#can I hope for more things should I have faith .
Note
i was wondering if you could do a fic with kate martin being too shy to ask out reader? maybe she’s like nervous or smthg?
hope you enjoy this 😇 if you want a part 2 lmk bc i feel like i ended it on a note where i could potentially make another part or just eventually edit this and add more!
Eyes on You - Kate Martin x Reader
Kate always saw you on Saturday mornings when you went into a coffee shop just outside your university to get coffee. She went there once for an early pick me up before a practice, but ever since she saw you it had become a staple part of her Saturday morning ritual.
Kate saw you today. She watched as you walked up to the barista and ordered your iced caramel latte with oat milk. She watched as you paid and put a $5 bill into the tip jar, and smiled to herself at how generous you seemed to be. She watched as you ran your fingers through your hair as you walked over to the side of the shop she was at as you waited for your drink to be made. She stared as you intently, and is mesmerized until you glance her way. That was the only thing that could bring her back to reality.
Kate had always been a go-getter. She was ambitious and once she had her eyes set on something there was no stopping her. That was until she met you. You were the one thing that she seemed too scared to chase. She wondered what it was about you that made her so scared to go for it. Could it be your dreamy eyes? Your beautiful, glowy face? Your fashionable style? Kate couldn’t seem to figure out what it was that stopped her from talking to you. So she sat there; she sat there in the corner of the coffee shop she waited for you in as you got your drink from the counter and left. She wanted to say something, anything, to you but she just couldn’t bring herself to. All she could do was keep her eyes locked on you.
Her face turned red at she brought herself back into reality, she wondered how long she’d been spaced out thinking of you. Her coffee shop crush. Kate looked at the time on her phone and sighed, it was time for practice already. She took a last sip of her matcha and tossed it as she walked out the exit.
“Kate, have you thought about, I don’t know, just talking to her?” Caitlin asked Kate facetiously. Kate was venting to her teammates about how she couldn’t bring herself to utter one word to you.
Gabbie nodded her head agreeing with Caitlin, “Yeah Kate, you don’t seem like the type to ever be at a loss for words.” The girls all laughed and Kate rolled her eyes. “Guys. I’m so serious. She is like the epitome of sunshine. She just looks like someone off of pinterest. Do you even think I could pull her?” Caitlin walked closer to Kate and patted her on the back in an attempt to brighten her spirits.
“Have some faith in yourself, Kate! Why don’t Gabbie, Jada, and I come with you next time you go? We can be your wing women or something?” Everyone laughed at Caitlin’s choice of words, but nodded and agreed this was a good starting plan for Kate. Kate folded her arms and shrugged. “I guess it couldn’t hurt. I don’t really have anything to lose.”
So the next Saturday came, and Kate, Gabbie, Jada, and Caitlin all walked into the little coffee shop right outside Iowa University. “This place is cute! We should come here more often!” Jada said to Gabbie as the bell on top of the door clinked as the four walked into the shop. Then, Kate spotted you. “Guys,” she whispered to her friends, “ok don’t look now but see that pretty girl over there? In the blue sweater? That’s her!” Kate grabbed her teammates in what looked like a mini game-day huddle so they could figure out their course of action. Kate was in a panic. Her questions ranged from asking the other three “she looks gay, right?” “have you guys seen her around before?” “what year is she in?” and a billion others. Gabbie put a hand over Kate’s mouth and Jada shushed her. “Kate,” Caitlin started to say to her, “we know you’re excited, but you’re just working yourself up. Take some deep breaths, walk over there, and ask her out. You got this.”
Kate sighed and nodded. Caitlin was right. She had done so many harder things than this, so why was this so hard for her to do? Kate started to walk over to you, but stopped herself until Jada gave her a little nudge and she kept going. Finally, she approached the place at the small island table where you sat. You took your headphones off your head and placed them around your neck and looked up from your textbook at her. “Hi! I think I’ve seen you in here before, once or twice?” You said to her with the same bright and cheery smile you always wore.
‘Yeah maybe a little more than that, yikes.’ Kate thought to herself. She cleared her throat and nodded at you. “Yeah, definitely! I’m, uh, I’m Kate! I go to Iowa just like a block from here. I assume you do too, right?” You nodded your head in response to her question. “You do? Ok, great. Cool. Well uh I was wondering if maybe I could, like, I don’t know just get your number? You’re just. God. You’re like so pretty and you seem so sweet and I don’t even know if you like, yeah, but can I just? Please?”
You looked at her like she was a lost puppy. “Okay you’re literally so cute. I’m Y/n, btw! Yes of course You can have my number here it’s xxx-xxx-xxxx.” You quickly scribbled your number on a sticky note and handed it to Kate. She looked at it in awe and smiled, “Thank you so much! Okay, I won’t keep you any longer! Well, for now that is. I’ll text you okay?”
“Nice meeting you, bye Kate! Text me!” You called after her as you watched her walk back to her friends. You saw the excited expression on her face as they all exchanged high fives and pumped their fists in the air in victory. Then, they all rushed out of the door, presumably to figure out what to text you. You smiled to yourself as you put your headphones back over your ears, but your eyes didn’t move from the door. They stayed watching it, hoping Kate would walk back through it again and the two of you could talk some more.
#wlw post#iowa wbb#kate martin x reader#kate martin#lv aces#wcbb x reader#wcbb#caitlin clark x reader#caitlin clark#wbb x reader#wlw yearning
150 notes
·
View notes
Text
Put Me In Perspective, Or At Least In My Place (Another Retrospective On Aromantic Love)
“Above your head like this. Both hands, look at me. Both hands, Grian. It doesn’t take a lot of strength, just step forward and release around eye level.” Cleo demonstrated, holding the axe at the end of its handle and releasing the weapon. It flew in what had to be a perfect arc before burying itself in the wood, a bullseye of course. She threw the axe like she’d done it a thousand times, and honestly, she probably had.
“Don’t people throw them with one hand, too?”
“Yes. It’s just harder. Try this first.”
Grian pursed his lips, stepping forward, throwing, then squeaking when the axe bounced terrifyingly off the wood, hitting the wall before rolling and bumping the curb that separated the stall and his feet. Ah. That was frightening.
“Nearly took out our ankles there,” Cleo said, not sounding all too concerned.”
“It- Can it bounce over that?”
“Not easily. But not uncommonly either. Try not to do that.” Cleo strode forward, plucking the axe off the ground and handing it to Grian. “Don’t throw it while I’m in there.”
“I wasn’t going to!”
“Maybe you won’t, but some people need to be told,” Cleo grunted, ripping the axe she’d thrown from the wall and spinning it thoughtlessly in her hand before burying it in the stump that split their twin alleys. “Try again. Keep your wrists straighter, release at eye level.”
Grian shifted his weight, frowning, “Surely you brought me here to talk about something else other than axe throwing. ‘Cancel your plans, I’m picking you up,’ is an extremely ominous message to receive from a stranger at 8:00 at night. How did you get my number again?”
“Pearl. And we aren’t strangers, we’ve met at least once at that big friend get-together thing, you know. That awful pizza place? Regardless, I’m friends with runners, so force is necessary 90% of the time. If you want to skip to the talking, we can talk, but I don’t know if you want to hear what I have to say.”
“I probably don’t.”
“Then start throwing and I’ll do the work. You’ll get it to stick, just give her a few tries.”
“You seem to have a lot of faith in me.”
“Everyone gets it eventually.” Cleo looked relaxed, unconcerned, and Grian tried to match the energy, but he couldn’t quite shake his anxiety. Well. He was here, so he might as well make the most of it.
It took six more tries before he got an axe to stick. Wow that was satisfying- but the air seemed a little too heavy to celebrate more than Cleo’s tasteful clapping. Maybe he should come back here with Pearl and Impulse.. Jimmy maybe? He’d kill to see Jimmy try this actually, even if he’d likely crush Grian in the end. When Grian went to collect the two axes from the stall, Cleo finally spoke.
“I’d like to know what’s going on between you and Scar. Properly. It’s been a particularly shitty week for our friend group and Scar’s been in a foul mood for more reason than one, so we haven’t talked. And I’m not just here to interrogate you about Scar either, I’d really like to know what’s going through your head as well. Have you seen each other this week? Have you talked at all?” Cleo was firm, but nothing about their voice was hostile. There was a worried longing there, the kind of urging that came from a deep concern for a good friend.
Grian took a deep breath. “Not much. I saw him a couple days ago when I was getting lunch with Pearl at the zoo. He only texted me one other time to tell me he wouldn’t be.. we have this mutual place we hang out, and he just told me he wouldn’t be around this week. Too much going on. I’m really sorry about Etho by the way, I hope you guys find him.”
“Thank you. Bdubs got in contact with him yesterday, so we know he’s alright. We still don’t know where he is or when he’s coming home, but from what I’ve heard, he’s keeping frequent contact. Hasn’t called me or Scar, but that’s typical. With any luck he’ll be back safely soon. That’s what Etho said anyway. Still all sorts of concerning, but we’ll take what we can get.”
“That’s good. I’m glad.” Grian tried not to be hurt that Scar hadn’t updated him, but failed miserably despite the fact it probably wasn’t any of his business. He just would’ve liked to know, that’s all.
“It is. So how did that clusterfuck of a night happen between you and Scar? How did that start?”
