition. The synergy of their efforts was the determining factor in your survival in this bitter struggle.
The birth of your child, despite the circumstances, marked a moment of pure happiness and relief. When you heard his first cries, a sense of peace and fulfillment came over you, allowing you to finally surrender to rest, your exhausted mind and body taking refuge in sleep.
11. Neuvillette had delicately placed your child beside you, gently brushing your sweat-dampened hair, while his free hand gently enveloped his baby in a peaceful sleep. His gaze was lost in the infinite tenderness he felt for you, a wave of happiness and pride emanating from his whole being. How could he ever make the whole universe understand the beauty he saw in you? The fullness he felt watching you and his child, so serenely asleep under his protection? How could he articulate the immense joy of this deeply human experience of being part of a family? He, the sovereign hydro dragon, was discovering a new and profound humanity, all thanks to... Thanks to your presence in his life.
Somewhere in your dreams, you could hear the gentle sound of a purr...
12. Neuvillette will embody the figure of a father with an exceptionally gentle approach to education. Firm only when necessary, his child will be just like him. With a calm, collected and sometimes distant temperament, the child will learn the essential lessons of dragon heritage from his father. This transmission will be carried out with subtlety and wisdom, enabling the child to understand not only the value, but also the responsibility of his ancestry.
NSFW bonus:
The moment Neuvillette crossed the threshold of the house, returning from a grueling day at court, he found you fast asleep on the sofa, a soft light illuminating the room and a book resting carelessly on your belly, which was getting rounder by the day. He immediately realized that you'd been up most of the night waiting for him to return. Heaving a weary sigh, he shed his coat, gloves and scarf, then carefully placed your book on the table before lifting you gently into his arms. However, the mere touch of your husband, his warmth, his breath, his presence, was enough to awaken your senses. Blinking against his chest, a sigh of contentment escaped your lips as your gaze met his, imbued with a gentleness and warmth that contrasted so sharply with the man he was when you first met him.
"Ah, there you are at last, my dragon..." A tender smile lit up his face, as he adjusted your position so you could throw your arms around his neck, your lips seeking his in a burst of love.
"I asked you not to wait up for me. You need to rest... Why are humans so stubborn?" Your laughter, light and joyful, invited him to silence as you placed another kiss on his lips, which he received happily.
This one was deeper, more languorous. You needed him. Now... The absence of your dragon weighed so heavily on you that it aroused extravagant thoughts. Neuvillette could feel it... Your growing excitement knotting your belly and moistening that secret place between your thighs...
A rumble vibrated Neuvillette's chest as he deposited you on your bed, lips still linked, tongues struggling against each other for dominance. Your husband's instincts were stronger than anything, and since his companion wanted him so much, then he'd give her anything she wanted...
Who'd have thought it? Beneath this cool, aloof facade lay a passionate lover, expert in the art of thrilling the senses. Neuvillette loved to prepare you for him, burying his face tenderly between your thighs, his tongue fervently caressing your most intimate parts, while your fingers lost themselves with delight in his hair, leading you to heights of voluptuousness.
Dragons, creatures whose mating rituals were rare and dictated solely by the heat cycles of their females, contrasted sharply with humans when it came to sexuality. This discrepancy had initially confused Neuvillette, who couldn't understand why his physical reaction was so spontaneous at the sight of you. Besides, the fact that you were already pregnant should, in theory, have tempered his ardor during this period, shouldn't it? Why, then, did his desire for you intensify at the sight of your round belly? Your condition triggered a deep instinctive response in him...
To demand you. To make you his, even if you were already carrying his offspring...
His ardent thoughts set him ablaze, making him more passionate. He wanted nothing more than to melt into you, claiming your body as his own. His tongue worked you ardently as his fingers explored your innermost recesses, seeking to make you shiver with pleasure. Your moans were a song to his ears, the sound of his name, his true name, slipping between your exquisite lips.
Her eager mouth seized your quivering clitoris, savoring it with exquisite sensuality, while her deft fingers guided you to ecstasy. Your pregnancy amplified your sensitivity, allowing your beloved to lead you with infinite tenderness to the gates of rapture. His phalanges guided you to the end of your orgasm, his mouth tenderly kissing the bulge of your belly. When he brushed his lips against your skin, it was with a gentleness and affection that contrasted with the real urges driving him.
"Darling, I need you... Please..."
Neuvillette, his heart pounding, took a deep breath to calm the ardors that consumed him, eager not to harm you or your child, even if this one was an unborn dragon.
With infinite gentleness, his hand lovingly caressed your body, his lips tracing a tender path from your belly to your breasts, which he covered with kisses and delicate sucks before moving up to your neck and finally your lips. His kiss, at first filled with tenderness, gradually became hot with passion. His teeth nibbled delicately at your bottom lip, begging for more, and when your mouth opened to offer him what he desired, his tongue tasted you with fervor, as if you were the most delicious food in this world.
When he finally unites with you, he takes great pleasure in contemplating you in your entirety. Although your state of pregnancy forces him to deviate from the postures he loves, he knows how to find ways of satisfying his devouring thirst for you. Often, with his back arched in a throbbing motion, he will watch with rapt attention the undulations of your body as his hips fall delicately against yours, eagerly taking in the soft moans that enchant his sensitive hearing. His silver hair cascaded gracefully over you, sublimating the beauty of your beloved dragon. They allowed you to tenderly draw him to you, once again uniting your lips in a passionate kiss.
Neuvillette, moved by a passionate ardor, didn't stay attached to your lips for long, the rhythm of his hips intensifying as your orgasm approached. It was so easy to read you, he thought, as your expressive features and burning moans betrayed the intoxication that overwhelmed you. With a movement tinged with lust, Neuvillette grabbed your thighs and wrapped them greedily around his hips, before rising with a confident gesture, his palms ardently kneading your plump buttocks to give your bodies a more sustained rhythm. His member, coiled deep inside you, caressed that special place that made you lose all composure... He was right: your pregnant state made you undeniably more receptive to his ardors, and certainly more inclined to claim his.
As your orgasm gripped you, your walls fervently embracing his fiery member buried inside you, a guttural growl erupted from Neuvillette's chest. Mating with a dragon could be brutal, and Neuvillette had to do everything in his power not to be overwhelmed. Without your pregnancy, he would have given in to his deepest impulses, sinking his teeth into the delicacy of your neck, his pelvis jerking wildly against yours in search of his climax. But he knew how to curb these impulses, contracting his jaw to better contain his desire, until it poured into you in a guttural roar.
Neuvillette was rarely satisfied with a single turn, and your embraces often dragged on until sleep overtook you. When exhaustion drove you into unconsciousness, Neuvillette would tenderly cleanse you, kissing your bruised flesh while murmuring words of apology to you and the being growing inside your womb. He'd allow himself time to admire you, his fingers grazing the soft nakedness of your body nestled against his. And as his hand caressed the surface of your abdomen, a light tap struck against his palm, tugging a smile from the supreme judge's lips.
"As stubborn as his mother..."
#genshin impact smut#genshin impact#genshin#neuvillette#neuvilette genshin#neuvillette smut#genshin diluc#genshin smut#genshin impact fluff#neuvillette fluff
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hello! i absolutely love your writing could i request smth like fem! reader with miguel where she buys a suggestive nightgown/lingere set or outfit for him and how he’d totally melt when he sees it? thank you :))
for your eyes only
pairing: miguel o'hara x wife!reader
warnings: smut, fluff, established relationship, piv, creampie, unprotected sex, spanking, slight body worship, tiddie sucking?
summary: miguel has been overworking himself, and you buy a new lingerie set to help him release some stress
divider by @cafekitsune <3
You and Miguel are on a vacation.
He had been more than stressed lately with the aching duties of leading the spider-society, but the very last thing he intended to do was to neglect you.
So naturally, he thought of ways to spend more time with you, yet every time you two would finally get into the mood, right when he was about to make you his all over again, an anomaly or a system malfunction at HQ would interrupt you, leaving you with your heart racing and him with terribly uncomfortable blue balls.
He had had quite enough.
He surprised you with the tickets several weeks ago, on one of those rare occasions on which you two happened to be alone in the intimacy of his house.
To say that you were overflowing with joy is an understatement. He assured you that while he is gone, Jess would remain in charge so things don't go downhill.
So now, here you are, packing for a long-awaited, honeymoon-replica with your beloved husband. You feel enormously grateful for his effort to make you a priority, even more so when you remember how anxious he was about abandoning his job for a while.
You want to make it worth it.
You want to make him forget about all the stress and worries. You want to be there for him, to help him, to comfort him,
to pleasure him.
After assessing all options, you decide you're more than happy with the results.
"What's gotten into you?" he inquires playfully in between your hurried, passionate kisses as you drag him into the hotel room, excitement evident in your movements.
He's clearly more than pleased to see you clinging onto him like a lifeline, his ego undeniably boosted by the desperate make out session you just pulled him into right in the hallways. The knowledge of still being able to drive you crazy so effortlessly makes him smirk into the heated kiss.
"Told you." you gasp shallowly, parting from his swollen lips as you pull at his shirt, seeking to take it off. "I have a surprise."
Taking the hem and tossing the shirt out of your way, he bends down slightly, his massive shoulders bringing his shadow upon you, intimidating but so hot.
"Tell me about it." His voice is an octave lower, deep and provoking. You have to actively fight your brain from melting into lust and hunger for him in order to remain conscious and stick with the idea.
"No need.", you push at his biceps and he complies, backing off, an eyebrow raising in slight confusion mixed with surprise.
"You just have to take a shower first."
"Ah." his mood shifts abruptly, his head tilts to the side as if to check if he really needs one.
You can't help but burst into a hearty chuckle. "No, not because of that! I just need you away for a couple of minutes."
Your eyes squint, suggestive. He doesn't fail to catch on to your request, the ideas of what you might be up to already taking form in his mind, making his eyes shine a dark red glow.
Stepping back, he heads to the bathroom, turning back to you before shutting the door.
"Be quick. I won't be long.", He warns, almost threateningly, and you can't stop yourself from growing wet at the thought that he would take you the second he's out, no matter if you're ready or not.
Coming back to your senses, you hear the water running in the shower, yet sense no movement. You know he's listening in, but you couldn't care less. Enhanced senses or not, he wouldn't possibly be able to tell that you're rushing to the luggage to snatch the lingerie set you brought just by the shuffling alone.
Or can he?
You're fast to discard your evening outfit, slipping into the set. Glancing at yourself in the hotel mirror, a nearly evil smirk takes over your face imagining his reaction. Adjusting everything in place, you look at the bright red straps around your thighs, ever slightly too tight, just to make the flesh look plumper, ready to pop out of its confinement; you look at the thin panties, inviting and bold, leaving your ass bare for his hands to play with. And finally, the pièce de résistance, the bow tie holding your breasts together, the only thing covering them.
Fixing your hair and doing the final touches to the bed, turning the lights off and lighting a couple candles, you take your place on the soft mattress.
You feel your heart racing like it's your honeymoon night, your nervousness not aided by the sound of the water tap falling silent and of him stepping out of the shower.
It only takes him a few seconds to tie a towel around his hips and push the door wide open, the bright light creeping into the room through a barely-there cloud of condensation.
The moment he spots you, he stops dead in his tracks.
"Ay, mierda.." He mumbles, more to himself, his eyes scanning your body up and down, from head to toe and back.
"So beautiful," he concludes, tone heavy with need as he approaches you slowly, eyes still not meeting yours. "And all mine."
Getting up from your spot, you meet him halfway, kneeled on the edge of the bed. Your hands fly to his massive shoulders, moving up his neck to tangle in his damp hair. He grabs your waist, the heat of his palms on the bare skin of your middle sending shivers up your spine like it's your first time together.
Nearly getting lost in the sight of him, half naked with droplets of water running down his chest, you bite your lip, breathing quickened.
"What did I do to deserve this, hm?" He whispers, eyes half lidded and voice low and sleepy. "Eres demasiado buena para mí." (You're too good to me)
He leans closer, his hot breath fanning your face.
You find it hard to gather yourself and focus on what he's saying.
"You've been working so hard lately." your voice drips into an exaggerated praise which he drinks in with the most obvious interest. "Coming home late, barely getting any time to yourself."
He leans even closer, keen on listening to you.
"You hold it all together so well," you mirror his own past voiced complaints. "You deserve so much more than a vacation."
"¿Ah, sí? ¿Cómo qué?" (Oh, yeah? What do you mean?). He insists smugly, one inch away from tasting your lips.
He wants to hear you say it.
You take his hands from your waist and pull them to slide upwards; he doesn't waste a second before he places them on each side of your breasts, pushing them together softly.
"Anything I can give you." You speak quietly, toying with the superficial knot of his towel. He closes the gap between you, his lips moving against yours with unmatched passion and want, his breathing already hot and laboured. His bare chest rises and falls against yours as he finally pulls away only to get rid of the cloth around his waist, flashing you with the image of his hardening fat cock.
Towering over you, he slowly and carefully pushes you to lie back down on the bed, crawling on top of you.
His mouth latches on to your pulse point, kissing and nibbling the sensitive skin, while his warm hands travel up and down your body appreciatively.
Your eyes roll back at the feeling of his cursory palm caressing your thighs, the curve of your hips, up to the soft mound of your tit, all the while his lips remain on your neck.
"Miguel-!" You moan mindlessly, and his cock twitches on your thigh, hard and heavy.
Suddenly, his hands grip your waist firmly and he flips you over so that you're on top of him.
You brace yourself on your elbows on either side of his head, arching your back. He plants a wet kiss on the tops of your breasts, still concealed by the red bow, as one of his hands moves to deliver a slap to your ass.
The hot palm maps your body like a vice, you feel as if the skin will burn and sting once his touch departs from you. He shifts and presses his lips to yours, indulgent and tender. It’s different, not nearly as greedy as before, it’s more intimate, as if you’re trading parts of your souls to each other, never to return them nor want to do so. You arch against him, crushing your chest onto his.
The second you part from him with a gasp, blissed out with the taste of him still on your lips, you shiver at the sight of his half lidded eyes, dark cocoa alight with the crimson tide you know so well, full of need and desperation.
His hands come up to your front, pulling the tie loose with a dumbfounded, sleepy smirk.
Your breasts bounce free from the blood-red ribbon. His broad hands slide to your back, pulling you into him as he takes one tit in his mouth, sucking and kissing, groaning with every breath he stops to take. You feel each sound he lets out, vibrating deep in his chest.
Breathing shallow and quickened, you let your pelvis lower until the girth of his hard cock brushes against the silky fabric of your thong.
His hips buck into you reflexively, eliciting a soft whimper out of you.
Detaching from the tender flesh of your breasts, he pulls you down to taste your lips once more, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat with the way he swallows every whisper of his name that rivers into the kiss.
Unbeknownst to you, he hooks his fingers around the elastic straps around your ass and thighs, pulling on the strings only to release them, making them whip your skin with a loud smack.
You arch your back further into him, grinding into his erection in the process. He grunts abruptly, no longer able to hold back.
With expert ease, he drags at the straps holding your panties, ripping them at the joints. Before you can yelp and protest, he pushes the mushroom head of his already leaking cock into your folds.
You clench at the contact, anchoring your hands on his stout shoulders as you sink onto his dick. He watches your greedy cunt swallow him, inch by inch, until he bottoms out, his pubes brushing right against your clit.
