#but she's someone who would be more vicious in this world
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"I'm going to tell you a story. Maybe it will sound familiar."
Visionary x Insatiable x Status Asthmaticus x The Wolves of War
#this is really a show about coming of age in a vicious and unfamiliar world more than a show about werewolves#think about it. scott is sixteen and to him losing his first love is as incomprehensible and unfathomable as the supernatural.#and we're constantly reminded of how being sixteen and in love goes -- 'you're not in love you're sixteen and a child' etc.#these three characters make for such a good parallel to one another in how they werewolf + seeking guidance#especially + sudden change of worldview/stakes when confronted with sudden and unexpected loss and grieving#of course derek loses paige and becomes cold and jaded (see: literally becomes cold w/ blue eyes)#scott loses allison and commits harder to saving all of his friends even though one of them (or someone possessing him) killed her#liam is stopped from killing because of hayden's death#here are three werewolves who were sixteen and held their first love's dead body in their arms#and each of them took a different path. do you close yourself off? refuse to? do you change completely because of it?#and ofc it's teen wolf so everything always comes in threes#I have a lot of issues with the writing but the use of death (barring 6b) is not one of them. they really went hard on meaningful death.#also consider: lori holding brett's hand so he doesn't die alone and theo responding to tracy kissing him by killing her as she does#teen wolf writers went is anyone going to bastardize the original narrative to ponder new ideas about it and didn't wait for an answer#also women's deaths are always about love/for a man (thanks hollywood) but goddamn if they don't kill their women wisely#and the thing is they are all running. they're running from death and what does it get them? it gets them here.#derek wants to turn paige so she'll live forever. scott wants allison to live happily even with someone else. liam wants to save hayden.#none of them consider that cheating death will catch up to them until they run right into its arms#and all three die because of getting involved with the supernatural. all of them would presumably not have died otherwise.#coming of age into a world that takes and hurts and destroys and where you are now old enough for people around you to die.#this is not a show about werewolves.#teen wolf#twedit#teenwolfedit#my edit#derek hale#paige krasikeva#scott mccall#allison argent#liam dunbar
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thank you for bringing awareness to this grievous issue. how is there possibly not more huntercorp content out there?? the overlap between the succession freaks and spn freaks on here is practically a circle. then supernatural does a literal canon succession au and… crickets. i don’t understand. cmon ladies we can do better
Thank you for your solidarity! I agree: we CAN do better!
To be fair, I totally understand the paucity of content in the field, simply because those guys are just not really recognizable as Sam and Dean. They're vacuous spoiled dudes for us to laugh at for the five minutes they're on screen, unlike our very serious special Winchesters Prime, God's favorites, etc. We don’t really even know anything about them, other than they still live with their dad into their late thirties? And Sam is like "haha Dad is the best guy I wanna live with him in the same house forever cheers," which makes me think the CTE finally caught up with him. So fanon interest doesn't really extend beyond heehee silly wincest-twincest foursome business, or maybe there's some cracky Daddycestuous harem going on that I haven't heard about--- which is great if you're into that sort of thing.
What I think is more interesting though is to use that world as a springboard to construct a more canon-feeling AU that retains the character's personalities and dynamics. Like, just take all the deeply traumatizing shit that comes with hunting from a young age and add to it all the fucked-up-ness of excessive wealth and access.
Say, John at some point when Dean and Sam are much younger decides it would be better to work with other people for resources and efficiency (lol), and doesn’t burn quite as many bridges as he could, and whenever someone offers to pay a little something to show their gratitude he agrees. Along the way that turns into a hunting business, recruiting hunters, etc, and it picks up, and it's lucrative enough obviously because monsters are plentiful, and so the kids grow up with money, comfortable. There's the old "I want you to go to school and I want Dean to have a home," so he probably did buy a home base, extra fortified, and there were babysitters to watch after Sam, a little less pressure on Dean with the co-parenting. More creature comforts and safety and stability available, but maybe even more emotional distance between John and Sam than in canon. Dad's trips last for months and months, Sam is fine, he goes to the same nice private school for most of his life, gets with Jessica in high school or something, whatever, you can fill in the blanks here. Maybe he goes to a military school or something, in this strange world where people know about monsters, but his dad is still very much distant and mysterious.
Depending on when the transition towards more financial stability happens, Dean would have more vivid memories of serious poverty that he shares with his dad that Sam might not fully remember/appreciate, and as he gets older Dean’s off with Dad more and more, staying away longer and longer, etc, and that in itself is an interesting question, I think: if Dean doesn't have to parent Sam as much, what does that mean for their relationship? There's always the baseline of the older brother duty/younger brother admiration going on, but maybe it's more they're more like 2x20 than canon--- or not, maybe it translates into more closeness than the canon pre-canon! A good writer can convince you of anything, but it's essential that their relationship only flourishes in the absence of their dad, not only physical absence/death, but also his absence in Dean's emotional life, and all of that is deferred for as long as you keep the old man around. the idea of 60's John/40's Dean makes me....
Anyway, the Succession comparison in particular is really compelling here because 1. in a world where people know about monsters, and monster-hunting is a lucrative empire-building business, the Winchesters (assuming they are actually as good as they are in the main timeline) would hold huge influence. Like, serious political influence. Depending on the size and boundaries of his operation John Winchester could be the owner of an extremely powerful militia trained to kill both people and monsters? And that's... kind of insane! (And with that power and influence, did Sam and Dean grow up in the public eye to some degree, like president’s kids and various d-listers? What sort of rich people vices were they exposed to? Are hunters seen as celebrities or as soldiers, or something in between like in, eg, The Boys?”)
Therefore 2. the stakes of succession are extremely important, and also 3. as an au-explorer, that's how you get to keep some semblance of the John-Dean-Sam dynamic from canon. Say, Sam goes to Stanford on Dad's dime, no need for a scholarship, he fits in with the other kids fine, at least along socioeconomic lines. But obviously he's still very well trained as a hunter, and he may or may not be dealing with demon blood-induced uncleanliness. And let's say Dean is groomed into both hunting but also the business side of things, slated to run the family business when the time comes, maybe he goes to college too and studies something soul-sucking he thinks would be useful for the business and would make dad proud, but probably not, I don't see John suddenly becoming an elitist type, specially when they're in the world they're in. Plus, Dean already has charm and looks in spades, no need for a fancy degree.
But what if at some point John changes his mind? It's not Dean, but Sam who should be king. Or Sam and Dean together as partners. Sam of course doesn't want it. He wants to be a lawyer, or whatever it is the Lebanon alt!Sam does. Adam doesn't want it, he doesn't know anything about hunting, he's probably only seen his dad a total of five times since college, and no one showed up to his engagement party. Who knows, maybe he's already been eaten by the ghoul and no one has noticed yet. Obviously Dean doesn't want to run anything, either, but no one cares about that. He'll do it if he has to, because he's a good son, and in that way this is the weird inverse world of Succession where no one actually wants the inheritance. They do want the elusive kiss from daddy, they're just not under any illusions that the family business is an adequate substitute.
So, like, you can take those two weirdo throwaways and make them infinitely more interesting. You can kill John, you can throw in the Azazel hunt, or introduce the Heaven mega-bureaucrats, or whatever. Maybe Sam gets on the demon blood in his fancy private school and is surrounded by demons for years and it’s John’s fault because he send him there, thinking he'd be safe. Or maybe none of that other mytharc stuff comes in and at the heart of the story is just the family drama. Sprinkle in some more sex, drugs, and rock n roll, etc.— so many little choices to make for people who like the work of intricate world building and crossover! Good for them, whenever they get their hands on this.
Of course the thing that matters to me most is the J/D of it all and Dean's feelings about it--- like he is daddy's golden boy in pretty panties and a cock cage, but what I've been thinking about (like, actually thinking about, for fic writing purposes) is why is he in the cock cage? What if he likes it? What if he wants it and likes it and hates that he likes it? Succession is part of a huge tradition of works preoccupied with wealth and moral decadence and corruption, and those things can only be compounded by the reality of not only wide-spread knowledge of monsters, but also the existence of an industry dedicated to the sanctioned extrajudicial killing of "creatures" that look and live just like normal people 99% of the time. It's extremely fucking bleak, more so in some ways than canon, and it's the kind of world where dad/son incest is possible, where alcoholism/addiction would be much closer to the surface, where Dean is rewarded for Dad’s parasitic dependence in different, slightly more complicated ways than canon, where Dean's baitboy duties probably extend to various unsavory human actors, men and women, starting when he was way too young. And it's not necessarily always the sort of seduction/manipulation/self-objectification that ends with Dean on his back, and John is not a mustache-twirling villain who's looking it in the face and ambivalently sending his kid to the slaughter, but shit happens and it's part of life and it's for the greater good and it's for the family business and Dean's a man and he can handle it and when he comes back tongue-tied and flushed, wearing his cute little panties under his slacks and holding a matching cage in his hand John will tease him first, always, and then he will put his hands on him and make it better.
#thank you dear anon-- thinking and writing this through reminded me of the scene with bela in s3 with the tux#and i don't really think she's that evil in the larger scheme of things#but she's someone who would be more vicious in this world#and now I'm thinking about a story where Dean *has to* have maybe traumatizing sex with her for whatever dad-related reason#and whatever she did to our little guy he doesn't want to think about his dick for a while :(#and obviously because it's dad's fault only dad can fix it#i mean--- if j/d can be distilled down to any single trope it would be hurt/comfort and john is always always the source of both </3#asks
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Honestly I do not mind being the crazed worshiper of an unforgiving and vicious plant goddess.
#Flight Rising#Young me probably would not like Gladekeeper at the time given how much of a haughty viscous and bitchy one she is in actuality#I remember choosing nature Flight at first because I thought ''flowers and plants = peace''#Not anymore BITCH you will worship the Glademother or leave /lh#Iirc she's motherly to those in her Flight. Not so much others.#It makes the fact I'm friends with someone in plague all the more funny lol#She's so mean and throws shade she's literally a haughty mean girl lmao#Yes Glademama we will achieve world domination one day#Now that I'm old enough to know how vicious nature can be in actuality it makes sense she's like that#It's interesting because my starter Fae who is my clan's matriarch is the most soft girl#Imagine if in actuality she was like some low-key cult leader#It's not just Gladekeeper either ALL the deities have their faults. Some more than others#Given she and Plaguebringer are sisters I imagine they have similar/the same outlooks. They just do them differently.#Since they're both Life deities. One is life through survival. Other is life through abundance#Iirc if you die in Plague flight in lore you're weak. Same with undead.#They aren't all that different in hindsight#The sisters are vicious and I LOVE them for that now#Em Speaks
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⋆ make a woman out of me
christian!virgin!reader x ellie williams
summary ⋆ you swore to yourself you only longed for ellie in a platonic way, but as you get older you seem to realize just how pretty she really is.
warnings ⋆ 2.95k ⋆ smut, i might get cancelled 🤷♀️, reader (non penetrative) virginity loss, religious themes, ellie is 19, reader is 18, pastor's daughter!reader, mentions of homophobia, alludes to reader's parents being homophobic, ellie smokes weed, pet names (pretty girl, babe, honey, baby, good girl), cursing, first kiss, corruption, corruption kink, oral (r recieving)
time moved slowly within the parameters of jackson. the same familiar faces, day in and day out. though, it was comforting living in such a community. the horrors of the world beyond the walls that stood tall was something you rarely wanted to think about. it made you sick to your stomach to think of your friends, loved ones, even people you weren't particularly close with, outside of the safe walls, being face to face with whatever monsters marred the unhabitual world.
your parents were strict with religion, your father being the only self acclaimed paster that jackson has ever had to offer. there was never a time you could remember, even before finding refuge in the cozy town, where your parents weren't devout. vivid memories of your mother's fingers gliding over the cross necklace she wore around her neck when you would get in trouble. disappointed sighs and signs of the cross, begging the lord above for forgiveness, explaining to the sky you were too young to know what you've done was a sin.
the bible was followed closely in your home, and you obliged without caution. you prayed, attended your father's mass sessions in the tiny chapel just down the road where he preached the bible, wore the holy cross around your neck to show your devotion, you've read the old torn and withered bible you were so lucky to find front to back. religion was all you've ever known and you had found no reason to ever question the man who hung on your wooden walls, hanging from a cross with his hands and feed nailed to it like an animal. that was, until ellie.
"come on, don't you wanna jus' see what it feels like?" ellie teased, waving the joint in front of your face like a taunt. "no thank you." you replied, sitting at the foot of her bed, legs crossed, eyes wandering around her room. when ellie first came to jackson you were infatuated with her, dwindling it down to pure want but only of friendship. "good girl, that's what you say when someone offers you this shit." ellie moves the weed away from your face, inhaling it and then turning away to exhale the smoke away from you.
it started with just friendly smiles, offering to show her around and help her get to know everyone. she was wary of you. honestly, afraid of your friendly demeanor. people on the outside of the jackson walls were cruel and vicious, she thought, with no doubt in her mind, you were being friendly to lure her into some kind of trap. she danced around you with caution, keeping her distance but also decidingly giving you a chance. she quickly became fond of you, your personality, your looks. everything about you appealed to ellie and something about that made you proud, even more eager to befriend her.
the words 'good girl' ring from her mouth and you're not sure how to respond. was there even a proper response to your best friend calling you that? a simple nod was all you could come up with. watching her lips intently as she blew the smoke out of her lungs. your fingers came up to your neck, fiddling with the cross necklace around your neck, a habit passed down from your mother. ellie never paid much attention to your shy outlook on life. you were reserved and a part of her liked that she had so much of you to herself.
it wasn't until you were 17 that you finally came to terms with the fact that your infatuation was more than just a yearning to be her friend. tears of guilt streaming down your face in the confessional at the shoddy chapel, divider between you and the young volunteer who was ready to beg jesus to abolish your sins. "i'm a girl... and i like another girl." you sniffled, lowering the pitch of your voice instinctively so he wouldn't see past your anonymity. ache in your heart when silence was returned, until soft mutterings of a prayer, asking jesus to forgive your tainted heart.
ellie extended her arms behind her head, a small stretch that gave you big feelings. her shirt rode up, exposing the small of her stomach. you swallowed harshly, wondering why god would tempt you with something like this. a soft sigh emits from ellie's lips, flicking the almost finished joint into a nearby makeshift ashtray. another soft sigh falling from her perfect lips. intent eyes trying to be secretive of the no less then unholy thoughts that you were being tempted with.
ellie was put off at first by your fervent religion. her experiences were tainted, never having a good visual of what a healthy relationship with god looked like. she was unsure if you were going to try and convert her into some pious worshipper. you weren't secretive of your religion and that much was enough to make ellie suspicious. with time she realized you were different from the other religious people she's met. only bringing up your religion or anything to do with it when you were directly asked or if it was really important to speak about.
"whatchu lookin' at, pretty girl?" she chuckled as she noticed the way your eyes locked onto her, like if you looked away she'd be gone. it wasn't unusual for ellie to be flirty or to make casual remarks about how pretty you were. still, every time she did your cheeks were adorned in a rosy color. "just you, i guess. i dunno..." you answered back quickly, hoping that answer was enough to satisfy her eager curiosity. "yeah? just me? got something you wanna say to me?" she was just joking around, trying to get you riled up and flustered but you did have things you wanted to say to her.
"no." you answered, though you were sure she wasn't expecting an actual response. "no? yikes, babe, i'm hurt, thought we had somethin' real here." she smiled and you felt the butterflies in your stomach become tongue tied. one thing you loved about ellie above all things was her smile, how the skin around her eyes scrunched up just the tiniest bit, the apples of her cheeks becoming more prominent. everything about her smile made your head spin.
"els, i like you." the words slip out of your mouth before you could even process what was going on. her smile that coerced you to confess to her in the first place falters. "i'm sorry?" she questions, unsure if you meant what she thought you did. you had never said anything that led ellie to believe you were homophobic or that you thought all gay people were sinners like most of the older people who were religious in jackson did. but still she was careful to keep her sexuality from you, strongly assured you would take after your parents' stance on homosexuality.
"i... i don't know why i said that." you say, truthfully. mouth slightly agape and eyes widened with shock that you'd just outed yourself after years of trying to force down your feelings. there was a silence between the two of you. silence wasn't uncommon around each other, sometimes the both of you preferring to spend your time together quietly as a way to unwind after a treacherous day. but this silence was different than those times. ellies breath was caught in her throat, words jumbled on her tongue.
she only began reacting when she saw the panic on your face, followed by your eyes becoming glassy. "hey, hey. don't cry. it's okay." she comforted, sitting up and placing a hand on your knee. she wasn't good at comforting people, you were well aware of that. "i didn't mean to.." you admitted, voice timid and quiet, still uncertain to how she would react. "hey, it's okay, honey." the term of endearment sliding off her tongue like she was meant to call you that for the rest of your lives.
"i'm not mad." ellie affirms, her tone soft, knowing how afraid of other people's anger you are. another flash of silence emerges, just you and ellie staring at each other. neither of you knowing what to say. she pitied you, seeing how much you resented yourself. your bottom lip slotted between your teeth, biting hard enough to potentially draw blood. "don't do that..." she mutters, gently running her thumb over your partially chapped lips, pulling your bottom lip out of your teeth's grasp.
your breath hitches, a small shudder traveling up your spine. your eyes locked on hers, your heart beating loud enough for the whole world to hear. ellie's eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to your eyes. "i've liked you for a while." you admit, knowing there was no going back at this point. "oh, yeah?" her voice was low, some would even describe as seductive. her thumb still lingering on your bottom lip. "yeah." you whisper back, your eyes now flickering down to her lips.
ellie's hand moves to your jaw. her eyes flicking down to your lips one last time before she leans down and presses her lips against yours. her lips are soft, just like you had imagined. she seems skilled, like she knew what she was doing and what the end goal was. a small smile forming on her face as she realizes you have no idea what you're doing. “like this.” she mumbles against your lips acutely aware how clueless you were when it came to romance.
you follow her lead, doing your best to follow her lead. her free hand finding your waist, squeezing gently. you pull away, panting faintly. "i don't know.." you mumble, trailing off as ellie puts her lips back to yours. the hand that was on your jaw roaming to the back of your head, fingers getting tangled in your hair. "i know." ellie responds moments later, her lips brushing against your with each syllable. you couldn't comprehend what was happening, your mind going blank with ellie's lips on yours. she adored the way you looked at her. looking at her like you needed her.
she gently lays you back, grabbing the first pillow she could find and settling it under your head so you were comfortable. her thighs either side of your body, her body weight on top of you, giving you a cozy feeling you'd never experienced before. "you don't even know how long i've been wantin' to kiss your pretty lips..." she whispers, her bangs hanging in front of her face. you bring your hand up to her face, nervously tucking the hair behind her ear. "god, you're so fuckin'..." she stops, just taking a second to admire how alluring you looked under her.
her lips dip down to your neck, slowly biting and sucking on the skin. your breath hitches, a small whine pushing past your swollen lips. ellie groans against the skin of your neck. "make more of those pretty noises f'r me." she mumbles, hips rolling over yours, another whine spilling from you at the pleasurable feeling. ellie's kisses move away from your neck, down your body. trailing down your collarbone to your clothed chest to your stomach. her lips stop, hovering right above your pussy.
your heart was beating out of your chest, you back arching a little in anticipation. "how bad do you wan' it? tell me, baby. tell me how much you wan' me." she was totally and utterly obsessed with you, her mind becoming drunk by the thought of you— the mere sight of you. "p-please, els..." you mumbled, voice timid from embarrassment. it was partially expected though, you'd never done anything like this. "i want you..." it was simple but effective, making ellie go feral for you. "fuck—"
she lowers her lips to your pussy, kissing over the fabric of your shorts. watching her through hooded eyes, your pussy throbbing from her touch. "gonna eat this pussy s'good. show you what you've been missin' out on." she groans, the fabric of your shorts dampening as she trails her tongue over the sensitive area. ellie surprised herself, shocked that she was able to dirty talk to you so easily like this. your hips were writhing against the bed, more eager than you've ever been in your entire life. you felt dirty for wanting this, knowing that god was watching you become a total slut for ellie.
ellie's fingers hooked on your shorts, pulling them down slow as slow could be, chuckling as you whined. "ellie. ellie, please." you muttered, begging for her to hurry up. ellie's eyes rolled back, the sound of you begging getting her more aroused than she's ever been. no one's ever made her feel like this before. she was done with the teasing, if not for your sake but for hers. she pulled your shorts and underwear off swiftly, discarding them somewhere to find later.
her eyes locked on your bare pussy, fighting back a moan at the sight. "you've got me so fucked up, babe." she muttered, kissing around your thighs first. you were nervous, breath shallow and quick paced, hungry for ellie but embarrassed nevertheless. your voice was caught in your throat, blinking quickly as you watched ellie kiss all over your thighs. ellie looked up at you and you were able to see that she was just as nervous as you. "is this okay? you can tell me to stop." she sounded sincere, pushing aside her pure need to get your consent.
you nodded, not trusting your voice. "use your words like the good girl you are, yeah?" she's longing to just taste your glistening cunt. "yes— yes, els. 't's okay..." she doesn't waste another second after hearing your shaky voice, tongue urgently dipping between your wet folds. you moan at the contact, feeling like you were on cloud 9. ellie's tongue presses flat against your clit, your hand clamping over your mouth. moans being muffled as ellie savors the sweet noises your dripping cunt was making.
ellie wasn't fond of you muffling your perfect little sounds, wanting to hear just how good she could make you feel. "let me hear you. don't make me punish you.." you don't move your hand away from your sinful mouth. your free hand finds ellie's, interlocking your fingers which she gladly accepts. "c'mon, baby. let me hear you." she encourages once more, lips moving against you with ease, mixture of your wetness and her spit. but to her dismay, you still ignored her commands. her free hand sliding your shirt up your body to expose your breasts, you were never one to wear a bra. her hand kneading the supple flesh, thumb running over your nipple.
she licks a strip from your entrance to your clit, making your thighs shake with immense pleasure. "wanna be a brat?" she mumbles into your pussy, looking up at you through her eyelashes, staring you down as her tongue circles your clit. "what is it they make you do in confession? hail mary's? 5 of 'em, now. or i stop." she smirks, watching the look in your eye become more flustered by her request. you slowly move your hand away from your mouth, not wanting this pleasure to ever stop.