“Oh,” Grian mumbled, fidgeting with the axe still in his hands. Cleo took the other from the stump, throwing it almost lazily, like the question didn’t matter to her much at all. Grian decided to do the same, focusing on the secondary activity instead. “Well.. he invited me over. That was a couple hours after our first spat, and I was still feeling weird about it all. Wasn’t well.”
“I figured. He reached out to you first?”
“Yeah. We weren’t supposed to do anything though, just.. get it out of our systems. I was so mad at him- I’m still so angry, and not even for any reason in particular. I’m just mad.”
“Then how’d you end up in his bed?”
“Oh. I kissed him. He was pissing me off.”
“Right.”
Grian scoffed, snagging his axe off the floor of the alley after a failed throw. “How did you think this all went down? He told you the jist, basically. Not nicely, but he told you.”
Cleo shrugged. “I just wanted to know a few more details. Place my judgment a bit more accurately. From where I’m standing, you’re both idiots self destructing in the dumbest way possible. I would like it very much if this didn’t happen again, not only because it’s bad for both of you, but quite frankly, it’s embarrassing.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion.”
“Come on.”
Grian curled his lip. “Listen, I don’t understand why it’s such a huge problem for Scar and I to work out our differences with a little violence. We're consenting adults and the sex was kinda nuts, so if we’re both having fun there’s no issue. In any case, I’m pretty sure this is solving all of our problems.”
“Oh? Do explain.”
Grian rolled his shoulders, throwing his axe and getting it to stick for the second time, “We’re just letting off steam, Cleo. Two months of awkward tension does a lot to a man, it does a lot, nothing good. This is like a shortcut to the whole ‘tiMe hEaLs aLL’ bullshit, we’re like- getting it out of our system.”
“Uh huh. And this is going to resolve your unrequited feelings for Scar how..?”
“I’m getting it out of my system, Cleo.”
“Ah, so having really good sex with a man who isn’t looking for the same things in a relationship as you is going to fix you.”
“You got it.”
“That’s the dumbest load of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” For the first time, Cleo’s axe bounced off the board. She strode to pick it up wordlessly.
“Alright.” Grian landed another axe, just inches from the bullseye.
“Grian,” Cleo sighed harshly, and Grian avoided her eye, uninterested in her scrutiny, “Listen. As dysfunctional as the both of you two are, I don’t actually believe this couldn’t work. You two have been as thick as thieves for ages, and as much as you’re scrapping now, I don’t think that’s indicative of how you actually feel about each other. You’re just hurt people hurting each other, and you don’t have to be. For goodness’s sake, Scar would have been happy to be in some sort of relationship with you, he just didn’t want to lose you altogether. Somewhere I think that got lost in translation.”
“Scar doesn’t want to date me. He only offered to appease me, it was as obvious as anything.”
“I don’t doubt there’s truth to that. He doesn’t do well under the pressure of a love confession, and that’s no one’s fault. But his feelings on romance are a lot more complicated than ‘wanting’ or ‘not wanting.’ You did the right thing to refuse him, Grian, he wasn’t ready. But I think it’s worth talking to him again. Laying everything out on the table. And I can’t speak for what Scar wants, his brain is a mess of tangled wires and sparks, but he’s obviously had plenty of time to think about this, and he might surprise you. If there’s one thing I do know about Scar, it’s that he loves to give things like this a try. And I mean that. He does love it.”
“But Scar won’t love me. Not like I want to love him.”
Cleo hummed, thoughtful as they considered the ceiling, “You know, I don’t know if that’s true.”
Grian huffed, “Unless I’m misunderstanding what ‘aromantic’ means, I don’t see what you mean.”
Cleo shrugged. “Scar loves everyone in big sweeping gestures. That doesn’t change from person to person, whether they’re family, close friends, lovers.. it doesn’t change. But there are still levels, right? There’s still loyalty. You’re thinking of Scar as loving you like a friend, but I think that’s the wrong approach. Making that distinction makes it seem like his love would be less intense, like he wouldn’t still give you everything he has. Try.. a scale, 1 through 10, maybe. For you, you’re looking to give Scar your 10 on the scale, right? A 9 or 10, whatever it is, that’s the kind of love you want to give, the kind of love you’re looking to receive. In Scar’s brain, he’s been giving you that 10 for months, and if you asked to spend the rest of your life with him, he’d probably go ahead and accept without hesitation. That’s just how he feels about the people he’s close with.”
Grian didn’t speak, still working out how to process those words, but Cleo did not mind continuing in his absence. “If you’re worried about not being #1, then I’m afraid you’re fighting a losing battle, friend. With anyone. You’re contending with mothers, brothers, sisters, friends that go back to high school, grade school, diapers. Being intimate doesn’t outweigh those bonds, not for most people. And this isn’t to say that a relationship with Scar would be exactly the same as it would be with anyone else, it won’t, and if you’re the type of guy that gets insecure when your partner is physically friendly with other people, then forget it, but in my truest of hearts, if you’re looking for someone to love, I believe Scar would be more than good for you. He would treat you well,” Cleo paused, thoughtful before continuing, “And honestly, things literally can not get any messier between you two. There are zero stakes to giving this a shot. You’ll either feel a lot better about yourselves or you’ll go your separate ways, both of which are a huge improvement to whatever the fuck is happening between you two now. Maybe you’ll even stay friends after talking all this shit out. Who knows.”
Grian returned his axe to the stump, needing to sit down. To think. He was quiet for a long time just sitting there, the only sound being the bustle of other customers and Cleo’s own axe hitting its mark time and time again.
“You really think he’d want to give it a shot?”
Cleo shrugged and shook her head noncommittally, “Who knows. But it wouldn’t surprise me. So long as you two actually talk this all out, I think anything could happen. And Christ, if you two decide to get together and still want to ‘fall down the stairs’ then have nasty sex afterward, that’s your prerogative, but for crissakes, at least wear some sort of padding or a helmet or something, don’t actually kill each other.”
Well. He had gotten Scar that helmet, hadn’t he.
“I’ll think about it,” Grian mumbled, eyes lidded. And he was. He was thinking quite hard about it.
#suggestive#hermitshipping#scarian#hermitcraft#hermitfic#grian#gtws#goodtimeswithscar#zombiecleo#I forgot to post this lol#mumbomaid au
110 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi sweetie!
How are you? Hope school and everything is going well. Congrats on your exam! I know you'll do great on all the others bc I just have that much faith 😌
I saw your little schedule and saw upcoming Hyune and Jisung fics wich sound amazing just by the title. So now I'm super excited for those!!
Just a little idea for you... But I have an unhealthy obsession with perv Seung. The perv Jisung headcanons made me think you might be open to writing this. Something about perv Seungmin just hits harder than it does for any other member (for me at least). I was thinking about being in a relationship with him and his perv tendencies start peeping through...then one day you catch him using like your underwear or another one of your items to get off and you just go along with it (bc y/n crazy like that) 😭
If you just wanna chat, feel free to ignore my request when (and if) you reply to this. I'm totally cool with just being friendly and talking. I'm on Tumblr for the community after all 🤷♀️
You're fics make me feel some type way everytime I read them no matter how many times I read them and I super appreciate you! Love you 🤟
-🐺🐺🐺🩷🩷🩷
OF COURSE I CAN TAKE YOUR REQUEST I FEAR NO CHALLENGE
(i can actually see this with Seungmin tho~)
Pervy boyfriend Seungmin x fem reader Headcannons
into smutfic >.>
SFW + NSFW (idol Seungmin, UNDERWEAR STEALER?!?!, someone sedate me-, sweet Seungminnie very breiefly..., unprotected sex wrap it before you tap it lovies., seungmo is not slick, lil bit of sweet bullying >.>, seungmin will never be stopped.)
someone tach me how to do the side by side pics thing. it never works..
Boyfriend Seungmin who spoiled you when he wasn't busy. He wasn't perfectly affectionate, bullying you all the time, but it was his way of loving on you.
Boyfriend Seungmin who called you stupid names when you had silly arguments (nothing serious really).
Boyfriend Seungmin who would brag to STAY about how amazing you were.
Boyfriend Seungmin who would check your location constantly when you went out. For one because he was worried about you. And for two because...
Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin stole your panties again.
Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who was for once scared you might catch him.
Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who would take your bras with him on tour and jerk off to the thought of you. Inhaling your scent from the panties he'd oh so rightfully stolen.
Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who fucked into the mattress when you sent him pictures of you while he was away.
Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who imagined you under him when you squealed on the phone about something. Oh, he'd give you a reason to squeal.
Boyfriend Seungmin who promised you he'd be home soon.
Boyfriend Seungmin who hugged you in the airport, acting calm and collected when really...
Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin wanted nothing more than to bend you over and make you take his manhood. But knew that you wouldn't like doing such a thing in public... or maybe you would (maybe he should make you at some point)
Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who didn't wait to put his bags down when you got home and to your bedroom. Pulling your pants and panties off with such force it shocked him, fucking you like his life depended on it. maybe it did.
Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who seemed to get harder when you moaned at how rough he was being with you.
Pervy Boyfriend Sungmin who asked begged you to let him cum inside. Who let out soft whimpers when you climaxed together.
Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who wanted to be sweet to you after you did so well for him, but who's dick came back to life at the sight of your pretty pussy oozing his seed.
Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who encouraged you to go out and have fun with your friends, just to stay home and bury his face in you cum covered panties from the night before.
Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who was in the middle of jerking off to a voice message you'd sent him when you walked in because you forgot your wallet. Who's face burned pink as you made him feel vulnerable... embarrassed...
Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who wasn't going to let you get away with that...