You start rolling your hips, feeling his whole dick slip out half way only to push back in against your guts, grazing every mind-numbing nerve in its wake. You’re utterly delirious, and so is he.
His vision targets your breasts, softly swaying in his face with every mount of your body on his. He stills you momentarily, his massive arms sheathing you in a spine-tingling hold.
Muffled, pleased hums resonate in his chest, echoing against yours as he squeezes you into him, your tits pressed flush right above his collar. You let a moan crawl out of your throat as he plants rushed, desperate pecks on every spot he can lay his mouth on; your neck, your shoulders, the tops of your breasts.
The heat of his profound exhales washes over your skin, kindle to a fire. Heedlessly, you arch your back into his hold, pushing yourself into him, your body marinated into his arms the way he loves so much. He thinks he might come right then and there, no friction, no nothing. Just the feeling of you, soft and tender, mollifying further into his possessive touch with every kiss he places on you.
But soon the need for more friction gets the better of him as he starts thrusting into you from below.
You let yourself fall into his forceful arms as he drives his cock in and out of your weeping cunt, face contorting into pure pleasure, eyebrows furrowed and fucked-out eyes squinting.
The bed squeaks under his weight, the bedframe hitting the wall with ever violent push of his cock into you. You feel his abdomen flex against your stomach, his biceps pulling you impossibly close against his feverish skin.
Burying his head in the crook of your neck, his pants turn into moans as his thrusts lose rhythm and strength. It's the hottest thing that's ever reached your ears, and you moan in tandem with him as you reach your climax.
When he doesn't stop, your whole body starts burning, a blinding firework scattering on the sky.
Pushing hard into you, as deep as he can be, with a pained, breathless groan, he comes inside your still fluttering pussy. His cock pulsates into you, staining your insides white, the feeling of his warm seed short circuiting you in an aftershock.
Both of your heads nestled into each other, feverish bodies moulded together in a suffocating embrace, his lips start ghosting over your neck, a silent praise for taking him so good.
"You should wear this more often, mi vida." he breathes into your mouth.
"I would, if you hadn't ripped it." You tease back, evidently turned on by his antics.
"No te preocupes. (Don't worry.) I'll buy you more."
a/n: yes im obviously in love with the vacation with miguel trope, hope you like this<33 it turned out longer than expected
#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel ohara x reader#miguel o'hara smut#miguel ohara#miguel o'hara imagine#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara x reader one shot#atsv miguel#miguel o hara#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o’hara smut#miguel spiderverse#miguel spiderman#spider man: across the spider verse#spiderman 2099#spider man 2099#spiderman 2099 x reader#across the spiderverse
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A remedy for sleeplessness
Alright, buckle the fuck in.
18+, smut, Astarion x F!Reader, Astarion x Tav, explicit, masturbation, fingering, overstimulation, clitoral stimulation, porn no plot
1,300 words
You tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
Astarion had opened up to you by then, so sweet and vulnerable. About his past, everything that’s been forced onto him. About what it all meant. How he needed to learn his boundaries, figure out his real desires, learn what true intimacy was, learn who he was, outside of who he had been forced to be. You knew it wouldn’t be swift and simple, but you wanted to be there for him every step of the way.
You thought it would mean taking a step back from anything sexual entirely, and instead spending more time talking, simply being with each other, cuddling, kissing, and maybe slowly reintroducing other forms of touch over time.
Instead, in typical Astarion fashion, the man had simply embraced chaos.
His trial and error recovery was anything but linear: he could barely keep his hands off you one day, then he would do no more than give you light kisses and hold your hand for days after that. His actions usually leaned more towards the latter, but you simply never knew what kind of day you were going to have with him. You were constantly on a guiltily hopeful edge.
The simple truth was, you wanted him. You wanted him all the time. You wanted him to be happy, comfortable, secure, yes, and you were willing to wait as long as you had to, and take it as slow as he needed, letting him take the lead with as much or as little as he was comfortable with. But good gods, you craved his touch.
And so, after another day of uncertainty, you tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
You had thought that Astarion, who was lying next to you, had long since drifted off when you suddenly felt his arms wrap around you from behind, his body pressing against yours.
“My poor, restless dove. I have been neglecting you, haven’t I?"
“I just can’t sleep,” you murmured back, but frankly even just this sudden proximity made your breath catch for a moment.
“Too much on your mind, not enough in your body?” he teased. Was he trying to make you feel guilty..? No, that wasn’t like him, and his tone was too playful. Regardless, you couldn’t think of anything to retort with.
"I... just can’t sleep.”
“From pent up frustration?” he continued, nibbling on your earlobe. Did he just decide to torture you tonight?
“It will be from frustration if you don’t stop that!” you hissed back. In response, he released a low, throaty chuckle and slid his hands beneath your clothes, fingers lightly tracing along your skin, making you shiver.
“I’m willing to bet...” his voice grew dangerously low and husky. “That just from these thirty seconds of me touching you, you’re already sopping wet, darling. Hmm..?”
All you could do was let out an involuntary whimper as one of his hands slid between your legs. You immediately wantonly opened your thighs as he did that, without a second thought. “So eager...” He let out a quiet, self-satisfied laugh into your hair. He was, of course, right.
“Astarion...” you gasped, part from desire, part in concern.
“Let me take care of you tonight,” he purred in your ear, kissing your neck.
“You don’t have to...”
“I want to,” he whispered, slipping your undergarments off your body, until you were stark naked against his still clothed self, your back still against him as you laid on your side in his arms
His hand was still between your legs, lithe fingers caressing you and spreading your wetness. You felt him hard against your hip through his pants, and tried to reach back and touch him, but he wouldn’t allow you.
“Uh-uh, none of that or I’ll stop,” he teased. “Just let me do this for you. Lie back and relax...”
You were too desperately aroused to argue. You closed your eyes and leaned back against him, letting him do whatever he wanted to your body. His fingers had been running up and down your slit, occasionally dipping inside you, but now concentrated on your swollen clitoris, as he slowly drew circles around it with a finger covered in your juices. His other hand was repeating the same movement on the tip of one of your nipples, lightly pinching it from time to time.
You couldn’t help grinding your hips into his hardness, as you breathed harder, soft moans escaping you.
“That is my favourite sound in the world,” he whispered as he picked up pace and pressure slightly, making sure his finger stayed soaked.
It was such a simple, but exquisite and delicate movement – just one finger gliding over your bundle of nerves, just right, sending surges of pleasure all through your body. You were in bliss. And you were insatiable, wanting more and more.
Astarion gradually stroked you harder and faster, as you quivered. You bucked your hips involuntarily, spreading your legs wider, your moans mounting. His other arm was now holding you tightly against him, as if you might try to escape.
He was breathing hard too now, intoxicated with your pleasure. He kissed and licked a spot on your neck just below your ear, the spot he knew sent shivers down your spine every time, occasionally running his teeth along your neck.
“Astarion...” you moaned. “You can bite me, if you want.” You wanted to give him something, anything in return.
He hummed in acknowledgement but continued to only graze your neck with his fangs.
HIs finger continued to slide over your clit. It was agonisingly sweet and you felt like you were holding on for dear life, breathless, your muscles tense, but you didn’t want this to ever end.
As though reading your mind, he groaned in your ear:
“You can let go and cum, my minx” Gods you loved his voice. “I will give you plenty more of these.”
You finally allowed yourself to relax and be engulfed by the pleasure.
Your orgasm came on in sweet, rolling waves, growing in intensity until you arched your back against him, gasping for breath.
“That’s it...”
He continued to caress your clit in a steady rhythm. You could just bear it without clamping your legs shut. You could feel your walls clenching in pulses, as you embraced and rode the sensation, reaching back to rake your hand through his hair, and crying out, unable to keep your legs from shaking.
“Good girl...”
Your whole body shuddered and you grabbed his hand between your legs, finally incapable of taking it any longer. You twisted and kissed him, hungrily. He returned your kiss as he continued to slowly stroke the length of your slit, staying away from your most sensitive area now. He licked you from his fingers once the kiss was broken.
You sank and melted against his chest, regaining your breath, as you came down from that dizzying high. You idly wondered if anyone at camp had heard you, but were too spent to care.
Eventually you lifted your head and gave him another kiss, still tasting traces of yourself on his tongue.
“What about y-”
“Shh, love, just sleep.”
You burrowed into him, wrapping one of your legs around his, as he placed soft kisses on your head, running his fingers through your disheveled hair.
“I still feel selfish,” you protested. He lightly bit the tip of your ear before holding you tighter.
“Don’t. I loved every second of doing that to you... And the sound of those sweet moans will live in my mind forever.”
You were drifting off as you heard him murmur:
“And we have so many nights ahead of us...”
~~~~~
Hope you enjoyed, check out my other work
AO3
#astarion#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#astarion romance#astarion smut#bg3#baldur’s gate 3#bg3 fanfic#bg3 smut#let’s just assume he warmed his hands first#I need a fkn cigarette after posting that#I don’t even smoke
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Feyd Fantasy Series Recap
🔗 Full Feyd Fantasy Series Links Here
Part 7 Honor & Heir Finale This Weekend 🙏🏻
⬇️All Six Chapters Recapped Below⬇️
‼️Extreme Plot Spoilers Beware ‼️
🔗 Part 1 Pleasure& Pain
You are a young Bene Gessirit in training sent to marry Feyd Rautha and harvest his sperm to create a Kwisatz Haderach (super human with the ability to see through time) via your impregnation.
After a fellow Bene Gesserit defied the order and birthed a male instead of a female in the house of Atreides it leaves Feyd Rautha without the genetically comparable mate to create the Kwisatz Haderach. They will try again with the child you create with Feyd.
Feyd is unaware of the Bene Gesserit under plot. He is power hungry and obsessive only seeking to be Baron with a Baroness and an heir. When you are betrothed to him he has no interest until he sees how high born and beautiful you are in person.
The courtship was hastened due to his risk of death in his upcoming fight in the gladiatorial arena. If he were slain centuries of breeding to create him would be lost.
Meeting for the first time on your rushed wedding day Feyd plans to make you another subservient (but most beautiful) pet-pleasure slave that belongs to him.
Feyd Rautha though handsome and charismatic is sadistic and cruel. He tortures you mercilessly on your wedding night due to the lecherous upbringing of his uncle. He does as he has been ingrained to do from adolescence be a ruthless fighter and sexual deviant.
You however in the midst of his cruelty show kindness and affection as he tortures you softening his resolve. You offer yourself to him willingly and he impregnates you as gently as he knows how (brutally). You show him affection and kindness which he has never experienced from a female. That with your inherent sexual abilities make him become obsessed with you.
🔗 Part 2 Baroness & Breeder
Your affections and loving council change Feyd’s demeanor enraging his uncle who has raised him to be merciless and cruel from birth. His uncle separates you from him for weeks planning to breifly reunite you both at Feyd’s birthday celebration for appearances before getting rid of you entirely .
Feyd’s obsessive attachment to you makes him set forth plans to end his uncles life in order to be with you forever. You give Feyd what he needs the most good council and endless love. He craves your sexual intimacy even when you are sleeping and finds a way to pleasure you even when separated from physically being with you.
🔗 Part 3 Kill or Be Killed
Feyd fights in the gladiator arena and empresses the Emperor who deems him the worthy future Baron of Giedi Prime. At his birthday celebration Feyd lays eyes on you for the first time in weeks and realizes he must have you as his Baroness and murder his uncle who keeps you from him.
He discreetly poisons two of his uncles pleasure slaves with a slow acting transferable toxin and then celebrates his birthday with you in seclusion. First you playfully torture him in his bedchambers with sex then he whisks you to the pools of purity to claim you again. He realizes his connection is becoming more than physical. Your heart unsuspectingly opens and you begin falling in love with him. His uncle dies in the early hours of the morning due to the poison and all gather in the former leader Vladimir Harkonnens chambers to hail Feyd Rautha as the new Baron of Giedi Prime
🔗 Part 4 Madness & Mayhem
Feyd Rautha has deep rooted secrets about his family that he doesn’t want anyone to know, especially you. One of them being that his mother a Bene Gessirit, who emotionally neglected him from birth was killed by one of her own sons.
Feyd forms a strange attachment to your kindness and care mixing a taboo desire with the ways a female should care for her mate. He deeply requires the nurturing energy he was denied from birth to heal his maternal wounds.
When he finds out you only want one child with him it brings out the barbarian in his blood. He plans to pin you down and impregnate you several times by force to gain the family he desires.
🔗 Part 5 Endless Empire
Feyd’s uncle from beyond the grave tries to separate you two , sending a predated message to Emperor Shaddam that Feyd would like to marry his daughter Princess Irulan and rule the empire with her instead. Feyd however convinces the council to favor you as his chosen Baroness. He realizes you are the first person he has ever loved and the first person who has shown him love in return. He pleases you gently instead of the brutal ways that he likes and sexually submits to you. It changes him to be both gentle and hard. Finally understanding what love is he will sacrifice everything to be with you.
🔗 Part 6 Brazen Baron
Feyd Rautha celebrates his coronation infront of the populous of Geidi prime in the fortress courtyard. Millions flood the capital to see him officiated as their new Baron. Feyd has a deep rooted fixation with desecrating his Harkonnen heritage due to childhood trauma. His brother Rabban killed their biological father for betraying the Baron (his uncle). Feyd never got over it and defiles holy places of the Harkonnens in spite. He has sex with you in the Holy Shrine room before his coronation committing sacrilege.
On the same night of his coronation you reveal to Feyd you are Bene Gesserit. You use your powers to inflict him with what he craves the most: pain. You make him cum transferring the energy of physical agony during sex with your finger tips pressed to his temple. It enters his mind so powerfully he felt as though he would die. He immediately loses his need for kink and is desperate to keep you as his forever.
Part 7 Honor & Heir
Series Finale 🙏🏻 Scheduled This weekend
Summary
Feyd starts a war on Arrakis to gain final control over the Spice fields. He wants to finally free its massive profits to House Harkonnen and become the wealthiest family in the galaxy for you and his heir.
During your final month of pregnancy you and Feyd are summoned to the Emperors palace on the planet Kaitain by decree. Feyd is upset at any inconveniences to you with his unborn during this fragile time.
You reunite with your Reverend mother in the palatial gardens and a fated decision must be made. The stress of the decision is so great you go into labor. For Feyd his world stops. He drops all of his responsibilities with the Emperor to be by your side.
Special thanks for enjoying the series!I wrote this specifically to entertain you & feed the Feyd Rautha lust ⚔️.