"h-hail mary, full of grace—" you cut yourself off with a moan, eyes squeezing shut as you lift your hips, pushing your cunt further into ellie's face. "get to ruin this pretty pussy." ellie groans. "keep goin'. don't stop." she aids you to continue, feeling your cunt flutter around her tongue. "the lord is with— is with thee..." you continue, stuttering through the words. "good girl, keep goin' f'r me. let me hear you." she continues to egg you on, talking into your pussy. her own moans mixing in with the sound of yours.
"blessed art thou— ellie, please..." you whine, squeezing her hand and throwing your head back into the pillow, back arching off the bed. "c'mon, pretty girl. blessed art thou..." you toes curl at her words and the feeling of her tongue teasing your entrance. "—amongst... amongst women..." you trail off, mind becoming to hazy to even remember the words to the prayer you've prayed everyday since you could talk. ellie smirked into your cunt, relishing in the feeling of being able to turn your mind into mush, being the only one able to turn your mind into mush.
your moans and whines became breathier and higher pitched with each flick of her tongue. your stomach twisting in an unfamiliar knot. "ah, ah, ellie—" your thighs trying to clench together and push her head away, the feeling becoming too much. "you're gonna cum, baby?" she spreads your legs wider, her only greedy want is to make pleasure wash over you. "ellie! ellie! ellie!" you chant her name, eyes rolling back as the pleasurable wave of your orgasm finally hits you, moans loud and unfiltered.
"there we go... yeah, nice an' easy. fuck." she mutters, tongue fucking you through your high until your writhing and pushing her off of you. her lips relocating to your thighs and slowly working their way up to your pelvic bone, soft kisses against your skin. "tasted so good, baby. best pussy i've ever had." she praises, eager to show you just how much you pleasured her even though you technically didn't make her cum. "els..." you whined, face flushed a rosy red. "yeah, baby. 'm right here." she leaves a trail of kisses up your body as she reaches your lips, leaving a soft peck to let you know she was here. "does this mean you like me too...?" you asked innocently. "are you serious?"
#🍄 ⋆ the last of us#🕰️ ⋆ birds and bees#ellie williams#ellie tlou#ellie the last of us#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams smut#the last of us#the last of us x reader#the last of us smut#tlou#tlou x reader#tlou smut#ellie wiliams#ellie williams x you#ellie x reader#ellie x fem reader#ellie smut#ellie x reader smut
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ARSONIST'S LULLABYE
kinktober day 011 | cheerleader!natasha x player!reader
"don't you ever tame your demons
but always keep them on a leash"
— arsonist’s lullabye, hozier
summary. natasha gets more attached than expected after a one-night-stand with the college's infamous player, both on the field and with the ladies. however, she's always been good at getting what she wants.
rating 18+ | word count 7438 (shittt)
note. natasha is 18 and y/n is 19, y/n is described to be masc-representing (eg. cropped hair, compression tee + grey sweats, tattoos, piercings)
note ii. please please please please take your time to read it, you don't understand how long i've spent pondering over every intricacy in this fic.
note iii. drinking game: take a shot every time i say 'don't fall for the player'
kinktober masterlist || main masterlist
Don’t fall for the player.
This was a warning, circulating within the hallways of Avengers Institution, whispered under hushed breaths and divine lips.
Students in this renowned college came from all walks of life — from children of billionaires to self-made achievers, from prodigal minds to brilliant brains. One thing stood for certain, though, and that was the infamous Y/N L/N.
It was a rumour, tried and true, that every single girl — regardless of their sexuality, physical appearance, or social status — would all eventually fall under the spell of the school’s “player”. Try as they might, victim after victim fell helplessly for an effortless charisma and unstoppable magnetism.
The chase never lasted long, a one-sided apex predator hunt. Once you had your eyes set on someone, there was simply no escaping the undeniable fact that the following morning, that girl would wake up in bed next to you.
Problem was, you had this rule, written in stone: Never sleep with a girl more than once.
Alas came the cruel and vicious cycle of girls falling under your spell within milliseconds, only to have their heart shattered within the next twenty-four hours. Sometimes even less.
Boys looked on in jealousy, girls looked on in intrigue. (Or maybe jealousy, too.) The wiser ones kept a distance, but either way, one fact stood true, the moment one stepped into Avengers Institution.
Don’t fall for the player.
Little did you know, soon would arrive a thorn in your plans, an unwanted distraction, your ultimate downfall.
All due to an equally irresistible girl by the name of Natasha Romanoff.
***
“You’re fuckin’ impressive for a freshman, Natasha,” Pepper whistles, clapping her on the back. “Consider yourself a member of the Avengers Institution’s cheerleading squad.”
Natasha nods breathlessly, dropping the pom-poms onto the ground. She had just completed a complicated routine for the cheerleading tryouts, a rigorous one with flips and twirls that required pristine balance.
“I guess that’s expected from a girl who was with the Red Room,” Sharon adds, somewhat snidely. She was another freshman trying out for the cheerleading squad, with a snake-like smile that was coated with too much venom to convey any sort of genuineness.
Natasha returns the smile blankly, false emotions overtaking her face like second nature — propriety, expectations, rectitude. She knew what those words meant, when they put emphasis on the Red Room.
The Red Room, in question, was one of the highest-class organisations internationally that trained talented young female cheerleaders. With a near overly-daunting curriculum, payment fees so impossibly high, and only the most renowned instructors, the Red Room was essentially associated with filthy rich wealth and spoiled privileged kids.
And such comes the tragedy of warped views on capitalism and the unfairness of the world. Sharon leans next to Natasha’s ear in the false pretence of picking something up, but her lips move dangerously swiftly and whisper, “Daddy’s money lets you get everything you want, hm?”
It only takes a second, and then the faux-innocent perpetrator briskly moves away as if nothing had occurred. Natasha stands still, the gripe washing over her back like a cold shower. She steels her shoulders, refusing to be provoked. It wasn’t her fault she’d been born with a silver-studded spoon in her mouth.
Shrugging off the strange looks some of the other girls give her, Natasha hides her annoyance by fiddling with her short skirt. Alongside college came the novelty of less-strict clothing etiquette, and that resulted in the most miniscule cheerleading skirts Natasha had ever worn in her life.
“Ready on the count of three,” Carol announces, tapping her clipboard with a ballpoint pen, surveying the expanse of the wide field.
It wasn’t Natasha’s fault she simply got everything she wanted.
“One.”
An invisible force of magnetism pulls Natasha’s gaze to the bleachers above the field, unyielding and unstoppable. There stands a tall and dark figure in a relaxed position, looking directly at her with piercing eyes. A shiver of anticipation sweeps through the air, and Natasha feels goosebumps rise on her skin.
“Two.”
Aloof charisma exudes from the person’s very presence, so compelling and captivating that it takes Natasha a moment to realise that there’s another girl standing next to the enigmatic soul. She’s chatting animatedly, under a false belief that she’s got your attention, but Natasha knows better.
Her eyes travel over the person’s sculpted figure clad in a leather jacket, tacit confidence written in your lazy smirk and composed posture. Electricity erupts in Natasha’s bloodstream, sending shockwaves coursing through her mindwires, forcing her to look back up to your alluring, forsaken eyes.
“Three.”
Natasha’s body moves mechanically, practised and poised. The rhythm thrumming from the portable speaker seeps into her practised muscles without her brain actually registering it, still reeling from the sheer impact of you.
If there was a fracture in her composure, if her routine was ever-so-slightly off, if her legs trembled more than it normally would’ve, Natasha would blame you.
Natasha would blame you and your stupid smirk, your silly leather jacket, your sickeningly magnetic allure. How you made her feel unstoppable with that come-hither gaze, then left her so low when your eyes inevitably left her.
And suddenly, like a golden key slotting into place, the words Natasha had heard whispered in the hallways finally made sense. The coveted prayer that could only be spoken under hushed tones and divine lips.
Don’t fall for the player.
When Natasha finishes the series of tumbles that ignites impressed cheers from the senior cheerleaders, she lifts her lowered eyes back to the bleachers.
Only to find your lips locked with the blonde girl from before, your hands creeping dangerously low on her back. You move like a predator python, the silver piercings in your ears glinting in the light with every of your calculated moves.
A burning feeling courses through Natasha’s veins, like an ugly green monster unfurling gradually, indescribable anger making her jaw tick.
Don’t fall for the player? Well, now that just sounded like a challenge.
***
Natasha makes her way through the crowd of students filing out from the lecture hall. The chatter fades to a background buzz in her ears as she beelines towards a group of more bearable folks.
“No, they’re a sophomore,” Wanda explained, leaning against the locker door.
“Who’re we talking about?” Natasha intercepts with a curious gaze, slinging an arm around Clint lackadaisically. Professor Banner’s lectures were highly educational, but he tended to drone on a little, and she could feel the rising boredom making its slow crescendo into the back of her mind.
Clint raises his eyebrows amusedly, then lowers his voice in humorous dramatisation. “The player.”
Natasha’s face flashes in recognition at your title. Several things flit across her mind in rapid succession — a fetching character, a lofty smirk, and a pretty girl hanging off a forearm.
“So, this uh… What’s her name?” Natasha tries to ask subtly, faking an expression of indifference. Clint, as always, side-eyes her with a playfully accusatory glance. Natasha shrugs with an odd feeling of guilt.
“Well, I’m a sophomore too, so I do have the guilty pleasure of knowing Y/N L/N,” Wanda said with a bit of a grin.
“Knows her in more ways than one!” Sam cackles, ducking as Wanda swipes at him.
Natasha feels that burning feeling rising in her chest again, and perhaps it was due to the knowledge that someone else had experienced being in bed with you — which was arguably silly, because of course you slept with plenty of women, but that didn’t quell her growing unease.
“Was the sex really that good?” Clint asks bluntly, folding his arms as he leans against the locker next to Darcy. Natasha chokes on air.
Wanda only raises an eyebrow, as if to question the poor boy of his doubts of your sexual prowess. Her knowing smirk told a thousand tales, of your sentient being seemingly reincarnated from a Goddess of Sex, of your mighty skillset of lust, the ultimate sapphic enigma.
“You tryna pull a lesbian, birdboy?” Natasha asks dryly, nudging Clint in the rib. The jibe doesn’t even give her that satisfaction. Thinking about you again had unnerved her very skin, causing clammy hands and a dry mouth.
“She leaves all the girls the morning after, though, so don’t get your hopes up,” Wanda sighs wistfully, waving her hand in the air as if she prophesied of a legend. “It’s a one-night-wonder. Kind of like an eclipse. Only happens once, but when it does, it’s really astronomical.”
Natasha flexes her fingers to get her blood flowing. All this talk about your specialised skillset in bed was making her heart flutter, in the best way possible, but maybe that per se was the worst thing possible.
Because she might acknowledge that you were attractive, but that didn’t necessarily mean she wanted to sleep with you, right?
“And that’s why it's a common tongue around here,” Wanda concludes. “Don’t fall for the player. Simple as that.”
On cue, the noise in the hallway comically fades to silence. The gathered crowds of students make way for a quickly striding figure, clad in the same dark clothing Natasha thought about day and night.
Crossing the hallway with an easy purpose and confident composure, you walk past girls who could be seen swooning. Your gaze slides over them casually, sending small smiles here and there but never really quite focusing.
Until your eyes meet Natasha’s, of course. Like a love scene straight out of a drama, your composure cracks fractionally, and your loose confidence is subverted. It only takes a second before your persona snaps back into place.
“Hey, Natasha,” A smooth voice spills out from your angel-crafted lips. Your voice runs over her weak-willed skin, suddenly so vulnerable in your presence, and then you’re gone.
Natasha stills in place, staring after your disappearing figure. Your two words had left such a searing imprint into the front of her mind that it was honestly concerning. The chatter rises again, as if you were never there.
“Looks like you’re Y/N’s next conquest,” Wanda comments, mildly impressed. “Good luck, my friend. Just remember, don’t fall for the player.”
***
Why on earth there was a dorm party on the second day of school was a question that would forever remain unanswered.
Perhaps the adolescent spirit was the root cause of it, free and tameless and reckless, or maybe it was the temptation of alcohol and attractive folks, intoxicating and thrilling.
Either way, Natasha was here for a good time, not a long time.
Her short midnight dress flounces as she makes her way over to the partially occupied couch, the rather risky slit making its way up her thigh to reveal awfully beddable skin.
“Hey, babe!” Wanda calls enthusiastically, waving her over. There’s a Matrix movie playing on the screen, Natasha isn’t clear of which one, and there are students sprawled over the couch, the floor, and on each other.
She ends up playing a game of truth or dare with strangers, driven by warm bodies and the repetitive encouragement to indulge in a little bit of ‘fun’.
“Truth!” Darcy yells drunkenly, almost crushing her red solo cup of cheap alcohol.
“Jeez, woman,” Carol mutters, sighing at the tipsy girl’s antics. “So, truth— ever had a threesome?”
A bunch of ‘ooh’s wave like a ripple through the huddle of students, but Darcy answers with surprisingly quick coherence for a woman on her sixth cup of beer. “Hell yeah,” she drawls. “Y/N and Jane. Best night of my fuckin’ life.”
Natasha feels that wildly uncomfortable feeling of butterflies fluttering — no, thrashing, around in her stomach. It’s absolutely ridiculous that she’s so easily unsettled by you.
Said Jane Foster flushes in her seat, clearly embarrassed at having her sex life exposed. She waves a hand, trying to quiet down the growing hoots and whistles. “I mean, is it really that surprising, guys? I’m definitely not the only one! Okay, jerks, who else has laid with the famed Y/N L/N?”
Immediately, all eleven women in the dorm room have their hands raised. Well, all except Natasha, that is.
“Oh, she’s a free woman!” Valkyrie yells out, pumping her fist, and the crowd of women let out victorious cheers. “Our last standing soldier!”
Natasha smiles awkwardly in the limelight of all these older students, the strangling sensation in her gut growing stronger.
Seriously? ‘The Player’ has already slept with all these pretty girls in her second year? I would never sleep with someone who treats sex so meaninglessly…
Natasha refocuses on the game, dispelling all her thoughts that seemed to constantly circulate around you. In the bleachers, in the hallway, and now in a dorm party…
So why is Y/N L/N a muse in my mind? Why is she so inescapable?
After about six rounds of revealing shameful truths and accepting rather pointless dares, Natasha’s ready to ditch the scene altogether.
She’s barely touched any alcohol, but it was honestly a shame that her imagination was still so lucid. Getting some of that cheap beer into her system would probably help her to relax quicker, and to stop thinking about you.
“Hey, uh,” she whispers to Wanda. The older girl pulls her gaze away from the current life of the party to regard Natasha with a drunken smile.
“What’s up, Nat?” Wanda drawls, sprawling forward a little too close for comfort. Natasha cringes at her beer-tinted breath. Wanda murmurs softly, “Hey, you got a lil somethin’ in your eye. Looks like a little cloud… Oh, that’s just the light. Silly me, silly–”
“Wanda, I’m gonna head back now. Don’t worry about me,” Natasha says, slightly impatiently but affectionate nonetheless, patting Wanda’s head.
“Awh, okay,” Wanda responds drunkenly, breaking off into a little giggle as Natasha gets up. “Hey, Nat?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t fall for the player, yeah?” Wanda asks with an innocent smile, but her eyes are reminiscent of a ghost doing its last haunting. Then Wanda’s gone, gone with the wind, her attention lost to the exhilarating game of truth and dare.
There’s a moment of quiet in Natasha’s mind, save for the explicit Nicki Minaj song playing in the background with lyrics that would make a stripper blush.
She had heard that simple statement all too many times. Almost like she was meant to hear it. Like it was a premonition, a foreshadowing.
With the odd feeling of being defenceless, Natasha makes a beeline for the door. She’s had enough of silly conservations and awful thoughts; conversations that encircled around the subject of The Player, and awful thoughts of hers that always ended up being about you.
However, a shining bottle of cheap alcohol catches Natasha’s attention from the makeshift bartending station, essentially a kitchen counter. “Wouldn’t hurt, I guess,” she mutters under her breath, reaching out to grab a bottle for herself.
“Ah, that beer’s shite. The good one’s in the cupboard.”
Embarrassingly startled by the familiar smooth voice that greets her, Natasha jumps in her own skin. You again, she thinks with such indignation. What kind of sheer audacity did you have to approach her, after you were making out with another girl just the other day–
All coherent thoughts left Natasha’s mind when her eyes rake over your short-sleeve compression shirt that clung to your abdomen and arms like a vacuum-sealed package. Paired with grey sweats, it was such a beguiling mixture of taut muscles and casual wear that had Natasha growing hotter under her skin.
“I guess it’s alright for me to assume I’ve chosen the right attire for today,” you say, folding your arms in a little bit of satisfaction. That has Natasha staring at the black tattoos that decorate your thick forearms, and she’s half-crazed by the alluring sight.
Perhaps you’re showing off a little more than you normally would, but the girl standing before you was one that had invaded your mind for days on end, which was entirely uncharacteristic of your constantly horny brain.
“Can I ask you a question?” Natasha asks snarkily, returning your confidence with her very own crossed arms. Your eyes don’t miss the way her awfully kissable lips form the words on her tongue, and you certainly don’t miss the way her crossed arms push up her cleavage.
You lick your lips imperceptibly, and you notice the way Natasha’s eyes follow the movement with a hawk-like gaze. “Go ahead, sweetheart,” you respond easily, taking a single step closer to the object of your desires.
Natasha scoffs at the pet name, but you can see your close proximity subverts her composure in the slightest. Unable to keep your hands to yourself, you reach out to place your hands on her altar-like hips. She bristles under your touch, but she doesn’t move.
“Why’re you so fucking arrogant?” Natasha finally asks, hating how breathless she sounds, struggling to keep cool as your ring-adorned hands thumb the material of her short dress. You’ve got her entrapped between the kitchen counter and your sinfully sculpted body, with no way of escape. (Not like Natasha was looking for one.)
“Brat.” The dry laugh that sounds from your throat has Natasha’s heart pounding, a choked sound of pleasure caught in the back of her throat. Your big hands have moved to her sides, cradling her waist tenderly but withholding power, as if you’re ready to dig your fingertips into her soft skin at any given moment.
She thinks it’s unfair, the way your eyes are damn near psychedelic. They’re screens of mercury, smouldering and smoking with the way it trails over her body. If you’re a spark of fire, Natasha is a pool of gasoline that feeds your will.
Hot lips slant against Natasha’s ear lobe, taking it between your teeth as she shudders. Natasha’s breathy release of air as she fights to keep silent has you tugging on her earlobe with pure want.
“Can I ask you a question?” you ask, your voice a touch lower than it had been before, your hands tightening its grip on her deadly hips, the metal of your rings cool against her hot skin.
The overwhelming sensation of your big hands, hot lips and sharp teeth is enough to have Natasha’s eyes fluttering shut. She almost loses control of herself, almost lets herself fall victim to your hypnotic touch — But then you pull away, and a desperate little whine nearly falls from Natasha’s lips.
The cheerleader swallows as she stares at your crafted face, your eyes darkened with something far deeper than want, your lips tugged upwards into a devilish smirk.
“My room or yours?”
Natasha would like to say that the rest was a blur, and her alcohol-tainted memories got lost in translation — but it was a shameful and unequivocal statement that she had been entirely sober, and yet recalled every single detail of that night to vivid precision.
***
Natasha remembers you pressing her up against your door, a fervent urgency of lust unlocked within the confines of your dorm.
“So fucking desperate,” you grunt, hips knocking into Natasha’s front as you pin her against the door, lithe legs wrapped around your muscled torso.
“Shut the fuck up,” she spits, throwing her head back as your sharp teeth sink into the softness of her porcelain neck. The edge of your canines are hard and unforgiving, just how Natasha likes it, just how you scatter dark hickeys across her pale skin.
You smirk at her brattiness, finding it an exceptionally arousing trait of hers. “Pretty girl, you’re not the one in charge,” you tease, with your words and with your hands, dragging your fingertips up and under her short dress.
Natasha remembers her fingers twisting into your hair as you play her like a fiddle, teasing and edging and so blatantly talented like a prodigal concertmaster.