He hadn't intended it to go like this.. but he wasn't going to complain as you bounced on his cock, rocking you hips into his own, moaning softly.
Seungmin groaned and gripped your hips, thrusting up into you.
"You're such a weirdo." You moaned.
He looked at you with an incredulous expression, "I'm the weirdo? You see me with your used panties in my face and the first thing you do is jump on my dick."
Your face went redder if that was even possible. Seungmin leaned over, pushing you onto your back and fucking into you. "Then again, I'll take this pretty pussy over just your underwear any day."
You whined, "At least stop stealing my favorite bra."
He smiled as he reached between your legs and rubbed your clit. "How about no?"
You wanted to say something more but he forced the air out of your lungs as he slammed deep into you. His tip kissed your cervix before he came hard, pushing you over the edge with him and whining as your pussy squeezed him tightly, milking him dry.
Pervy Boyfriend Seungmin who kept your panties before sending you back out again.
Tags
@asahisimpnation
Apply for taglist here
#skz smut#stray kids smut#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#seungmin x reader#kim seungmin x reader#kim seungmin stray kids#seungmin smut#khxndlewrites#anon ⟡ ─ ⌞🐺⌝#🕯─ anon ⟡
67 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖆𝖌𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝕳𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕬𝖜𝖆𝖐𝖊𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖗 ( PT2 )
And if you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?
Howl's Moving Castle x Twisted Wonderland Au
(Vil x Fem!Yuu)
PS: This was written before Vil's new updates in the new chapters, I'm delving deeper into Vil's character and I know he's not just "a pretty boy" but for the direction of the story, he will have to follow this personality aspect a little more to this characteristic part of it. So I'm sorry if this isn't the most faithful fic to the character he is. I promise I will edit better, so that it has better quality.
Part1 You're here Next
"Bro, if you don't come soon I swear I'll get her alone!"- Ace stood with his arms crossed outside Heartslabyul's kitchen while Deuce carried a beautiful and tasty strawberry pie that Trey just made, the smell of pie woke up all the members of the dorm leaving them in a wonderful mood, if even the tyrannical Riddle smiled with that pie it would certainly work on Yuu too right?
"Don't rush me Ace! After all that stress yesterday the least we can do is apologize to Yuu."
"And you needed to give Trey more work and make him another pie so soon?"
"Well….er….With model students we must go beyond simple apologies!"- Suddenly, Deuce's jovial face turned red but he quickly remembered that shame should not stop him from apologizing to his friend.
"Come on! She's not even that mad!" raising his arms in resignation he continued “Okay, she is angry! But this happens almost every day, she is already used to it, and besides…” the nosy man put his finger in the gelatinous broth of the pie and licked his fingers. in such an unpretentious way “It’s not like she’s going to disappear out of nowhere and we won’t be able to say goodbye, she’s our friend.”
Deuce sighed heavily and finally agreed with his friend. Trapolla, with a genuine smile, began to remember some adventures they had already had and plan new adventures with Yuu and Grim would also love the antics.
And hope filled their hearts.
Planning after planning.
After all, Yuu would always be with them, right?
“I'm grateful that you managed to get here as quickly as possible.” With a serious voice, the old crow thanked everyone present in the mirror room, from teachers to leaders and vice-leaders, some of Yuu's colleagues were also there.
"We know it's something important Crowley, we need to discuss this as soon as possible" - it was in the middle of breakfast that Riddle heard ADeuce's desperate screams, and when he turned up his nose thinking that the morning had already started badly he couldn't imagine it would get worse.
“So what do we know so far? I only heard loud noises all morning” - the lion grumbled
“The members of my dorm, Ace and Deuce, when they went to pick Yuu up for classes early in the morning, discovered that Yuu and Grim had mysteriously disappeared.”
“Have you looked for clues in the abandoned dormitory?”
“ That's the problem: the entire Ramsharckle Dorm is gone! Not even a piece of wood on the floor, no ghosts, just a mark on the floor where he used to stand” Trey replied and while he already felt anxiety in his heart, he knew that the first boys must be feeling it more. When the two arrived screaming like maniacs in the dorm asking them to follow Trey knew something was strange, due to the fact that his precious pie was dropped on the floor. Not even in an overblot had Deuce dropped a cupcake, but a pie on the floor must have been quite a problem.
“Oh, now that’s a problem.” putting his hand over his mouth Jade whispered discreetly in Azul's ear
“There are rumors all over the school. How could an ENTIRE dorm disappear out of nowhere? What about our protection field?” Leona had had his precious 9am post-sleep nap interrupted when conversations from all kinds of beastmen started to get very loud and his sensitive ears picked up some things.
“I heard that Yuu hasn't shown up to class yet. Did you take their notes?”
“The meteor shower was incredible yesterday! I took several photos and posted them on Magicam!”
“There is a horrible smell near the statues of the seven! A very strong smell of rotten eggs and vinegar!”
" You will not believe! You know that girl's dorm without magic? IT DISAPPEARED"
“Our protective field detected nothing, no changes.”
“What if the dorm is gone but Yuu and Grim are still somewhere in the school? Can Rook use his magic and try to look for them both?”
The hyena knew two things: Nothing disappears without a trace and that Yuu would do anything for her and Grim to survive. No wonder she survived 7 overblots. They are alive.
“Yes, Monsieur Dandelion” when reciting his unique magic, the hunter combined it with a magic from his wand so that everything he was seeing, others would also see with a projection of his magical range - an idea that came from Yuu.
i s e e y o u
Spell cast but no result, Rook searched every dormitory and every hidden corner of the school, the deserts of scarabia to the bottom of the waters of octaveinelle, in the royal school, in the noble school, in the cities they had visited before but nothing… for one good period of time….nothing.
“Je suis désolé, I didn’t find anything”
“Oh for the seven! How terrible! What do we do?" Crowley, oh so sad, exclaimed.
“Did they come home?"
“Did she run away?”
“But what happened that made her run away so suddenly?”
Some voices whispered among themselves, others created more theories about what could have happened.
Malleus was in the corner of the room, absorbed by the shadows of the room, he could see how each person missed Yuu and Grim and how emotions were expressed on their faces, but Schoenheit's looked strange, it wasn't the same expression as sadness that Heartslabyul's dorm leader,it was Silver's expression when he was a child doing something wrong and Lillia caught him in the act… oh yes… guilt.
“Let’s split up, if the dogs just whine, it won’t help anything!” with authority determined to find the two, Crewel spoke out -“The two first year pups, Trey, Riddle, Blue, Rook and Jack go to the Ramsharckle to inspect for any clues in the dorm, any smell, footprint, anything.
Ruggie, Jamil, Jade and Carter, I need you to interrogate the students and find out how the rumors came about and if we have any useful information. Kalim and Epel, stay in this group too.
For the rest, check the library to see if there is any phenomenon linking last night to Ramscharkle's disappearance and calm down the dorms.”
“Any information must be said immediately. Stay calm, we will find them.” concluded Trey and they were soon dismissed
"Child of man, how did you know that Grim would precisely knock down that vase?" - prince in all his wisdom, asks Yuu who had just picked up a vase from the shelf exactly 5 seconds before the monster cat appeared out of nowhere and knocked in the exact location of the vessel.
"Intuition." Malleus's gaze asked for more information and so she graciously gave it “It's when we have the act of perceiving, discerning or sensing things, independently of reasoning or analysis to conclude something, you know? “
“Could this be a magic that only belongs to humans?”
“I don’t think so Tsunotaro” she laughed so cutely “So when you get a feeling about something, go ahead, there’s a good chance you’re right.”
Go ahead
His eyes narrowed and followed Vil's movements, who silently took another path from the research group.
Some things were discovered in each group:
1- The dormitory is completely gone, with all the members.
2-there is a very slight smell of Yuu in a single small section
3- Sam's friends saw Yuu just before the meteor shower started
4- Yuu was upset with some people (rumors)
5- All photos of the meteor shower are blurry
6- Absolutely nothing else
The students looked disappointedly at the paper list before handing it to Crowley, just some facts with few connections between them and no matter how much they looked for some magic or some phenomenon to explain what happened but the results of their efforts yielded nothing, just hearts. sad and heavy consciences and remained that way for a few days.
Until one day, the universe decided to smile at the boys again and especially at the manliest boy in Pomefiore who was pouting on his bed after being tugged on Vil's ear.
“Umnh…hello pewpaw?”
“Hello my sweet! How are you?" his grandmother's voice calmed the lilac-haired boy for the first time in days
“I’m fine grandma, things have been really complicated these days, but I’m trying hard to get stronger!”
“Okay, grandma knows you’ve been having a rough day, so send an extra box of apple juice for you and your friends!”
“Thank you, I’m sure they’ll love it-”
“And Yuu, how is she?” my crush is missing in the middle of the world and we have no idea if anyone would say we will see her again, thank you “Well, she is… fine….but something happened that-”
“Yesterday she said she wasn’t feeling very well, so I gave her that apple and lemon drink and wow! She looked really pretty!”
what WHAT?
“Yesterday grandma? What? Where?” genuinely confused and stunned even more so because Rook appeared out of nowhere next to him and silently asked to turn on the speakerphone on his cell phone.
“I bumped into her in the village on Sage Island when we went to make some apple juice deliveries, I even thought you would be close to her with some friends! A pretty girl is not meant to walk alone!”