📖 Writer @austinbutlerslovers (Andrea💕) ✍🏼 Proof Reader/ Editor @faegoddessog 🫦Smut Consultant @burnthheparaphilia. 💗Affection Consultant @magicovento
⚔️ Feyd Fantasy Tag list ⚔️ FULL 🙏🏻
@faegoddessog @burnthheparaphilia @elvismylove04 @lindszeppelin @obsessedvibee @abswifey @jessica987 @austiebuttbutt @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @purejasmine @i5uckersblog @phil2135561 @lovereadingfanfic @steph-speaks @rougegenshin @maloribarnes1999 @meetmeatyourworst @moony-artemis @xxxstormyninixxx @prettypinkblogger @thegabbyh @magicovento @aoi-targaryen @austinswhitewolf @mimsie95 @the-wanderer-2022 @jakesullyissopookie @francis-writes @shiranai-atsune @berlinalv @everyonelovesavalet @dacreshoney @caroline334 @szapizzapanda @landlockedmermaid77 @moonsoulk @feralforfeydrautha @sophroniaclark @emeraldsgirl @cooliosthings @zzz000eee @or-was-it-just-a-dream @mamawiggers1980 @neverswimalone @alexa4040 @joyfulpersonbeliever @zero-the-hero1 @skinny-baby-eva @mcmisbehaving @feydsociety @superflashvengers
#Feyd Rautha#feyd rautha x#feyd rautha x you#feyd rautha x reader#feyd x you#feyd x reader#feyd rautha harkonnen#feyd rautha smut#austin butler#austin butler fanfiction#austin butler smut#austinbutler#austin butler x reader#smut#fanfic#dune part two
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texas sun - joel miller x f!reader - vol. iii
series masterlist | series playlist | writing masterlist | previous chapter | gif credit
chapter summary: Somehow, you realize you've accidentally ended up spending almost every weekend for the last month and a half with either one, or all of the Millers.
pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader
words: 8.7k
chapter warnings: some angst, alcohol consumption, marijuana use, suggestive thoughts (but no smut), referenced parental neglect, implied age gap. reader has daddy issues (shocker!) & a fear of intimacy.
a/n: this chapter is so disgustingly sweet it might give you a cavity. truly. but its also a little self-indulgent because joel is in my dream blunt rotation :/ please be patient with updates because i have a career/social life/apartment, and am a perfectionist! i promise i will always (try) to make the wait worth your while. Also, here's a link to the song Joel plays on guitar, since it's not on Spotify so I couldn't add it to the playlist.
-April 19, 2003-
“Well, that was awkward.”
Obviously, Joel thinks to himself as Sarah turns to watch the retreating form of her teacher, while Joel stares straight ahead at the crowd in front of him. At first, he had thought she was just being polite. It was the right thing to do, to say hello to a parent and a student if you see them outside of class. But…they were seeing each other at a bar. And she’d asked him to dance.
We just got here, maybe later? Joel can’t even remember what he had said, something along those lines. It wasn’t a flat-out refusal, but he had been acutely aware of Sarah’s eyes boring into the back of his head from where she sat beside him, and he sort of blacked out, couldn’t recall what had caused her to get the hint, to walk away.
Joel grunts an affirmation to Sarah, and drums his fingers against the tabletop. There’s a dance floor full of people in front of him, all under various levels of intoxication, all of them dancing.
“Do you believe me now?” Sarah asks.
“I never said I didn’t believe you.”
How he had allowed Tommy and Sarah to talk him into coming here tonight, he’s not sure. Probably, it had something to do with how much he loved them both. How he would, ultimately, do whatever they asked if he knew it’d make that happy. But still, honky-tonking is the last thing he wants to be doing at the end of a long week.
There was pretty much only one decent bar in town, so he wasn’t exactly shocked he had run into someone he knew. Everyone came here – to dance, to drink, to eat, or to drown their sorrows. To see their friends, or even to find someone to take home for the night. And over the years, as a frequent customer, Joel had used this place to do all those things.
Tonight was special though, a little more family friendly. It was swing night. It happened once a month, and Joel had always made a point to take Sarah a couple times a year. When he was young, his mother had taught him and Tommy to dance, and he felt it was only appropriate to pass the skill along, even if it was almost obsolete. He hoped Sarah would be able to do the same someday, if she ever had children of her own.
“Will you dance with me, at least?” Sarah asks.
“Of course I will,” Joel answers.. “But let’s wait for Tommy, he’s ordering our drinks.”
“You mean your drinks.”
“No, you got a Shirley Temple.”
Sarah narrows her eyes. It’s the same expression that Joel has only seen her use recently, and he actually prefers it less to the eye roll. This time, he’s glad it hasn’t come with a question from her, because when it does, it’s always a little more frightening. “Come on, you know that’s not the same.”
Before Joel can respond, he’s cut off by Tommy’s voice.
“Look who I found.”
This is what he and Sarah have been waiting on, and Joel turns to sees Tommy with all three of their drinks in hand. Over his shoulder, there’s a woman who looks vaguely familiar, wearing daisy dukes and a plaid shirt. After a second, he realizes it’s you.
Most of the time when Joel sees you – from across the street, of course – you’re in a power suit, a pencil skirt. Sometimes, it’s more casual – athletic clothes. There was also that black silk robe he can’t seem to shake from his memory. But this is so…different. It’s clear you’re trying to blend in with the crowd, but you don’t. Not because you’re not pulling it off – you definitely are, effortlessly – he’s just pretty sure if he walks into any room you’re in, his eyes will always be drawn in your direction.
Joel doesn’t see, but rather feels – Sarah recognize that you’re in front of her, because when she does, she’s tapping him on the arm before he can utter a greeting. “Dad, can I get out and say hi?”
He’s standing to let her out just as you step closer to the table, and you come chest to chest. “Hey,” he says.
“Hi, Joel,” you say, a soft smile on your face. Your eyes remain locked on his just a moment too long, before Sarah is wrapping you up in a hug, and you’re focused on her when she draws back. “How are you?” you ask.
Joel doesn’t hear Sarah’s response, because his brother is pressing a drink into his hand - a Jack and Coke, same as what you and Tommy are drinking.
“Sit down, please!” Tommy encourages.
“Are you sure?” you ask. “This looks like a family thing, I don’t want to-”
“Please!” Sarah exclaims.
“What she said,” Tommy seconds Sarah’s sentiments.
For a second, you seem to contemplate the offer, and then you accept the invitation, sliding into the booth across from where Sarah has settled back next to her father. Joel makes eye contact with his brother, sitting next to you. Tommy’s eyebrows are raised suggestively, and there’s a playful smirk on his face when he tilts his head in your direction. Joel gives him nothing, already irritated by his brother’s goading.
“Is that a Shirley Temple?” you point to Sarah’s drink. When she nods, you continue. “I haven’t had one of those in forever,” you say.
“Want a sip?”
“Sure,” Sarah slides the glass across to you, and you sip from the straw, pondering. “I should’ve gotten one of those instead. They were my favorite growing up.”
“Can I have a sip of yours?”
“No,” you and Joel say at the same time.
“You’re not gonna like it,” he adds.
“You always say that, but how can you know?”
Joel sighs. “Okay, fine. Try mine.”
Sarah seems pleased to get what she wants. When the bitterness of the whiskey registers, the triumphant expression leaves her face completely.
“Told you,” he says. Sarah grimaces, accepting defeat, and returns to her beverage.
Tommy leans forward, urging Joel to start making conversation as if this is a date and it’s his responsibility. But before he can think of anything, Sarah pipes up.
“Guess what?” she asks you.
“What?”
“My teacher’s here.”
“Yeah?” you ask. Joel takes a long pull off his drink, hoping it’ll loosen him up a little.
“Yeah, she tried to hit on my dad.”
Joel feels the cocktail of whiskey and soda get caught in his throat.
“Oh….” you sound intrigued, and you lean forward. He wonders if this is the dynamic between you and Sarah when he’s not around. Like you’re two friends, engaging in some harmless gossip. “Really?” Your gaze flickers between him and Sarah.
Sarah bobs her head once. “She has a thing for him. I can tell.”
“What makes you think that?” his brother joins in, moving closer to Sarah, crowding you between himself and the wall and putting his elbows on the table. Joel feels a flash of envy when you shift your attention towards Tommy.
“She just asked him to dance.” Sarah looks over her shoulder, nods her head towards the woman in the corner of the bar who’s probably already focused on his table anyways. Joel already knows what you’re seeing. Miss Davis is pretty, bubbly, outgoing. Probably about your age, if he had to guess, though it’s hard to say how old you are. He imagines he has ten years on you, give or take a few. And for all intents and purposes, Sarah’s teacher is the type of woman he should be interested in.
“She’s pretty,” you say it like you’re appeasing Sarah, but you’re looking directly at Joel. He’s not sure why you kind of frighten him a little. You’re sweet, he knows, even if you’ve tried to tell him otherwise. But there’s something else there, enigmatic and alluring, that continues to draw him in.
Tommy chimes in. “So are you gonna dance with her, Joel?”
“Uncle Tommy,” Sarah says dramatically. Her face drops for a second, though, her shoulders slumping as she angles herself towards him, lowers her voice. “I mean, if you want to, that’s fine, I guess. But I….I don’t know.”
Joel is taken aback by how long this conversation has gone on with absolutely no input from himself. Not to mention how honest Sarah is being. She doesn’t usually have much to say about his choice in women – he can usually just tell what she thinks. For her to express something so directly makes him realize how serious she is. But at the moment, he can’t find words to assure her everything will be fine.
It must be his lack of response that causes you to lean across the table and speak to Sarah. “You know, that’s valid,” there’s a tenderness to your tone. It dawns on him that you’re trying to comfort her. “It is kind of a conflict of interest.”
“Right?” Sarah perks up, just slightly, you’ve given her some support. “It’s one of those things you said you had going on at work the other day an….an ethical…”
“An ethical dilemma?” you finish her thought.
“Ethical dilemma! That’s it.” Sarah turns back towards Joel. “I think it's an ethical dilemma.”
For just a split second, he wonders why he’s been letting his already-precocious child hang out regularly with a lawyer. He’s accidentally creating a monster. But thankfully, Joel is finally able to find his voice. “There is no ethical dilemma, because I wouldn’t ever consider it.”
That seems to placate Sarah, and hopefully everyone will decide to drop it. Joel catches your eyes, and there’s something akin to wistfulness there, chin propped on your hand, before you blink once and focus back on Tommy, who's asking you a question. “So, are you here alone?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Not at all,” Tommy smirks, not dropping his eye contact with you. “...It’s just surprising, is all.”
Joel stiffens.
“Oh, well…” you smile a little. “I’m just trying to get to know the town a little better. Trying to engage in the community, I guess. But…I’m not sure if I am doing that great of a job fitting in.”
“You are,” Joel interjects, and maybe it’s a little forward, but he’d rather say it before Tommy does. “That’s a nice flannel.”
“Thanks,” You look down at your oversized plaid shirt – the sleeves rolled up to the elbows – that hangs open over a tight white tank top. Joel can see a sliver of the black lace bra you’re wearing that pokes out above the low neckline. He wonders what it might feel like to press his face there, to feel your fingers carding through his hair, but does not allow himself to entertain the idea for very long. Not the time. “I actually had to go and buy it because I didn’t own any plaid. And by the looks of it,” You gesture towards the dance floor. “I need to invest in some cowboy boots, too.”
“One thing at a time, right?” he asks, and you agree.
“So what are you all doing here? Family outing?”
“We actually had to drag this one kicking and screaming out the door,” Tommy points to Joel.
“You did not,” Joel defends himself.
‘We kinda did,” Sarah says. “Do you know how to dance?”
You shake your head no, look at the people twirling and dipping and dancing in pairs. “Not like that.”
“It’s really easy! I can teach you. My dad taught me.”
“Cute.” Joel looks towards Sarah, and catches you staring instead. Your eyes flit back immediately to his daughters. “But I’m not sure I’ll be any good.”
“You’ll be fine,” Sarah says like it’s already settled. Joel knows he’s spoiled her, that she ultimately gets what she wants. He worries sometimes that others won’t find her quite as endearing.
“Sarah,” he warns. “You’re making it sound like she doesn’t have a choice.”
You hide a smile behind the rim of your glass. “It’s okay. You can teach me. Might as well learn, if I’m trying to fit in.”
Sarah seems satisfied.
“Joel tells me you grew up in New York City.” Tommy says it, and Joel notices you raise your eyebrows at the implication. He’s talked to Tommy about you. And now you know. He’s pissed at himself for doing it, but at the time he’d been drunk, a little more chatty and vulnerable than usual, and had mentioned you more than once. Too much to be a coincidence. The issue was, Joel had never expected you would talk to Tommy again. If he’d known you would, he wouldn’t have said anything. He doesn’t want to imagine the damage he had done when it was just the two of you, alone at the bar. But even now, he’s completely at his brother’s mercy.
“Yep,” you nod.
“You don’t have much of an accent,” Tommy remarks.
“Not everyone has them.”
“That’s fair.”
“I did, uh, go to a boarding school in a different state, though, so I wasn’t around it too much.”
“Boarding school?” Sarah turns to Joel.
“Basically you live at school,” you answer her question. ”Kind of like college, but earlier. I started going when I was nine.”
Sarah frowns. “Wouldn’t you miss your family?”
“Yes, and I did.”
“So why would you go?”
“Well…” you trail off, shift your weight. “It wasn’t up to me. My dad worked a lot, so it made sense.”
“What’d he do for a living?” Asks Tommy.
“He’s a criminal defense attorney....owns his own firm and it does pretty well, so…” you shrug. “He was very busy.”
“And that’s why you’re a lawyer? To work for your dad?”
“At one point, that was the plan, yes."
“What happened?”
The question appears to make you uncomfortable, you cross your legs and glance down at the table. “Uhm….pass.” Joel sees your face go blank for a split second before you look up with an easy smile. It’s like the desolate look you’d been wearing was never there, and you point to your drink. “I’ll need a few more of these if you want that story.”
“Might as well order another round,” Tommy flags down a waitress.
You have one more drink, but you don’t really touch it as the four of you continue to talk. Joel has two more, and Tommy has three, because he’s Tommy, and also not driving. Both you and Joel also have to vehemently refuse his request to do a round of tequila shots.
After a while, Sarah gets bored, then insists on teaching you to dance. You agree, but seem awfully reluctant. Joel wants to pull you aside and let you know that you don’t have to entertain everything Sarah offers, but once you’ve stood up, and he watches her arm link through yours as you both walk to the dance floor, he can’t bring himself to intervene.
He’s never seen Sarah be so taken with someone before, and he’s filled with a vague sense of regret. He always thought that she was content with just him and Tommy. Maybe she has always needed more. It’s partially his responsibility, Joel thinks – what could he have done to stop her mother from leaving? Even if he could’ve stopped it, they would’ve been a miserable couple…which might have been more damaging to Sarah than her mother not being around at all.
Once you’re long gone, Joel can sense what Tommy is thinking before he even opens his mouth.
“Shut it,” Joel says before he can even hear his brother's ribbing.
“I wasn’t even gonna say anything about that!” Tommy raises his hands, but Joel knows he’s lying.
“We should go over there,” Joel says. He trusts you, but in a bar full of drunk people isn’t interested in being far away from Sarah for too long. Both he and Tommy abandon their booth to mosey their way towards the dance floor.
Sarah has taken you into a back corner, far away from the band playing, where the crowd has thinned a little. There’s room for him and Tommy to lean up against the wall and watch you both.
Both your hands are clasped with Sarah’s, and she’s teaching you the counts, the steps, while you study the way that your feet move.
Joel has a feeling that if it weren’t for his daughter, you wouldn’t have hung out with his family for so long. It’s just like the hike, and as usual, he feels more like a third wheel than anything else. You’re right that you do look a little out of place here. Maybe you don’t belong, but he likes it. You’re wearing a pair of beat up hi-tops, which are a sharp contrast to Sarah’s baby blue cowboy boots that are covered in rhinestone butterflies. He’d gotten them for her for Christmas that past year, and she only wore them during special occasions like this.