She whines as the cool metal of your rings nudges her nipples, her sensitivity skyrocketing with the shock. “More,” she tries to demand, but it ends up sounding like a helpless whimper and your hands move with such purpose.
You don’t help her cause by taking a hardened bud between two fingers and tugging, cries and whimpers following your fingers. Heaven is the way her breasts look all marked up by your mouth, hardened nipples and raw skin dancing in your vision.
Natasha’s nails dig into your hardened abdomen, scraping at your every muscle for all it was worth. It was something about you, something about the look in your eye, something about the way you commandeered her body with such precision and control like it was meant to be.
Natasha remembers her complete relinquishment of power, giving herself up for you, with a sick urge to be fucked within an inch of her life and then some.
Your right hand slides across her damp inner thigh to brush at her demesnes, and the sheer wetness that awaits your fingers makes you growl against her skin. “So fucking wet,” you grunt, peeling apart the thin material of her panties that cling to her sodden pussy with strings of slick.
Natasha wails, face completely flushed and so utterly gorgeous, and you can’t help but meet her lips with clashing tongue and teeth. She moans as your pierced tongue explores her mouth, and you drink up her cries of pleasure.
“Wanna fuck you silly,” you pant against her ear, fingers tracing the outline of her pretty pussy, dragging arousal along with it. Your knee keeps her legs spread nicely apart for the taking, and the vulnerability you bring out of Natasha is perhaps also the hottest thing.
Humiliation is the way Natasha agrees so quickly, nodding dumbly in acquiescence, thinking it would be nice to feel her brain melt to mush with your thick fingers and prodding tongue.
Natasha remembers the earth-shattering pleasure that wracks her body, as you divulge in providing, by leaps and bounds, the best sex she’s ever had.
Three fingers slide in and out of her dripping cunt at a phenomenal pace, and Natasha’s panting like a dog, tight velvet walls clenching around the thickness of your fingers for all it’s worth.
Finger-fucking her against the door like a heaven-descent, you bask in Natasha’s cries of pleasure. It’s never been like this, never been this heated. With Natasha, you felt like you were ascending.
“You’re gonna make a mess on the fucking floor,” you bite, a low gasp caught in the back of your throat. Natasha’s head lolls to the side, high-pitched whimpers making themselves known as she drips down your wrist and her thighs.
Natasha remembers the unravelling, the way her body seizes up out of its own accord, electricity erupting behind her half-lidded eyes.
Your hands dig into the plush of her thighs as you bring Natasha to a stupendous climax. Your fingers curl harshly, hitting her sweet spot and drawing out obscene noises from her.
“Fuck–” Natasha chokes out, high-pitched and breathy and absolutely delightful. Her hips jerk in your hands as your fingers move inside her.
“Another,” you grunt, not a request, and before Natasha can get ahold of her senses your fingers are thrusting again. She wails as your wrist jackhammers into her wet cunt, slick sounds echoing around the four walls of your room.
The second orgasm arrives even more harshly than the first, and Natasha clings onto the broad muscles of your back as you pin her against the door, toes curling and eyes squeezing shut.
She thinks she could find solace in the way your arms entrap her in a certain type of warmth, almost as if you don’t want to let her go.
But that would just be a hopeless fantasy, wouldn’t it?
Natasha remembers waking up the next morning to an empty bed.
The morning air is too cold on her bare skin. Your side of the bed isn’t even warm anymore. You must’ve left ages ago, in the dark of the night, and that thought in itself has Natasha choking on emotions she’d rather not feel.
Her clothes are still strewn on the floor and the furniture is a mess, a mockery of how far she’d let you go last night, driven by an inescapable high.
This is the game you play. Toying with girls' hearts like it was child’s play, making them feel like they were one in a million for one night only. All that alluring charisma was ugly and falsified, viewed through rose-tinted glasses.
This is the game you play, and Natasha Romanoff had fallen victim to it.
Don’t fall for the player.
Now, it was just another warning sign that she’d overlooked, and she was just like those other girls, stumbling into your open arms and cocky smirk.
Vehement fury slugs inside the cheerleader, as she forcefully picks up her strewn clothes.
Then she looks around the dorm room, your room, and time stills for a moment.
She’d expected it to be somewhat furnished, like all other dorm rooms were, maybe a cactus in the corner or a poster of a rockstar. Instead, your walls are blank and there isn’t a trophy or an award in sight.
You’re the captain of the football team, above average in academics, yet there isn’t a trace of the mark you’ve left as a student at Avengers Institution. There isn’t a trace that you’re a living, breathing human, with emotions that craft your very humanity.
Scarily enough, she feels like she’s laid in the bed of a complete stranger.
And suddenly, Natasha understands.
Don’t fall for the player.
Suddenly, everything feels a little too real, and Natasha comprehends that the statement holds far more depth than what your reputation suggested.
You were just fucking scared.
Scared of commitment, scared of growing attached, scared of being abandoned. You feared getting your heart broken, and thus you feared the longevity of relationships that involved love and romance.
As Natasha picks up her strewn clothes from the floor, with aching limbs and dishevelled hair, only one statement rings in her mind.
Don’t fall for the player.
“Maybe I will,” Natasha whispers to the ghost of your handsome, misunderstood self in the room. “But haven’t you heard I always get what I want?”
***
You couldn’t fall asleep.
You watch the empty sky as you sit on the empty rooftop of the school at four in the morning, a cigarette hanging limp between your lips. There’s an underlying anger bubbling beneath your skin, an itch that you can’t find, simply stewing there to your frustration.
Romance was bullshit.
It was plainly obvious from the way girls approached you. Flirty eyes and feather-light touches meant only one thing. And they were all so pretty, so who were you to complain, right?
All those girls always ended up in your dorm bed, sweaty and short of breath. Your heart would pound, and your mind would go wild with endless possibilities of what could happen if they just stayed.
“You can stay if you want,” you muttered off-handedly to one of your first few hookups in college. The look that the girl returned was so unimpressed that you never asked that question again.
But it was okay, because sex was something that you were good at, and those girls had their fun. It was okay, even if there was something missing. It was okay that your reputation preceded your identity. Even if those expectations spiralled far beyond your control.
With every passing girl you brought to bed, the gnawing hole in your chest only grew bigger. You craved something that you couldn’t obtain. Even if your heart was crawling out of its ribcage every time a girl breathed your name, every time she laid a hand on your chest.
Last night, Natasha Romanoff took that gaping hole in your chest and ripped it right open.
“Please, Y/N,” Natasha had whined, and there was reverent devotion in the way you held her hips, in the way you pulled her close.
“Stay,” you had wanted to whisper, so badly, so many times, but her hands were streaking red marks down your back and her body was shuddering under yours.
So you kept your forbidden mouth shut and continued to do what you did best. All the ‘what-ifs’ were just hopeless dreams. You couldn’t stay, you couldn’t commit. You weren’t allowed to, not after the expectations that had been set for you.
Romance was bullshit, after all.
“You seem troubled,” a female voice announces from behind you, but you don’t bother to turn back. Taking your silence as consent, the girl sits next to you.
“Give me a light,” the girl says, leaning closer to you, and only then do you turn to look her over. Blonde girl, 5’8, blue eyes. Freshman.
“Sharon Carter, right?” you ask indifferently, and the girl lets out a bemused huff as she makes her comfortable next to you.
“Wow, so you do know every girl in this school,” Sharon comments, and there’s a teasing lilt in her voice that hints at how this is going to end up.
You pull out a cigarette, passing it over to the blonde girl, noting how her fingertips brush over yours for a second too long. “Maybe I do,” you respond with false cockiness, the smirk overtaking your face almost unconsciously.
This is the right thing to do, you convince yourself, as Sharon’s hand creeps to your thigh. One girl after the other. You couldn’t get attached.
“Impressive. Put away your light. It’s healthier to destress in another way,” Sharon whispers, tossing her cigarette to the rough concrete.
What a waste, you think, but then the same could be said about a lot of other things in your life.
For a fraction of a second, you contemplate your existence. You wonder why you’ve ended up this way. What you’ve done to deserve girls throwing themselves at you when you began to despise all of them.
When Sharon brings her lips closer to yours, and you find yourself meeting her halfway, because you’ve done it so many times.
There’s this tugging of your heart that almost feels like guilt, but you shove it down and drag your tongue between a set of lips. All too easily, your hands draw patterns across her chest and her thighs, a mastered craft that came mechanically.
Even if it is the right thing to do, it doesn’t feel right.
Your head is swimming with unbearable thoughts of Natasha Romanoff, and you try to erase her on the tongue of another girl who could never compare.
It doesn’t feel right, but it’s the easy way out, and it’s what’s expected of you.
Always has been.
***
“Fuck, Y/N—” is the first thing Natasha hears when she meanders into the bathroom the morning after.
She had wanted to get an early start on the new morning, but alas, fate had it out for her.
For a while, Natasha is surprised that she isn’t surprised. You’ve got a pretty blonde girl on the bathroom counter, one hand up her skirt and the other twisted in her hair.
The girl throws her head back in a bout of pleasure, and Natasha’s thinking that maybe she looks a little familiar. It’s her cheekbones, strung high like a haughty prick. “Daddy’s money always gets what you want, hm?” rings in her head.
A spark of fire burns any ounce of indifference Natasha has to ashes. Sharon Fucking Carter.
Sharon’s painted nails were digging into the expanse of your shoulder blades, and it looked downright painful. Your dexterous fingers were plunging into her sodden cunt, rendering her barely coherent.
It all looks so wrong, and Natasha wants to crawl out of her skin before the jealousy eats her alive.
“Fucking hypocrite, aren’t you?” Natasha spits venomously, hands clenched into fists of fury, making her presence known.
When Sharon jumps away from you like she’s been burned, Natasha can’t help but let evil glee surge through her stomach. Serves you right, she thinks, staring at your dishevelled hair that somehow only made you look more handsome.
It’s different, this time, with your eyes darting as if you were unsure of yourself. (Astonishing, considering your mean streak of being cold as ice.) There’s resentment in the way your face sets, and a type of hurt that causes Natasha to falter.
“Daddy’s little bitch,” Sharon scoffs, fixing her skirt with no attempt to hide her disdain. “Why don’t you fuck off, huh?”
Natasha scoffs, eyes widening in fractional aggression. “I-”
“You should go, Carter,” you say monotonously, almost defeated but wavering on the edge of frustration.
The blonde girl whips her head around to stare at you with incredulousness written in her wide eyes. She lets out a dry laugh of betrayal. “Fuck, look at the two of you. Match made in hell.”
The bathroom door slams shut with a piercing thud. Both you and Natasha don’t flinch.
“You didn’t have to call Sharon a hypocrite,” you mumble, flicking your head back to look in the mirror.
There’s something off about you that no one else has ever had the privilege of seeing. It makes Natasha’s heart soar and her blood boil simultaneously.
“She wasn’t the one I was calling a hypocrite.”
A moment passes between the two of you where you flick an invisible switch.
“I’m the hypocrite, Romanoff?” you ask, evidently provoked. A crazed look in your eyes draws Natasha’s attention, because you’re putting on a false facade all over again.
“Am I the hypocrite for fucking another girl? It’s all I do, isn’t it? That’s what I’m known for. You don’t get to be so butthurt because you were just a one-night.”
A sickly sourness lines your mouth as you spew words that aren’t true, because your heart was fighting every battle to get to Natasha Romanoff.
“What you’re failing to realise,” Natasha begins stately. “Is that this isn’t about me. Fuck it if I’m just another girl on your ever-growing fuck list. Because maybe I am. But you’re lying to yourself if you think you’re happy.”
“Oh, so now you’re determining my emotions for me,” you retort with as much snark as you can muster. “You weren’t acting this high and mighty last night in my bed.”
“Quit the act,” Natasha scoffs, then letting a bittersweet smile cross her face. “You’re hiding behind weak retorts because you’re scared. Scared of being alone. But you don’t have to be anymore.”
Lost, your hands twitch, and you allow yourself to believe that maybe Natasha is your salvation. Defense mechanisms kick in, but you know you’re fighting a losing battle.
“Sorry to disappoint, Romanoff, but don’t try to play therapist. I’m not some kind of victim you’re going to diagnose,” you sneer. “I’m free to do whatever the fuck I want without your judgment.”
“Free?” Natasha asks, an incredulous look in her eyes. She laughs in mockery with an unwavering gaze. “You’re not free. You can’t go a day without fucking a girl. You’re a prisoner, and you’re shackled by your own desires and wants. Except this time, that luxury has become an addictive coping mechanism.”
Dark eyes flash with a glimmer of danger, and you’re so much like a trapped animal gone hostile that Natasha’s heart breaks a little.
“You’re wrong,” you answer, but your hands are shaking so violently that you hardly seem like the person she once thought you were.
Where complete equilibrium once was, a desperate frenzy of unease is what exudes from you now. Natasha feels a twinge in her heart when you whisper “You’re wrong,” again, this time substantially more quiet and resigned.
“Prove it, then,” Natasha challenges, bringing a hand up to cup the side of your face. Her eyes search yours so desperately, and you’ve stripped naked in front of a hundred girls, but you’ve never felt more vulnerable. “Prove that you’re more than whatever they say about you.”
With the strange urge of tears pricking at your eyes, you stare at Natasha with all the hopelessness any broken heart could muster, and for a moment you can see the doubt in her eyes. Like you’ve disappointed her, just like all the girls who’s hearts you’ve broken.
But when you first kissed Natasha Romanoff, it was never going to be just another one-night, was it?
With the final semblance of humanity in your burden-stricken mortality, you drag a shaky thumb along Natasha’s cheekbones like it’s the most delicate thing in the world, and the deeply-rooted self-loathing inside you fades away, just a little bit.
Your parted lips meet Natasha’s in a prologue to an unfinished symphony. You delve in like she’s your last lifeline, and maybe Natasha is, from the way she rests her fingers on your hips with a gentleness you’ve never experienced.
A carnal urge washes over you, because this time you’re not afraid to admit that you want Natasha Romanoff. You spread your hands, feeling up as much of her as you can, running it down her back then squeezing at her rounded ass—
And then Natasha’s pulling away, and only then do you hear the cluster of footsteps approaching the washroom.
“Tonight,” she whispers with a hint of smirk. Natasha goes on her tippy-toes to press a kiss on the tip of your nose, and then she’s gone.
You stand there with wide eyes, in the washroom where students filter in, lingering with the ghost of Natasha Romanoff’s lips and a piece of your heart melted onto the floor.
***
You were positive you were going to start ripping off your skin if you didn’t start fucking Natasha Romanoff in this exact moment.
But that would be a bad idea, because you were in the middle of a psychology lecture, and Professor Harkness probably wouldn’t appreciate that.
After a torturous hour of you shifting in your seat, you sprint out the lecture hall. Thanking the heavens that it was your last lesson of the day, you dodge and weave through the crowd of students in the hallway.
“Hey, Y/N,” A small group of sophomore girls call out, checking you out like a piece of meat. Normally, their flirtatious winks and little skirts would have you folded in an instant, but you couldn’t wait a moment longer.
You send them a polite smile and continue on your hasteful journey, missing the comical way their faces fall.
Upon your dutiful research, you knew where Natasha’s dorm was located, but you planned to stop by your own dorm to pick up a little something. (Okay, maybe the something wasn’t that little.) You yank open your door with purpose—
Only to find Natasha already sprawled out on your dorm bed, dressed in one of your shirts and nothing else. You almost pass out. Almost.
“Nat,” you groan, locking the door behind you. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Not before I come, I’m afraid,” Natasha sighs with a pleased smile. She beckons you over with a come-hither motion, spreading her legs in invitation.
You bite back an affected noise in the back of your throat, pushing Natasha back down on to the bed with fervour. With a crushing sense of urgency, you slide your hand between her pretty thighs, not waiting a single moment.
“Slow down,” Natasha instructs, tilting your head up to stare at her blown pupils. “Take your time. Don’t just fuck me. Do it like you mean it.”
Upon hearing those words, a rush of pride washes over you and then you’re so eager to please, desperate to somehow prove yourself.
Your fingers find the hem of her shirt and tug it over her head, revealing the bare mounds that are Natasha’s tits. A shaky exhale leaves your lips as your fingertips experimentally brush over her hardened buds.
“God, you’re built,” Natasha moans, running her hands over the edges and curves of your muscle. It’s tight and taut under her touch, so defined and carved.
You shudder under her explorative touch, returning your attention back to the beautiful girl in front of you.
You were so used to hot, fast, explosive sex that turning back time was such a jarring awakening of everything that you were missing out on.
It put things into perspective, that you had never actually made love. And since this was your first time, you were determined to do it right, especially for Natasha.
You trail open-mouthed kisses down her sternum and stomach, savouring the taste of her skin. Your hands grasp at her tits, enjoying the feel of it in your hands.
You’re experiencing things you never got to experience, like the rise and fall of Natasha’s pale chest, the way her eyelids flutter gently.
Temporarily avoiding where she needed you most, you hear Natasha let out a whine. You tease her hole with your tongue, smearing her slick messily.
“Fuck,” Natasha curses, winding her fingers into your hair. “Please, I need it,” she whines, as you lick at her clit.
“M’kay, baby,” you mumble against her wet folds, because you could never deny Natasha of anything, could you?
You slide your tongue in her twitching pussy, and begin one of the most passionate love-making sessions
You listen out for when Natasha hitches her breath, when her hips stutter, when she mewls out. You learn the instrument of her body, understand and test out the different reactions you can draw out.
After minutes of what seem like pure bliss with erratic breaths and pleading keening, you speed up and the reaction is immaculate.
“Y/N,” Natasha cries, as your tongue goes in and out of her dripping cunt. Her slick goes down her thighs and your chin, making the most obscene noises.
It’s wet and squelching, and you proceed to devour Natasha’s pussy for everything it’s worth.
For a millisecond, Natasha wonders if anyone has ever died from being eaten out too passionately. Erotic Oral Overdrive, maybe.
Her first orgasm comes in a gradual crescendo, her hips rocking in waves as you dutifully match her unwinding.
Natasha lets her eyes flutter shut as the moment overwhelms her senses. Until the silence is finally broken by you.
“Got a little something for you,” you say with a quirked brow, sliding your hand into the bedside cabinet to retrieve that little something.
“Oh, fuck,” Natasha whines, upon seeing the biggest strap-on toy she’s ever had her eyes upon in her life.
You ease in the cock with no amount of trouble, through Natasha’s already slick cunt. You start with a gentle pace, because you’re trying to be slow.
Apparently, Natasha has different plans this time around.
“Harder,” Natasha growls, digging her nails into your muscled back. You let out a low gasp, because you’re already so deep inside her divine pussy, and you didn’t think you could go any deeper.
Gripping her thighs and spreading it as far apart as you can, you thrust impossibly deeper and your hips slap against Natasha’s.
Her eyes roll back, and she arches off the bed as you continue to thrust and make a nest for yourself inside her.
“Y/N, ungh– please, fuck—” Curled toes wrap around your back as she writhes against the bed.
With the way your cock bulges against her skin, you’re quite sure you could actually split Natasha in half. She’s clawing at your back, calling out your name to the ceiling.
When you pull out, Natasha whines, velvet walls clenching tighter around to keep you deep inside. But then you thrust all the way in again and a scream rings around your dorm room.
You don’t give a flying fuck about the noise level as you pound into Natasha, splitting open her pretty little pussy. “So fucking tight and wet,” you moan into her ear. “All for me, baby?”
It’s fucking possesive, the way you manhandle her to look at her rolled-back eyes and slack jaw.
“Mhm– yes! Oh God, yes, please, Y/N!” Natasha shrieks, clenching so tight you swear you can feel her wet pulse through the huge strap-on.
But it isn’t just any strap-on, and Natasha realises this with a breathy gasp, because it’s a squirting strap-on, and then you’re unloading into her ruined cunt with a deep growl.
Natasha wails, legs in the air, as you pump your seed into her pussy. It’s thick and flows out in pumps, and she milks your cock dry.
“Good girl, Nat,” you breathe, rocking in slow motions so she can recover from her high.
Finally, you collapse on top of Natasha as she lets out a breathy laugh. “What happened to not fucking the same girl twice?”
“You’re infuriating,” you grunt, rolling your hips once in retaliation. You delight the small victory of Natasha whimpering under you.
Natasha rolls her eyes at your impertinence, leaning up to press a small kiss on your forehead. “Infuriating? More like irresistible.”
It’s your turn to laugh, grasping her hips and pulling her impossibly closer. “You’re right,” you whisper truthfully. You think you could stay like this forever.
“Stay if you dare,” Natasha whispers, letting her hand trace over the curvature of your angled face. As you lay above her, you turn your head so that your lips brush against her palm.
Your warm lips are so delicate that Natasha could almost weep, and that’s all the response she needs before breathing a gentle sigh, hence letting sleep drift her consciousness away.
For the first night amongst many, a quiet calm settles in your dorm room ‘til the sun rises again.
***
Don’t fall for the player.
Once upon a time, that used to be a warning, circulating within the hallways of Avengers Institution, whispered under hushed breaths and divine lips.
Tried and true, was the rumour that every single girl in this school would eventually fall victim to The Player’s effortless charisma and unstoppable magnetism.