“How was she, grandma? Was she ok? Where did you see her exactly? “ Exasperated and anxious, the boy tried to control himself so as not to make it too obvious how worried he was! But Crowley, in all his old bird wisdom, ordered that no one should speak of this matter outside of the NRC people.
“She was in front of a store when we bumped into each other, I don't remember the name of the store because some were already closing. I don’t know why but she feels different”
“Like what grandma?”
“Like…. magical…. but isn’t she the girl without magic who studies with you?”
“Yes, yes… And!… ah… How was she d-different?" - increasingly anxious he had no idea what to think and what to ask without shouting that she was missing
“I didn’t see him… um…. She likes it differently, I don’t remember what”
Rook thought of a strategy while Epel pulled out his hair, the hunter wrote on a piece of paper he took from the desk the most direct questions about what everyone wanted to know!
“Grim.was. with. her.?
“I didn’t see him… um…. She looked different, I don’t remember what but it was the only thing I remember.”
“Did.she.tell.where.she.was going?” Rook's handwriting looked like a drunken French monarch writing, so give Epel credit for reading that riddle while he was trying not to pass out
“If she said, I don’t remember, she had some bags in her hand and that she had to run because she was in a hurry.”
“Hurry.to.what?Hurry.to.where?”
“I don’t know Epel! I don't go around meddling in people's lives! Why are you so interested in her life? It’s like you don’t see her every day at school!”
“Sorry.dear.grandma.I’m curious.ha.ha”
“Anyway, do you know what happened here? Your uncle—-” the dear, sweet old lady couldn't finish the day's gossip because Epel had nervously hung up and ran off to send messages to the first-year students while running like crazy to Crowley's office.
Rook celebrated the victory and elegantly told the evil queen the news. Meanwhile, Lady Pewpeaw looked in the mirror and thought:
I already know! She changed her hair! Or is it the hair that changes people? She looked very chic and elegant. Ahh, I hope my grandson Epel can win the heart of that beautiful girl!
As Epel ran with all the strength his legs could carry, which was a lot now that he was in the Spelldrive club, he sent messages to the other first-year students excited about the possibility of Yuu being found and a certain hunter was able to smile knowing that he would have fresh news to tell the evil Queen.
After a brief meeting between the first-year students and briefly with the leaders, Crowley allowed them to investigate possible clues. The boys searched every alley and store with their hearts burning with hope, Deuce was ready to hug her while Ace was preparing a lecture on why she disappeared out of nowhere leaving them all distressed. Jack concentrated as he remembered Yuu's familiar smell, the smell so different from the bunch of men in NRC, the smell that was unique to her. Epel was looking for the address that her grandmother had given her, always looking at the clock and the port, if she could only stay until sunset, that means she would have to leave before dark.
-----
The sun finally set, giving way to the moon that illuminated the boys' journey back to school.
The hopeful young hearts returned broken, hopeless, shattered, and without any trace of Yuu. Each one informed their dorm leader, Leona just turned her back and tried to sleep knowing that no matter how much she closed her eyes she wouldn't have rest until she found Yuu, Riddle for the first time didn't finish the strawberry pie, and Vil….
Vil was different.
Vil was “strangely strange”, when even after receiving the news about Yuu's case he couldn't sleep properly, even with a beauty campaign that was going to make his skin wasn't radiant and a pimple appeared on the corner of his chin.
“The Campaign is tomorrow. How can I let such futile emotions ruin my skin just for tomorrow”? – the poisonous king thought as he touched up his makeup looking at a small hand mirror, taking care that his facial features didn't show the makeup.
“I can't believe we didn't achieve anything Jack!” Vil heard some voices in the hallway.
“It was a good attempt Epel. One time or another we will find an answer.”
“But…but we were so so close! I went to the exact store my pewpaw said but no clue!Damn! When the fuck we gonna have a track like this?!” maybe at another time Vil would fight with Epel for letting his accent come out rougher but the conversation was getting to the queen's delicate nerves
“In Tiana’s Palace there was only the smell of food, nothing of Grim or Yuu. I’m sorry Epel.” Vil might not have seen it, but he could have sworn Jack was rubbing his neck and looking down, probably feeling guilty about for not having found the prefect.
Is he to blame, Vil?
A voice called from the mirror and Vil was so scared that he dropped his mirror on the floor, breaking it into pieces, and he could no longer hear the gossip. But that wasn't the worst, my friends. The worst was right in front of the young prodigy's face.
A wrinkle in the middle of the forehead.
“In the name of Gucci this can’t be happening!”
Is he to blame, Vil?
If he hadn't been so worried about his precious skin, he would have noticed a small bat watching him in a corner of the bathroom. Quickly composing himself, he headed to the Film Club at the appointed time.
The moon was shining in the sky and all Vil could think about was the last moments he spent with Yuu, if he said sorry, would she come back? No no, he's not the problem! This is pure coincidence! He turned over the bed and looked for his beauty sleep, but only found guilt and loneliness.
“Maybe a walk will help relax my nerves?” - he put a comfortable jacket over it before opening the door
It was supposed to be just a walk, through the hall of Pomefiore's grand corridors
But Vil's desperation led him to the port of Sage's Island with his broom, looking for one last hope of finding Yuu. After all, to get a proper beauty sleep he had to solve the problem of his insomnia first. Some stores were still open, parties, nightclubs, a small village but so bright! With people laughing and talking, how lovely. Every person who recognized the celebrity asked for a photo and an autograph and the question he wanted to ask everyone died in his mouth.
"""Have you seen this person recently?"""
Putting his acting skills to good use, he put on his best face that didn't show how terribly guilty he felt and lost in his thoughts he entered the dorm, maybe the Film Club had something that could distract him, spend some time energy and quality sleep, maybe some sleeping pills… something…. the bedroom is not the best time right now, not when he can't sleep. And here he is, in the pit of frustrations. In the place where that day happened.
“The weather is pleasant tonight, wouldn’t you agree, Schoith?”
Malleus's cordial voice cut through his train of thoughts, like the brakes on a speeding train. He had just entered the club, then closed the door. The atmosphere was strange, like sticking your hand in a hornet's nest with sleeping bees. What was the great one doing here?
“Greetings, Draconia. I thought I locked the door, the club is closed now. As you can see around, everything is a mess. ”- Vil gestured his arms indicating the mess that the studio was around, with open boxes and disheveled wigs, it seems that the students who remained there after he left did not clean up the mess, much to Vil's annoyance.
“What a vulgar club this is. With such vulgar fantasies.” Malleus's repetitive voice was like a poison, the atmosphere was no longer “strange”, it was cold and heavy, the heir of the Valley of Thorns did not hesitate to hide the contempt and hatred mixed in his words “And you are the most vulgar thing from here."
The bees woke up.
“Yes, it’s messy! A few rotten potatoes didn't clean up the mess, they'll see about it tomorrow! It's none of your business.” Angry, the bees buzzed away, leaving the environment more agitated and hostile. No matter how much Vil tried to remain classy, his eyebrows showed his indignation and his fists were ready to attack.
Malleus approached, circling the leader of the Pomefiore domain, like a predator and his prey. The prince's eyes shone a bright shade of green and his pupils became increasingly thinner. Through the window, some thunder and lightning ripped through the sky, revealing Malleus' internal storm.
“I heard that there will be an important campaign tomorrow. Surely, you don't go that way, do you? Please don’t ruin the Queen’s reputation, after all, how do you want to continue her legacy if you have broken nails like any commoner?” looking directly at Vil's closed fists, Malleus smiled with disdain and a slight satisfaction seeing the oh so beautiful Vil shaking with anger.
“How dare Malleus? I don't know what you're doing here but leave immediately!” - furious, the leader of Pomefiore took a step forward and pointed to the door, his face red and with some blonde locks falling from his hairstyle irritating him even more. He dripped snake venom into every word he said, but when has a dragon died from snake venom?
“It is very bold to challenge the Prince of the Valley of Thorns, Schothein.” Stepping forward and coming directly face to face with Vil, he laughed elegantly with mischief in every note- "Don't worry, I won't spend any more time with you, I'll just hand you a gift."
With all the doors and windows closed, Malleus raises his hand and a green smoke with sharp thorns invades the Film Club, and with a simple look thorns wrap around Schoith bringing him close and totally paralyzed, the heir's malicious laugh grows ever louder. But before he recites a macabre ancient magic, in a language that not even Vil himself understood, Malleus's power was clear, shining in an electric green, with his scepter firing across the entire environment.
When he finished his rush, Malleus passed his cloak over Vil's body, which was still frozen on the ground.
“You won't be able to talk to anyone about your curse. Send my regards to Yuu.” That said, he just left the club with a Machiavellian glint in his eyes.
As soon as the door closed, Vil managed to release the air he didn't know he was holding, the smoke and thorns were breaking apart and erasing the tracks as if they had never happened. When trying to get up, Vil realized how weak his beautiful and athletic body was but it was when his knee creaked that even standing up he was paralyzed.
He looked at his shaking hands, recognizing the familiar hands with veins and wrinkles looking like an old, colorless raisin.
“No…no…not again!”
He ran to the mirror of a nearby dressing room, and his ugliness was so great that he broke the mirror. A fairy's gift is a dubious thing, but coming from Malleus, Vil can confirm his greatest fears in the mirror: He was old and magicless.