Joel is doing the best he can not to think about the way your legs look in those fucking daisy dukes. All on display, and he wonders what it might feel like to drag his tongue up the soft skin of your inner thigh, feel you quiver and whimper as he works his mouth closer to– Enough. He’s disgusted with himself for thinking about you like that right now.
“Dad, look!” Sarah says, and it seems you’re catching on all right, but none of it looks graceful. Sarah’s trying to lead – which she has never done – so she falters often, and also can’t quite reach all the way above your head when she tries to spin you around. “Oh no, look at his face!” Sarah points. You turn his direction, and Joel realizes he has to neutralize the grimace that has crept onto his visage. “We definitely aren’t doing good.”
“I’ll get the hang of it,” you turn back to Sarah, assure her. “You’re a good teacher.” You’re being nice. Too nice, humoring her and laughing it off, even if she’s making a fool of you both. But you don’t seem to mind, because it’s making her happy.
All of the sudden, the toe of Sarah’s boot catches on the scuffed wood floor and she lurches forward. Joel immediately pushes himself off the wall as though he could close the space and catch her before she faceplants, but he can’t, and he can already see a vision of himself sitting in the emergency room at 2 a.m waiting, while Sarah holds an ice pack on her nose. But you reach out before the image is fully realized, arms wrapping around her shoulders. “Careful!” You warn. And even though you shuffle forward with the weight of her, you keep her from falling. Once she realizes she’s safe, Sarah giggles and throws her head back, her eyes catching your own.
He’s not sure what makes him do it. It could be the liquor, the way you look, the unspoken pressure from Tommy. Or maybe he’s just been wanting an excuse to be closer to you. Most importantly, at this rate, he feels like Sarah is going to hurt herself and also you in the process. Regardless of what the reason is, Joel decides to step in. He walks onto the dance floor.
“Alright,” Joel says once he’s gotten closer, looking at Sarah. “I can’t watch this anymore.”
“What?”
He halts in front of his daughter, jerks his hand. “Move. I’m takin’ over.”
Sarah rolls her eyes, but smiles a little, and drops her hands from your shoulders. Joel offers you his hand. “You mind?”
You look between Joel and Sarah, and she gives you an encouraging nod. “He taught me, he does know what he’s doing.”
“Well okay,” you take Joel’s hand. “You better not embarrass me,” and then you actually fucking wink at him. Already overwhelmed by the delicate weight of your hand in his palm, it almost sends him over the edge. He’s lucky he’s in public, with his family, because he doesn’t think he’d behave himself otherwise.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Joel answers. “Besides, I don’t think anything could be worse than what I was just watching.”
You giggle, and step forward when he tugs you just closer to dance, taking you fully in his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sarah dragging Tommy onto the dance floor. Everyone is taken care of.
You’re smart. And because of it, you’re a fast learner. Even people who can’t really dance can usually figure this out, himself included. But in Joel’s opinion, it’s always been less about getting the steps right, and more about who’s keeping him company.
And you’re great company.
Eager, willing, gentle…soft. He’s embarrassed at how long it’s been since he’s been this close to an adult woman, and normally he might be a little nervous, but instead, he just feels…comfortable.
But Joel is a selfish man. He always wants more. Wants the band to play a slower song, so then he’d have an excuse to pull you closer. Wind an arm around your waist, whisper things in your ear that no one else could hear, and feel your breath hitch when they register. But this isn’t really the dance for that, and the rest of his family is just steps away. He’ll have to compromise – which he doesn’t like.
“I’m going to dip you,” Joel says, matter-of-factly.
“No you’re not.”
“I am,” he insists. “It’s essential.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“Look,” he tilts his head to Tommy and Sarah, and the latter is laughing as she pitches all her weight backwards into his arms. He nearly drops to one knee to catch her, she’s still so petit, but their form is actually pretty good. And they aren’t the only people in the room doing it.
“Okay,” you say, and give him a warm smile for a split second before becoming stone-faced. “But if you drop me-”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Joel drawls.
He puts his arms around your waist, one of them catching the middle of your back, the other on a patch of exposed skin on your hip – your tank top has ridden up slightly with all the movement. You dig your fingers into his biceps, cling to him like he had hoped you would.
And even when he draws you back up, eyes locked with your own, your grip remains the same. You stay close.
“My turn,” Tommy interjects, and Joel can’t help the dirty look he gives him over your shoulder. He’s playing the annoying little brother, doing everything he can to piss him off. His brother wants to see Joel break, but he’s not going to give him the satisfaction.
Plus, Joel is happy to dance with Sarah, which is the whole reason they came here in the first place. She’s so excited to be there, and he wonders if there will ever be a time when she’s too grown up for things like this. He hopes not.
He ignores the sound of Tommy’s laugh mingled with your own. You were not laughing that much with him, and that causes a pang of jealousy. Joel doesn’t like acknowledging it, but he’s always resented Tommy for his ability to be the charismatic one, the charming one, the happy-go-lucky one. Even when they were kids. That’s what it’s like to be the oldest sibling. Never as fun, always more practical, more serious, the voice of reason. Always in service to their siblings, all in the name of love.
Eventually, you and Sarah are back dancing together, and since you’ve had some practice separately, it’s not as sloppy as before. It allows Joel and Tommy to return to their post against the wall, just out of earshot.
Joel feels his brother’s eyes on him as he watches you and Sarah. “Dude,” he finally gives in, looks over at Tommy. “Just ask her out already.”
Joel rolls his eyes. “Tommy-”
“You’re into her.”
“Maybe,” Joel says, because he knows it’s pointless to lie. “But she’s got a boyfriend.”
Tommy elbows him. “So what?”
“I know you’re alright bein’ a homewrecker but I-”
“It makes sense Joel. She’s fuckin’ smart, and funny, and pretty. And Sarah fucking loves her-”
In any other situation, he would’ve acted weeks ago. But he’s starting to understand why he’s dragging his feet. Tommy’s right. Sarah adores you. Joel will fuck something up, it’s inevitable. And when you decide you never want to speak to him again, Sarah will lose you too. He’s already let her down enough.
“I should’ve never fuckin’ told you–”
“Take her to drinks, to the movies, dinner, show up at her house with a bottle of wine, hell, something. If you don’t ask her out already, then I will.”
Joel punches his brother on the shoulder. It’s not enough to incite an actual fight, but it’s definitely not playful. “Ow!” Tommy grips at his arm. “What?” When Joel doesn’t answer right away, he rolls his eyes.
“Speaking from experience, I’m surprised you haven’t already,” he raises an eyebrow.
“Once, Joel. That was one time. Will I never hear the end of it?”
“No,” Joel says. “And I see what you were doing tonight, too. Don’t think you’re slick.” he hopes to change the subject, and it seems to be working.
Tommy sets them back on track. “Well, I was just trying to get you to wake the fuck up and see what’s in front of you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What happens when Sarah grows up? Goes to school, leaves the house? Then, what are you gonna do? You’re just gonna be alone?”
“You are treadin’ on some mighty thin ice, Tommy,'' Joel hisses. ““You barely know this woman-”
“I’d like a family, too, Joel. When that happens I won’t be able to keep you company anymore. You might want someone else. And maybe it’s not her, fine. But there should be someone.”
For as much as he hates to admit it, Joel knows Tommy is right.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
-April 25, 2003-
It’s six at night. and you’re already in your pajamas.
A couple years ago, you would’ve thought that was pretty sad. These days, it’s only a little sad. You prefer things this way. That’s the perk of being an adult living alone. If you want to put on pajamas before the sun sets on a Friday night, you can. If you want to get stoned on the back porch of the house you bought yourself, you can. If you want all those things to happen while you watch the sunset and listen to yacht rock, you can. And you’re going to.
You’re toying with the new digital camera your brother bought for you. Vincent likes to argue with you, but he always feels guilty after a conversation gone wrong. Rather than use his words, however, he just buys you gifts. You had apologized over the phone a few days ago…this was his way of doing the same. The shutter clicks as you snap a photo of your backyard, and you look at it in the viewfinder before discarding the camera on your coffee table.
Martini is on the porch with you, doing that thing where he stands just out of reach but chirps at you until you pet him. When you reach out, he moves away. He’s not great at accepting what he wants. Maybe it’s why he’s sort of the perfect cat for you – you’re the same.
You light your bowl, and you’re mid-inhale when you hear someone call your name.
“Hey!”
At this point, you’d recognize Joel Miller’s voice anywhere. You don’t want to admit it’s because you’ve tried to commit it to memory, daydreamed about how it might sound for his smooth lilt to read you a book until you fall asleep, or listen to him take a phone call in the other room.
Realizing it’s him, you inhale sharply, forgetting what you’re in the middle of and taking a much bigger hit than you had intended. You begin choking violently on the smoke while simultaneously scrambling to hide your piece and the related paraphernalia sitting out, and manage to do so just in time for him to round the corner.
You scramble to hide your bowl under the pillow of the outdoor couch you sit on, just in time for Joel to appear at the screen door.
“Hey,” you say, covering your mouth. Your throat burns, and you cough again. Stay cool, stay calm. Everything is good. “What are you doing here?”
“Sorry, I tried your front door and you weren’t answering, so I thought I’d see if you were back here.” It’s hard to see him from here, through the door, and he’s backlit by the sun that’s shimmering behind his dark hair, catching it in a golden halo.
You rise to open the door, and when you do, he continues. “I’m here to pick up Sarah’s soccer jersey.”
Right. Of course he was. She had left it a few days before, and you had assumed she’d come get it before her game on Saturday but it didn’t dawn on you until now that she ever had.
“I would’ve sent her, but she’s at a sleepover tonight.”
“Oh yeah,” you nod, standing in place. You’re trying so desperately to act normal, words evade you.
Joel squints at you, a slight smirk on his face. “I didn’t catch you off guard or anything, did I?’
“No, no, not at all,” you lie. “Come on in.”
Joel steps over the tiny dish of cat food you’ve left on your back step for the stray you feed, and into the screened-in porch. Now that he’s under the dim light, you get a better look at him. A loose-fitting flannel hangs open over a worn green t-shirt that barely meets the top of his jeans. His hair is damp, like he’s just showered, and he smells clean. In any other situation, you’d want to climb him like a tree, and he’s not even trying. But right now, you’re just doing your best impression of a sober human that is definitely not doing anything illegal. The truth is, you should’ve made him wait outside.
“This is nice,” Joel says, looking around. And you really wish he wasn’t because you notice that you left the clear plastic baggie containing your weed out on the couch. It sort of blends in with the green floral pattern, so you hope for the best, because there’s no way for you to sneakily grab it without drawing his attention. “I didn't know this was back here.”
“The last owners added it on,” you say, because that was the type of thing the realtor had said to you about the features of this house. And you supposed a carpenter or contractor would probably be interested in it. It was a good distraction.
“I can tell. Looks new,” he looks up towards the wooden beams that span the ceiling. The top of the porch is still covered, so during the few times it’s rained, you always sit outside to listen.
“I’ve got her jersey in the kitchen,” you tell him. “Wait here.”
It doesn’t take long for you to pick out the bright blue athletic gear from your pile of dry cleaning. It stands out against all your neutral-colored pantsuits. Joel has his back to you when you return, one of his hands clenched into a fist.
“Here,” you say, and he turns.
“You had it dry cleaned? You didn’t have to do that.”
“I kind of wasn’t sure if it was safe to run through the machine,” you explain. “But now that I’m thinking about it….it wouldn’t make sense to give a bunch of 11-year-olds dry clean only jerseys.”
“It wouldn’t. But it’s probably more convenient than scrubbing the grass stains out yourself.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Unfortunately. But again…thank you.”
“Of course.”
This is where Joel should leave, walk across the street, and go home. And he does, well, at least, he starts to. He steps away, reaches for the handle to your back door, and then pauses. “You know,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “The Watsons were tellin’ me the other day you’ve been complaining about a family of skunks living under your house?”
You freeze, recalling the lie you’d come up with on a whim when your sixty-year-old neighbors had started asking too many questions.
“Well, it does smell a little over here.”
“Uh-huh,” you give him nothing.
“Something like that….you should really call animal control. Get rid of the problem,” Joel’s facing you now, eyebrow raised.
“If I call animal control…they’ll just kill them,” you answer. “And I don’t want that. So…I think I’ll just have to live with it.”
“That’s fair,” Joel says. “But you know, Sarah’s over here all the time, and I’ve never heard her mention it.”
At this point you know he’s just fucking with you. But years of remaining stone-faced through business negotiations and family dinners has prepared you for this, so even if you’re a little stoned, you’re not going to let him win.
“Yeah, it sounds like a coincidence. But they’re never around when she’s here,” you say, in your own defense. “Ever,” you add for emphasis.
“I guess that’s good.”
You both stare at each other for a second, and your blood buzzes slightly because even though this is just a playful standoff, you’ve never made such intense eye contact with him. It feels electric. After what feels like an eternity, Joel lifts his hand from his hip, and you see what he’d been holding in his fist, now pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He raises an eyebrow.
When you see the plastic baggie dangling in front of your face, you purse your lips. “Alright, you got me,” you lift up your hands, but snatch the bag from him.
“And here I thought you were such a good girl.”
You don’t even want to acknowledge the full body chill that runs down your spine at the sound of those two words, coming from him. Snatching the bag back from him, he gives you a cheeky smile. “If you give me a hit, I won’t tell anyone.”
Your jaw drops, and you look up at him. “Oh, you’re trouble.”
“I’m not the one lyin’ to my neighbors.”
“And I’m not the one snooping through my neighbors' things.”
“It was right out in the open.”
Joel doesn’t seem bothered at all. But it’s Texas, so you can never be sure. “Okay, fine,” you say. “If you want….I could roll us a joint. Unless you have other plans.”
“The alternative is a house to myself for the evening and some chores, so…yeah. Whatever you’d like.”
“Great.”
Joel follows you to sit on the couch. As you settle on opposite ends, he speaks up. “So you think you could explain to me why my daughter keeps tellin’ me she wants to be a lawyer?”
You snicker. “Believe me, Joel. I’ve tried to talk her out of it already.”
He chuckles. “It’s okay. Probably a more lucrative career than what I’m doing. She’s really taken a liking to you, you know that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her warm up to anyone so quick.”
“Well, I’m the first adult she knows that’s not an authority figure.”
“I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”
“I remember being that age,” you look down at your work. “It’s nice to have someone older to relate to, who you can talk to without being afraid of getting a lecture.”
“She probably needs it,” Joel says. “She told me you talk about girl stuff. I’m not so great at that.”
“I don’t know,” Your tongue darts out to wet the edge of the paper and finish rolling the joint. You put it between your lips, and rummage through the drawer of the coffee table to find your lighter, gesture between the both of you. “This is about ninety percent of how I spent my time with my friends at her age…and so far you’re doing alright.”
“Now you’ve got me worried about what’s going on at that sleepover.”
“Okay, well, I was maybe a little older. And with her? You’ve got nothing to worry about,” you shake your head.
He rubs the back of his neck, and his eyes glow with the reflection of your lighter as it’s flicked on. “I don’t know.”
“She’s fine, Joel,” you say, bringing the lighter closer and shielding the flame from the calm breeze of the evening. “She’s great. Really.”