And this might be true, because whenever you strolled the hallways or scored a touchdown, you were bound to have admirers cheering your name or flirty winks thrown in your way — However, there was a catalyst. A change, if you would.
Boys looked on in jealousy, girls looked on in intrigue. (Or maybe jealousy, too.) What used to be a smooth mouth and wandering hands became a delicate kind of control, saved for only one particular student.
Gone was your blatant charisma and swagger in treating other girls, because now there was only one on your mind — Natasha Romanoff. Be it in on the bleachers, in the hallways, or during dorm parties, never were you seen without the girl who always got what she wanted.
And that included the very subject of the mantra that defined Avengers Institution:
Don’t fall for the player.
so... this was one full month of work. i've never been this dedicated to a singular project. wow. uh, please reblog. it's the only true way of supporting your little creators on this app, so help me out here. thanks for reading. out of curiosity, which part did you like the most?
kinktober masterlist || main masterlist
#marvel smut#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff#x reader#natasha romanoff x reader smut#natasha romanoff smut#gxg smut#wlw smut#natasha x reader#natasha x reader smut#bottom natasha romanoff#sub natasha romanoff#top reader#dom reader#hozier#arsonist's lullabye#arsonist's lullaby#natasha romanoff x fem reader#fem reader#natasha x fem!reader#fem!reader#sytoran's kinktober 2023#kinktober#kinktober 2023
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i know who you are | 6. the fight
Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
Chapter Summary: Word of Joel's indiscretion spreads quickly through town, leading to a vicious fight. When Joel begins to worry you may never forgive him, he sets into motion a plan to win you back.
Chapter Warnings: language, angst, pining, sad!Joel, amnesia, slow burn, previous infidelity mentioned, violence (fist fight), blood, bruises, jealousy/possessiveness
WC: 8K
Series Masterlist
The thought of leaving your bed was excruciating.
For nearly three days, you could hardly do much more than use the bathroom and drink some water. When you heard Joel leave for patrol, his footsteps always pausing hesitantly on the other side of your door before begrudgingly going down the steps, you would eventually drag yourself downstairs and force yourself to eat something. Anything. It didn't really matter. You didn't crave anything. Didn't look forward to a single thing except the sweet embrace of sleep. But by the fourth day, you knew you would have to go back to work or else Nick would make a house call to check on you.
You had lied and said you hurt your back so you could get out of working for a few days, but enough time had passed, enough tears were shed, enough pity was wasted when you finally forced yourself to get up one morning and take a shower.
It helped more than you thought it would. The steam billowing around you in the confined space, the warm water pummeling your shoulders, working out the kinks in your muscles from too many hours hunched over in agony. If you had any self-awareness, you might have asked yourself why you had such a powerful reaction to Joel kissing someone else. If you had a clear enough mind, you might have remembered you didn't even react this badly when you woke from your accident only to discover your whole family was dead and the world went to hell.
No, you only seemed to fall into a deep depression over Joel finding comfort from another woman.
And not just any woman. Angie.
It still made your blood boil as you slipped on clean clothes for work. You should have known she was a shark, smelling blood in the water that very first night when she cornered you in the bathroom.
And to make matters worse, he had the audacity to accuse you of not caring. Not giving a shit about him, to be exact.
That fucking asshole.
When you came down the stairs and spotted the coffee maker still on with your favorite mug next to the carafe, you scoffed and kept walking to grab your coat. As much as you wanted some coffee, you were too stubborn to accept Joel's shitty gesture.
The winter sun was blinding against the snow. Or maybe your eyes were just too swollen and dry, too accustomed to staying in the darkness of your bedroom for days on end, but whatever it was caused you to wince and rub your face.
"Hey! You're alive!" you heard Ellie's voice call out from the driveway. She was walking up the path at the exact same time as you with her backpack slung over one shoulder and her winter jacket unzipped.
"Yeah, barely," you replied, wishing you had some of the coffee Joel had left behind. You took the porch steps carefully and met her out on the sidewalk, your pupils finally adjusting to the brightness. "How's it going, kid?"
She opened her mouth to reply but paused, giving you a funny look.
"What's wrong?" you asked, unable to read her expression.
"Nothing, just that nickname... took me by surprise," she laughed with a shake of her head, "you used to call me that before. Haven't heard it in a long time, I guess." You shielded your eyes and shrugged.
"Common nickname, I suppose," you reasoned, and she nodded in agreement.
"How's the back?" she asked with a point, and you almost had to ask her what she was talking about before you remembered your lie.
"Oh! Much better, thanks. Must've pulled a muscle or something, who knows."
"Well, that's good. Listen, I gotta get to school, but do you wanna get dinner later with me and Dina? Seth's making mac and cheese, and it's like, the fucking best, dude," she said excitedly, and you didn't have the heart to say no.
"Yeah, sounds great," you smiled, then gave her a quick wave before heading in the opposite direction towards the infirmary.
It was only a short ten minute walk to work, but the fresh air combined with stretching your muscles for the first time in days really did something to improve your mood. By the time you pushed open the door to the infirmary, you were actually looking forward to working again.
And so was Nick, apparently, because his eyes lit up and his body sagged with relief when he saw you.
"I was a few hours away from sneaking you the good pills and begging you to come back," he joked, then his face turned serious. "Everything alright? What happened?"
"Oh, I'm fine," you said, waving off his concern, "I slipped on some ice and pulled a muscle, it's all good now."
"Well, be careful out there, alright? You're the best aide I have."
"I'm the only aide you have," you corrected him before hanging up your jacket. "What do you need me to do?"
The morning went by fast. Nick had told you in the few days you were out, the clinic wasn't terribly busy, but he unfortunately did fall behind on housekeeping. So you busied yourself running loads of sheets and blankets to the laundry, then sanitizing equipment until Mr. Phillips came in after lunch with a laceration on his arm from working in the stables. It wasn't a bad injury, but it required some cleaning and a few stitches, which you were secretly eager to observe. You wanted to get more exposure to stitching in the hopes of being able to take care of non-emergency injuries by yourself one day.
It felt good to feel useful again. Staying busy forced your mind off Joel and the whole mess waiting for you at home, and you were grateful for the distraction. So much so that you decided to stay a little longer than usual and fold the linens that came back from the laundry. You were killing two birds with one stone: staying busy and avoiding going home in between work and dinner. By now, you knew he'd be back and likely waiting for you, and you still had no idea what you would say.
As the sun began to set and the world outside the infirmary grew darker, you slid your coat back on and locked the door behind you before heading for the dining hall.
Shoving your hands deep into your pockets, you tucked your chin against your chest, feet carrying you swiftly through the streets, eyes cast down and avoiding others as best you could. When you arrived at the dining hall, it was packed, per usual, but you did manage to spot Ellie and Dina holding a small table in the back of the room. As you weaved your way through the crowd, you noticed they were sharing some bread and butter and you felt your stomach rumble. For the first time in days, you felt excited to eat.
"Hey," you said in greeting as you dropped your coat over the back of an empty chair before giving them each a half hug. "Freezing out there."
"Give it a second. It's hotter than hell in here," Dina joked before pushing the basket of bread in your direction. You plopped down into your chair and moaned when you felt the bread was still warm, then tore off little pieces and popped them into your mouth.
"Hungry?" Ellie asked, only partially joking as you nodded vigorously.
"Did you order the mac and cheese yet?"
"Yeah, didn't want him to run out," she replied as she eased back into her chair and turned her head toward Dina. "Do you see Chris and Holly over there? What are they thinking? They know that shit'll get back to Claire. What a bunch of assholes."
"Who?" you asked, your voice muffled around the bread.
"Couple of kids in our class," Dina explained, nodding towards the other side of the hall. You twisted around, your eyes scanning the crowd until you saw a younger couple sitting together, the girl sitting on the guy's lap and toying with his hair. "That's Chris, and he's been dating this girl, Claire, for like, what? Six months or so? And look at him. Letting that hussy crawl all over him. Men are pigs."
You choked on your laughter and took a swig of water. If only they knew.
Ellie's eyes lit up as she looked at something behind you, and you turned around to follow her gaze, spotting Seth as he made his way through the crowd with three plates of mac and cheese. However, just over his left shoulder you happened to notice Joel for the first time since you arrived, but by the looks of it, it was not the first time he noticed you.
He was sitting at his usual table with Tommy and another guy from patrol you vaguely recognized, the other two men engrossed in conversation while Joel pinned you with his stare. You quickly turned away, your cheeks feeling flush, and tried to focus on your dinner.
"Shit, this looks amazing," you said, distracted by the cheesy, piping hot dish set in front of you.
"I'm telling you, man, it's the fucking best," Ellie told you before digging in. You had to stifle a moan when the food hit your tongue for the first time, eternally grateful for the impeccable timing because all you could think about in that moment was how good it tasted, Joel temporarily forgotten for the first time in days.
"Didn't you eat today?" Dina asked, her lips twitching into a grin, and you shook your head.
"Not really. Haven't had much of an appetite this week," you told her, and Ellie tilted her head to the side.
"Your pain was that bad?"
"Huh?" you asked, then it dawned on you once again. The Lie. "Oh, yeah. I mean, I ate a little, I just wanted to sleep, I guess."
"Joel didn't make sure you ate?" she pressed, her eyes flicking over your shoulder. You dropped your fork, scrambling to come up with yet another lie when her brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed, making you twist around to see what made her demeanor change so suddenly.
As you expected, she was looking in Joel's direction, but he was no longer looking at your table. It was impossible considering Angie was standing directly in front of him, blocking his view with her body, her hand resting on the back of his chair.
"What is she up to now?" Dina murmured to Ellie, but you could hardly register her words. The way your anger ignited deep within your chest and licked up your throat, it was a miracle you even remembered to breathe. Joel's legs shifted, knees turned away from her, but that was all you could see. You couldn't see the look on his face or hear what was said. You couldn't see where his hands were. But you could see Angie flick her long, straight hair over her shoulder with a flirty laugh that was clearly meant to pull attention onto her.
If you didn't have tunnel vision, you would have noticed she was successful. A few heads turned, men's eyes lingering on her backside while women's eyes darted in your direction, but you were incapable of processing any of it. Ellie was saying your name, but you couldn't hear her over the ringing in your ears.
It was less than a minute. Thirty seconds, tops, and she walked away from him with a sickly grin plastered across her face, her two friends returning her mischievous smile before flanking her side, making their way towards the exit like a swarm of bees.
Without even thinking, you stood up.
"What are you doing?" Ellie asked, but you ignored her. Instead, you pushed your way through the crowd in a trance, shouldering people out of your way without so much as an apology, too laser focused on your target to care.
"Joel!" Ellie called out to him. He was rubbing his face angrily, trying to avoid his brother's eyes glaring at him in disbelief over what he just overheard Angie say when he heard Ellie. Great, she knows, too, he initially thought, but when he looked up and saw Ellie and Dina, panic-stricken, making their way towards the exit, he realized something was happening. He didn't see you until you emerged from the crowd and reached for the door, swinging it open and allowing a cool blast of air into the room before disappearing outside.
"Oh, shit," Joel mumbled, snatching his coat and forcing his way through all the people as quickly as he could. Tommy followed, confused at first, until he realized you were no longer at your table and then it clicked.
By the time you made it outside, you nearly missed where they went, but luck was on your side because her high-pitched giggle danced through the bitter cold air and you twisted your head to the left, just in time to see the three women in the shadow of night round a corner and head down a residential street.
You were nearly running to catch up with them, but you couldn't feel your feet hit the ground or hear the gravel crunching under your boots. And neither did they, because when you found yourself less than ten feet away, they were still giggling and talking animatedly amongst themselves, completely oblivious to your presence.
Skidding to a stop, you shouted, "Hey!"
All three women swirled around in surprise, their eyes wide and their smiles slipping from their faces when they sensed the rage radiating from your body. But even still, Angie tried to play dumb.
"Can we help you?" she asked sarcastically with a dry laugh, but when you took a step forward, she went quiet.
"Yeah," you sneered, fists clenching at your sides, "I had a question for you, actually."
Angie looked perplexed, not expecting that, so she held her hands out to her side, urging you to continue while Ellie and Dina caught up, standing a few paces back.
"Did you run out of dick to suck in this town or are you just that fucking bored you thought you'd give home wrecking a try?"
Dina snickered behind you and Ellie gasped.
"Home wrecking?" she replied, raising her eyebrow and crossing her arms. "Is that what you'd call your man following me into the ladies room at the bar so he could shove his tongue down my throat?"
Your nostrils flared and your ears began to make that buzzing noise again, so you dug your nails into your palms, desperately trying to ground yourself.
"Can I even call him your man?" she taunted, feeling like she got the upper hand. "Are you even together anymore? You clearly don't fuck him if he was looking for it from-"
You couldn't even remember moving. Your feet had a mind of their own as you closed the distance between you with two long strides and swung your arm back with as much force as you could muster, backhanding Angie right across the mouth.
Her hands flew up to her face and her two friends stumbled backwards in surprise, but all you saw was red. Before she could recover, you grabbed her by the coat and threw her down onto the muddy street, knocking the wind out of her with a sharp gasp. Quickly, before she could get up, you straddled her midsection. With your left hand pressing down on her chest and your right balled into a fist near your head, you landed a punch right on her perfect little nose with a sickening crunch, causing a trail of blood to trickle out of her nostrils seconds later. But that didn't stop you. You kept going, your knuckles, now bloody, marring her flesh over and over again, but when you made contact with her jawbone, you flinched, a jolt of pain shooting down your middle finger making you pause.
That was when Angie saw her opportunity.
She vaulted you off her with her hips and she rolled to her side, pinning you to the ground with blood dripping down her face. She scratched desperately at your eyes and mouth, your hands coming up to protect yourself with a yelp, before she began landing weak punches against your cheek and mouth. And even though they weren't as forceful as your hits, her weight pinning you down kept you from reclaiming the upper hand.
Ellie and Dina were shouting your name, but you tuned them out. All you could focus on was Angie, blocking her punches as best you could while you waited for your opportunity to take her down.
Then, Angie's hand wrapped around your throat, her fingers pressing into your windpipe. Your hands grabbed her wrist as you fought for air and violently thrashed underneath her.
"Face it," she hissed, leaning down and putting more pressure against your throat, "If it was that easy, I was doing you a favor. He never really loved you, you were just an easy fuck before your brain got all scrambled."
Her words were exactly what you needed to get your second wind.
With an angry roar, you punched her right in the throat, and although you couldn't get much force behind it, it was enough to make her loosen her grip in surprise. And just as Tommy and Joel were running up the street, you tossed Angie to the side and scrambled back on top of her. But this time, you didn't stop.
You were merciless, your hands were a blur. Fists rained down blows upon her face while she desperately tried to shield herself, but it was no use.
"Stop!" she sobbed, begging, but the fear in her voice just egged you on.
Blood began to stain her yellow hair, her perfect skin began to turn red and purple while your fists never stopped, each blow creating a new mark or cut. You couldn't stop if you tried. Something snapped and you unlocked a part of yourself you didn't know, or didn't remember, existed. Some part of you that was a warrior. A fighter. A survivor. And it wasn't until Joel hooked his arms underneath yours and hauled you back that you finally stopped, your chest heaving and your eyes wild.
"Y-you crazy b-bitch!" Angie sputtered, blood trickling from her nose and mouth as Tommy knelt in front of her.
"You haven't seen crazy!" you screamed as you kicked and struggled to get out of Joel's grip. Tommy reached down to help Angie up and he motioned for her friends to come forward. "Stay the fuck away from us or I'll fucking kill you!" you shouted, "You hear me, you fucking whore? I will fucking kill you!"
"Calm down!" Joel yelled from behind, but your blood boiled as you focused your rage on him.
"Get your fucking hands off me," you snarled, wrenching your arms out of his grasp. "This is your fault!" you continued, pointing your finger in his face and backing away, ignoring the tortured look he gave you. A sick part of you was pleased to see the sting of your words land.
"I think she needs to see Nick," Tommy said as both of Angie's friends struggled to help her up.
"She's lucky she's alive," you snapped as you wiped the back of your hand over your bloody face.
"Holy shit, dude," Ellie murmured as you turned around, her eyes all wide with shock.
"I'm going home," you grumbled, wiping more blood from your cheek as you began the journey back to your house on shaky legs, wondering how on earth you were expected to share a space with Joel after tonight. Dina and Ellie exchanged some quick words as you left before Ellie quickly caught up with you.
"I'll clean you up."
"You don't-"
"I know. But I want to," she said, wrapping her arm around your shoulder, and it took everything in you not to lean into her and let her drag you home.
You were exhausted. Mentally and physically. And you just wanted to go to bed. But you were grateful for Ellie. Someone who cared, someone who saw you were hurting and needed help without having to ask for it. So you let her clean you up in your bathroom when you arrived back home, her nimble fingers delicately pressing against your wounds, cleansing them as best she could before pressing band aids and butterfly bandages against your cuts and then making you an ice pack to help with the swelling.
She tucked you into bed and made you drink some water before sitting down on the edge of your mattress with a sigh.
"I had no idea," she began, and you quickly waved her off.
"I know. It's... I know," you said, at a loss for words.
"You didn't really hurt your back, did you?" she asked, and you slowly shook your head. "That motherfucker," she seethed, "I can't believe him, I'm going to kill him, I swear-"
"Just leave him alone," you told her, "Let me handle it."
The two of you sat quietly for a moment, each of you lost in your own thoughts before she spoke again.
"It wasn't like that before," she began, and at first you weren't following, but then you realized: she was talking about before your accident. "You were crazy about each other. Angie was never an issue. Neither of you paid her any attention. She just saw an opportunity and took advantage," Ellie said as her fingers tangled in her lap. "I shouldn't even be saying this, it feels like I'm defending him, but I swear. I was with you guys all the time. You were in love, man."
"Things changed, I guess," you said sadly, but she shook her head.
"You guys are what inspired me and Dina to go for it," she said softly, avoiding your gaze. "We were scared, but I saw how you two were together and how you made it work and, I don't know," she said, picking at her fingernail, "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I look up to you guys. And it's kind of fucking with my head right now that all this is happening."
"Ellie, no," you said, shifting a bit in bed and reaching out to her. "Don't say that. Don't question what you and Dina have because of me and Joel."
She swallowed and looked at you, her eyes soft and worried.
"Why did he do it?" she asked quietly, and you could hear the pain in her voice. Pressing your lips together, you shrugged.
"It's complicated."
She nodded and looked away. "Will you do me a favor?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Would you give him a chance? Just hear him out and let him explain?" she begged, and you immediately bristled. "You don't have to forgive him. Just... don't give up yet. Please. He loves you, I know it, and... and I think you love him, too."
You scoffed then cleared your throat, your fingers coming up to press gently on your tender neck. "I don't love him," you croaked, but she shook her head.
"If you don't love him then why do you care so much?" she countered, and you fell silent, unable to give her an answer, eyes drifting aimlessly around the room. "Why did you almost kill Angie for sleeping with him if you didn't love him?"
"Sleeping with - no, Ellie. They didn't have sex. He kissed her," you quickly explained, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"You rearranged her face because he kissed her?" she asked in disbelief, then laughed softly and stood up. "I'm not saying he didn't fuck up, but dude. Come on. You gotta see it, now, right?"
You took a deep breath and rubbed your eyes.
"Alright. For you, I'll... talk to him, or whatever," you grumbled half-heartedly.
"Thank you," she said, her voice sounding more like herself once again before turning to leave and allowing you to rest. If you had any inkling she was trying to manipulate you into forgiving Joel, it was quickly expunged because you awoke an hour later to her arguing with him in the living room when he arrived home, the conversation ending with her storming out of the house and then his weary footsteps slowly climbing up the stairs.
Once again, you watched as he paused outside your room, two narrow shadows cast by his legs breaking up the thin beam of light under your door until he thought better of it and kept walking, his own bedroom door closing softly with a click.
The pain was worse the next morning, but you refused to admit it. The cuts burned and the bruises throbbed, but you were too stubborn to let any weakness show, although one look at your bruised neck would tell anyone the truth. You forced yourself out of bed, feeling too guilty to bail on Nick after already taking so many days off to wallow in your own misery, and washed up before heading downstairs. Much to your surprise, Joel was sitting at the kitchen table, his big hand cupping a mug of coffee while he stared blankly at the wall, lost in his own thoughts. When you first saw his face, the bags under his eyes evident, even from across the room, it was clear he hardly got any sleep.
Good, you thought. Then you remembered your promise to Ellie and bit back whatever nasty remark you were getting ready to toss his way. Instead, you dragged yourself to the coffee maker, ignoring the mug Joel left out for you and choosing your own, unable to resist the urge to be just a little bit spiteful.
He cleared his throat as you poured your coffee, a warning he was about to speak, and your shoulders tensed.
"How're you feelin'?"
"About as good as I look," you muttered, bringing the coffee to your lips and taking a tiny sip before turning around. He looked up at you, for the first time seeing the extent of your injuries and he jolted forward in his chair, fighting back the instinct to stand up and inspect your wounds. He blinked rapidly, gaze skirting over your face and neck, worry etching his features until you sighed.
"It's not really that bad," you admitted, looking down at your feet.