(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Every like, repost and comment is very welcome and appreciated. ♥
Want to see more? See the masterlist <3
#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twst#disney twisted wonderland#twst yuu#malleus draconia#twist x reader#leona kingscholar x reader#malleus x reader#twist#twst vil schoenheit#twst art#twst vil#vil x reader#vil schoenheit#vil x yuu#vil x mc#studio ghibli#that's howl's moving castle reference#howls moving castle
30 notes
·
View notes
Text
i woke up thinking i hallucinated this but no… there’s actually a new figure coming out .. looks at my hands what is going on lately im so happy …
#I probably can’t get it bc it’s probably gonna be like $400 but yknow what… I can dream on#THEY LOOKS SO GOOD THO THIS IS ONE OF THE BEST FGURES IVE EVER SEEN EAUAHHAHSHSHSHGS:??:?:?:??:?:#THEYRE SO SILLY THEY LOOKS SO CUTE CHEWS MY ARM OFF I LOVE THEM SO MUCH WHAT YHE FUCK !!!!!!!!#there’s so much merch lately is it bc of its 25th anniversary???????#can I hope for more things should I have faith .#txt#🐻🍯🪕
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
oh goddddd i need to essay about diamond is unbreakable so bad of all things that is the one idea i should really actually realize oh my god
#sooo much to say#i guess the only thing holding me back is the fact that i think people dont really have the patience to just read essays anymore#or maybe i should have more faith? i dont know. if anyone would read that#i mean i guess it shouldnt matter because if anything i should just make it for myself ?#but#ideally id make it into a video essay i'd love to make a video essay but i can't make those for quite a few reasons#i would have to stick with a written one#i really hope i can at least try some day though i have a lot to say. about this part. i have so much to say and so much to break down#it makes me think of so many things#it could at least be some sort of practice for me? i don't know#sigh#so much good about it.#jjba#txt
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fandom things I'm looking forward to:
Kingdom Hearts IV and Missing Link
Final Fantasy VII Rebirth
Final Fantasy IX Remake
Final Fantasy Tactics Remaster or Remake (whichever it is. I've heard both things)
The fourth Madoka Magica movie, whenever that comes out (seriously. Where is it? First it was announced as the Concept movie. Then it was re-announced years later with a new name, and it's still missing)
The Percy Jackson TV show
The Infernal Devices TV show
Maybe the Twilight TV show. Maybe.
The animated Smallville continuation that Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum are working on, whenever it comes out
I was going to put Baron and Toluca on this list (that's, like, a spiritual successor to the OG "Roswell" TV show. Majandra Delfino who played Maria in the show wrote the script, and she and Brendan Fehr who played Michael star in it. They're also planning for more Roswell cameos in later episodes), but it came out and I didn't even know it? But I have no idea how to watch it, though, as I guess it only came out in theaters in Albuquerque. Here's hoping it comes out on DVD or something...
The Ballad of Songbirds & Snakes
The alleged Firefly reboot
The new Daredevil show
The Batman Part II
The next part in Tom Holland's Spider-Man movies
The DCU, starting with Superman Legacy in 2025
The Five Nights at Freddy's movie and Help Wanted 2
The Iron Lung movie
The TV show that it sounds like Markiplier will be working on after he's done with the Iron Lung movie
The next Bendy and the Ink Machine thing being worked on
MAYBE the Hello Neighbor sequel. I know. I KNOW! (It's really only because the second game had to end on a cliffhanger.)
Five Nights at Candy's 4
Frozen III
Disney's "Wish"
The next and final season of the Clear Card arc of Cardcaptor Sakura
The new Avatar series (the one about the third Avatar in the cycle: the Earth bender)
The live-action Avatar: The Last Airbender series, perhaps
The Chosen season 4
#As for things that haven't been announced#Ffxvi when that of course happens#The ffx remake if that rumor is true#I'm still hoping we'll get one more season of full metal panic to finish off the show. Please don't end things on a cliffhanger!#And no matter what I'll forever and always be pulling for a twewy3. Please give it to us Square. Pretty Please? With sugar on top?#I also still (mostly? Kind of?) wish we had a new Buffy show to look forward to. but alas. maybe someday#also after khiv nomura's all but confirmed that next is a verum Rex. And I'm. Like. Already pre-excited for that if that makes sense. Lol#And I don't know how to feel about the new death note movie adaptation I want to have faith in the Russo brothers but mostly I'm afraid#And I just- I LOVE death note. You all KNOW I love death note. But I just don't know what can be done with the story that hasn't already#been done#Unless you just completely change it and then piss off all of us fans. Again#I said it once and I'll say it again: i wish they were making a code grass movie instead (which has the beats they're looking to adapt in#death note. but other stuff too. and has never gotten a live-action adaptation so at least if nothing else it would be original)#there's also a part of me that wants to get caught up on winx club and see if this new season (that's maybe a soft reboot? but don't quote#me on that) will be better than some of the last ones and start getting the series in the direction in needs to be going again. hopefully#and isn't there some new pokémon season coming out where brock and misty reunite with ash (i read an article about it) which confuses me#because i thought the show ended?#unless the article was just talking about an english dub of the season that already aired in japan or something like that#i also should really get caught up on all of the sailor moon crystal stuff. shame on me for not being so!#somewhat. kind of. the next garten of banban game. God help me#kindergarten 3 if there ever is one#slayers: a buffyverse story would have been on here if they hadn't announced it after i made this list and if i'd remembered to come back#and add it. but i listened to it and loved it:)
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
nvm im too tired and overstimulated for this shit
#.vent#i only slept a couple hours last night man. i cant do short notice evening socials on an empty tank let alone resist unexpected rsd#if they had let me know earlier then i wouldve taken a nap and worked out beforehand to get my energy back up#idk just. if u rly want my company then maybe u should actually invite me next time. its not like they didnt plan it#even if they just forgot its not particularly pleasant to be the one person insignificant enough to forget abt. theres only 5 of us#they rly remembered to ask the one guy who isnt even here before me yknow. ugh u see the stupid thoughts i have to battle!!#like on a rational level ik it was probably genuinely accidental. but the way i instinctively react is not always rational#so regardless someone has to deal with the emotional fallout and thats me. regulating this shit is hard work even when im NOT tired asf#i really really dont want to be an asshole and spoil anyones fun bc its no-ones fault + as real as it feels to me rn ik im overreacting#but i cant voluntarily expose myself to personal triggers when im already exhausted + more vulnerable than usual#so just gotta shut myself in my room and deal with it in my own super healthy ways as per usual. may they never fucking find out#trying my best not to be an asshole i hope to fucking god they dont think im being an asshole i just told them i was tired + i meant it#this wouldnt be so much of a problem if it hadnt happened to me before. and also ik its bc one rsd trigger makes me more sensitive-#to picking up unrelated cues but there ARE other things they do that i find ostracising which rly dont fucking help. but-#theyre not things i can actually confront them abt so usually i just gotta deal w it which is fine but it lowers my general tolerance#its ok. its ok i like them all a lot theyre lovely ppl and it doesnt matter if there is a some grain of truth in the things im thinking#bc the risk of me believing + acting on a bad faith irrational thought leads to outcomes that are far worse than those from#misidentifying someones malicious behaviour towards me as neutral by accident/in good faith. okay im done now i think#just ignore me spewing out the old brain gunk on main again eurgh anyway im gonna go calm myself and read and SLEEP#ill be normal by tomorrow morning farewell comrades#honestly i dont mind dealing w shit this way bc its the best option for everyone but man. sometimes its so fucking lonely#like there are sides of me ppl will never engage with and for good reason but without them being acknowledged i find it rly hard to feel-#any real emotional intimacy or closeness with another person. but what other option is there#i sure as hell dont miss the fights i used to constantly get into when i wasnt able to regulate myself i lost so many friends that way#it is what it is. on we go for now
1 note
·
View note
Text
Aziraphale’s Choice, the Job Connection, and Michael Sheen’s Morality
Update: Michael Sheen liked this post on Twitter, so I'm fairly certain there is a lot of validity to it.
I’ve had time to process Aziraphale’s choice at the end of Season 2. And I think only blaming the religious trauma misses something important in Aziraphale’s character. I think what happened was also Aziraphale’s own conscious choice––as a growth from his trauma, in fact. Hear me out.
Since November 2022 I’ve been haunted by something Michael Sheen said at the MCM London Comic Con. At the Q&A, someone asked him about which fantasy creature he enjoyed playing most and Michael (bless him, truly) veered on a tangent about angels and goodness and how, specifically,
We as a society tend to sort of undervalue goodness. It’s sort of seen as sort of somehow weak and a bit nimby and “oh it’s nice.” And I think to be good takes enormous reserves of courage and stamina. I mean, you have to look the dark in the face to be truly good and to be truly of the light…. The idea that goodness is somehow lesser and less interesting and not as kind of muscular and as passionate and as fierce as evil somehow and darkness, I think is nonsense. The idea of being able to portray an angel, a being of love. I love seeing the things people have put online about angels being ferocious creatures, and I love that. I think that’s a really good representation of what goodness can be, what it should be, I suppose.
I was looking forward to BAMF!Aziraphale all season long, and I think that’s what we got in the end. Remember Neil said that the Job minisode was important for Aziraphale’s story. Remember how Aziraphale sat on that rock and reconciled to himself that he MUST go to Hell, because he lied and thwarted the will of God. He believed that––truly, honestly, with the faith of a child, but the bravery of a soldier.
Aziraphale, a being of love with more goodness than all of Heaven combined, believed he needed to walk through the Gates of Hell because it was the Right Thing to do. (Like Job, he didn’t understand his sin but believed he needed to sacrifice his happiness to do the Right Thing.)