“She is,” he agrees. You inhale, let the smoke settle in your lungs for a moment, before exhaling. You take your time, feeling warm from the weed and the feeling of Joel’s eyes on you, and he accepts the joint when you pass it over.
“I really didn’t really expect this from you,” he exhales, studying your handiwork before taking another puff. “You’re pretty buttoned up.”
“This is hardly rebellious.” Instinctually, you like the idea that he thinks you’re buttoned up. Deep down, however, you don’t actually want him to.
He looks so dreamy, the smoke curling though his eyelashes, tracing along his defined jaw, and then up, up, where it settles and shifts under the porch light, before disappearing completely.
Martini, who has been in hiding, hops up on the couch, and Joel reaches out, your cat nuzzling its face into his palm. “Didn’t know you had a cat,” he mumbles. And then, like some sort of magic, the cat plops down on Joel’s lap.
“I do…but…” you say out loud, then trail off because you’re in such shock. You glance up at Joel, who looks confused. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen him do this.”
He passes the joint back to you. “Do what?”
You take a final puff, and then put it out in an ashtray. It’s only about half smoked, but you can get into it later if either of you wants to. Plus, you’re more interested in what’s unfolding in front of you. “I kinda want a picture of this.”
“What?”
“I’ve had him for five years and he’s never sat on my lap like that,” you say, and you can’t keep the resentment from dripping into your tone. “What makes you so special? I’m a little jealous.”
“Of me? Or the cat?”
Something honey-thick drips down your spine at his words. You can’t conjure a witty response, opting instead for: “Shut up.”
You snap a couple photos while Joel’s still laughing, one hand on his chest, the other on Martini’s back, and then put the camera down, and lean against the back of the couch, curling your feet underneath you.
“You’ve got a nice view of the sunset,” Joel says softly.
There’s a distant fear you might never get to see him like this again, and you want to take him in fully before you drag your eyes to see what he’s looking at. Your backyard slopes down into a small patch of woods, the sky opening even wider to let in the aureate light.
“I know,” you agree. “It’s why I spend so much time back here.” The high continues to settle over you, strokes your shoulders, tugs at the corners of your lips.
“Surprised you like things that are so peaceful…being from the city and all…”
“The city is peaceful,” you say, thinking of the leaves swirling from the trees in the fall, and the snowflakes falling onto your family's porch in the winter, melting on the tip of your nose as you lean over the balcony to see the glittering lights below, car horns and engines and sirens piercing the darkness, white noise. “In its own way.”
“You miss it?”
“Everyday,” you say.
“What do you miss the most?”
“Uhm…probably the bagels,” you lie. Well it’s true. But it’s not what you miss the most. You think of your brother, flopping onto your bed on a Saturday night – a rare weekend when you visit home – and you’re trying to read A Tree Grows In Brooklyn for school but he’s begging to take you around the corner to get a milkshake. It’s the image of him you’ve so desperately tried to cling to and the recollections you share with him have only gotten more and more unpleasant as time goes on. “The bagels here suck.”
“Really?” Joel seems amused by that.
“And uh…I don’t know. It’s part of me. I have a lot of friends there, a lot of good memories,” you smile to yourself, lean forward towards him. “I had this apartment before I graduated, right? It had the best view of this little Italian restaurant, and I’d sit and watch people through the windows, eating and talking. I was supposed to be studying, but…it was great. I loved it.”
“What’re you doing here, then?” Joel asks, and you look back at the sunset. Here you are, waxing poetic and you’re sure he can hear it in your voice. “You runnin’ from something?” You look over to find he’s staring at you. Like he knows you aren’t being honest, and he’s asking you to stop lying.
So you do the only thing you can think of, which is to ask him a question in response. “What makes you think I am?”
Joel considers this for a moment. “I don’t know. I grew up in Austin. All my friends are here, my family. If I ever moved someplace else….it’d have to be for a good reason. And even if I did, I’d be lonely.”
You stare down at the floor. “Maybe I am.” Lonely? Or running from something? The answer is both, you know, but you’re not going to clarify. “My family. Things are pretty fucked. I thought distance would help, and it does, a little. But….that shit still follows you anyways. They’re always with you, no matter what.”
Joel nods.
“But… I have a life here. When I lived downtown, I definitely did. I don’t mind the quiet, and….I have friends.”
Joel looks at you. “You got a boyfriend, don’t you?”
Why would he think that-oh. You had tried to forget it, the morning he’d caught you still wrapped up in your robe – not the fluffy fleece one you liked the most, but the one you specifically only wore when you had guys over, cause they loved that shit.
“Oh, right,” you say. “Bradley. Yeah, uh. He’s…he’s….not my boyfriend. But…” you shake your head. “It’s a little complicated.”
“I’m sure it ain’t that hard to explain.”
“I mean…” you avoid his eyes. “He’s kind of an asshole, but we’re not really commited to each other in a meaningful way. Plus, he’s not around that much which is kind of perfect…for me.”
“Really?”
“Less to worry about,” you answer, purse your lips. “But…I don’t know. I sorta wish he got my heart rate up a little more.”
“He’s not your type?”
“I don’t really have a type,” you shake your head. “I like what I like.”
Joel rasps. “I feel the same,” and he’s made sure your eyes are on him when he says it.
You swallow, nod, smooth your hair back. “Anyways. Why’re you asking me all this?”
Joel doesn’t seem to find an answer right away. You narrow your eyes at him, studying his face, looking for something that will give him away. It’s a trick you’ve learned…silence…a bit of skepticism. It makes people uncomfortable. And Joel shifts his weight, squirming beneath your gaze. Until something in his face shifts, and he smiles….just a little.
“So that’s where Sarah learned that.”
“Learned what?”
“That look you’re giving me.”
“What look?”
“Like you can see right through me.”
“Can I?” You narrow your eyes further.
“You’re tryin’ to.”
He’d done a good enough job of avoiding your question, and you’re not gonna ask him again, and instead opt for a different one. “So what about you, then?” you poke his knee with your foot.
“Oh, I’m not answerin’’ that.”
“What? I just told you, that’s not fair.”
Joel runs a hand along his jaw, ponders. “Most women don’t want to be with a man who already has a kid so…things on that front are not always easy.”
“I have a hard time believing that. I mean, don’t you have an upcoming date with Sarah’s teacher or something?” you tease.
“That’s not happening,” he assures you. “But….I work so much these days I don’t have the capacity for much. So I get what you mean, sometimes it’s easy to not get emotionally involved but…I’ve never really been great at that.”
“You’re a relationship guy?”
“I mean, Tommy has been pestering me about this lately. Says at this rate, once Sarah’s grown, I’ll end up old and alone. Annoys me to hell, but he’s right. I wouldn’t mind…some kind of companionship. Someone to tell you you’ve done alright at the end of the day.”
“You sound awfully romantic,” you at him blink slowly.
“I can be, when I want to.” Joel rolls his eyes. “But right now…I think I’m just stoned.”
That makes you giggle. So he’s just being honest. “I didn’t really see much great come from settling down when I grew up, so I’ve always been a bit of a pessimist when it comes to love. What you’re saying….it’s a nicer way to think of things.”
You rarely connected with the men you dated. You chose to date douchebags, to date cheaters. It was better that way, to know up front what you were getting yourself into. The best ones didn’t ask for much, just the odd fuck here and there for a couple months, and you’d step away when things were no longer fun, if they evewere to begin with.
Actually getting married, settling down, didn’t feel like a real possibility for you. So you’d never allowed yourself to indulge in what seemed like a fantasy. Some women aren’t meant to be a part of a family. Your father had told you once – during one of few times he’d attempted to comfort you after your mother didn’t call on your birthday – as if it excused his own neglect.
“Yeah, and it hasn’t all been bad. I mean, I’ve had a couple good girlfriends over the years. They were sweet, fun. I enjoyed the time I spent with them, they just…never made it through the real litmus test.”
“Sarah?”
He nods.
“It would be hard, I imagine. For her. Accepting someone new into her life.”
“Yeah.”
“You really care about her,” you say. “About how she feels. It’s nice.”
“I’m doin’ my best.”
The way he talks about Sarah makes you nauseated. It’s something pure, and you can’t help but feel bitterly nostalgic.
“I wish my dad would have been like you.”
It slips out, and you immediately regret it. It’s been too long since you’ve gotten stoned with someone else, and you’ve forgotten your filter. And even though you’ve already divulged more to him about you than you normally would, this feels like too much all of the sudden.
This isn’t something you can backpedal, and before you know it, Joel is leaning towards you. There’s concern written in his features, he wants to comfort, and you thank God for what happens next, or it all would’ve been too much.
His shift in weight causes Martini to jump off his lap and sprint to the door of the porch. He stares at you and then meows.
Even though Joel isn’t touching you, you have to tear yourself away from the hold he’s got you in. ““I gotta let him in, or he’ll get annoyed.”
You move to open the door, and the cat slips inside.
“Is that a guitar in there?” Joel asks, catching a sliver of the gleaming body in the dim light.
“Yeah.”
“You play?” He questions, and you come to sit back on the couch.
“Not anymore. It’s more of a decoration. How about you?”
“A little.”
“A little?”
“A lot.” Joel smiles, looks at the ground like not sure why he’s telling you this. “I actually uh, used to want to be a singer.”
“What?” you ask. “You’re kidding.”
“No,” Joel shakes his head.
“Joel, what?” you put a hand on his arm and lean forward, then look at the guitar.
“Why not?”
“I was…young when I had Sarah. And I had to do something that could actually help us get by.”
“Okay well, you have to play me something, then,” you rise to step inside and retrieve it off the wall.
“No, no-”
“Come on, please?” you ask. “Don’t be a tease.”
Joel just stares as you bring the guitar out to him.
“Although this might be out of tune…” you strum once, and wince at the tinny sound it makes. “Definitely it is.”
“Here,” Joel takes it from you. “I can do it.”
It takes him a moment, but he’s plucking the strings in a way that feels so instinctual, purposeful, you can already tell he knows what he’s doing. Once he’s finished, he strums a few chords, and everything is magically in tune.
“Alright,” you prompt, when he hesitates. “What are you gonna play me?”
“You know any Neil Young?”
“Of course,” you answer.
Joel nods once, looks down at the guitar, and starts playing. You’d recognize the opening chords to anywhere, but he somehow makes them sound even moodier, and bittersweet.
Come a little bit closer, hear what I have to say…
He can sing. You’re taken aback. You’re not sure what you expected, but it’s definitely better than that. Deeper, raspier, and now you have new information about him that’s going to bounce around your brain when you’re bored during meetings at work, while you’re lying in bed at night, trying to sleep.
Because I’m still in love with you, I want to see you dance again…
You shift your weight, sling your arm over the back of the couch, and rest your chin on your hand. Suddenly, you’re feeling a little tired. He’s all-but putting you to sleep and, somehow, that feels like the highest compliment you can give. It could be because you’re stoned, but you feel warm all over. You close your eyes, just listen, until he’s finished.
Even after he’s finished, you keep your eyes closed, settling. Until you feel something graze against the back of your hand. Joel’s. He’s matching your own pose, facing you, but reaching out…
“That was nice,” you say, earnestly. You’re good.”
Joel smiles bashfully, tugs your hand from beneath your chin and pinches your index finger between two of his own. Your nails are painted a glittery purple, and Joel studies them. Sarah had painted them earlier this week when she’d hung out after school, and had picked out the color.
“So are you,” he shifts closer.
He’s not quite close enough to kiss you himself. But it’s enough…he’s just giving you the chance to lean in, to close the gap. The proximity makes you dizzy, and you’re a little overwhelmed. It’s too much. It’d be too much. You can’t. You’re afraid of what he might do to you.
“We should be good, then,” Gazing at him from under your lashes, you pull back just enough. It’s not a rejection, and you can tell he doesn’t see it that way either. There’s a mutual understanding, you’re on the same page, but you aren’t quite sure what it is. The warmth of Joel’s hand leaves yours, and a part of you is filled with regret.
And then, like it never happened, the two of you spend another hour talking. He’s engaged, intuitive, thoughtful, funny. By the time he excuses himself, long after the sun has fully dipped below the horizon, you feel like he’s an old friend. An old friend you want…badly, but, you know him on a level you hadn’t before.
“Gotta be up tomorrow for a soccer game, otherwise I’d stick around,” Joel says as you’re guiding him to the front door.
“It’s alright,” you say. “You’re welcome to do this anytime.”
“You sure?” he tilts his head, leaning against the doorframe on his way out. “You might regret offerin’ that….”
“I won’t.”
--
part iv
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#are you feeling the slow burn yet?#also#i fully think i am not just writing for hbo joel but also game joel#ive had a lot of thoughts about game joel lately#and i really need people to understand i try to represent both in the story#so imagine who you want ;)#Joel Miller x reader#Joel Miller#Joel Miller x f!reader#joel Miller imagine#Joel Miller series#joel miller the last of us#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#Pedro pascal#troy baker#TLOU HBO#TLOU fanfic#pre-outbreak! joel miller#texas sun
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Simon and touch
Going through my archives makes me think again about how much of a difference there is with Simon before and after realizing his feelings for Baz...
From pretty early on, Penny notes Simon struggles with touch. In this context, it has been noted that "I've only ever been kissed on the lips," it's in contradiction to what comes later, but I think it makes plenty of sense, and perfectly aligns with everything we know about how Simon's mind works, about the things he thinks about and the things he doesn't (Agatha is glaringly not mentioned in the list of things he likes about going to her house, the one place where they would have "alone couple time"), about the way he reframes or entirely suppresses certain things... It's not him who thinks about being kissed on the chest. It's not him who remembers. This is not a situation that has any space in his head, because he doesn't want to. (Agatha doesn't remember this randomly, but in a situation with an unnerved Simon who wants to run, a Simon who's saying "Let's get this over with before I lose my nerve," while feeling strange herself.)
In that sense, kissing on the lips might be the one form of contact that he can do (because he feels like he's supposed to, he brings it up like there's a quota to meet) the one that feels "safe" and less "invasive," because it produces nothing more than noting "another person's spit feels different than my own." It's not appealing, but it's tolerable (whereas Baz's kisses awaken so much that Simon feels like he might be the death of him). All things considered (including Simon's discomfort with even the idea of sex, before Baz, even in his mind he can't say the word), "I've only ever been kissed on the lips" might be something he wishes were true, something he can more safely come to terms with (he might not even remember the details of this happening, anyway, given his issues with touch and dissociation).
I'm rambling here, my point is mostly here: in awtwb and SFC, Simon touches Baz all the time. They have conversations where Simon doesn't have more than two lines of dialogue without kissing or touching Baz in some way. Even in WS, he says "touching Baz is always good," and "I wish there was a way of touching him without being touched." He loves touching Baz. He craves contact with him. ("Feeling untouchable" with Agatha, besides highlighting his issues with neglect and self-esteem in the way he talks about beauty, could be about how he doesn't feel romantic love or sexual feelings for her, how he doesn't want intimacy [his example of sitting beside her it's without touch! he doesn't want to touch her, not like that] about how he "can't be touched" because he can turn off his brain and not process shit and hence not face his fears of intimacy... which is mistaken, of course, look at him being unable to face her actually touching him, repressing that proximity, and how this creates other issues.)