"Tell Nick t'give you somethin' when you get to work," he said, voice strained. You nodded and took another sip of your coffee. He swallowed nervously before inching forward in his chair and clasping his hands between his knees. "I'm sorry," he said, the words laced with guilt and shame. "I'm so sorry, I fucked up. But you gotta believe me, I didn't go out that night lookin' for her or anyone else. I just wanted to drink and be alone for a little while." He rubbed his palms over his face while you still stared down at the floor, listening.
"I believe you," you finally said after a tense stretch of silence. He dropped his hands and looked up.
"You do?"
"Doesn't mean I forgive you, but I believe you didn't run out of here looking to shove your tongue down someone else's throat."
He grimaced and dropped his chin to his chest.
"D'you think-" he cut himself off and took a deep breath before forcing himself to look at you again. "D'you think you could ever forgive me?"
You closed your eyes and pressed your lips into a thin line.
"I don't know," you said quietly. Your head was pounding, so you rubbed your forehead, his eyes trained on you anxiously from across the room, knee bouncing slightly as he waited to hear you say anything that would give him a glimmer of hope. "You really fucking hurt me, Joel," you said, trying to hide your lower lip as it trembled, but he heard the pain in your voice and it broke his heart.
"I know, I'm an asshole and I don't deserve you. I never did. Not after what happened at the hospital and definitely not now," he said, standing up and taking a few hesitant steps in your direction, stopping when he reached the kitchen island. "But I'll do whatever it takes. I'll wait as long as I need to, I'll spend the rest of my life makin' it up to you, prove to you that-"
"I don't want to lead you on, Joel," you said solemnly, eyes watering. "I can't promise I'll ever move past it. I'm not sure we're strong enough to get through this."
"Yes, we are," he told you adamantly, "I don't want anyone else. I only want you. You ain't leadin' me on because I don't wanna go anywhere else. I don't care what that looks like in the future, I'll take whatever you give me, that's all I want."
You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the wobble in his voice, and looked into the living room, the framed photo of your house that Ellie drew for you several Christmases ago, the same one you read about in your journal, catching your eye, and you felt yourself tear up.
I just want to go home, you thought, but home no longer existed. This was your home, like it or not.
You turned away, looking out the window over the sink blinking back tears, but Joel had already followed your gaze to the photo.
"I should get going," you said, voice thick. You chugged whatever coffee you could and dumped the rest in the sink.
"I'm gonna make it up to you," he said, following you to the door, "I'm gonna make this right." You scoffed.
"Yeah, okay," you mumbled sarcastically, shoving on your boots and coat before swinging open the door and heading out into the frigid winter morning, big flakes of snow slowly swirling and falling from the sky as Joel watched you trudge down the street, hunched over and curled in on yourself. A shell of the person he knew you to be.
He did that. He caused you pain. And it made him sick.
But at least he finally thought of a way he could prove how much you meant to him.
Sweat covered your forehead by the time you made it to the infirmary, your wool knit cap to blame for the excessive heat pouring from your head while your face was ice cold. You yanked it off your head and shed your coat before making your way to the back, your hair sticking to your forehead. Nick was nowhere to be found, but one of the exam room doors was closed and you heard voices murmuring on the other side. Assuming he had an early patient, you pulled your hair back and got to work. It was supposed to be a quiet day. Nick wanted you to work on an updated inventory list after getting a big batch of supplies two weeks prior from an unexplored hole-in-the-wall pharmacy.
The exam room door swung open, the voices clearer now, and your shoulders stiffened when you recognized the patient. You should have assumed Angie would be there that day, but for some reason it hadn't occurred to you.
Your anger had diffused a bit since the night before, that raw, exposed nerve quelled by time, but that didn't stop you from glaring at her as she passed by the inventory closet. Her swollen eyes widened with fear when she saw you and for the first time, you got a good look at the damage you inflicted. Her nose was clearly broken, she was missing a tooth and both eyes were black and blue, but the cuts on her cheeks and lips were superficial, at best.
She kept walking, not daring to say a word in your direction as your eyes followed her out the door. When she left, Nick turned around with a sigh and crossed his arms.
"How're you feeling?"
You shrugged and turned back to your clipboard. "I'm alright."
"You look like shit," he said, sidling up next to you and plucking the ibuprofen from the shelf. He tapped out two pills and dropped them into your palm before closing the bottle, putting it back where it belonged. "Did you eat?"
With just a shake of your head you popped the pills, swallowing them dry before turning back to your task.
"You gotta eat something with those, it'll tear up your stomach," he said, disappearing down the hallway and coming back a few minutes later with an apple. You grimaced but took it anyway, unable to stop your mind from replaying the memory of peeling apples with Joel just a week prior. Before everything went to hell.
Nick watched you quietly for a moment as you chewed your apple slowly and read down the list of medications on your clipboard.
"Do you, uh," he began, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, "do you need someone to talk to?" You glanced up at him in surprise and he dropped his hand back to his side. "We don't have to talk about it. But I know you still feel like you're a stranger in this town, and that's gotta be tough." He scratched his greying chin as he glanced around the room and you had to fight back the laugh that bubbled up your throat. You couldn't help it.
He noticed the amused look on your face at his discomfort and pretended to be annoyed when he muttered, "just come find me if you wanna talk or whatever," but you knew it was just an act. Nick was typically a quiet man, kept to himself and hardly ever spoke to his patients, let alone you, his employee, about personal matters. The fact he was trying now must mean he really thought you needed it.
The older man disappeared down the hall to his office and you smiled to yourself, then focused back on work, grateful for something that took your mind off your misery, even if it was just for a moment.
"What the hell do you want?" Tommy scowled when he flung open his door to find his older brother waiting on the other side, hands shoved deep in his pockets, weight shifting foot to foot in an effort to keep warm.
"C'mon, Tommy, I'm gettin' it from all angles, here."
"I don't give a shit," he spat, turning on his heel to retreat back into the house, but left the front door open. Joel took a step inside and quietly shut the door behind him, glancing around the entryway and peering into the living room as he took off his outerwear.
"Maria home?"
"No, she's down at the stables with Violet. Showin' her the horses, gettin' her outta the house," he grumbled, angrily putting away dishes as he spoke. Joel sighed and flattened his palms against the counter.
"I gotta ask for a favor."
Tommy scoffed and shook his head. "You're a piece of work, y'know that?"
"Yeah, I fuckin' know. Jesus Christ, Tommy, I made one goddamn mistake!" Joel yelled, slapping his hand against the cool countertop. Tommy twisted around, brow furrowed, and crossed his arms.
"Don't take an attitude with me," Tommy said through clenched teeth, "I don't give a shit if everyone's gangin' up on you. You deserve it! I thought she was the one you wanted to spend your life with? The one you'd do anythin' for?"
"She is!" Joel exclaimed, raking his fingers through his hair. Tommy's eyes softened while he watched his brother struggle, the enormity of what he did clearly taking its toll.
"Then what the fuck were you thinkin'?" he asked after a few moments, tone pleading. "Everythin' was goin' so well. You guys were havin' a nice time at the party, laughin' and smilin', we all saw it. Then you take 'er home and step out like that?"
"It's not- I was drunk and misread some things," Joel replied, rubbing his eyes with the pads of his fingers. "I tried to kiss her, she shot me down and I didn't take it all that well, alright?" Joel dropped his hand, exasperated, and looked at Tommy once again, taking a deep breath. "Went to the bar to drink and Angie sunk her claws into me. I got the hell outta there and confessed the second I got home but... didn't matter," he said, hanging his head between his shoulders.
"Angie said you followed her into the bathroom, Joel. Don't bullshit me, I was sittin' right there."
"I know, Jesus, it's my fault. I was drinkin' and upset and she was just... there. Pesterin' me and pushin' my buttons. It was only a second, Tommy. Nothin' else happened, y'hear me?" Joel's eyes were wide and desperate as he stared at his little brother across the kitchen.
"It's no excuse, Joel," Tommy said sadly. Joel pushed off the counter with a huff and yanked angrily at his disheveled hair again.
"I know that. I'm just tellin' you how it went down. But I gotta make it up to her. I gotta make it right."
"How the hell do you plan on doin' that? 'Cause from where I'm sittin', only way she could move past it is if I take her back out into the woods so she can hit her head again and forget," Tommy said.
Joel rolled his eyes and slumped into a chair at the kitchen table.
"I got an idea. Don't know if it'll work, but it's all I can think of to prove what she means to me," he said softly, staring down at his fingers twisting together in his lap.
Tommy sized his brother up and down before taking a few steps closer, his hands coming to grip the back of a chair as he leaned forward.
"Let's hear it."
Joel sighed and tilted his chin up. "I need a week off from patrol. I gotta leave Jackson. And I need a horse."
"What?" Tommy asked incredulously. "In the middle of winter? Absolutely not. You'll die out there."
"I survived out there before I came to Jackson, I'll be fine."
"Been a long fuckin' time and you weren't alone when you did it," Tommy argued.
"You offerin' to help?" Joel asked, and Tommy laughed dryly. But Joel continued to stare at him.
"You're serious, aren't you?"
"'Course I am," Joel replied, "she ain't ever gonna forgive me but I gotta do somethin', Tommy. I can't lose her, and right now, it really feels like I'm gonna lose her." Joel's voice cracked and he turned away, looking out the window so Tommy couldn't see the emotion behind his eyes.
Tommy groaned and yanked a chair out to sit down.
"What'dya need me to do?"
It was a long day on your feet and your face hurt more than you cared to admit, so by the time you arrived home, you decided to make yourself a sandwich and go to bed early, skipping an appearance at the dining hall where you knew half the town would be gawking at you and your wounds, anyway.
Fortunately, Joel was up in his room with the door closed when you quietly snuck upstairs with your sandwich. You were still emotionally exhausted from your brief conversation that morning and you were grateful he wasn't looking to have another one.
Nick had sent you home with one of the good pills, as he called it, so you took it with your meal and within the hour, you were out cold. Maybe if you hadn't taken the pill, you would have been awake to hear Joel's bedroom door squeak open, the rustling of fabric and the tinkling of metal cutting through the quiet hallway as he gripped his sleeping bag in one hand and his backpack stuffed with supplies in the other.
Like he usually did, he paused outside your room, his eyes lingering on the doorknob, ears straining for any sign that you were awake, that maybe you had a change of heart and he could call the whole trip off, but he was only met with silence.
He swallowed and turned towards the stairs, quietly tiptoeing down and packed another bag with food from the pantry before setting all three items by the door. At the last minute, he decided to leave a note, not even certain you would notice or care he was gone, but he knew Tommy would be furious when he found out he lied to him earlier and he really didn't want his brother to waste manpower trying to hunt him down in the wilderness. So he grabbed a pen from a drawer and an old envelope. The tip of his pen hovered over the paper as he struggled with what to say, then finally decided to keep it brief before scribbling his note, leaving it by the coffee maker where he knew you would see it.
Lastly, he strode into the living room and grabbed one more thing, shoving it into his backpack before piling on his layers and heading out the front door, giving the house one last forlorn glance before slipping quietly into the night.
It was your day off, so naturally you allowed yourself to sleep in a little, hoping that the extra rest would help your bruises to heal. At the very least, you were pleased to discover the pain around your throat was significantly better than the day before.
You didn't hear Joel when you got up, but that was typical. He usually had early morning patrol shifts and was back by the afternoon, but when you came downstairs and saw the coffee wasn't made like it normally was, you froze. Your eyes drifted around, noticing his coat and boots were missing.
Maybe he was running behind and just didn't have time to make coffee.
As unusual as that might be, it was the only logical conclusion until you walked over to the coffee maker and saw an aged envelope sticking out of your favorite mug. You frowned and picked it up, eyes quickly scanning the words once, then three more times before the panic set in, your stomach churning worse and worse each time.
Tell Tommy I'll be back in a week.
He knows why.
No matter what, just know I love you with my whole heart, in this world or the next.
Joel
Boots unlaced and coat unzipped, you raced down the street towards Tommy's house, the envelope gripped tightly in your fist.
What the hell did that mean? Where did he go? What is he doing? And why did he sneak out without telling Tommy?
You banged on the door, the wood rattling violently under your clenched fist, only afterwards realizing you could have been waking their daughter but fortunately when the door opened, you saw Violet and Maria playing in the living room over Tommy's shoulder.
"What's goin' on, sugar? You okay?" he asked, voice filled with concern when he saw the look on your face.
"Joel's gone," you said hurriedly before pushing past him and entering the house, yanking off your hat and exchanging glances with Maria from across the room.
"Gone? What'dya mean, gone?"
"I mean I woke up today and he was gone, Tommy!" you exclaimed, handing him the note. "Where did he go?!"
You were aware your voice was panicky, that your eyes were wide with fear and your breath was fast and shallow, but you didn't care how it looked to them in that moment.
Tommy scanned the note and sighed, rubbing his forehead before urging you to join him in the living room, where he collapsed onto the sofa.
"That idiot," he murmured under his breath, handing you back the envelope.
"Where is he, Tommy?" you tried again, hoping to sound less frantic this time.
He glanced at Maria before meeting your gaze.
"He was here yesterday afternoon. Told me he needed a favor. Said he needed a week off from patrol and a horse."
"To do what?" you pressed, sinking down into an armchair next to the couch.
"He said-" he cut himself off and looked down at the note in your hand, ticking his jaw to the side as if he was contemplating how much to tell you.
"Spit it out," you demanded, and his eyes snapped back up to you.
"Said he had a plan to make things up to you. For, y'know," he waved his hand in the air, not wanting to say it. You shook your head.
"What was his plan?"
"He wouldn't tell me everything but I offered to help," Tommy admitted, glancing guiltily at Maria who shot him a surprised glare. "Said he needed to go to California, that he wanted to bring a piece of you back. I'm guessin' you're from out that way?" Tommy asked, and you nodded slowly. "He said he would wait 'til I talked to Maria and worked out the schedule but I guess he decided to fuck off-"
"Tommy!" Maria scolded sharply, covering Violet's ears, and Tommy cringed.
"Sorry," he said softly before turning back to you. "Guess he decided to lone-wolf it."
Your eyes drifted back to the note in your hand, swallowing the lump in your throat while your mind raced to catch up.
"What if he doesn't make it?" you asked, eyes still glued to the envelope, "what if he dies out there and it's all my fault?"
They heard your voice waver and exchanged sympathetic looks.
"He made a choice, he knew the risks," Maria said, "but he's a capable guy. If there were anybody who could make it out there alone, it's Joel."
"Listen, I'd send a couple guys out there lookin' for him but there's a storm brewin'," Tommy said, rubbing his chin and glancing out the window. "Been watchin' those clouds build up over the mountains all week. Told Joel as much and he agreed to wait but reckon he changed his mind and wanted to get in front of it."
"Or it was his plan all along to leave alone and he just made sure no one would come after him," Maria said, making the three of you fall quiet.
"God, what do I do?" you murmured, burying your face in your hands.
Tommy glanced at Maria and she subtly nodded towards the kitchen. He stood and cleared his throat before reaching his arms out towards his daughter.
"C'mere, let's get you somethin' to eat before naptime," he said, lifting Violet and taking her into the kitchen to give you both some privacy.
"What's going on?" Maria asked softly as she sat down in Tommy's place on the couch. You sighed and dropped your hands to your lap.
"I don't know," you said truthfully, "I'm so fucking angry at him, but..."
Maria pursed her lips knowingly. "But you still care."
You groaned and leaned back into the chair. "Yes."
"It's not like you're telling me or anyone else something we didn't already know," she said, "not after what happened with you and Angie in the middle of the street. I mean, look at you," she pointed to your bruised neck. "No one fights like that for someone they don't love."
"I don't love him," you said sternly, eyes flashing angrily in her direction. "You sound like Ellie."
"Okay, so if two people are telling you-"
"I don't want to talk about it right now," you abruptly stood up, brushing your palms on your jeans. "Sorry to barge in like this. I'm sure he'll be fine. I'm actually looking forward to a week of quiet," you tried to say confidently despite how tight your throat felt as you headed towards the door.
Maria called your name as she trailed after you, urging you to stay and talk, but you just pressed your lips together and shook your head.
"Seriously, I'm fine," you said, forcing a smile across your face. "I have some stuff to do so I'll see you guys at dinner or something."
Before she or Tommy could say anything else, you slipped out the door and rushed down the street, back towards home.
It wasn't until later that afternoon, after you had scrubbed clean the kitchen and bathrooms, doing anything and everything you could to stay busy, that you noticed the missing picture from the wall in the living room.
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Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader
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Request:
This is kind of a weird req and I want to write something for it eventually but-
Fem! Reader who was frozen but eventually escapes and falls for the Ghoul and they fuck a couple times and for some reason she has symptoms of pregnancy and they're like what the fuck but it just turns out that she was pregnant before she was frozen and the Ghoul's reactions and whatever. Angst or fluff I don't really mind :)
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[MDNI, Angst, Smut, Fluff]
[ I don't usually do requests, but I wanted to help out a friend who believed they wouldn't be able to do justice to this prompt. It's sloppy, not perfect, but time is limited and I have other projects that need my attention so I hope this suffices. ]
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Freedom.
Freedom was sweet.
Freedom was bitter.
Since the moment you’d awoken in that Gods-forsaken cryo pod in that wasting away vault you’d known there was no other path except the path of freedom. Stepping over mummified corpses, fellow vault dwellers you presumed, you’d lead wobbly legs and a pounding heart to the entrance of the vault. It felt like yesterday you’d first set foot in there. In reality, you had no idea how many years had passed, but from the looks of the rusting walls and thick blanket of dust, it had been a while.
You took what you could, stuffing a stray children’s backpack you’d found along your scavenging mission, anything and everything that would be necessary for a journey into a land you used to call home. A small pocket knife was the best you could get and it wasn’t the perfect self-defense tool, but with no other choice there wasn’t much you could do but stuff it in the pocket of your suit and hope for a miracle if you ran into trouble.
And trouble you found.
Since your first step into the bone-dry, scalding hot, merciless wasteland, you’d found trouble in the shape of a deranged group of people hammering at the vault door with makeshift weapons. You might have been able to fight off one of them, you doubted given how dizzy and out-of-touch with reality you were, but there was a slim chance. Three of them though, all large burly men with enough scars to put a military general to shame? No, that was impossible. You ended up a writhing mess on the ground, face pushed into the cracked soil and screaming and kicking as you were being taunted and tied up like a good catch after a successful hunt. Trafficking, cannibalism, organ harvesting, death. A slew of words so vile they made your stomach churn and your eyes bulge out of your skull because who in their right mind said such things to an outnumbered, weak woman who pleaded in a broken voice and had tears staining her cheeks?
Then he appeared, your guardian angel.
A man so grotesque on the outside, so vicious and bitter and terrifying, and yet he was the one who shot your captors down. He was the one who cut your wrists and ankles free and helped you sit up as you heaved and choked and sobbed. He was the one who checked you over despite the visible revulsion on his gaunt face at the sight of your vault suit. He’d dragged you to your feet, forced some sense into you, given you a stern reality check of the world he came from and never really shooed you away when you’d started following him around like a lost pup.
You loved him since that day.
And maybe it wasn’t the good kind of love because he’d used you as a distraction for his enemies more than once and never shared his water with you even if you were on the brink of passing out from dehydration. But he also let you sit close to the fire at night, told you stories of his bounty hunts, taught you how to handle a gun and always kept you in his sights lest someone thought you were up for grabs. He was a cruel man, but he was also a kind man.
You never overstepped. Always following his every order, whether it was to hide, to strip bleeding men of their valuables, or to get him another drink when his feet were kicked high and he couldn’t be bothered to do so himself. Always pliant, always willing, no questions asked because you wanted to live despite the hellhole reality you were thrust in. Maybe that’s why he grew fond of you over time, you didn’t rebel against him and took what he gave you with a whisper of gratitude. A good dog, that’s how he saw you. He slowly softened for you, split your rations evenly when you sat down to eat, thrust the canteen in your hands when he noticed your lips were dry, and smushed his hat over your head when the sun was too awful and you were too delicate to withstand it.
Cooper Howard, that was his name, a man made ghoul by the sheer toxicity of the surface, a man who gave you enough scraps to keep your love for him flourishing but never progressed things beyond a one-sided infatuation.
That is until he was left struggling on the floor of an old abandoned farmhouse, a feral ghoul looming above him and pinning him in place and snapping its jaws at him as foul-smelling, viscous drool dribbled down its chin. His hunting knife was gripped tightly, but between keeping himself from being bitten to shreds and holding one of the ghoul’s hands at bay before it could sink into his side and tear at his gut, he was stuck.
When the shot rang out and the ghoul slumped against him lifelessly, he saw you. Holding his gun as you shook violently, about ready to piss yourself because you’d never killed anything remotely resembling a human in your life, eyes wide and lips trembling and knees buckling. Smoke leisurely rose from the tip of the barrel and as he pushed the corpse off himself you sunk to your arse and burst into a fit of haggard breaths and disturbed whines.
You didn’t resist when he picked you up with alien tenderness, didn’t protest when he stuffed you in an old rickety couch and crushed you beneath his weight with a handful of sweet praises. You didn’t pull away in disgust when his tongue pushed past your lips in search of your own, twirling, dancing, letting words spill without ever being spoken. He wasn’t gentle, since the moment you heard his belt unbuckling he was all pawing hands and chopped curses, fiddling with your clothes until his need became too much to bear and he simply ripped them off. He threw a weak promise to get you new ones, but you couldn't care less at that moment. High-pitched mewls and desperate grunts bounced off the walls as he took you on that couch, rutting into you like a man possessed and gripping onto you so firmly as if you’d come to your senses any moment now and run away from him.