That’s why we saw Aziraphale as a soldier this season: the bookshop battle, the halo. But yes, the ending as well.
Because Aziraphale never wanted to go to Heaven, and he never wanted to go there without Crowley.
But it was Crowley who taught him that he could, even SHOULD, act when his moral heart told him something was wrong. While Crowley was willing to run away and let the world burn, it was Aziraphale (in that bandstand at the end of the world) who stood his ground and said No. We can make a difference. We can save everyone.
And Aziraphale knew he could not give up the ace up his sleeve (his position as an angel) to talk to God and make them see the truth in his heart.
I was messed up by Ineffable Bureaucracy (Boxfly) getting their happy ending when our Ineffable Husbands didn’t, but I see now that them running away served to prove something to Aziraphale. (And I am fully convinced that Gabriel and Beelzebub saw the example of the Ineffables at the Not-pocalypse and took inspiration from them for choosing to ditch their respective sides)
But my point is that Aziraphale saw them, and in some ways, they looked like him and Crowley. And he saw how Gabriel, the biggest bully in Heaven, was also like him in a way (a being capable of love) and also just a child when he wasn’t influenced by the poison of Heaven. Muriel, too, wasn’t a bad person. The Metatron also seemed to have grown more flexible with his morality (from Aziraphale's perspective). Like Earth, Heaven was shades of (light?) gray.
Aziraphale is too good an angel not to believe in hope. Or forgiveness (something he’s very good at it).
Aziraphale has been scarred by Heaven all his life. But with the cracks in Heaven’s armor (cracks he and Crowley helped create), Aziraphale is seeing something else. A chance to change them. They did terrible things to him, but he is better than them, and because of Crowley, he feels ready to face them.
(Will it work? Can Heaven change, institutionally? Probably not, but I can't blame Aziraphale for trying.)
At the cafe, the Metatron said something big was coming in the Great Plan. Aziraphale knows how trapped he had felt when he didn’t have God’s ear the first time something huge happened in the Big Plan. He can’t take a chance again to risk the world by not having a foot in the door of Heaven. That’s why we saw individual human deaths (or the threat of death) so much more this season: Elspeth, Wee Morag, Job’s children, the 1940s magician. Aziraphale almost killed a child when he couldn’t get through to God, and he’s not going through that again.
“We could make a difference.” We could save everyone.
Remember what Michael Sheen said about courage and doing good––and having to “look the dark in the face to be truly good.” That’s what happened when Aziraphale was willing to go to Hell for his actions. That’s what happened when he decided he had to go to Heaven, where he had been abused and belittled and made to feel small. He decided to willingly go into the Lion’s Den, to face his abusers and his anxiety, to make them better so that they would not try to destroy the world again.
Him, just one angel. He needed Crowley to be there with him, to help him be brave, to ask the questions that Heaven needed to hear, to tell them God was wrong. Crowley is the inspiration that drives Aziraphale’s change, Crowley is the engine that fuels Aziraphale’s courage.
But then Crowley tells him that going to Heaven is stupid. That they don’t need Heaven. And he’s right. Aziraphale knows he’s right.
Aziraphale doesn’t need Heaven; Heaven needs him. They just don’t know how much they need him, or how much humanity needs him there, too. (If everyone who ran for office was corrupt, how can the system change?)
Terry Pratchett (in the Discworld book, Small Gods) is scathing of God, organized religion, and the corrupt people religion empowers, but he is sympathetic to the individual who has real, pure faith and a good heart. In fact, the everyman protagonist of Small Gods is a better person than the god he serves, and in the end, he ends up changing the church to be better, more open-minded, and more humanist than god could ever do alone.
Aziraphale is willing to go to the darkest places to do the Right Thing, and Heaven is no exception. When Crowley says that Heaven is toxic, that’s exactly why Aziraphale knows he needs to go there. “You’re exactly is different from my exactly.”
____
In the aftermath of Trump's election in the US, Brexit happened in 2018. Michael Sheen felt compelled to figure out what was going on in his country after this shock. But he was living in Los Angeles with Sarah Silverman at the time, and she also wanted to become more politically active in the US.
Sheen: “I felt a responsibility to do something, but it [meant] coming back [to Britain] – which was difficult for us, because we were very important to each other. But we both acknowledge that each of us had to do what we needed to do.” In the end, they split up and Michael moved back to the UK.
Sometimes doing the Right Thing means sacrificing your own happiness. Sometimes it means going to Hell. Sometimes it means going to Heaven. Sometimes it means losing a relationship.
And that’s why what happened in the end was so difficult for Aziraphale. Because he loves Crowley desperately. He wants to be together. He wanted that kiss for thousands of years. He knows that taking command of Heaven means they would never again have to bow to the demands of a God they couldn’t understand, or run from a Hell who still came after them. They could change the rules of the game.
And he’s still going to do that. But it hurts him that he has to do that alone.
#good omens#good omens 2#ineffable husbands#it's kinda like capt america: civil war#with Azi as Tony Stark: traumatized and trying to do the right thing#and Crowley being Steve Rogers: fuck the establishment let's go rogue#gos2spoilers#good omens meta#good omens 2 meta#go s2#michael sheen#go s2 meta#go meta#*mine#*mymeta#ineffables husbands#ineffable soulmates#*mybest
11K notes
·
View notes
Text
“I love you.” The first time he says those simple three words, he doesn't mean it. Not really. And he knows you're aware of it too, with the stern glare you give him in response to his smug grin. He's teasing you—or, it looks that way anyway. In reality, he hopes that there's a glimmer, a sliver of your heart that welcomes his enticing and open arms. It’s routine. A habit. It feels more natural to lure you in with songs of promises than to simply tell you what he needs. He hopes you take his hand and ignore the sharp nails digging into your skin. He hopes you fall.
“I love you.” The second time is months later. He thinks he might genuinely mean it this time, considering how heavy his heart feels in his chest as the words leave his lips. But it’s hesitant. You can tell. And ever so patient, you only smile at him, taking his hand this time to squeeze it gently. Ah, that feels nice. Does he love you? Have you grown on his cold, dead heart? The fact that he doesn't want to recoil from your touch is enough if an answer..
“I love you.” The third time is at his grave. He’s confident now. Feeling. Wanting. He wishes he could hold your fingers against his skin forever. He doesn't want to even let go, because he fears you might vanish into thin air, like every other caring thing in his life. You're good. Understanding. Nothing like him. You deserve better than him. But he's always been a selfish man, and even though your presence urges him to be better, he remains selfish when it comes to you. He doesn't--no, he won’t lose you.
“I love you.” He’d feared he would never get to say the words again. He had faith in you of course, but an Elder Brain is no easy feat to defeat. But as he watches the brain sink into the darkest depths of the sea, the others cheering behind him, he feels the sun begin to prick at his skin again. It stings. Gods, does it sting. For a moment, he wonders if he should even run. He's had a taste for the sun kissed glow and he's not sure if he wants to part ways with it if it means he’ll rot away in the shadows forever. But when he feels you hurriedly toss a cloak over his shoulder, covering his face with the hood just enough for him to meet your eyes, you offer him something he doesn't want to ever imagine himself without again. Something he’s still in disbelief he has. Someone to worry for him.
I love you, I love you, I love you. As years pass, the words become more frequent, yet they never lose their weight, no matter how they're said or when. It’s funny, really, how he'd almost feared saying the same exact words just a few decades ago. To Astarion, they remind him that you're still here, allowing him the privilege to let him love you as much as he does.
“I love you.” The last time he says it, whether it be after an untimely death or simply from old age, he’s holding your hand again. He hates that instead of the adoration it’s supposed to convey, he hears more of the wobble in his voice as he realizes his time with you is up. Even though he's said it so many times, he finds that it still wasn't nearly enough. Open your eyes, he pleads to nobody in particular. He breathes. Why is he breathing? He doesn't need to. But the breaths become faster, and he realizes he’s crying too. Curses, how immature. Ah, your hand is so cold, almost like his own. He hates it. Don't be like him. And when he begs, he begs. Squeeze his hand again. Touch him again. Smile at him again. Live again.
Let him love you again.
#is this too corny..#idk I love him#astarion ancunin#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate astarion#astarion x tav#bg3 astarion#astarion x reader#astarion#bg3 x reader#astarion fanfic#astarion x oc#astarion x you
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Part 9 of Charmed Slasher Simon
(CW: this is all basically noncon. Like, yeah they had a “deal” but it’s not like it was agreed on in good faith ya know? Stay safe while reading, please, and let me know if this warning needs to be more descriptive)
You shake as Simon trails his fingers absently along your tummy, amused by the way it twitches, tickling and frightened in equal measures. So much he wants to do to you, but only so much you’ll be able to take for this first little triste.
Besides, though not long for this world, there’s only so much he wants that little worm to see of you.
“You ever spend so long fantasizing about something that when the moment finally comes, you’re just spoiled for options?” he muses aloud, pinching your nipples through your thin shirt. He can hear the high pitched noises trapped in the back of your throat, tsks at the denial.
“I’m usually a decisive man, you know that, sunshine. But all the things I want to do to you…”
You squirm when he pinches a bit harder, adding a little twist. He shuffles his knee between your thighs and pulls you back, making you grind against his thigh with every involuntary twitch and shudder.