On top of that, I would say Simon's desire to please Baz (and make him happy) can override his issues with touch, as long as Baz is guiding him. The first time they get off together, Baz moves, Baz touches. All while telling Simon to just "kiss me" (to just focus on the one thing he loves doing, on the thing he wants to do all the time... on the thing he does all the time, the second he feels like he's allowed to: touching Baz)
#simon snow#snowbaz#simon snow trilogy#carry on#baz x simon#baz pitch#baz grimm pitch#awtwb#wayward son#agatha wellbelove#snow for christmas
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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ THINKING ABOUT :
summary : have some miguel fluff, this mf has been driving me insane,,, also first post so HIIIII !!!
genre: pure fluff
miguel! who makes it so painfully obvious to everyone around him that he’s achingly in love with you.
miguel! who ever so discreetly lets his gaze linger on your figure for more than a few seconds after you turn away, trying to burn the image of you smiling stupidly over something you were just telling him about in his mind.
miguel! who tries to compliment you - something along the lines of: “good job today, you did quite well.” which is the highest form of praise that you’ll get from him - who even tries initiating some sort of physical contact, such as giving you a firm pat on the shoulder, hoping that you’ll eventually catch on. but you don’t, and miguel can feel himself growing even more frustrated. frustrated with himself, because he’s so emotionally constipated that he can’t find the courage or balls to verbally admit his feelings to you, and frustrated with you because you’re so oblivious to his.. flirting tactics?
miguel! who has memorised your favourite foods and drinks like the back of his hand, so each time you find yourself unable to head down to the cafeteria, you find a bag with your favourite food sitting nicely on your desk with a note attached to it saying, ”you shouldn’t neglect lunch. – M” and you find yourself smiling warmly at the gesture, unable to calm down the loud beating of your heart.
miguel! who has such a soft spot for you that it’s ridiculous just how easily he lets you get away with some things— he can’t bring himself to lecture you, not when the way you look at him is enough to send his heart flying to the moon and back.
miguel! who shudders the first time you let your fingers graze over his cheek, inspecting the newest slash across his skin from his most recent mission. there’s a concerned look present on your face, brows knitted into a frown as you lecture him about being more careful, but miguel doesn’t hear a single word that leaves past your lips; his senses are so full of you that he finds it incredibly difficult to concentrate on anything you’re saying. your touch is gentle against his heated skin, so light and tender that he find himself leaning into it. the feeling is intoxicating, and like a moth to flame, miguel starts craving it even more now that he’s had a taste of it.
miguel! who would part endless seas with his own bare hands for the sake of your smile, and for the way you ever so sweetly call out his name when he’s half asleep, exhausted from the amount of work that he’s drowning himself into. for the way you gently drape a blanket over his broad shoulders and rub his back, immediately making him melt into your touch. and especially, for the way you simply reciprocated all of his feelings through small gestures and sweet nothings whispered throughout the intimacy of a silence only you and him could share.
#miguel o’hara#miguel ohara x reader#miguel spiderman#atsv miguel#atsv x you#atsv fluff#atsv x reader#atsv x y/n#x y/n#x reader#x you#miguel x reader#miguel x you#spiderman across the spiderverse#across the spiderverse#first post
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the universal curse of sensitivity — igby slocumb (4)
part four: rigid cold meet liquid sunset
PART THREE
Pairing: Igby Slocumb x reader
Warnings: Drug use, underage nicotine use, neglectful parents, explicit language, adults messing around with kids when they shouldn't, and anything else that can be found in the movie Igby Goes Down
Summary: Troublesome kids will always reach to find love and acceptance, even if it means making a mess where it's unintended. They’re just kids, but the older they get, the worse their inner conflicts haunt them. They want to please, but long to be pleased. They’re dramatic and self-sabotaging, they can’t help it⸺its the universal curse of their sensitivity.
Tag List: @gaysludge @wsrizz @confusedoatmeal @b1mb0slvt @slvttyclementine @he4vens-ang3l @alexiagx @moosh-i
Authors Note: This took forever, thank you so much for being patient and understanding!! And I'm sorry that this chapter is kind of angsty and such, but I swear there will be a happy ending! The next part is the final part of this story, so it will be VERY long and make you feel a lot of emotions!! Thank you again for sticking by me I love you all!!
4.2K words
Igby Slocumb couldn’t hide the glow of contentedness that embodied him after sharing a first kiss with you. He had returned to your apartment multiple times since then, never sharing another moment of flourishing physical intimacy. The boy couldn’t complain, however, because he (and you, for that matter) had taken many drugs before, but the high never lasted as long as this one.
Your time was spent as it always was⸺meeting him at the front door, sharing stories at the window, and smoking a joint before he would leave you with an unspoken promise of return. The only difference is the proximity of the two of you. So close that anyone watching would declare you lovers who spoke only a language the two of you understood.
Nobody would assume that you were just two kids punished for wanting something unconditional and only finding it in each other. There was no rush to kiss again, no push to go further, and no lull in your connection. There only remained a buzzing harmony between the two of you that soothed both of you into a comfortable bliss.
When Igby had awoken on the morning after he had seen you, he wondered if he’d ever escape the chasing smile that followed every thought of you. He had never met someone like you, someone who cared as absolute as you did. Someone who cared without a second thought or had the need to gain something in return.
It’s all his family had ever done. Telling him what he needed to hear to get him to listen. It wasn’t until he found out about their schemes that he began to retaliate. He thought they’d realize what he needed, but they only held his necessities over his head. Making it impossible for him to live without them. He had been running ever since.
From your apartment, you pondered the same thoughts. For so long, you felt you had been begging for someone to see your feelings and thoughts as anything other than a burden. Those you used to take bumps with would all nod along to your words but never truly listen. Your ‘friends’ would ignore your feelings and push you to focus on something else⸺which usually consisted of partying. And your parents, well, they were an entirely different story.
They acted like the words that escaped your lips came in the form of pleading vomit. Begging them to see you as their child, begging for them to say they loved you, begging for them to stop you from destroying yourself. However, they only ever said anything to benefit the company and their reputation.
Igby was the first person to argue with you. He was the first person who listened. The only person who had an opinion on you that exceeded your partying and your parent's company.
The two of you were foreign to the feeling of intimacy like this—too familiar with the physical aspects that the emotional and intellectual parts had a confusing burn to them. With every conversation and every small act of kindness—the more the burn spread. Then, the two of you kissed, and a wildfire ensued.
Living on the undying warmth and high, you had taken to skipping around your home, with a hum filling the once-haunted air. It was because of these distracting sentiments that you couldn’t feel the cold front making its way up the elevator toward your apartment.
You hadn’t expected any guests today. It wasn’t your usual days for tutoring; the groceries that were delivered had already come for the week, and it wasn’t one of your scheduled days for Igby’s return. The expectation of spending the evening alone had been shattered as a knock on the front door echoed throughout your apartment. You turned your head to look at it with furrowed eyebrows, expecting the person on the other side of it to walk away and discover that they had mistaken your apartment for someone elses. However, another knock sounded, this time louder and firmer than before.
Rolling your eyes with a sigh, you take long strides toward the door to unlock it, only opening it wide enough to make eye contact with the unexpected visitor. Leaning your body against the threshold of the door, you quirk your eyebrow as you examine the unknown man in front of you. His blue eyes pierce into your own as you speak impatiently after a moment of prolonged silence, “Can I help you?”
The blonde boy smiles, a wicked smile, one full of intent and hidden annoyance, “I’m actually looking for someone. You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find Igby Slocumb, would you?”
“No, sorry,” The lie flows out of your mouth as easily as water runs. You go to close the door, but the boy reaches out and stops it before you can make him disappear behind it. His smile was replaced with a knowing smirk, his eyes blazing with passion as you unknowingly entered into a game he was interested in playing, “I know you’re lying.”
“Look, I have no idea who you’re talking about. You’ve got the wrong person.”
“Do I?” There was no genuine confusion, his words easily matching with the same type of sarcasm you had heard so familarly with Igby.
It becomes quickly apparent that the man in front of you is related to the boy you have befriended, and it is because of that you continue to lie through your teeth. Even though the blonde had already found you out, you persisted. Nodding your head with a forced smile, you tried to close the door again, “Yeah, I do.”
“What would your parents think about you spending their company’s money on a weekly drug dropoff?”
His words caused your push on the door to freeze, leaving only enough of a gap for his icy words to send a chill down your spine. Subconsciously your back straightened as a shaky breath entered your nose. Slowly opening the door, you hold onto your hardened expression as he tilts his head in a teasing manner, looking up at you through his eyelashes as though he were innocent yet his smirk told the truth of his intentions.
The boy clicked his tongue in a disapproving way, taunting you as he shook his head, “Aren’t you going to invite me in? Or should I send an anonymous message regarding your recent activities with my brother to your parents?”
Biting your inner cheek, you open the door further, staring past him as he glides past you with the grace of a swan. His entire persona was different from his brothers. While Igby walked with a slouch and heavy feet, his brother walked with his shoulders back and with posey, the training only a wealthy child who followed instructions could perfect. Shutting the door, your eyes followed the blonde as he looked at your apartment with a blank expression. His fingers trailed across your things as he examined every aspect of the new environment. He circled the area around you slightly like a predator to prey.
“What do you want?” The question came out bitterly, you could taste the disdain sitting on your tongue as he continued walking around the living room, his blue eyes meeting your figure as he took a deep breath in, “You know what I want.”
Igby.
Shaking your head, you crossed your arms, “Look, Igby’s just some delivery boy. I don’t know him or where he is. He just drops shit off, then continues his job. There’s nothing more I could do to help you.”
The pale boy stops his continuous movement to look at you with furrowed eyebrows. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out how Igby could get people to easily lie for him or defend him. Chuckling under his breath, the boy turned his body to face you, looking you up and down before sending you a fake proper smile, “Do you really think I’d be here if that were the case? Do you think I’d just blindly show up here? Ask you a question I don’t already know the answer to. Do you really think that I don’t know everything about you and my brother?”
You stayed silent, standing by your word as he once more slowly circled you. Making you feel small as his eyes pierced through you.
“I’ll admit, you weren’t the easiest person to acquire information about. You have little to no friends, and you never leave this building, let alone this apartment. However, your doorman has quite a lot of sympathy toward you and isn’t shy about telling people about your sob story. The poor rich kid with a drug problem and neglectful parents who care more about their company’s future than the supposed heir to their fortune.”
Silently you curse the doorman and take back any mental apologies you had sent him when he was the center of a crude joke. Now, he seemed the utmost deserving of it all. Your gaze fell to the carpet beneath you before looking back up at the smirking man, who continued on, “He told me how often your friend came around and how happy he was that you finally had someone visiting you after months of seeing absolutely no one. Said that you spent hours together and that your little friend would skip in and out of this building with nothing but a smile on his face. He didn’t know that I already knew that, though. Bless his heart, he must not have many conversations seeing as he just would not shut up.”
“And neither will you, it seems,” You sigh as you sit down on the couch with an eye roll. Your face remained stoic as the blonde boy turned to stare at you with an amused expression. He had to hand it to his brother; he really knew how to pick them up. The kind of person with just enough sass to fight on their own and just enough loneliness to keep asking him to return. Nodding silently, the boy sat across from you, finally aligning himself to your level to appear as equals. Even though he’d never see you as such.
Taking a deep breath, the blonde boy tilted his head, “I know who you are, so I guess I should introduce myself. I’m Oliver, I’m sure Igby has told you about me—.”
“He actually hasn’t talked much about you at all.” You admit with a shrug, “Just that you don’t understand him and that you have a habit of taking things away from him.”
Smiling falsely, Oliver chuckled over the very usual dramatics of his brother's tales, “You mean Sookie?”
You tried not to outwardly show your annoyance toward the older boy in front of you. His lack of empathy for taking away one of the only people his brother trusted didn’t sit well with you. Returning the false smile, you feel your eyes scrunch up as you speak, “I’m sure you’d know more than me.”
“I do know more than you.” Oliver agrees, causing your eyes to roll slightly and a small scoff to push past your lips. Leaning forward from his stiff position, the boy places his elbows on his knees, “The same way I know Igby more than you.”
“Why can’t you just leave him alone?” Your voice came out so soft and genuine that Oliver visibly winced, not expecting your tone to shift from sticky sweet sarcasm to sincere questioning.
Furrowing his eyebrows, the blonde boy scoffs, “He’s just a kid. He shouldn’t have the authority to be alone, especially with all the trouble he causes, that I have to clean up.”
The bitterness that lingered with his final remark caused you to look at him a little closer. Shifting uncomfortably under your gaze, a resemblance between the Slocumb brothers peaked through the cracks of their shared reactions to their role in their family. Both of them longed for control over their current situation because they lacked control over what they truly wanted. Whereas Igby wanted to feel seen, heard, and taken care of without being seen as a problem, Oliver wanted to be seen and heard without having to pick up after every mistake his family made.
“Seems like a bit of a personal matter, doesn’t it? What do you want from me?”
“I want you to give Igby a message.”
You roll your eyes at the blonde boy's dramatics, “What exactly do you want me to do? Tell him to leave New York with you? Even if I tell Igby to go back home, he won’t. He’ll just pack up and leave again.”
“He’ll listen to you.”
“And what makes you think that?” You scoff as you cross your arms over your chest.
“Because you’re his friend, and he wouldn’t want to hurt his only friend.” The cracks in Oliver’s demeanor had been sealed over, causing his smirk to return as his original plan unfolded before the two of you. You shook your head with confusion seeping through your expression as the boy stood up from his spot. Checking his watch before dropping a bomb in your living room, “If you don’t tell Igby to come home⸺I’ll be sure that your parents are aware of your recent spending habits. As well as any tabloid that wants to know what the youth of America’s wealth truly looks like.”
You stare up at the older boy with wide eyes and your mouth agape, your heart racing at the thought of your name and picture being spread across magazines in a negative light. Smiling down at you, Oliver grips your jaw in his hand, “What would mommy and daddy do when they find out their only child ruined their clean image? Hm?”
Letting go of your face, Oliver left you seated on the couch with a heavy heart that felt a pull toward two different directions. In one way, you felt the urge to protect what was left of your relationship with your parents, while the other side wanted to protect Igby from the trap of his family's curse. Opening up the door, the older boy smiled at your frozen state, ready to seal the final nail in the coffin before closing your front door, “Oh, and be sure to give Igby that message soon. Our mother won’t be around for much longer, and she’d like to say goodbye to Igby. You can tell him the cancer finally caught up to her.”
Horror fills your face as you turn to look at the now-closed door. Your once warm and hum-filled apartment settles back into its haunting nature of sadness and silence. Your mind racing as you stare at the phone in your kitchen. It wouldn’t be until almost two hours later that you’d pick it up off its hook and dial Russel’s number into the phone. With your eyes shut, you’d pray that your drug dealer would answer the phone and be the barrier of bad news. However, your luck had seemingly run its course as the sound of Igby’s voice floated through the phone.
He sounded just as he always did, and it only caused your heart to leap into your throat. The air from your lungs is unable to push its way out or pull more air in, causing your mouth to remain parted with slightly jagged breathing escaping into the receiver.
Assuming that you were one of Russel’s drug-dependent junkies, the boy rolls his eyes and sighs, “Look, Russel’s out. You’re gonna have to call back later.”
Before he could hang up the phone, your voice finally breaks through the lump in your throat, causing it to sound breathier than usual, “Wait, Igby.”