A radstorm raged outside, clashing against the boarded-up windows as the pitter-patter of acid rain poured against the tin roof. You never even noticed, too drunk on the sloppy sounds coming from the slick mess of your conjoined bodies, on the verge of a climax so raw it would surely knock you out. Blunt fingernails sank in your supple thighs, scarred hips slammed into yours as he fucked you dumb into the couch. His mouth never left yours, whether it was to keep himself quiet in case too many loving words escaped or because he craved your taste like a rabid dog did blood, you didn’t know. When your ankles locked around his waist he snarled, whatever self-control he’d managed to scrape by completely dissipating as he drove himself deeper. The tip of his cock snapped against the barrier of your squishy cervix so deliciously and you screamed his name in desperation and he couldn’t fucking take it anymore. He released one of your hips to slide a hand between your bodies and drag his rough thumb over your swollen clit. Your back arched, eyes rolled back and mouth agape as you bombarded him with barely coherent sentences that he didn’t deserve. He clutched at your hair when you clamped down on him, milking him for everything he had while he rocked out his release with face stuffed in the crook of your neck.
Something in him changed after that night.
It might have been the unfathomably long time without a caring touch or him finally succumbing to the little voices in his head telling him what he held for you wasn’t simply fondness. He took you every chance he got. In a guest house, against the wall of a bar after one too many drinks, bent over on a chewed-up fence after scavenging another farmhouse. He was relentless and you loved that about him. You loved everything about him. Always needy and ready and he couldn’t ask for more because this was the closest he could get to expressing himself when it came to you.
Life was good.
Everything was perfect.
Until it wasn’t.
You wince as the needle prickles your skin before retracting back in the Pip-boy. The green screen whirls, loading up and analyzing your blood sample for a full body scan. You give the damn thing a few smacks when it freezes and stutters.
Now really wasn’t the time for technical difficulties.
“You okay?”
Apparently, no matter how hard you had tried to hide your bubbling panic, it was still evident enough for Cooper to notice. He’s looking at you with a hint of suspicion, attention averted from the steaming can of cram he’d been stuffing in his mouth.
“I’m good, no worries.” you muster up a weary smile and instinctively tuck the Pip-boy closer to your stomach.
When the Vault Boy pops up on the screen with all the information available regarding your condition, you tense up. Your fingers hesitate to turn the cog to the main body scan as doubts and confusion and raw, untamable fear chew at your sensitive stomach and tug you slowly towards the gates of insanity.
“Don’t look okay to me.” Cooper straightens from his slouched-over position over the measly fire and sets aside his food before clasping a hand over one of his thighs. “Was wrong? Was I too rough again?” there’s a teasing scowl brightening his usually stoic expression, he scoffs and shakes his head. “I told you t’ smack my shoulder when I get too loose, woman. You never listen.”
You want to cry and laugh, but you do neither.
“That’s not it, Cooper.”
“Then speak for fuck’s sake!” he grumbles and gestures to you with slight agitation.
You pay him no mind, having delved too deep in the premises of your mind on what you were supposed to do if you read that single life-changing word on the scan. With a huff and a mental pat on your back, you turned the cog and opened the main body scan.
“Pregnant.”
It made sense. It explained the morning sickness that you hid, being forced out of your sleep while Cooper snored lightly next to you, and carefully pulling away before rushing to a safe spot where you could empty your stomach without being seen. You never told him, just jammed RadAway after RadAway, hoping it was poisoning or maybe some sort of flu. When the cravings came, you started second-guessing. You never gave into them, throwing caps left and right for a slice of some nearly impossible-to-get delicacy was unthinkable, you had to survive and there was no room for luxury.
You failed to spot the rugged ghoul as he left his seat and crept closer, spurred by your awkward demeanor, until he was kneeling right next to you and silently sharing the sight of the green graph.
“What in the hell…”
You recoiled at his words, at his realization, and tried to cover the Pip-boy with your hand and hide the thunderous revelation of your condition.
He was having none of it.
He smacked your hand away and gripped your forearm so tight you shuddered, bringing it closer to his eyes as his face contorted.
“What the fuck does this mean?” he spits and looks at you with something vile in those whiskey-colored eyes you loved so much.
“I don’t – ” you swallow thickly, crumbling under his gaze and snuffing out the need to rip away from him and run. You meet his stare for a split second before turning away. “ – I haven’t…Not with anyone except you.”
Lightning strikes into his core and he pulls away like bitten by a snake.
“The hell you mean you haven’t fucked anyone ‘cept me?” he stands, intimidating and cold, berating you with just his visage and nothing more. “How the fuck did you get pregnant then?”
“I’ve been with you since the day I left the vault, you know this.” you reach out for him, desperate for some sort of comfort, desperate for him to calm down because you couldn’t mentally take on both him and the news. “Cooper, please.”
He shoots you down with a snarl and a spine-chilling glare.
“Don’t fucken’ touch me.”
He’s pacing, trotting around like a cornered animal, the spurs on his boots clinking, a sickening cacophony that roots you in place and keeps your mouth shut. You don’t know what to say, you’re not a liar, yet you wish this was some twisted joke and you could laugh it off and confirm it wasn’t real.
A hand is rubbing vigorously at his chin as he tries to think, but there’s nothing in his head except that one single word that means so much and makes absolutely no sense.
He knew you weren’t lying, he’d always kept you within arm’s length, there was no way for you to even sneak past him without being noticed.
It still hurt though, the image of you leaving because he was a rotten man who’d struck gold by finding you. He was no good for you, never would be, and it tore him to shreds because he knew all of this and still he kept you by his side and cocked his gun at anyone who tried to step too close.
Why wouldn’t you bed another man when he looked like a walking corpse and acted even worse? Why wouldn’t you ditch him to be with a nice bartender or a good-mannered farmboy who would treat you like a lady should be treated?
Why wouldn’t you cheat him out of the only happiness he had?
“Is not fucking possible, sweetheart.” he finally speaks, faltering at your audible sobs. The idea of you slipping past his fingers to sleep with someone else is pushed to the side by the absolutely pathetic sight of you curled up on the floor and crying.
Ghouls were sterile, all of them, 100%, there was no way for him to knock you up even if he wanted to. But the Pip-boy said otherwise and now he was left questioning the very foundation of his existence.
“I know that.” you sputter through choppy hiccups. “But you’re the only man I’ve been with...It doesn’t make fucking sense.” you clutch at your sides, waterfalls streaming down your cheeks and pooling under your chin, eyes distant and jittery. “What if it’s deformed because of the radiation? Or if it’s not even alive? Or – What am I supposed to do…”
His body moves despite his protests.
He kneels in front of you, encasing you between his thighs, his fingers twitching and rising as he drowns in the long-forgotten feeling of being presented with such news. His hands are shaking and he rests them over your shoulders and pretends he can’t feel his pulse rampaging in his throat.
“What do you wanna do?”
It’s such a simple question, but coming from him under such a premise makes your head spin and your heart stop.
“I – ” you press your forehead against the center of his collarbones, arms protectively curling over your belly because despite not showing there was someone in there. Someone precious. “ – I don’t know…I’d like to – I don’t know.”
You stop and start, cutting off words that you weren’t ready to tell him yet and he wasn’t ready to hear either. But life didn’t care if you were ready or not, things happened, consent or not, and now you were both stuck in a mess you’d unwittingly made all by yourselves. There was always the easy route – find a settlement, get to the doc, have it removed, done deal, easy peasy.
But did you really want that?
It wasn’t just your kid, it was his too and him not saying a word, not even mentioning discarding it made things so much harder.
No, he gave you a choice, he put everything in your hands and he was holding you while you fought a silent battle that would dictate the entirety of your future.
“I think – ”
“ – I ain’t goin’ fucken’ nowhere.” he slices through your hesitation like butter, body rigid and jaw clenched because for once he was trying to be a man and not a monster.
Maybe even a father.
You shatter in his arms like glass and he presses one of his palms against the back of your head while the other circles your waist and brings you closer.
“You’d stay?” you ask with such horror and disbelief that it clutches at his chest and he struggles to breathe. You’re no coward, despite how heavy the air feels, you look up at him and you’re so vulnerable and angelic that he forgets every setback that would come his way. “If I kept it…you’d stay?”
He can’t answer, the words refuse to form, but he holds your gaze with calm stability, a good masquerade to hide a mind that was racing and a heart that was pounding so heavily he felt his entire body pulsing. Instead, he leaned in and pressed his chapped lips against your forehead in a voiceless promise.
You suck in a breath like it’s your first and cling to the collar of his coat, disappearing in his form, hiding from the world that was so cruel yet gifted you with something so precious.
The Pip-boy is still lit and waiting, the scan bright and piercing. You skim over it absentmindedly, a simple curious flick, then look again and squint your eyes at the tiny text printed under your pregnancy announcement.
“Four months.”
You’d only been out of cryo for three…
He followed your wide-eyed stare, he was no fool, he could do basic math.
You’d been pregnant before meeting him, before leaving the vault, before the bombs.
You want to puke. You want to rip your skin off and bury yourself alive because for the love of God it couldn’t be just perfect, there had to be some sick underlying thing to ruin everything. It wasn’t his, he was right, ghouls couldn’t have children.
It wasn’t his child.
You look disgusted and utterly pained because the realization makes you mourn at the idea of carrying his baby. You wanted to, you’d give anything for it to be his and not some random bloke you couldn’t even remember the face of. You wanted it to be his…
You search his face for anger or disappointment or anything that would prepare you for what was to come. Why would he stay if the damn thing wasn’t even his? He had his own problems, his mission. You were just an obstacle that had nearly made him believe he was going to be a father and maybe it was his second chance at doing it right.
There was nothing though.
He simply blinked at you, lips parted as he formed a sentence that had you pledge yourself to him for as long as you stood and breathed.
“That don’t change a damn thing.”
Tag list: @bountydroid @v3lv3tf0x @silverose365
#cooper howard#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#fallout tv series#the ghoul fanfic#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul x you#the ghoul fallout#x reader
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The way people switched on Tamlin the moment Rhys was introduced is diabolical.
“Tamlin never really loved Feyre, it was all a trick from the start”: It is stated that Tamlin was disgusted by the idea of forcing someone to fall in love with him and considered it slavery, but ended up being so in love with her that he ultimately lets her go and choses her freedom and safety over that of his own people. Rhys confirms that Tamlin loved Feyre too much. And he loved her truly. Not because he had to. Tamlin treated Feyre with dignity when she was engaged to him. He introduced her as his lady, to be respected and cherished by all. And she really was loved his people, too. Rhysand uses her as his lap dog to scare Hewn City and parades her as his whore.
“Tamlin never did anything for Feyre, he just used her”: He improved her and her family’s life in every aspect and offered her everything he had.
“Tamlin had sex with someone else in Calanmai”: Out of duty and responsibility because he didn’t want to force Feyre, who still wasn’t sure about her feelings, into it. All of the High Lords perform the Calanmai. Lucien says so. How convenient that this is never brought up with Rhysand. He surely does perform it as well. All the theories in here, “Lucien doesn’t know what he’s talking about/ This is a SC ritual only/ He probably just passes the duty on to someone else” are just a way for people to villainise Tam and glorify Rhys again. All of them inaccurate. The Calanmai is canonically performed by every High Lord. There’s no evidence that proves otherwise. As the son of one High Lord and the ambassador of another, Lucien would know. He is 500 years old. It’s just more convenient for SJM to never bring this up again because it raises the question of “Who was Rhysand fucking all these years?” and it makes her favourite character look bad. And once he is engaged to her, Tamlin flat out refuses to do it. Let’s be real for a second.
“Tamlin didn’t help Feyre under the mountain”: He literally could not. He was bound by a curse. He was forced to be Amarantha’s consort and a consort cannot oppose you. His powers were bound. Alis warns Feyre that Tamlin will not be able to help her. Stop acting as if he didn’t want to help her. He decapitated Amarantha the moment he got his autonomy back. Claiming that there’s no proof that Tamlin was under the influence of a spell when he literally didn’t break the curse and Amarantha’s magic didn’t allow him to use his powers is crazy. And even if he tried, he could never provide actual help. We see this when he begs Amarantha for Feyre’s life. Him showing he cares about her would only make Amarantha more jealous and vicious towards Feyre.
“Tamlin made out with Feyre instead of helping her”: He couldn’t help her run away. No one could do that. She would never make it, Amarantha would find her. In fact, Tamlin specifically could not help her in any way. He could only assure her he still wants and loves her. And she wanted that just as much. Rhys abused her physically, mentally, verbally, drugged her and much worse. And he enjoyed all of it. If he didn’t want to raise suspicions, he wouldn’t have placed a bet in her favour. Rhys is a masochist, SJM just decided to mellow him down in the next book so that we’d all like him over Tamlin.
“Tamlin ignored Feyre’s wishes and only wanted her to be his bride, he didn’t let her be High Lady”: Both Tamlin and Feyre were bad communicators going though trauma and Tam had a whole court to care for. Tamlin was unaware of how Feyre felt because she barely spoke up once. Rhys knew because he literally lived inside her head and had all the time in the world to focus his attention on her since his court suffered zero consequences during Amarantha’s reign. And Tamlin simply told her the truth: there’s no such thing as High Lady. Even her current title is given to her by Rhys, the magic of Prythian has not actually chosen her to be High Lady. The title and its power are decorative. And she said she didn’t want that anyway.
“Tamlin locks Feyre up and uses his magic to harm her”: He locks her in his humongous palace to keep her safe, after she just came back from the dead and his worst enemy is kidnapping her every month, while he runs off to protect his borders. Rhysand lock Feyre in a fucking bubble. Tamlin loses control of his magic. He doesn’t want to harm her. That’s not abuse. Abuse is intentional. Feyre and Rhysand lock Lucien and Nesta up. They lock the people of the Hewn City up in a cave. Feyre loses control of her magic and harms Lucien’s mother. Double standards I guess.
“Tamlin is a bad and conservative ruler”: Tamlin is such a beloved ruler that his sentries literally begged to die for him. Feyre had to fuck with their minds to finally turn them against him. They were his friends. He was so progressive that the lords fled his court once he became their ruler because he wouldn’t put up with their bullshit like his father did. He loved all of his people. He is against slavery. The Tithe was just tax collection. Rhysand practically rules over just one city, while ignoring Hewn City and Illyria. He treats 2/3 of his realm like shit and everyone except the residents of Velaris hates him. He collects tax, too, but we conveniently never see this. He ranks the members of his inner circle (my 1st, my 2nd etc.) and reminds them every moment that they are his slaves first and anything else second, while Tamlin treats them equally and even gives Lucien an official title by naming him Ambassador.
“Tamlin conspired with Hybern”: He was a double agent and his short lived alliance, two weeks all in all, not only didn’t harm a single soul, but ultimately saved all of Prythian as he was the only one who brought valuable information to that meeting. He dragged Beron to battle. Rhysand’s alliance with Amarantha harmed thousands and only helped save one city, Velaris.
“Tamlin is responsible for turning Nesta and Elain into Fae”: No, that was Ianthe, who got the info from Feyre. Tamlin was fooled by her, just as Feyre obviously was, or she wouldn’t have trusted her. Tamlin was disgusted by that act.
“Tamlin is less powerful than Rhysand”: Rhysand himself says that a battle between them would turn mountains to dust. Tamlin killed Rhysand’s dad, the previous High Lord of the Night Court, in one blow. He is just as powerful as Rhysand. SJM again just wants us to believe otherwise. And he is smarter, too. He was the only one not to trust Amarantha. And he was a good spy for Prythian against Hybern.
All of these takes are cold as fuck. SJM was testing the waters with ACOTAR and she made sure the main love interest, Tamlin, was insanely likeable, so that the book could be a satisfactory standalone story in case she couldn’t land a trilogy deal. She didn’t know it would be such a big hit. But once she realised she could turn this into a franchise, she had to figure out a new story to tell. She may claim otherwise, but there’s just too many plothotes to convince me. And in order to make her new main love interest seem like the best choice, she had to character assassinate the old one. There was no other way. ACOTAR Rhys was too much of an evil monster to be loved by the majority of the audience. But Tamlin was introduced to us as such a heroic and passionate man that is literally impossible to turn him into someone despised by all. Feyre’s relationship with Rhysand reads too much like cheating on Tamlin. That’s why anyone with basic analytical skills is able to realise the flaws of the narration.
#acotar critical#acotar#acomaf#acowar#acosf#acofas#anti sjm#sjm critical#tamlin#tamlin week#pro tamlin#he deserves the world#tamlin my beloved#anti amren#anti rhysand#anti morrigan#anti ic#anti inner circle#anti feyre archeron#anti feyre#anti feysand#anti night court#pro spring court#anti cassian#pro lucien vanserra
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Figuring out I'm on the ace spectrum was so difficult because I have always been a horny bitch. I knew what sex was at a fairly young age, because I'd asked my mom and she's one of those good parents who'll answer questions like those, and as I grew older and would ask more complex questions, her answers would evolve along with my curiosity and understanding of the world. And I remember having fantasies as young as 9 or 10 years old, even if they were hella vague and nothing close to what sex actually is lol
So as I became a teenager, and all my friends' focus turned from playing with dolls to flirting with boys, I automatically thought I was attracted to boys. And I paid more attention to Cute Boys than I did to Cute Girls, because girls were just nice to look at while boys were People To Have Crushes On. Because of heteronormativity. Looking back on it now, I know there were girls I liked to stare at just as intently as boys, although less often because I wasn't trying to pay attention. And I certainly didn't fantasize about girls because I started reading romance novels in 5th grade, so I was fantasizing about male romantic partners because that was the fiction I was consuming. I didn't even realize fantasizing about girls was possible until I was 17, and I had a few "am I a lesbian" internal crises for years because of it.
So when I did start having sex, I had A LOT OF IT with SO MANY different guys, and eventually a couple of women once I started accepting that bisexuality was real. But it was never really fulfilling. Not like my fantasies were. Not like my books were. I was slutty because sex was fun, I was horny, there were plenty of options so I kept searching for that satisfaction I was craving.
Getting married was a relief (even though it turns out I'm aro-spec too lol) because I was tired of hunting, and even if sex with my husband was meh, at least I had someone around to scratch that itch if I had it, and he didn't mind if I occasionally took care of things on my own because I'd read an especially hot scene in a romance.
I learned about asexuality in my early 20s, but I brushed it off. Couldn't be me, I'm far too horny for that. But I think that comes from the fact that everything you hear about Aces is attached to sex-repulsion or sex-indifference. I wasn't either of those things. I was horny all the dang time. I was fantasizing about sex all the dang time. I figured actual sex was meh because my imagination was so vivid that real life could never match up. Which could be true to an extent, but I think not as much as popular opinion would have us believe. If fantasy was really that much better for everyone, then I think we'd have less incels and unplanned pregnancies than we do.
In my 30s I finally saw people talking about The Spectrum, and I started examining my past, and I figured out I wasn't really attracted to anyone I had sex with. I do occasionally find someone attractive; there are men and women and enbies who make my skin feel tight and give me a little wave of lightheadedness lol... but it's always always the fantasy that gets me really going. If given the opportunity I wouldn't have sex with any of those people. Thank you, but no thank you, I'd rather just imagine it than physically participate in the act with them.
(Ok I might go down on them, but that's less about wanting sex, and more about being able to add them to my Tally. Hell yeah I want to brag about making *insert hot person* have an orgasm. There's PRIDE in that kind of accomplishment lol)
I have a lot of respect for aces that are not horny. I understand it even if I don't share the sentiment. And I feel like most of them understand me even if they don't share the sentiment. There's a solidarity between us.
Until I go into a fandom tag for a character that the aces have glommed onto because they're canonically ace or headcanoned as ace. Good lord, the non-horny aces can turn into downright vicious bastards if a horny ace sexualizes their blorbo.
This post is for them.
Horny aces exist. Please look up "autochorissexual, lithosexual, and aegosexual."
Refer to those definitions in regards to romantic attraction as well as sexual attraction.
Some aces may not fall into one of those definitions, because asexuality is a spectrum, but they may still be horny.
Horny aces are not disrespecting you by enjoying being horny on main. We promise we'll wash the stickiness off our hands before we hold your hands in queer solidarity.
And most importantly: Your blorbo is fictional and does not need to be defended from icky sexuality. They exist in an infinite multiverse, so your blorbo and my blorbo are not the same, even if they appear to be on the surface.
AND:
This post is also for the people who are confused about themselves because they're horny but don't actually feel attraction. You're not crazy, you're not wishy washy, you're not "waiting for the right person to come along" (unless you are, in which case I hope you find them). You're just a thin strip of color on a massive rainbow that holds more unique shades than anyone can perceive at a glance.
You're valid. You're one of us too.