“Could bruise this pretty ass for running out into the snow like that, reckless thing.” You jolt when he palms the plush fat of one cheek. “Or I could just torture your tight little hole. Leave that pretty pussy aching…”
You make a noise like a sob as his thumb rubs through the layers of your pants and underwear. You try to lean away but he’s got such a tight grip on your wrists that all it does is arch your back.
He inches his fingers over the crest of your hip again, dips back to your swollen clit and soaked cunt. Hell, you’re even wetter than before, a sticky line running down your thigh, fabric clinging to overheated skin. He groans against your throat, has to see it for himself.
You try to protest as he yanks your waistbands down to mid thigh, but he quiets you with those same two fingers stuff in your mouth, teeth scraping his knuckles. You nearly gag as he pets the back of your tongue, imagines how it’ll feel against the fat head of his cock.
In the firelight, you’re gleaming, something out of a fever dream. He leans you back farther and forces your legs wider with his own, lets the heat caress at the insides of your thighs, the creamy slick webbing between your lips.
“Fuck, maybe I should just play with this, huh?” He rasps. “Watched you do it so many times. You don’t know how to edge yourself properly, luv. Always let yourself give in too soon.”
You make a startled noise, huge, watery eyes finding his. He chuckles at the mortified question in them, teases his fingertips over your slit.
“Yeah, sunshine. I watched you fuck this pretty pussy, cryin’ ‘n pleadin’ for me,” he purrs in your ear. “Took everythin’ in me to let you have your fun, to keep from showin’ you how it’s done…”
He circles a finger over your clit, a barely-there brush that makes your pretty wet lashes flutter. Over and over, watches that flush bloom steadily over your face, down your neck. The haze glossing over your eyes.
“How about that, hm? We’ll start from the beginning and work our way through my list.”
He slips his fingers from your mouth, watches you lick unconsciously at the taste of him lingering on your lips.
“Y-you’re not gonna…?”
He tilts his head, narrows his eyes. Fills in the blanks and can’t help growling.
“Oh, you want me to hurt you, is that it?” he asks. “You want - no, you need an excuse to hate me. You’re hoping I tear you up so that you have an easy out for all these confusing feelings.”
You try to babble out a denial but the shock in your eyes is all the confirmation he needs. He tamps down his anger by dragging his teeth along your neck, working a dark mark into the skin.
You don’t know any better, he reminds himself. But you will.
“Don’t you worry, luv, there will be plenty of punishment for you,” he rumbles. “But you’re going to beg me for it.”
You open your mouth, maybe to deny it, but he pinches your sensitive little clit between two fingers and revels in the way you squeal.
He instantly soothes the ache with gentle circles, trailing kisses along your jaw. Tastes fresh salt on your skin.
“Best save your tears, precious,” he warns, smirking. “You’ll need them.”
He parts your lips with two fingers, leaving you open and exposed, groaning through his teeth at the sight of you. Wet and swollen, so needy for him. You try to buck away when he rubs a finger over your clit, firm strokes up and down.
“If you don’t stay still and take it like a good girl, I’ll tie you down and make you be a good girl.”
You duck your chin, eyes squeezed miserably shut as you try to lock down your body. It’s ridiculously endearing, how you wiggle and then catch yourself, breath hitching as you wait for him to lose patience. He hums whenever you start getting to squirmy, delights in the way you shiver and sink your teeth into your lip. Settle down only for him to change the tempo or the pattern and ruin all your self control.
He amuses himself drawing patterns all over your pulsing clit - circles and stars. Hearts that make your eyes roll back in your head. Zig zags from your weeping hole up to the very top of your slit.
It takes a while for you to truly approach your orgasm with the way he denies you a proper rhythm to build on. But he notices the moment you finally start to reach that peak, not even his reminder to hold still can keep you from twitching and rocking, helpless little jolts of your hips.
He coos. “So desperate to finish. Is it because you think I’ll be done with you once you do?”
You don’t answer, too busy trying to get more friction, more pressure. He lets you rush right up to the edge and then stops, skipping down to circle your hole. Luxuriates in the fresh flood of wetness coating your thighs. It yanks you back like a dog on a leash, your orgasm right there but just out of reach.
You don’t even seem to realize what’s happened for a second, mouth hanging open and a cute little furrow between your brow. When he chuckles, teasing up to that sensitive bundle of nerves again, it seems to click. You shoot him a dismayed look, the most precious hint of betrayal lurking in your glassy irises.
“N-no…” you nearly beg.
He smirks, nips at your puffy bottom lip. “You can say no if you like. Or even stop. We had a deal, though, didn’t we?”
“R-Riley…”
You scream when he spanks your pussy. Not nearly as hard as he craves, but it sends pretty streamers of tears down your hot cheeks. Another, two fingers directly to your clit. You nearly crumple, only his hold on your wrists keeping you upright.
“My real name, sunshine, or I’ll give you a reason to say no,” he warns.
“S-Simon,” you whimper, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
He shushes you, petting apologetically at your throbbing core.
“I know, luv, I know. But you’ll never learn if I don’t teach you right.”
The tears don’t stop as he drags you right up to the edge again, bullying through the lingering sting of getting spanked with overwhelming pleasure. When he pulls back a second time, you start up the “no’s” again, voice shattered into pathetic little pieces.
“That’s alright,” he murmurs, “say whatever you need to get you through, I won’t be mad.”
He gets you so so close once again, cock twitching against your ass as it grinds back against him. But he lightens his touch, not stopping but not letting you fall, easing the pressure up and up and up until even the slightest graze would break you.
Instead, he pulls away entirely to squeeze at the plush of your thighs and hips, cooing over the way they shake for him.
“Simon,” you sob, tucking into his chest. He slows his touches, watching you try to curl into him, chest burning with something bloodier than love. “Simon, please. It hurts.”
He hums, sliding his hand back up to your pussy, massaging your labia. Careful not to touch your needy clit.
“It hurts, hm?” he croons, unable to keep the mean pleasure from his voice. “It wasn’t supposed to. Where does it hurt?”
You hiccup, sniffle. “M-my… my…”
“Tell me, sunshine, or I can’t make it better.”
You fold a bit, bounce, almost like a tantrum. So out of control on sensation and emotion that you can’t keep it together as you form the words.
“M-my pussy. It — I need…”
He hums again, fingers trailing down to your hole. Teases his finger at your entrance and feels it spasming around nothing.
“So empty,” he breathes. “Is that it, luv? Your little cunt is aching to be filled?”
You shudder on a cry but nod, face hidden against his neck. He lets you, far too endeared by your attempts to find comfort from the man torturing you in the first place.
“Hurts,” you repeat.
“Do you hate me yet?” he mocks.
You keen softly. “Y-yes.”
A tap to your clit again. If you weren’t so strung out you’d probably even find it pleasurable but right now it makes you writhe and beg him to stop.
“Dont lie,” he warns, voice low, “where are my good girl’s manners?”
“‘M sorry,” you whine.
“One more time now - do you hate me yet?”
Your words seem to get caught up in your throat so you shake your head. Hes tempted - so, so tempted - to make you admit it aloud. But he doesn’t want to be too mean, not yet.
“Good girl,” he whispers, “that’s my girl. You want me to make you feel better now?”
You sniffle again, lean back into him a bit more. “Please.”
“There we go,” he praises, “nice and polite. I’ll take care of you, luv.”
Your body is so ready that it’s nothing for him to slide a finger into you, slick already running down his palm.
“N-no no,” you mumble.
“No what? I’m making you feel better.”
“‘S not — need more. Please, please, Simon.”
It’s hearing his real name in your small, reedy voice that finally appeals to what little mercy he has. He fits two fingers into your cunt and curves them to rub your silky walls.
“Fuck, you’re tight, sunshine,” he groans through his teeth. “You’re gonna choke my cock.”
You squeal as he starts rocking his hand, fucking you at an easy pace, getting you accustomed to the new stimulation. Starts building up your orgasm again, piece by moaning piece, finding every spot that makes your back bow with pleasure.
“Please, please, lemme cum this time Simon, I’ll be good, I promise.”
He huffs in amusement, caressing his thumb over your crossed wrists.
“Oh baby, you don’t have a choice.”
He flattens his palm against your core and pumps his fingers faster, harder. The heel of his hand grinds against your clit with each twitch of his wrist. You get tighter and tighter, voice pitching up and up, until your entire body goes taut, walls clamping down almost painfully.
He strokes you through it, brutal and relentless until you’re screaming at him to stop. That it’s too much. He releases your wrists to wrap his hand around your throat, obsessed with how delicate it feels in his palm. Just the slightest squeeze of his fingers and your eyes roll back. The second orgasm gushes from your abused cunt, all over his wrist and your thighs, dripping puddles onto the carpet.
He loosens his hold slowly, work you over through it, feeling you squeeze and pulse with aftershocks.
When he glances at your pretty, flushed, and tear-stained face, your eyes are shut. Out cold.
He chuckles and gently lays you out closer to the fire, grabs a pillow from a nearby chair to set under your head. Lingers for a moment, rubbing over your back, massaging gently at your shoulders. Your wrists are already bruising.
Then a muffled noise calls his attention.
Brandon.
“Now the second half of the deal.”
#thoughts™️#cod#my writing#fanfiction#dark fic#reader fic#charmed slasher ghost#final girl reader#non con#dub con
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
french revolution dashboard simulator
🐀 ami-du-peuple Follow
uh actually man has the right to deal with his oppressors by devouring their beating hearts. hope this helps.