Placing the phone back in his ear at the familiar sound of you, a smile breaks out on his face. His attitude shifted back toward the same one you had just before his brother's intrusion into your life. The warm feeling that followed every thought of you grew bigger as he fell back into your usual routine that typically occurred on a different day, “Hey. You run out of drugs already? I think we need to get you into a program.”
“Igby—.”
“No need to be embarrassed; all the popular rich kids have a rehab phase.”
“Igby—.”
“I just ask that you send me a postcard—.”
“Igby!”
The boy freezes at the urgency and sternness of your voice; blinking harshly, he lowers his voice, an unfamiliar serious tone sounding through the phone, “What? What’s wrong?”
“Does your mom have cancer?” Your voice sounds broken, like you’re clinging onto hope that he’d say no to your question. Like any sort of denial would break you free of this burden.
“What? Where did you hear that? What—? Where—?”
“Does she?” You cut him off from his stuttering, balling the wire of the phone in your fist.
“Yeah, but how did you—? Who told you that?”
You release a shaky breath, tears brimming in your eyes, “Igby, you need to go home.”
Scrunching up his eyebrows, the boy scoffs before stumbling over his words, not understanding the sudden switch, “What? Why would you say that? Why, why would you—?”
“You’re brother stopped by my apartment today.” You whisper, causing his heart to drop further. They had gotten to you. Just as he was growing warm with affection and reassurance, their cold hands wrapped themselves around you and ripped you from him when he wasn’t looking. He knew he should’ve kept a closer eye on you. He should’ve made sure his family didn’t know you existed. He knew it was wrong to get involved and trust someone again, but he couldn’t resist you. You changed him, you changed his mind, and you made him realize that he wasn’t destined to be cold.
“You can’t listen to him.” Igby rushes out, “Whatever he said to you, you—you can’t listen to him. He’ll say anything to get his way. Please, you have to—please! Just don’t listen to him!”
“Igby—.”
“No! Please! Just don’t listen to him! He always does this! He always comes in and takes everyone and everything that I care about and uses it against me! Please don’t let him! Please! Please! They take everything away from me! I can’t lose you! I can’t lose you too! Please, just–just—” Igby lets his head hit against the wall beside the telephone receiver and takes deep breaths as tears stream down his face. Your name slipped past his lips in pleading whispers along with small sniffs. “Please trust me. Please don’t let them do this.”
Your side of the line goes quiet, and he scrunches his eyes shut, knowing that you were slipping through his fingers. He could feel the cold running its deadly hands down his back, urging him to return home. Yet another part of him was ready to pack and run just as he’d done many times before.
“I trust you.” You whisper so softly that Igby almost misses it. Sucking in a breath, the boy shoots up and stands up straighter, his knuckles turning white as his hand squeezes the phone. He whispers, “You do?”
“I do.” You nod, knowing that he can’t see you. And suddenly, that doesn’t seem appropriate. Looking around at the dimly light apartment, you take a deep breath, “I want to see you. Will you—will you come see me?”
“Yes.” His answer comes out before you can finish your question. He almost refuses to hang up the phone, scared that you’d change your mind, but you promise him you won’t, and he promises you that he’ll be there as fast as he can.
He makes it to your apartment in record-breaking time, rushing past your doorman and pushing tenants of the building out of his way to get to the elevator. He slams his finger against the button of your floor before pressing the close door button repeatedly until the doors slide shut in front of him. The boy's hazel eyes watch as the numbers move slowly, his legs bouncing with impatience as he feels the tug of your connection growing stronger the closer he gets.
No words were exchanged as the elevator doors slid open to reveal the two of you standing alert and ready for one another. Igby couldn’t refrain himself as he pushed past the doors before they could fully open, slamming his body against your own in a hug that said more than words ever could. No one had ever listened to him, no one ever fought for him, no one ever picked him.
Except for you.
His hands gripped at the fabric of your sweatshirt as if any sleight of hand would cause you to slip away from him. His nose buried in your neck, breathing in your smell as though it was essential for his right to breathe. A part of him wondered if this was real, but the feeling of your hand running up his back while the other rested on the back of his head made him realize it didn’t matter. Even if you weren’t real, if this wasn’t happening⸺he’d be willing to live in this fantasy forever.
It’s unclear how long the two of you stood in the hallway outside your apartment, just holding each other in a way no one had ever held you before. Igby’s hands continued to grip at your clothes as you pulled him closer to you, if it was even possible, with your bodies already pressed against each other.
It was the boy who pulled away first, his hands letting go of your sweatshirt to hold onto your face, his thumbs running over your cheeks as he took in your red and swollen eyes. You can’t help but notice the difference in the way Igby held your face then when his brother had done it earlier. The boy in front of you held you as though you were the most valuable thing in his life, holding you with such care that you were certain everything would be okay if you could just stay like this. When Oliver had your face in his hands, it was more about power. The need to appear superior to you and have your attention in his fleeting moment of control. Igby remained warm, whereas his brother tried to turn you cold. Taking a shaky breath in, Igby tries to speak steadily, but his voice shakes with anger as he thinks about what his brother did to make you, “Are you okay? What did he do to you?”
You shook your head as your hands came up to grip his wrist, leaning your face further into his embrace as you spoke, “Nothing, nothing. He just wanted me to tell you to go home.”
“I’m not going. I’m not leaving you.”
“He said your mom is dying, Igby.” Your eyes find his, and he pauses at your words before shaking his head, “We’re all dying.”
“Igby—.”
“No,” He argues back, his fingers tightening against your face to keep your focus on him instead of the haunting words of his brother, “She’s been sick for years. She’s just trying to get me to come home and do whatever she wants me to do.”
“They know about my parents.” You painfully whisper, causing his eyebrows to furrow in confusion. Letting his eyes scan over your features, the boy slowly puts the pieces together, causing his head to drop. Of course, they knew about your parents. Of course, they knew about the issues of your past and how it would effect your parent's legacy. Cursing under his breath, Igby licks his lips before looking into your eyes with tears forming in his own, his heart aching over the pain he had caused you, “I’m so sorry.”
Searching his eyes briefly, you shake your head and bring your own hands up to cup his face, his hands now falling to rest on your elbows, “Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault.”
Before the boy could interject, you cut him off, “It’s not your fault, Igby.”
You hold eye contact in during a moment of silence before Igby slowly leans forward to let your foreheads touch, letting the warmth of your body ease his aching hurt into a pulling dull. You nuzzle against his forehead as your eyes close, letting your body relax against his in the same manner.
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know. I just know that I want you to be okay.”
That night Igby stayed with you. There was no kiss, no sex, no pull to do anything physical. Instead, you held onto one another in comfort, your legs intertwined and your arms wrapped around each other as the night wished away your pain. Allowing for one night of warmth and comfort before being forced to face the reality of your situation. All you needed was this night, just this night, to say that you both officially knew what it meant to love without manipulation or fear.
┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛ ┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛
#kieran culkin#igby goes down#igby x reader#kieran culkin x reader#igby#igby slocumb x reader#igby slocumb
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Your Hand In Mine
Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader
Summary: Ransom was never a physically affectionate person, at least, not until he met you.
Prompt: @suck-tember day 1 prompt ‘fingers’
Warnings: strictly 18+ only, NSFW, fingering, semi-public sex. TRIGGER WARNING: mention of Ransom’s parents being neglectful and physically abusive. Mention of drugs and alcohol - not consumed by reader. Ransom is fairly soft in this
Word count: 2.6k
A/N: so I know it’s not focussed on oral fixation as intended for @suck-tember, but the prompt inspired this idea so I ran with it. Banners by @maysdigitalarts, dividers by @silkholland
Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library
Ransom Drysale was always someone who liked to keep to himself.
Not that he didn’t enjoy going out, being the life of the party, managing to spend a regular person's yearly wage in one night, or arguing his opinion with anyone who was willing to take the bait.
But in the sense that he enjoyed his physical space.
He was smart enough to realise it was probably rooted in his parents not showing him physical affection as a child - no hugs goodbye, no forehead kiss goodnight, not even a damn high five for a job well done in school.
The only time his parents ever touched him was if he was being dragged somewhere didn’t want to go, their hands in a vice around his arm as he wailed and cried, like the spoiled brat they incessantly told him he was. His father sometimes resorted to physical punishments to prevent his weeping, regularly enough that Ransom quickly learned not to resist their demands, to simply go along with it if he were to avoid their punishment.
And with his compliance, went their last reason to touch him. Though, Ransom was thankful for that.
As he got older, Ransom’s aversion to physical affection born solely from innocent, non-sexual intentions only grew stronger.
Wherever he went he’d see couples interlocking hands, using any excuse to hold each other, sit in each other’s lap, mindlessly fiddle with the other's fingers, placing chaste kisses to foreheads, shoulders, hands.
Why would people want that? Why would you go out of your way to spend more time in connection with someone than you had to?
Ransom was by no means averse to some physical forms of intimacy - having a woman in his bed for the night who could wet his dick provided far greater pleasure than his own hand could. His body had figured that one out for himself.
But that was all about his own sexual release. It had nothing to do with romantic feelings, affection or comfort. Nor the satisfaction of his partner in those carnal activities. It was purely about himself.
How selfish.
Well, he was a Drysdale after all.
Nobody expected anything more of him.
And then he met you.
Your compassion for others were second to none, and even though Ransom had never done anything in his pampered and overindulgent life to deserve any sympathy, you showed him incomparable kindness nonetheless.
If Ransom wanted something, he got it. Friends and strangers alike never said no to him, not with the wealth and stature his family notably held. That same status was something you didn’t place importance on - you treated everyone the same regardless of their background or what material items they could offer you.
Most were too scared to call Ransom out for his bullshit, so he continued to toy the line to see what he could get away with - it was all a game to him, knowing his family money could buy him out of any real trouble he found himself in.
However, you were different. You told him off when he crossed the line. Held him to a higher standard than he held himself. For some strange reason, which Ransom couldn’t fathom, it seemed that you wanted him to be a better version of himself than the spoiled narcissist his parents had raised.
That intrigued Ransom. Mostly because society viewed him as purely the wealthy enabler who paid for everyone’s night out, but that’s where their attachment ended. He knew he was only tolerated because he funded lavish parties, supplied the alcohol and facilitated his so-called friends' drug habits - if it weren’t for that, he’d just be the dickhead nobody liked.
You had this endearingly inspiring quality about you which always made him feel like he could do anything, including improving himself to be more than just the pampered, pompous rich boy.
And he found that he wanted to. For you.
You would later tell him it was his courage and resolve to better himself that really made you fall for him. And though Ransom rarely felt shy, he was apprehensive to inform you that you were the reason he tried in the first place. Because that would mean admitting not only were you the only person on the face of the earth who actually gave a damn about him, but also the way he felt about you was developing into a deep fondness he was unable to control.
In most contexts Ransom was usually the person in charge, directing what needed to happen and when. Yet, when it came to his relationship with you, you were the one who instigated everything.
His lack of experience in affairs born of the heart rather than pure lust, made him feel like an insecure, inexperienced teenager. Yet you were always patient with him, which only resulted in his ever growing attachment to you deepening.
With a romantic relationship came expectations of chaste physical intimacy, and that perhaps more than anything scared Ransom. He couldn’t understand the reasoning behind wanting to be close to someone in that way, and with the deficiency of experiencing any physical touch his whole life, he was concerned he may never be able to provide that for you.
He felt comfortable enough to express this worry to you, and with the unparalleled empathy you possessed, you promised him to start off nice and slow.
You were both attending a book release for his grandfather when it happened for the first time. In tedious discussions with relatives who Ransom had completely forgotten how he was connected to, you inconspicuously reached over and interlocked your pinky with his.
That’s all it was. Just his smallest finger connected with yours. And yet he found himself never wanting to let go. That one minuscule act, that seemed at least outwardly to not affect you at all, had Ransom’s entire body paralysed.
You must have sensed his rigidity beside you. When you looked up at him, all wide eyed and believing you had done something wrong, moving to pull your hand away from his, he clamped his hold on your pinky even tighter.
Ransom wasn’t quite sure why he felt that if you were to let go his whole life would crumble before him. It seemed a drastic overreaction to a simple caress of fingers. But he felt that way deep in his chest nonetheless.
You must have been able to read his intent from the expression on his face - you were always good at doing that - because instead, you smiled up at him, scrunching your nose in the adorable, involuntary way he adored, and kept your finger joined with his for the rest of the party.
Ransom tried to not let the thought of innocently touching your hand consume him, but he failed miserably. He had previously only ever experienced repulsion at chaste touches, and yet he welcomed your touch so freely, only wanting to experience more of the warm sensation.
It wasn’t until two weeks later, while having Sunday family dinner at his parents house, that you chose to perform a similar action.
His mother was on a tirade about certain members of the family whom she didn’t approve of, something she ended up doing when she had one too many glasses of wine, when your name fell from her lips followed by the words ‘gold digger’.
Ransom’s hands were immediately clenched in fists, and rage boiled so fiercely within him that he wouldn’t be surprised to see steam billowing from his ears. He opened his mouth, ready to return the attack when it happened.
Your soft hand pried his fist open, nestling yourself between his fingers. You barely looked down at where you now connected with him, instead choosing to look deep into his eyes as if to say ‘she’s not worth it’.
He could feel his heart rate immediately start to slow down. The anger which had been ferociously bubbling in his chest now felt like barely a ripple.
All because you touched him.
Not sexually. Not in the sensual, teasing ways your hands would roam his body when you wanted him to fuck you.
No, not like that at all. You were simply holding his hand with no additional motivation. You were gaining nothing from this exchange, the act was solely for Ransom’s benefit. Interlocking your fingers with his and affectionately rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand, as if it were the most normal and natural thing you could do.
And that’s when it all finally clicked in Ransom’s brain.
The reason all those lovey dovey couples that annoyed him everywhere he went couldn’t get enough of holding each other - why they’d use any excuse to be connected with their person.
Comfort. Support. Security.
The people currently in the room with him had provided the opposite of that his entire life - they had only caused him anguish and loneliness. It was all he was used to, and yet with a gesture as simple as holding hands, he knew for a fact he had found that solace with you.
Linda across the table repeated his given name a couple of times in the scorchingly frustrated way only she could manage when directing conversation at the son she regretted having. However, Ransom was too caught up in his body’s reaction to your affectionate touch to give a shit about his mother at that moment.
The table went silent as Ransom finally stood and declared “eat shit, we’re leaving.”
Heads held high, you walked side by side out of the hostile house, Ransom not letting go of your hand until he opened the passenger side door of his car. As soon as he let go, a feverish tingle rushed up his arm which he suspected only your touch could soothe.
“Thank you.” Ransom breathed out. Somehow the air in his small car wasn’t as stuffy as it was inside his parents' giant house. Ransom couldn’t remember the last time he thanked someone, if ever. Yet the words felt right in his mouth when you were the one he was thanking.
“You’re welcome, Ran.” You returned, seemingly knowing exactly what he was thanking you for without him needing to say it aloud.
As if to make him fall even harder for you right then and there, you chose that moment to yet again join your hand with his, and place a kiss to his knuckles. A warm, fuzzy feeling erupted in Ransom’s chest, one he knew for certainty he had never felt before.
It concerned him for a moment that possibly he was having heart palpitations, or an anxiety attack. But perhaps what startled him the most was that this feeling was actually a surge of love and devotion to you.