And don't be mean to the non-horny aces. Tag your smut so they can avoid it. (But actually so I can find it lol)
#ltleramblings#queer stuff#seriously the fandom fights are so exhausting#thank goodness for the block button#asexuality
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Yandere Vs reaction to pet reader accidentally killing someone out of anger
Warnings: toxic relationships, mentions of drug use, SA mentions, Valentino, death, description of wounds, forced affection, forced father-daughter relationship, workplace bullying, grooming mentioned, guilt
You were used to your coworkers being assholes to you
You were a fellow working soul yet you were treated nicer and given many more privileges then them, of course they weren’t going to like you
Everyone referred to you as a lost puppy or as a pet
They didn’t even know your name, but know one really knew your name in fairness
They sneered when they saw you enter a room, and if the Vs weren’t accompanying you then they would get physical by tripping you or shoving you around
Angel dust does his best to defend you when he sees this happen, but angel rarely has time to think nevermind look after you
But the rumours were the parts that upset you the most, to here small parts of your life become exaggerated and spread around
They’d also dump their workload on you so you had to do even more stuff while also balancing three very obsessed bosses
But something pushed you over the edge today, something that angered you so much that your power spun out of control
You’d had a certain guy around the tower spread vicious rumours about you lately and you could always hear the whispers following you because of them
“I heard she killed her friends”
“I heard she was a whore who overdosed with her junkie boyfriend”
“I heard that she only gets good treatment because she’s fucking one of the bosses, or all of them by the looks of her”
Many misinformation or misunderstandings spread around by this man would end up being whispered near you
So one day when you were in voxs office alone and this guy walked in, you knew something bad was going to happen
He made a few smart ass comments about your rumoured past but you just rolled your eyes and ignored him
But he pushed it to far when he uttered the words “they really groomed you into their perfect little pet huh?”
You shot him a glare as you questioned what he meant by that
He then went on a long rant about how it wasn’t fair that you got better treatment all because you were willing to throw away your dignity for their enjoyment
With every word he uttered about the luck you supposedly had caused rage to spark in your chest
The cherry on top was when he said “I wonder what your mother would think if she found out what a fucking whore you are and how she must have fucked you up real bad for you to have this little self respect”
One minute he’s standing over you and smirking at you, the next he’s crumpled on the floor covering his ears and screaming in agony
You couldn’t stop using your ability to create loud and excruciating noises directly in his ears, it’s like you’d been completely taken over by the anger you felt
You saw blood pouring out of his ears like a fountain and you couldn’t help but smile and increasing the volume, until he stopped moving except for a few twitches and you saw what looked like brain matter leak from his ears
You had killed him
You just stood in shock and stared at his body while processing this information that you’d killed a man in cold blood
And the Vs saw it all happen from the open door
Vox:
Vox almost felt like a proud dad as he watched you kill someone purposefully for the first time
He came up and patted you on the shoulder with a wide smile, as if you’d just passed some sort of test
He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and rambled on about how you could improve and what you did well, almost like a performance review for a singers night show
What had been a world changing and traumatic experience for you, was purely just entertainment for him
He couldn’t understand your shell shocked expression, you had killed this man while smiling so why were you overreacting so much
But he still walked you back to your room and cleaned the blood off of your body and sitting you on your bed
He went on a long rant about how you shouldn’t feel bad about your murder, he was provoking you and it was clearly all his fault
He said that he understood why you did what you did, and that he was proud of you for your decision
“I started out like you, but you’ll improve over time and get used to it” he had said with a wide grin “soon enough you’ll be just like me”
And the fact that you were seen as in any way comparable to Vox only sent a chill down your spine and doubled your guilt
After that day, you noticed people were much nicer to you and Vox only gave you a ‘told you so’ look
But since becoming aware of the harassment you were subjected to, he did give voxtech employees a strict warning and he broke a few bones to get his point across
He couldn’t have something like a little murder bring his favourite girl down, even if it did prepare you to become his heir one day
Velvette:
Velvette doesn’t really understand the big deal
Your in hell, you fraternise with murderers and worse on a daily basis
You live in a tower filled with the worst of the worst kind of criminals
So why are you overreacting so much over a little murder that could easily be sorted out
She does scold you slightly on doing your own dirty work and doing it on the expensive carpeting
She explained that if you really want someone dead then you should just tell one of them and they’d have their security deal with it
But she did express some pride for you efficient killing and you experiencing your first purposeful murder
She does nothing to comfort you at all, you should be over it already is her thought process
But she does kill more people around you in her own sick away to reassure you that murdering people is okay in her books, she only makes you want to peel your own skin off though because every sight of blood just makes you think about the fact you ended a man’s afterlife
She also makes an example of the man you killed to her employee, harass her pet and her pet will bite back
She makes a few more private examples or your bullies, but she’ll wait until the rumours of the event hits you before she explains
Valentino:
This entire situation is just a joke to this man
His little princesa bites as much as she can bark, and he’s meant to take that seriously?
He does much worse stuff then murder every day and you don’t see him she’ll shocked and crying on the floor do you?
He will actively crack jokes about one of the most traumatic things you’ve ever done in front of you
Every time he does and you get a guilty or shocked expression, he bursts out laughing at the ridiculousness of your reaction
But he would clean up the body for you
He’d either just dump it into the cannibal colonies or he’d just get his workers to get rid of it and clean up the office
But he’d definitely keep a body part of a piece of jewellery from your victims body to taunt you with when he’s bored
He also gave a few extremely rough video sessions to some of the people from him workers that contributed to your harassment
He can’t have his little musical toy become too tired to sing him a soothing tune to calm his ever present temper
Sorry this was so small, work exhausted me today :(
Tag list so far:
@buttercupfangirl @repostingmyfavs @lilyalone @the-faceless-bride
#hazbin spoilers#yandere hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin lucifer#hazbin vaggie#hazbin charlie#hazbin angel dust#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin husk#hazbin hotel#hazbin vox#hazbin adam#yandere vox x reader#vox x reader#hazbin hotel vox#vox#yandere velvette x reader#hazbin velvette#hazbin hotel velvette#yandere valentino#hazbin valentino#hazbin hotel valentino#valentino x reader#yandere alastor x reader#alastor x reader#alastor#charlie morningstar#Charlie Morningstar x reader#carmilla carmine#hazbin hotel rosie
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Youth Team
Hardersson x Teen!Reader
Part of The Big Adventures Universe
Summary: The final of the Under-17 Euros
Your call-up to join Denmark's Under-17 team comes on a random Wednesday.
You're freshly fifteen and have just gotten back from practice, throwing your hair up into a ponytail and shoving your dirty keeper gloves into the washing machine.
"I'm home!"
You don't really expect anyone to answer but Momma appears in front of you in an instant, a phone tucked under her ear.
"It's for you," She says and you take it in confusion - unsure of who would call your Momma instead of just you.
"Hello?"
"Is this y/n?" The voice on the other line asks. It's a little weird hearing someone call you by your name like that. Your mothers never outgrew calling you your childhood nickname and everyone at training just called you by your last name.
"Er...Yes?"
You can hear their smile down the phone and something unknown stirs within you.
"I'm calling on behalf of Denmark's Under Seventeen Squad. We'd be delighted to have you join us at camp this year."
You're speechless for a moment, eyes wide in shock as you look at Momma, who is smiling and nodding at you.
"Y-Yeah! Yeah, I'd love to come!"
"Excellent. Details will be sent to your mothers and we look forward to seeing you at Viborg soon."
That was months ago now and, as you slip into your kit, you can't help but think back on it. You're still fifteen, one of the youngest on the squad but you've still managed to clinch the first keeper position from your sixteen-year-old counterpart.
You're up against Germany (but everybody already knew that you would be, they'd been on a winning streak since before you were born) and you take the time before kick-off to take steadying breaths.
Eriksson-Harder is on the back of your jersey. It was a small consolation prize for Morsa, putting her last name first on your back after you chose Denmark over Sweden for the youth teams. Sweden had called too, only several hours too late and you had to reject their offer in favour of Denmark.
Morsa had been a bit miffed but after you promised to put her name first, she was placated (if only for a moment before she arrogantly reminded Momma that you had all the time in the world to choose Sweden's senior team).
"Alright there?" One of your teammates asks as you ready yourself to walk out.
"Peachy," You say sarcastically," Just..." You shrug. "At least try to keep them from getting close enough to shoot?"
She laughs. "It's Germany. I don't think we get that luxury."
She's right because most of the match is spent viciously defending your clean sheet.
You jump.
You dive.
You punch.
You do everything in your power to keep the German goals from taking this from you.
"Come on!" You yell in triumph as you narrowly grab onto the ball. The speed at which it came at you nearly winds you but you recover quickly, kicking it quickly to one of your defenders to send it further up the pitch. "Come at me!"
It's a vicious game and your whole uniform is dirty and raked with mud from the amount of times that you have dived to the ground to stop the ball.
It all comes to a head though when the ninety minutes are up and neither team has scored.
Penalties.
You despise penalties with all your heart (although you're incredibly skilled at them). They're the bane of your existence (but at this point, you don't know that you'll never let one in throughout your entire career). It's made even worse when Denmark starts it off. The ball tips out of target.
You step up.
Shot.
Deflect.
It goes on for a few excruciating rounds. None of your penalty takers seem to be able to score and you're left to make sure that Germany can't either.
Shot.
Deflect.
Shot.
Deflect.
Shot.
Deflect.
Finally though, on the fifth kick, your captain manages to just squeeze one past Germany's keeper and you're left to make sure it stays that way.
If this next ball goes through, it's more penalties.
If not...Well you knew what happened if it didn't go in.
You bounce on your feet, gloves up and ready as Germany's captain readies herself.
She looks like she's aiming right.
The crowd is silent.
She kicks the ball.
You move left...
And catch the ball in your hands easily.
The stadium erupts.
You scream. Your team mobs you and suddenly everyone is talking over each other and laughing and crying and screaming their joy for everyone to see.
You break from the group, still clutching the ball in your hands as you run to the crowd.
To Momma and Morsa.
Tears are spilling down your cheeks as you hop the railing and crash into their arms.
You're not quite sure who's at your front and who's at your back but you just know that Morsa and Momma are here and they're holding you and you've just won the Under-17 Euros.
You're still crying as you pull away to see Momma's the one in front of you. She's crying too, cupping your face and raining kisses on your forehead.
"You did so well, princesse." Morsa's still holding you from behind. "So well. We're so proud of you."
"Denmark's first goalkeeper," Momma says," Winning on penalties."
You grin, your tears having run dry even as you're still overwhelmed by emotions. "So you think I'll stay first keeper?"
Morsa laughs from behind you and you turn around to face her, seeing the pride shining in her eyes. "Definitely. Although, hopefully, you won't stick with Denmark."
"I don't know," Momma teases," She's just won her first Euros. I'd say that staying with Denmark might be her good luck charm."
"She's going to be good enough not to need luck."
You have to break away from them to collect your medal and have a little hold of the trophy but you head straight back.
You take off your medal as soon as you reach them and place it around Momma's neck.
"There'll be more," You promise her and Morsa," There'll be so many more."
#woso x reader#hardersson x reader#pernille harder x reader#pernille harder#magdalena eriksson x reader#magdalena eriksson#woso community#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso#The Big Adventures Universe
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I have another question, sorry if I'm spamming 🫣 but I was wondering if Kouki has ever attended meetings with his parents as the heir to the Gojo family? And how are Reader, Kouki, and Saiki treated in the world of Jujutsu Kaisen as the wife and children of the "strongest" ?
Kaleidoscope Series—Clouds and Mochi Chapters: { Field Trip }
—Gojo Satoru X Wife Reader
𑁍 Genre: traditional clans, politics, parenthood
𑁍 WC/CW/TW: (1.2k)—/timeline where Satoru managed to accomplish his goal of resetting the jujutsu society, remnants of traditionalist clan, politics, Y/n's role as the Madame of Gojo Clan, Kouki and Saika are candidates for being the next clan head—/
𑁍 A/N: will be catching up to the piled-up asks one by one~
If someone told you a decade ago you will be seated in meetings of the Gosanke, meet and discuss matters with the prime minister regarding matters with the jujutsu society, or the one overseeing the Gojo Clan in Satoru's stead, you would laugh at them and tell them they got their heads in the clouds.
Yet perhaps, one cannot really talk with finality because fate seems to always like bending what seems to be impossible to possible.
After all what would they expect from a human with a not so significant amount of curse energy to manage the top family of the jujutsu clans? Much more to be the drive behind movements in the Gojo Clan, resulting in movement in the stagnant jujutsu society.
Many traditionalist clans spited Satoru for such "preposterous" action. While the minority saw it as progress. Either way, they have not much of a choice but to address you accordingly as the Madam of the Gojo Clan and treat you as the wife of Gojo Satoru.
"If you don't feel good, you can excuse yourself and go with Yuta Onii-chan. He's guarding outside." You held hands with an eight-year-old Kouki who is wearing his light blue traditional haori and hakama with the Gojo Clan crest whereas you wear a kurotomesode with five Gojo Clan crests signifying the formality of this meeting. "Whatever you hear in the meeting must stay in that room and will never be brought out, do you understand, sweetheart?"
"I will be fine. I will sit beside you and protect you, Mama." Kouki looked at you with a determined look on his face so much as if you were looking at Satoru.
"Really? Mama feels safe having you beside me today sweetheart." You gently pat his head and motion for your bodyguards to stand outside as you enter the meeting chambers of the Three Great Sorcerer Clans and the Higher-ups.
You walked in with a stolid greeting to everyone as you found your seat on the round table and Kouki sat one step behind you in an impeccable seiza form he perfected in his etiquette classes.
It seems no one has expected the young scion of the Gojo Clan today and didn't take long to point out your son's presence. The others greeted Kouki as he returned them politely, the others took some time to eye the son of Gojo Satoru before turning to you.
"This isn't a playground for kids to easily enter."
You glance at the vicious tone of a minor clan head, one of the few traditionalists who survived the crusade.
"He is eight years old, and done with his hakama-no-gi." You glance at your son wearing his kimono like any adult in this room, then back to the older man. "Borrowing my husband's words, it's a field trip."
"Gojo Y/n, this meeting is not for kids to attend. This regards confidential matters of the Jujutsu administration. What are you trying to do?" An elder man seconded the motion.
"Young as he is, my son is one of the candidates as heir to the Gojo Clan. He needs to learn. Unfortunately, my daughter is still young so she cannot attend yet." You smiled.
Kouki saw the disagreement and unsatisfied looks of the people around them.
This is probably why his father always looks haggard when talking about this formal stuff. Clenching his fists he kept his mouth shut and looked at the people around the table, imprinting their faces in the back of his head. If he wants to protect the people he loves, then he will need to do better than this. He needs to protect his Mama.
"Oh, Kouki. Are you here to accompany Y/n-san?" Maki, in her hakama and haori with the Zen'in Clan crest, entered the room and was surprised to see the kid sitting behind you.
"Maki-san, good morning." Kouki promptly nodded at his elder sister who sat beside his mother after ruffling his head.
"Y/n-san, good morning. The hamburger steak you sent yesterday was very delicious. Thank you." Maki smiled brightly at you and looked at the people around the table with narrowed eyes.
"The Daiginjo Sake you sent last week was so good too Maki-kun." You chuckled at the younger girl and whispered. "Satoru was knocked out with just one shot."
With the landscape of the Jujutsu clans extensively reformed from the succeeding wars and tragedies that rocked the society's long-term traditions and foundations, it has also been quite rocky but more open for change regarding the stigma and decisions the higher-ups must execute for more viable options regarding the non-sorcerers and sorcerers welfare.
You were focused in the meeting and had long discussions with the people present. Sooner or later you know Kouki will grow bored and you don't fault him if he wants to leave, after all, no matter how good a kid your eight-year-old son is, he is still a kid, too young to sit on seiza for hours straight.
"Kou-kun? Do you want some onigiri?" Yuta sneaked in a rice ball on the boy who sat straight with his hands on his thighs. "We can go out if you want."
"I will stay with Mama." Kouki couldn't fully understand what the elders were discussing but all he cares is that he can see you work and hold your ground in front of all these people so gracefully. You look so effortless as you handle the matters being thrown at you regardless of how heavy the topic is. You've always been a good communicator, unlike his Papa who can be very nonchalant.
An hour later the session took a break and everyone went out to get some fresh air.
"Sweetheart, your legs must hurt from all the sitting, let me see." You were surprised that Kouki managed to sit through the meeting without being fussy.
"Mama, when I grow up, I'll be like you." Kouki scrunched his nose when he felt how numb his legs had gotten from sitting like that. Your surprised eyes met his determined ones.
"Like me? You're gonna handle clan matters, Sweetheart?" You chuckled and took some snacks for Kouki and Yuta to eat.
"No... I'm gonna be calm and smart like you." He met your eyes. "And I'm gonna protect you."
"You don't wanna be like your Papa?" Satoru popped out of the corner, one hand tucked in the pockets of his slacks, the other carrying your four-year-old daughter with her glittery backpack and frilly yellow dress. "Don't you wanna be strong and handsome like Papa too, Kikufuku?"
Satoru walked by your side and set down Saika who immediately ran to hug you.
"Mama! I missed you."
"Satoru..." You hugged Saika but then sighed at your husband. "Why did you bring her here?"
Satoru shrugged, pulling up his blindfold, and exchanged it with his black glasses. From the slit of the glasses, he swept a sharp glance over the spectators who gathered on the corners since he came with his daughter. It was enough to turn them away. He's just making sure no one would bother you and his son and at the same time make a statement to anyone that would dare that he's watching over his family.
Satoru looks back at you and puts an arm around your waist. He glances down at his son who notices the people watching them as well. The boy certainly is observant more than what's expected of him. Good boy... He returned his eyes to you and just grinned.
"For field trip..."
Footnote:
Hakama-no-gi: Five year old boys celebrate this. When wearing a kimono was commonplace, boys would start wearing the hakama and those boys from a samurai family would wear a haori (jacket) over the hakama. This signifies that the boys have started their journey into adulthood.
—GreyCaelum
PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME
Check out the Masterlist for more
All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used, belongs to their respective owner(s)
General/Kaleidoscope Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gummy-dummy @tender-rosiey @lexiene @nevermoresworld @loml-riri @pelicanpizza @emichou-chan
#kaleidoscope series#c&mchapters#gojo satoru x reader#married gojo satoru#gojo satoru x wife reader#jjk dad gojo fluff#gojo kouki#gojo saika#gojo satoru kaleidoscope series#kaleidoscope series y/n#jjk dad gojo#gojo satoru imagines#greycaelum#jujutsu kaisen imagines#gojo x you#jjk fluff#gojo satoru
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I Bet On Losing Dogs
after realizing your feelings for Melissa, you stop putting yourself in the position to be hurt over and over again.
content warnings: angst, eventual comfort, mentions of alcohol
A/N: heyyyy…so this was more of a therapy session for me so ignore how sad it is lol
It was your first open house at Abbott Elementary when you realized the feelings you had for Melissa were more than friendly. Throughout your second year at the school, the redhead and you became closer than ever. The first year was cordial between the two of you, but upon seeing you return for another go at the underfunded school, Melissa’s view on you changed from just another newbie to someone who might mean something. You took advantage of that change, taking up on her offers to help you with planning or grading after school, listening to her few open moments about her personal life with all the attention you had. There was something about the older woman that drew you to her, a constant need to be in her presence. To learn from her, to make memories, to exist in her world. You chalked it up to being impressed, wanting to be mentored. Until she started acting friendly, giving you space to learn about who Melissa was, not just Ms. Schemmenti. She felt like a breath of fresh air and the strongest of drugs all rolled up with a red ribbon tying it together.
It was when you sat and watched Melissa play Jacob in poker it hit you. It wasn’t wanting to learn, or wanting to be friends, you wanted her. She sat smugly as she threw down her cards, beating Jacob after she had just lost to him. “So, we’re tied. Dealbreaker?” She asked her opponent. Upon his agreement, she started shuffling cards for the third time. Without looking up, she called to you. “Hey hon? Could you go grab my purse for me? I’m gonna need to put all this cash away after I win, again.” It was small, but for some reason, it awoke something deep inside. The pet name slipping from her mouth, the fact she knew that you knew where her belongings were, and the way she trusted you with it. It felt domestic and familiar, and you wanted more.
It was the wanting of more that killed you, knowing she would never feel the same. At first, it was easy to ignore the sadness that came with the euphoria of being around her, her attention was worth the pain. Shortly after that moment in the break room, your view on every interaction changed. Did she notice the way your cheeks flushed at the slightest touch? The way you held on to her every word? Now that you were aware of your feelings, they only grew stronger by each passing day. Which meant everything Melissa said or did, was taken a lot more seriously. You barely survived the day Gary first came into the break room, the way he looked at her and talked to her. Most importantly, the way she ate it up. She seemed to love this attention from a new person, taking all of it in. As if you didn’t do everything she asked, and even things she didn’t. It hurt, more than words could describe. But you couldn’t act out, of course not. So you swallowed the anxiety and sadness that washed over you every time he came in.
And yet, you always came back. The minute her attention was back to you, it was like nothing bad had ever happened, she made it all worth it. Every moment of melancholy, she could take it away, despite being the reason for it all. You knew that she was hurting you, even though she didn’t mean to. She would never do something on purpose to hurt you, which made all the pain even worse. She cared so deeply for you, just not the way you wanted. For whatever reason, you continued down this path. Romanticizing every interaction together, every time she called you hon or love, you told yourself maybe it meant just as much to her as it did to you. Until she didn’t give you what you wanted, and the vicious cycle continued.
The wake up call could not have come sooner. After a Friday spent practically alone, you had a breaking point. Melissa didn’t stop by your classroom at all that day, when usually she would check in multiple times with you. At lunch, she spent the whole time working, shooting you a text letting you know she wasn’t coming to the breakroom. You opted to stay in too. You were happy she was able to spend some time working, always admiring the dedication she had for this job. But after her unusual absence in the morning, it hurt a little more than usual.
When she left with a simple “See you later, kid,” you knew it was time to create some distance. For whatever reason, it felt like your heart was breaking (the reason was love, of course). You had become so used to Melissa’s constant attention that the moment you didn’t have it, it was like the world came crashing down. Maybe it would be easier if she knew how you felt, if you could just tell her everything that’s been going on inside your head the past few months. Except it wasn’t that simple. The fear that she wouldn’t return the immense feelings, or laugh, or stop talking to you all together, it was too much. And it stopped you from ever opening your mouth about it.
The pain had begun to override the love you felt, and you were tired of letting yourself go back to such a dark place. So after the boring Friday without much from Melissa, you decided to skip your weekly wine night with her. Every Saturday night, Melissa would cook for the two of you, and she would task you with picking a wine for the evening. You felt like a coward sending the text saying you couldn’t make it, but it was better than confronting your feelings. Her response made it even worse.
I understand hon, take it easy tonight. But I will miss you.
That cancellation was the first of many. Day after day, and week after week, you pulled back from Melissa. The two of you went from being inseparable to you avoiding her at all costs, even if it meant taking hours to respond to her texts.
It was stupid to think she wouldn’t notice. Sitting on the couch with a near empty bottle of wine, you felt your phone buzz.
You’re not coming tonight, are you?
You stared at the screen, Melissa’s name at the top, rereading her message over and over again.
Not tonight, I’m sorry.
You half expected her to respond with care, or maybe anger. But when an hour went by and she still hadn’t answered, you knew she was upset. What you didn’t expect, however, was a rather aggressive knock at the door. Standing up from the couch, you realized opening the second bottle of wine might not have been the best idea. Opening the door, there she was.
“What the hell is going on with you? What did I do?” Melissa asked as soon as she saw you, voice filled with so many emotions. You were surprised to see her so emotional.
“Hello to you too, Mel.” You teased, hoping to lighten the situation. It didn’t work.
“You don’t get a hello, and don’t call me that. You have been hurting my feelings repeatedly and I still don’t know what I did. Every day and night I think about the last time we hung out and what I could have done to make you hate me so much.” Somewhere in her speech, the redhead walked past you and was now pacing in your living room.
You felt awful. In the midst of distancing yourself for the sake of your own emotions, you completely disregarded hers.
“I don’t hate you, Melissa. I…I don’t know…”
“Yes you do. You don’t pull away for no reason. Is this the wine we were supposed to have tonight? You don’t do that for no reason either.” She gestured to the empty bottle on the table. Her voice was loud and angry, but you could read on her face how hurt and sad she was by all of this.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I had to pull away it’s-it’s too much. You’re too much. My feelings for you are too much and it’s suffocating and as much as I love spending time with you it hurts too much now. I can’t do it Melissa.”
“Can’t do what?” She asked, slowly stepping towards you. At the same time, your words that just left your mouth came back to your brain, and you felt sick. But you were in deep waters already with her, might as well sink.
“I can’t be around you knowing you look at me differently than how I look at you.” Melissa didn’t answer to that, so you continued. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, you’re so kind to me and sweet but at the same time the strongest person I know. I admire everything you do. I love you.”
“I love you too, but-”
“No, Melissa. I love you.”
You watched as the gears turned in her head, but quickly looked away. Tears began filling your eyes and despite not facing her, you were worried she would see. You felt arms wrap themselves around your torso and the scent of perfume engulfed you. For a single moment things were okay, until you remembered who it was. You tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let you, instead, she turned you around to face her. To your surprise, her eyes were watery as well.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” She said so quietly you could barely hear, but her arms still held you so closely you were able to understand.
“I didn’t know how you would feel, I was terrified to lose you. So I just did it myself. I’m sorry. I was scared of what you would say.”
“I would say I love you too.” Melissa responded, louder this time, so you would absolutely hear her. You were silent, still unsure of what was happening. As if she could read your mind, she rolled her eyes and smirked. “Oh my god, just come here.” That was the last thing you heard before you felt soft lips on your own.
She kissed you like her life depended on it, and she tasted exactly how you imagined. Not wanting to push it, she pulled back. “You taste like wine,” she smiled. “I love you,” you replied. That made her laugh, and it was so lovely to hear that sound again. “We’ve established that. And we’ve established I love you too, hon. Y’know we could’ve avoided all of this had you just told me.”
“You could’ve told me too, Mel.” You giggled, feeling silly that this whole time, you could’ve been with her instead of avoiding her. “I thought you knew, you think I treat anyone else like I treat you?”
“What about Gary?” You nervously asked.
“What about him? He’s a flirt, and you were avoiding me. You are the only one I want that attention from.” She erased those negative thoughts from your head immediately.
“Good, I know it’s late but, can we still have dinner?”
“Of course, I would love to. But I think you’ve had enough wine for the night.” She smirked, and pulled you with her into your kitchen to start cooking.
#abbott elementary fics#abbott elementary#lisa ann walter#wlw#reader fic#melissa schemmenti x reader#melissa schemmenti x you#melissa schemmenti
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𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓, 𝐈'𝐌 𝐓𝐑𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : sully!family x daughter!reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : you try to prove to your family the endurance you behold. but your trials and tribulations get the best of you. 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : requested, yes | no. based on a few chosen lyrics from the song this is me trying by taylor swift. not proofread sorry! 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : angst no comfort, dialogue-heavy, character death oops, deviates from the original atwow movie plot!
𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲 : - ‘eveng - child // tsmuke - sister // iknimaya - rite of passage // muntxate - wife // ngaytxoa - i'm sorry // 'ite - daughter // sa'nok - mother // olo’eyktan - clan leader // tsamsiyu - warrior // 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2k words.
I've been having a hard time adjusting.
Life in the Hallelujah Mountains was a direct juxtaposition from whence you came. The ruggedness of the rocks, the sound of your feet making contact with the stones beneath you. There wasn't any shrubbery to whack out of your face. Instead, it was squeezing around the commune of people and narrowly avoiding knocking into tents.
You missed the plushness of the earth that would encompass you, guiding you to another adventure. Instead of your feet aching at the impact, they'd sink into the soil. When you'd inhale, the oxygen granted you serenity.
Up here the air was a little thinner, not enough to affect your oxygen on a larger scale - but it didn't pass you. Nothing did.
You made sure your father knew of such grievances.
I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting.
A prodigy had been birthed within you the moment your soul graced the world. The people were more than hyperaware of it. Especially Mo'at who looked like she'd seen Eywa herself as Neytiri cradled you for the first time in her arms.
That was before. When wielding a bow and arrow came easy to you, when you'd been the youngest to have a successful hunt, when you'd come back from a fishing trip with your dad with enough to feed the whole clan.
After coming in the form of your brother who was proving to be someone who looked and felt like he was more deserving of the role of Olo'eyktan one day.
The berries on top came in the form of leaving the communities rendition of Home Tree up to the mountains where the Sky People could no longer target them.
She'd never felt this weathered down, this loneliness ebbing away at all her wasted potential. The regrets anchor themselves then, a stark reminder that this war was brooding and vicious. At a young age, she must force herself to become capable.
I didn't know if you'd care if I came back.
When the day came for you to prove just that, you did so within a blink of an eye. You didn't know the consequences that would come for doing so, all that was drilled in your mind was "my family."
So when your mother's arrows came flying in the dark of the night to try to save you from your kidnappers. The rain casts itself over and your little sister Tuk is getting choked out by one of the soldiers. This was your time to truly try.
I have a lot of regrets about that.
You barreled in, ripping the soldier's hands from your sister's neck, and pushing her behind you.
"Go tuk, run!" Urgency is crystal in your voice, and Lo'ak can only give you a quick glance of fear before grabbing your sister in haste.
He was waiting for you.
"No, Lo'ak - go! I'll follow after you, okay?" You grunt, trying to battle this soldier off.
He soundlessly nods, gulping and blinking the tears that prickle at his eyes before disappearing into the foliage and eclipse of the night.
If only her stubborn self just kneed the soldier in the groin and left with them.
Could've followed my fears all the way down.
The trepidation began to bubble in the pit of her belly, and it sunk deeper and deeper the more the soldier overpowered her.
A wrangled cry escapes her throat as a very distinct "pop" echoes through the brewing chaos. He'd dislocated her shoulder. She didn't have time to dwell on it though, her uninjured arm reaching for the knife and unsheathing it from the soldier's grasp.
Everything slows down then.
Somehow she's being pushed onto the floor, and the knife that was once pressed to her perpetrator's neck was now inching into her stomach.
Oh, she's hurt. Blood pooled in her mouth then, the man letting out a menacing laugh - gun in hand and about to land a bullet to her head when an arrow shot into his instead.
And maybe I don't quite know what to say.
"My dear 'eveng, no!" She hovers over you in worry, looking around before muttering apologies. The knife was still lodged in your gut as she tried her best to lift you up and carry you to safety.
Your hand gripping the handle of the knife weakens, slipping in and out of consciousness as your mother tries her best to find the others.
"Ngaytxoa, sa'nok." You rasp out, chest shuddering at the sheer effort such a minor action took.
She hushed you, worries growing at how pale you'd already gotten as she enters a clearing.
"Muntxate?" A hushed whisper comes from in front of you.
It makes your mother jump in fright, jostling you a little making you let out something akin to a wail.
"Ma Jake, help her! I do not know what to do!" Your mother sobs in defeat, crouching to gently lay you down on the soft patch of grass beneath you.
"D-dad..." You grunted as his hand pressed on your dislocated shoulder.
I just wanted you to know, that this is me trying.
"Ma 'ite, what happened?" Your sempul's eyes glaze over in worry taking in your form. He did not know anatomy well, but the placement of where you'd been stabbed would have definitely gotten some of your organs.
"I had to save her dad, I had to save Tuk" She mumbled, eyes lost and looking at the night sky peering at her through the branches of trees.
"Tsmuke!" Tuk whines out, kneeling by your head at the mention of her name. She'd forever be in debt to you, and while she was young - her heart knew what was coming.
Lo'ak, Neteyam, and Kiri, follow her movements. All of them settled by you, not knowing what on earth to do but be there for their sibling.
Jake gave them all a look then, a twisted confirmation - an ending to your chapter. This wound was lethal, and you were suffering.
They told me all of my cages were mental.
Neytiri and Jake had never felt such utter distraught until today's events. Sure their kids were mischievous, always finding themselves up to no good. But they thought they had this handled, each battle they've gone into - they've lost some...not all.
Yet this felt too cruel, too world-altering and crumbling. Their child, is so frail and withering.
You and Neteyam were their mighty tsamsiyu's. Never did they want to have to see you go like this. Not when you had so much ahead yet to experience and live through.
They knew you were going through your own external crisis, and now more than ever - your parents wished they'd been more of a lending hand.
So caught up in raids, so caught up in making a stand - protecting their people. That their daughter had swept herself under a mat right before their eyes.
Her cages were going to finally win today, how ironic.
I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere.
As the eldest Sully daughter, you were more than self-aware of the baggage that came with who you'd become. The mantle to live upon and make yourself a dazzling star to gain the approval of your people.
You won over the people, and their hearts and souls. Strong in their eyes, almost the exact replica of Neytiri.
A healer apprentice under Mo'at, yet still going hunting with your father and brothers. There was a balance you'd manage to create that aided in you spreading out all the help and effort you could give.
But spreading yourself out so thinly can only last for so long.
Fell behind on my classmates, and I ended up here.
Even if you were the eldest though, you knew Neteyam was the one to become Olo'eyktan. It was what your Tsahik wanted, after all, Eywa had spoken it to her after Neteyam successfully finished his Iknimaya.
The tasks that filled up every inch of your day began to dwindle, and the people's hearts swayed to another. Your own brother, yet you didn't blame him for it.
For now, he to had to bare the weight that comes with a treacherous amount of responsibilities. The weight that comes with being named the future Olo'ekytan of your clan.
Therefore your uselessness began to amount...to nothing. Your father began to pour his efforts and lessons into Neteyam, who before used to just be a bystander - it was his turn to be molded.
Sure, you still were a daughter of the infamous yet famous Sully's, but the desire to be more than that no longer was set aflame.
Pouring out my heart to a stranger.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, - I just wanted to live up to you both. I wanted to be better, I just wanted to protect our family." She whispered, voice growing fainter as time ticked by.
"That's not on you to do!" Jake wept then, infuriated at the circumstances. It should have been him who suffered at the hands of the sky people, it was him they wanted anyway.
"At that moment - it felt like it, sempul." She insisted, her weak hand grasping his own that hovered over the knife still embedded in her.
"Leave it, I'm going to be okay. You're going to be okay."
A sharp gasp leaves his lips, before forcing them closed. His head shakes, shoulders quaking as he tries to muffle his cries.
Neytiri lets her hand rest on his shuddering shoulder as she leans down to press a feather-like kiss yet filled with so much purpose to your forehead.
She tries to explain.
"What your sempul is trying to say, is that it should be us who had been there. Not hiding in the dark, by your side."
At least, I'm trying.
A broken scoff escaped you then, "Can you just say thank you? I'm trying, I tried. I just wanted to show you guys I still had it in me. I wanted to save my little sister. I wanted to be of use, I wanted to help."
Neytiri doesn't care for the tears that cascade down her face, instead thumbing her daughter's ones away instead.
"I knew you always had it in you, baby girl. I'm sorry if it seemed like I ever stopped. I'm so sorry." Jake's voice wavers, cracks, a tear of his dropping onto your cheek - masked by your own that moves like a silent ship.
He was determined then, your efforts would not go down in vain.
And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound.
A smile graced her face then, one of acceptance. The clock was going to halt soon and she hopes that her intentions did not come off as something vengeful and selfish. But from a place of genuine protection and vigilance.
One fleeting look at them gave her great comfort though, they knew.
She etched the faces of her family into her heart then, even if they looked like they were in as much pain as you currently were. You wanted them to be the last thing you'd see.
The pain numbed then, the cries of anguish from the people that love her the most in this unsure world - muted.
The one thing that never faltered was the tight grasp of your father's hand that held onto your own, a gentle reminder that he was there as his thumb rubbed a soothing motion on the back of your hand.
Right by her your mother caressed your hair, occasionally leaning down to press another kiss to your head. Her cries oddly quieting, instead, revenge began to paint scenarios in her mind. All while she reminisced of everything you had been and what you were becoming.
"We're here, Tsmuke." Neteyam whispered, Kiri and Lo'ak chime in with a wavering hum of unfortunate understanding.
Hidden between the lines of such a simple statement, it's alright - you can let go and rest now.
Her heart stills then.
I just wanted you to know, that this is me trying.
𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 ━━━ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑
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Lucid Dream — Katie McCabe x Reader
Warnings: None
Word count: 388
Summary: Katie's dreaming about you every night.
A/N: It's been a while since I wrote about Katie so I quickly wrote this ficlet <3
*Lucid dream: A dream where you're aware of being dreaming.
Katie's never had trouble sleeping. She would go to bed early and wake up before the sun had risen. This has changed since she started dreaming about you. It started very subtle, with you appearing in her dreams just a few times a month, but, for a couple of weeks, she had been dreaming about you every night.
She was curious about you, as if you had drowned her in a vicious cycle of sleeping, dreaming about you, and then waking up with you nowhere to be found in the real world. She even tried to take some naps during her free time but failed, as that only made her more nervous.
The first time she had a lucid dream, she didn't know those could ever happen, even less to her. As she realized she was dreaming, she freaked out. Feeling on a new level of consciousness, she put all her intention on waking up, so she did, breathing heavily and sweat covering her neck.
As she did some research, she started to lose her fear of being conscious while dreaming, and she decided to use it to her own advantage to find out more about you. Who were you? Why were you appearing in her dreams every day? Did both of you know each other in the real world? Did you even exist?
One day, after she had fallen asleep, the dream began. She saw you near a fountain, reading. As you noticed here, you closed the book and approached her. Katie was delighted by your beauty. Your eyes captivated hers. Your timid smile made her feel secure. “We need to talk”, she said, and you nodded. She felt happy about your willingness to talk to her, but she realized it was all her. She was the one who was deciding everything that was going to happen in her dream, including your actions.
“Who are you?” You laughed. “I'm the one who's keeping you interested.” She paused for a second, as if she were examining you. “Why are you here? In my dream, I mean. Why do I dream about you every single night?“ To her, you were another human being, not just an imaginary image. “I'm here because of you. You keep thinking about me, so I always come back to you when you sleep.”
She sighed. Everything was so simple but complex at the same time. “Are you even real?” You got closer to her as you softly caressed her cheek, looking tenderly into her eyes. “Katie, you know the answer. You just don't want to accept it. This is your dream, the one coming from your mind."
The truth is that Katie had been catching some feelings for you as she kept dreaming about you. She was not in love, was she? How could she? She couldn't be in love with someone she had never touched or had never seen in reality. But she refused to end whatever this experience was, trapping herself between the real world and her imagination, looking for love in someone who was nobody but herself.
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Someone requested a stalker Hanayama so… here is some darker Hanayama for you!
He is incredibly delusional and creepy. So warning!!
Yandere Baki Short Stories: A Game of Cat and Mouse
Yandere Hanayama Kaoru x Afab Reader
……………………………………………………
Hanayama sat in his limousine and puffed out a gray cloud of cigar smoke. It was the same routine as usual for him… to sit outside of (Your name)‘s house until she’d acknowledge him. Until she’d notice his lustful obsidian eyes that burned holes in her mundane apartment. To realize her one true love was here.
She changed her last name and moved addresses in an attempt to get away from him… how cute. Hanayama always had a crush on her and it progressed as he had gotten older. She was always so kind to him… so sweet. How could he not fall for a woman who had no ulterior motive around him? (Your name) reminded him so much of his late mother… perhaps that was what had sent him off the deep end? She was so dainty compared to him, she would be an easy target to his enemies… Hanayama wanted to protect her.
(Your name) was a waitress at his favorite restaurant. A pretty young woman who never seemed scared of his presence and was always kind to him. A genuine smile always on her face when he was sat at her table (he always requested her section). (Your name) would always thank him for his large tips and his small talk. She had to feel something for him, right? (Your name) wanted him too, he was convinced of it. Why else would she not cower in fear when he was around her?
His desire to possess her and never let her go became overbearing. It consumed his everyday thoughts and even his dreams at night. He wanted to lock her up like a princess in a tower while he was the vicious dragon who guarded her from harm.
Yet he was met with rejection. (Your name) voiced her disinterest in a romantic relationship of any kind with him. And Hanayama couldn’t understand why… why did she not want him? He would be wonderful to her… And yet she lashed out at him when he tried to kiss her. She slapped him and it shocked him to his core. (Your name) must have wanted to play a game of cat and mouse with him. It was the only logical explanation in his brain on why she’d react that way.
His kitten indeed had some claws on her. She fled from him and changed her name, her city, and her appearance a bit. But he had grown tired of this game of cat and mouse. Hanayama had allowed her to roam outside for too long and he had come to collect her to be in her rightful place… by his side. Hanayama would always find her. He had eyes and ears everywhere. She was his.
He didn’t understand her fuss of not wanting to be with him. Hanayama could take care of her better than anyone. He was filthy rich and the world was at his finger tips. Not to mention the things he can do with his tongue. What more could a girl want? He didn’t understand her rejection. How could she turn down Hanayama Kaoru, the strongest yakuza?
Was it because he was a few years younger? He looked older and was always told he was quite mature for his age. Was it his scars? Hanayama proudly earned each one and if she wanted the stories of them, he’d tell her. He’d open his heart to her and tell her all of his secrets if it was what would get her to finally fall into his arms. Or was it because he was a gang leader? Hanayama could understand that one. He was a dangerous man but he had plenty of power and influence to keep her from harm’s way. Hanayama would do anything for her… so why didn’t she return even an ounce of his admiration for her?
Hanayama pondered to himself while he continued to smoke his Cuban cigar, the yakuza paid no mind to the ashes that fell on his crisp white suit. His attention was too focused on the only light in the dark apartment and the silhouette he could see from his position. (Your name)wouldn’t have to live so modestly anymore after tonight.
Hanayama shuffled out of the limousine. His large hand grabbed the fragrant bouquet of freshly cut roses and a neatly wrapped box. The blood red roses a physical representation of his carnal desire to have her as his.
Hanayama smiled as he approached the house. The game was over. He won.
#baki the grappler#baki hanma#baki son of ogre#baki x reader#baki the grappler x reader#yandere baki#yandere#yandere fic#yandere imagine#female reader#tw.yandere#baki dou#grappler baki#baki headcanons#baki#baki kaoru hanayama#kaoru hanayama#hanayama kaoru x reader#hanayama kaoru#kaoru hanayama x reader#delusional yandere#stalker#stalker yandere#yandere x you
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