He had never loved someone before.
But when he looked into your eyes, he was sure. He could see his whole life in front of him. He never thought finding someone who would put up with him for longer than a night would be on the cards for him, and yet here you were, sticking by him even when you knew the dark and ugly parts of him.
It was both exhilarating and terrifying that for the first time in his life, there was someone more important to him than himself. Someone he wanted to truly be better for.
“Let me thank you properly.”
Without thinking, or even really knowing how he managed it in his small car, he shifted you from the passenger seat onto his lap, pulling you into a bruising kiss.
Ransom felt an inherent need to pleasure you with his fingers, the same part of your body which you had used to provide comfort to him earlier. Pushing your skirt up over your thighs, his hand instinctively reached for the damp patch already forming on your panties.
“Please Ran, please. I need you.” God you sounded so desperate, and that only turned him on even more.
Ransom wasn’t about to deny what you wanted when you asked so politely. Pushing your panties aside, he coated the tips of his fingers in your slick before slipping his middle finger into you. He could tell at once it wasn’t enough by the way you wiggled your hips eagerly to increase friction.
“Such a needy girl aren’t you?” He asked before generously adding an extra finger, your grateful groan in appreciation making his dick twitch. “Look at you, my gorgeous little slut creaming on my fingers right outside my parent’s house where they could see us. You like that, don’t you?”
All you could do was nod when Ransom used his thumb to draw small circles over your clit while simultaneously scissoring his fingers inside you, knocking the breath out of your lungs.
Unlike with his previous sexual partners where all Ransom was concerned about was his own orgasm, being knuckle deep inside your pussy was about your pleasure.
Did the sight of you whimpering above him, feeling your soft walls fluttering around his fingers make him painfully hard? Absolutely.
But this wasn’t for him. This was all for you.
He continued to relentlessly thrust his fingers inside you, instinctively curling them to brush over the spongy spot that had your thighs quivering, relishing the moans and whines slipping from your lips right beside his ear.
“I love all those pretty little sounds you make.” Knowing he was responsible for every breathy gasp, every whimper trickling from your lips only fueled him to pump his fingers faster, to hear more of them.
As he pushed you closer and closer to the edge, Ransom could feel your grip on his shoulders tighten and your pussy squeezing his fingers gloriously.
“Shit, right there! Oh God, Ran, I’m gonna cum.” Your head fell to rest your forehead against Ransom’s shoulder, fingers tugging at his hair and though your eyes fluttered shut in pure ecstasy, he couldn’t take his eyes off how beautiful you looked.
“That’s my good girl. Let go baby, I got you.”
Your entire body shuddered as the wave of your orgasm overcame you, crying out an incoherent combination of curse words and his name as your gushing climax coated his hand and the front of his pants. Though, Ransom didn’t relent the pace of his pumping fingers until he was satisfied that you had fully come down the other side of your high.
The dazed smile you shot him once you managed to sit upright in his lap again mesmerised him. In that moment all he wanted to do was give you mind blowing orgasm after orgasm so he could continue to experience the heavenly sight of your writhing body and that bewitching, satisfied smile.
Ransom removed his fingers from you and brought them up to his mouth to taste the slick of your release, which was as sweet as he knew your soul to be. Lord, he could just drown in the taste of you - something he planned on doing once the location allowed for it.
“Let’s go back to your place, and I’ll return the favour.” You mumbled against his lips in a sloppy kiss before manoeuvring yourself back into the passenger's side seat.
The entire drive home Ransom covered your hand with his on the gear stick, his large fingers slotting between yours perfectly.
In his small car beside you, driving ever further away from his old family house, Ransom had never felt more at home. He intrinsically knew that he’d never find a safer place than his hand enclosed in yours.
And because of that, someday, he’d make sure you knew just how much he cherished you by giving you a ring to wear proudly on your finger.
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#em writes#ransom drysdale#ransom#sucktember2022#ransom drysdale x you#ransom drysdale x reader#ransom drysdale x y/n#ransom drysdale x female reader#ransom drysdale smut#ransom drysdale one shot#ransom drysdale fanfiction#ransom drysdale fanfic#ransom drysdale fic#Chris evans#chris evans character fanfiction#Chris evans smut#chris evans one shot#chris evans x y/n#chris evans x you#Chris evans x reader#Chris evans x female reader#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans fanfic#Chris evans fic#writing for marvel
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How to go from Anxious/Avoidant to Secure Attachment
One big obstacle in the dating process that holds us from finding a healthy, fulfilling relationship is our limited beliefs and childhood traumas. One prominent way this manifests is through our anxious, avoidant or disorganized attachment style. We all just want love, right? But our ubringing irrevocably marks how we relate to the world, both romantically and platonically.
Most often, it is women that exhibit anxious type due to the social programming that expects females to be nurturers, and monitor the wellbeing and behaviour of others. Another reason reason women exhibit anxious attachment is the father figure that is often physically or emotionally absent, thus creating a “father wound”. Meanwhile, men gravitate towards avoidant type due to toxic masculinity and how it pressures males into being self-sufficient and emotionally independent (or cold).
It’s not easy to navigate either extreme of the spectrum.
Anxious attachment style
The anxiously attached individual is often faced with severe anxiety at any perceived or real distance that forms between them and their partner. This can be a late reply to a text, or no reply. It can be inconsistent communication, or behaviour in general.
The reason this triggers their anxiety is because it also triggers a core wound, that of the “abandonment wound”. This is why, even in a toxic relationship where they may know on a deep level that it’s not okay anymore, the anxious individual might still choose to stay because they’re afraid they will be left with nothing (scarcity mindset) in the absence of the toxic partner. They are actively choosing someone else, hoping desperately to be chosen, even though by doing so they are literally self-abandoning (ironic, right?).
And so what works as a soothing balm for the anxiously attached is: reassurance, consistency, communication, clarity — these are key behaviours of the securely attached. And ultimately, prolonged exposure to healthy, reassurance behaviour and communication is what helps the anxiously attached evolve to a secure type.
Avoidant attachment style
Likewise, the avoidant faces their own challenges. How this develops is that one or both of their caretakers were overbearing in their childhood, or they were neglected and expected to handle things on their own. This develops a very independent personality, where the avoidant feels that their identity and wellbeing is closely tied with freedom, (having) space, and independence in general.
In a relationship, they will crave intimiacy and closeness like any other person… but their avoidant attachment creates an inner conflict, where by facing that sort of intimacy and closeness, they feel simultaneously suffocated, panicky, feeling on some level that their sense of self is in danger.
This is where it gets messy. Depending on the person, the avoidant can handle this in a very hurtful, toxic way, or in a transparent, accountable, “take it or leave it” way.
Toxic behaviour includes: ghosting, shutting down, silent treatment, being conflict avoidant. Generally, the avoidant pulls away, disconnecting mentally or emotionally, and findsit difficult to process their emotions at the time. It is only with space and time that they are able to process and reconnect with their feelings. That also explains why during breaks, break-ups or no-contact situations, avoidant types...
🌸 Read full article here 🌸
#glow up#anxious attachment#toxic relationship#relationship tips#level up#growth mindset#relationship advice#high value relationships#writings#blog#articles
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Only slightly related but pathetic Kaiba who loves watching camboys is so based especially because he probably doesn't have much time to fuck people anyway. Plus his social skills can be a little oof at times, etc, etc
Anyway I did an rp once where Kaiba watched camboys and he got a little tooooo addicted to that.
Kinda an info dump I guess, just wanted to say love pathetic Kaiba though. Very fun! :3 💙
It's a fun idea to play with! Kaiba has such an obsessive personality that it's not too far fetched for him to go overboard with internet porn (especially as a substitute for actual intimacy). His social skills does leave a lot to be desired, even if you were willing to ride it out for his money. Then he's just left with a pool of people who may be mainly after his money. Kinda a lose-lose. Not hard to see why he would resort to paying for sex. But actually sleeping with sex workers has its own inherent risk of scandal of he's discovered, so camboys it is!
(Despite his internal protests, Audience!Kaiba functionally exists as a workaholic hermit. I mean he sees people, but it's only for work, and he has zero social life. He does have a social circle of sorts in Yugi and the others, but he has continually rejected/neglected invitations to socialize. He's essentially given up on dating, even though he obviously longs for intimacy and companionship. Because otherwise, the story also can't exist in an extended form if Kaiba actually acted on his fixation toward Jounouchi, hence gotta be a little pathetic.)
#replies#leechysmile#thanks for sharing!#I'm happy others also get the vision there#burnt out touch-starved and pathetic Kaiba 🤭
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Knives Rant (Headcannons)
Despite being portrayed as a villain, Knives actually wants the same thing as his brother Vash: peace and prosperity for all. However, he believes that the only way to achieve this is by eliminating all humans, whom he sees as inherently violent and destructive.
Knives possesses an ability that allows him to create not only knives but also other weapons and even entire structures out of his energy. He uses this ability to create a massive fortress in space where he can plan his attacks against humanity.
In addition to being able to create weapons out of his energy, Knives can also manipulate the energy within other living beings. He uses this ability to control and manipulate people, turning them into his loyal followers and soldiers.
Despite his hatred for humans, Knives has a secret admiration for Vash and his ability to inspire hope and peace. In a moment of weakness, he reaches out to his brother for help in achieving his goals but ultimately betrays him when he realizes they have irreconcilable differences.
If we were to imagine a scenario where Knives does have a significant other, it is likely that this person would share his views on humanity and be willing to help him in his mission to eliminate them. They would need to be loyal, determined, and willing to tolerate his intense focus on his goals. I imagine that he's rather touch starved from neglecting himself emotionally for so long. His extreme views and intense focus on his goals have likely kept him isolated from others, making it difficult for him to form deep emotional connections with anyone. This could lead to a sense of loneliness and isolation, which could manifest in a desire for physical touch and intimacy.
However, given his character and beliefs, it's also possible that he may not even be aware of this need or may see it as a weakness. He may view physical touch and emotional intimacy as distractions from his mission and may actively avoid any situations that could lead to these types of interactions. If Knives were to allow himself to feel physically and emotionally, it's likely that he would struggle with it at first. He has spent so much time isolating himself and suppressing his emotions that the idea of opening up and becoming vulnerable may be repulsive to him.
He may also struggle with physical touch, seeing it as a sign of weakness or vulnerability. However, with time and the support of someone he trusts, he may begin to let his guard down and allow himself to experience physical and emotional intimacy. It's possible that he would still be distant and hesitant, as he is not used to being open and vulnerable with others. However, as he learns to trust and feel more comfortable with his partner, he may become more willing to share his feelings and emotions.
I believe that he could exhibit yandere-like tendencies in a romantic relationship. He may become possessive and obsessed with his partner, seeing them as the only person who truly understands and accepts him. He may become jealous and controlling and may even resort to extreme measures to keep his partner close to him. Knives would likely go to great lengths to keep his partner safe. This could include using all of his resources and abilities to protect them from harm, as well as keeping them isolated from any potential threats. He may become overly protective of his partner, seeing them as the only person who truly understands and accepts him. He may even resort to extreme measures to keep them close, such as kidnapping or isolating them from their friends and family.
If Knives does enter into a romantic relationship, it's possible that he would be distant but attentive to his partner's needs and desires. His intense focus and attention to detail could translate into a deep understanding of his partner's likes and dislikes, as well as a willingness to go to great lengths to make them happy. It's also possible that he may struggle with emotional intimacy and vulnerability. He may be hesitant to open up and share his own feelings and emotions and may struggle to understand and empathize with his partner's perspectives.
Given his intense focus and attention to detail, it's possible that Knives would be the type for grand gestures in a romantic relationship. He may go to great lengths to surprise and impress his partner, creating elaborate and memorable experiences that are tailored to their interests and preferences.
#headcanon#loving rant#knives millions#trigun knives#knives#knives x reader#knives/reader#millions knives x reader#millions knives/reader
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10 of my top Kakasaku headcanons:
!!!!! Before I start, if you share different opinions or just think something different it’s okay, these are just MY thoughts on how I personally picture the ship. Since they’re not canon, it opens to a lot of possibilities and opinions, so if you don’t like mine just keep scrolling and we’ll be fine !!!!!
1- It takes quite some time for them to start seeing each other in a different light. After the war their bond evolves into a low key friendship that gets them closer. After they both realize they feel attracted to each other, they both experience a lot of self conflict and mixed emotions. Things only switch when the tension between them is so strong they actually kiss and then things finally start to slowly move on from there.
2- Kakashi isn’t a hater of hospitals. He’s a reasonable man and he understands that health and rest are important, so he is not reluctant to doctors or nurses. He always prefers when it’s Sakura taking care of him, and he respects her orders. Even though he doesn’t enjoy being in a hospital bed (who does?) he does his best to follow the rules and let his body recover.
3- Kakashi is the one who falls first when he starts to notice he’s attacked to not only Sakura’s beauty but also her personality, different traits and small details like her laugh, her smell or the way she talks.
4- Sakura falls for him after a medical checkup when Kakashi shows his face to her for the first time. She’s shocked because he’s very different from the old bored man she’d pictured in her head: he’s actually much younger and incredibly handsome. That actually makes her see him in a different way and she ends up feeling attracted, and later, in love.
5- Their bonds with Sasuke will always remain. They’ll always love him and welcome him as part of their family and they’ll always be friends. Sasuke loves Sakura and wishes she has someone who can give her what he couldn’t and he’s happy when he finds out she’s with Kakashi. He doesn’t think it’s weird and actually believes they make a lot of sense together. (I simply don’t like to mischaracterize Sasuke just to make Kakasaku happen. Maybe it’s because I like the canon couple and understand Sasuke’s character)
6- Kakashi had very few sexual experiences in his life. He’s very reserved and doesn’t open up easily, so even though he can get attention from a lot of women, his ninja duties, past traumas and domestic personality don’t really allow him to have a relationship or commit to someone.
7- When it comes to Sakura, I believe 2 things can be true: either she and Sasuke actually have a full relationship for a while and later they end it in good terms, or they don’t even start a relationship and decide to be friends instead. In the fist scenario, Sakura has experienced everything form a relationship: love, intimacy and of course, sex. In the second scenario she has her fisrt time with Kakashi but the journey on love and intimacy is new to both.
8- Kakashi does feel a slight guilt about the way he neglected Sakura when he was her sensei. However it’s not that much shameful or too deep, because Sakura appreciates everything he did for her. It’s just that if he could go back in time he might do things differently, that’s all.
9- Showing his face was never a problem to Kakashi. Of course he prefers to keep his mask on and only takes it off when it’s highly necessary, but it was never a problem to show his face to the people who were closer to him, like Guy and his other jounin friends for example. The thing with team 7 is just because it was fun to tease them when he saw the 3 of them working so well together for something silly, so he kept teasing as much as he could.
10- Sakura is also a minute closeted “pervert” , just like Kakashi. She has a very sexual side but she keeps it to herself. Even though sometimes she might struggle with some insecurities and come off a little shy (which is perfectly normal because it’s very unrealistic to be 100% confident and outgoing all the time) she’s always brave to come out of her shell and enjoys experiencing new things. If she’s in love with someone she’s not afraid of anything and she’s very passionate, so with Kakashi she gives everything she has, and it’s HOT!
That’s it, I have more but this post would be too long. Hope you enjoyed it!
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