🎩 departicle Follow
Hold up. Okay. Actually, fuck this. This sort of violent rhetoric should not be tolerated on here. Do you seriously think this sort of thing is going to make the nobility give you more rights???? You must be out of your minds! Reported.
🧵 seamstressproud Follow
reblog to devour this guy's beating heart
#username checks out lmao #politics #everybody point and laugh #common adp w
6,178 notes
organt-deactivated06151792
update: new canto out now!!! go check it out 😈😏🥀 (remember don't like don't read <3)
📜 sacredhostreceipts Follow
@centuriesandskies this you?? not such a great look for a convention rep ngl
🌄 centuriesandskies Follow
listen. I wrote this a long time ago, before I went into serious politics. the account is deactivated for a reason.
I was twenty. I did poorly. I can do better.
#sj.txt #if this is the worst dirt you can dig up on me #i'm way less corrupt than half the people in the convention these days #at least i'm not doing fucking. embezzlement. #also sacredhostreceipts if you're who i think you are #don't you have better things to do rn?
231 notes
🌎 landscape-showdown Follow
🌎 landscape-showdown Follow
why the fuck is everyone tagging this with french??? political figures?
#what the hell is going on over there #also maybe cool it with the death threats #I don't want this blog to get taken down #what's a girondin #is this some joke I'm not french enough to understand #showdown update
5,012 notes
⛪ progressivepriest Follow
Unpopular opinion but why is everyone so up in arms about the new Civil Oath? Literally all it's asking is for you to promise not to commit treason just because the Pope tells you to? I can see where people are coming from with the whole violation-of-religion deal, but can you blame the Assembly for trying to make sure the people aren't forcibly subjugated by the wealth of the nobility?
faith-first-alwaysdeactivated03011791
Sounds like something a heretic would say. To betray the Pope and king is to betray the will of God and your eternal soul! You should pray for forgiveness and pledge loyalty to the monarchy or have fun burning in hell. Sorry not sorry.
⛪ progressivepriest Follow
L + ratio + iirc the Bible says "it is easier for a rope to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven" (Matthew 19:24)
🎻 lacarmagn01e Follow
occasional based catholic moment, go off OP!
🌊 sea-of-revolution Follow
looked the faith-first-always guy's blog, he's like a massive anti-huguenot too 🙄 why is it always the prot-exclusive radical catholics smh
🌊 sea-of-revolution Follow
LMAOOOOO HE DEACTIVATED
#religion tag #percs fuck off #anyways op makes a valid point #reblog #percs dni
3,719 notes
🛌 virtuous-bedtime Follow
she committee on my safety til I can't go public
🍊 springtimeofgovernment Follow
I don't understand the joke, can someone explain please?? 🙂 Thank you!
🧵 seamstressproud Follow
is that fucking MAXIMILIEN ROBESPIERRE?!!?!?!?
🛌 virtuous-bedtime Follow
oh my god citizen robespierre I'm so sorry this was not meant to break containment lol I didn't even know you were on this site please forget you saw this
#this is the most embarassing moment of my life #literally sobbing rn #the original post is /j i prommy #i cannot be known as the citizen who had to explain this to the government
19,853 notes
🪓 indulgentsfuckoff Follow
fabre d'eglantine is NOT your poor little meow meow citizens he literally falsified decrees from the national convention and embezzled money to line his own pockets. I don't care how uwu babygirl you think he is he is a CRIMINAL who should be ARRESTED
💛 i-give-people-bread Follow
🥖🍞🥐
#baguette #loaf #croissant #i-give-people-bread #indulgentsfuckoff #silly
2,011 notes
🧱 comic-sans-culotte Follow
fucking fed up with the constant threat of the swiss guard, I think it's time we got some gunpowder and weapons and took things into our own hands yknow what I'm saying
🧱 comic-sans-culotte Follow
I'm no longer joking about this btw
🧱 comic-sans-culotte Follow
update:
hopital
🧱 comic-sans-culotte Follow
ok bc I've gotten like 50 asks about this: I am not injured and I am not in need of medical care. the punchline was that we stormed the fucking hotel des invalides to get guns and powder. didn't want to clarify the joke before now for security reasons but everyone knows about that and the bastille thing by now. please direct your money to people who actually need it.
#shouldve clarified the last post was /j #however I assumed yall knew this joke already #anyways #revolution #personal #500 #1k
1,930 notes
🌾 nopain-nograin Follow
got so high at the festivial 2day i thnk i saw hte suapreme being
#robespiere speech was prboably 🔥 #unforntuately i camt rember any of it #grainposting #oipum ehre is somtehing else thes days #memes
8,256 notes
🎨 jldavid-real-moved Follow
incredible speech from @springtimeofgovernment today at the jacobin club. nobody should be permitted to use their positions as civic leaders to commit crimes against the people, even under the guise of revolutionary fervor. if it comes to it, I too will drink the hemlock with him. for france. 🤝🤝
🍊 springtimeofgovernment Follow
Thanks for your support, @jldavid-real
The situation over here is deteriorating really quickly, the representatives are getting violent and abandoning due process entirely. Anything you can do to stand with us now would be very appreciated. You do a lot of great work for the revolution, and I trust you completely.
🍊 springtimeofgovernment Follow
@jldavid-real are you still there? We could really use your help right now.
🌄 centuriesandskies Follow
boosting @springtimeofgovernment here, can confirm he's been injured in a skirmish at the hotel de ville, they're passing summary death sentences without trial, @jldavid-real where is the help you promised us??? the people of paris are our only hope now.
edit: of course he moved blogs. coward.
#sj.txt #disappointed yet unsurprised #marat would be ashamed of you #9 thermidor #update
15,794 notes
🎻 lacarmagn01e Follow
DNI if you support any of these groups/people or their actions: m0narchists, f3uillants, br1ssotins/g1rondins, th3rmidorians, b0napart1sts, h3nri du v3rgier (also goes by c0mte de r0chjacquelin), charl0tte c0rday, or lafay3tte
(h3bertists and dant0nists you're on thin ice. behave.)
#censored so they dont show up in the tags #dni #get your nasty ass ideologies off my page #won't hesitate to block and/or report any violators #pinned
52 notes
gracchus-babeufdeactivated05271797
reblog to make the directoire choke to death on their stupid fucking outfits
🌊 sea-of-revolution Follow
hey staff. yeah you. where did this blog go?? notfishgoujon and prairial-95 are gone as well?? cowards too afraid to show your faces lmao especially after the fucking mess the directoire's made of the country. bet you anything that staff are on their fucking payroll too iykwim at least the republic didn't tolerate fucking bribery
#this site's gone to the dogs since thermidor yr 2 #following the trend of the rest of the country tbh #i'll probably get nuked for posting this #if so i'm not making a new account #i'll just make a paleocities or smth #politics tag #reblog #don't play with me ik full well gb didn't delete his blog of his own free will #they also zero note glitched it #just when you think they can't stoop lower
0 notes
📕 spectrehauntingeurope Follow
it's been 50 fucking years since gracchus-babeuf (and the other CoE blogs) were deleted without warning and still no response from staff, the govt, or anything. the site's gone through a fuckton of ownership changes and still nothing.
we're working on a bit of a project (some of you might know abt it already), it's gonna be out prob in the next year or so. remember '89. remember '93 and '94. remember '97.
the people will rise again. it's only a matter of time. 🚩
-mod karl
#french revolution#pigeon.txt#shitpost#frev#frevblr#robespierre#saint just#marat#oof this was. a project.#dashboard simulator#funny#meme#unreality#just to be safe
967 notes
·
View notes
Note
I love Bombshell reader x Spencer so much !! But I wanna take it back to wayyy early days and see how they’d interact in season 1 or 2? Or maybe even how the Lila Archer situation would play out if she was around? Much love to you and you’re page and I understand if you don’t want to write this ask :)
tysm ♡ fem
Hotch, for the record, liked you for the open BAU position more than Elle. It's Gideon who's not fond of you. Your flirtatious attitude isn't conducive to teamwork, or something, as though you aren't a professional. Gideon just doesn't like sharing his genius protégé with you.
"I don't have to tell you to be on best behaviour?" Hotch asks.
"No!" you say, really, really meaning it. "When Greenaway gives up, I'll be waiting. Until then, I'm your faithful servant, I won't do anything to disrupt you."
You're not sure that Hotch totally believes you, but he ushers you off with a street cop to meet Reid and Morgan at the set of your stalkee's upcoming production. You're wide-eyed but eager —seeing the boys again never fails to make you happy, even if the setting is completely unfamiliar to you.
"Morgan!" you call lightly. He's easily recognisable, and he's been hitting the gym, a wall of tight muscle in his charcoal suit. "Hey!"
Morgan grins at you but raises a finger to his lips. You accept his pat on the shoulder and follow his line of sight. Spencer stands with a coke bottle in hand, talking to your stalkee, the gorgeous and illustrious Lila Archer. She's the new belle of Hollywood, and she's smiling at Spencer like he has a real chance. He should have a real chance. You know he's a priceless sweetheart, you just didn't realise other people could tell.
"What's he doing?" you ask, laying your shock on thick to hide the real insecurity. He doesn't even know you're here but he's breaking your heart. "I thought he had a little more loyalty."
"You don't mind sharing with me, do you?" Lila asks, taking Spencer's coke for a quick swig.
"No," he says immediately.
She passes him back his drink and unrobes, exposing the long, perfect lengths of her arms and legs before she walks a circle around him. He has stars in his eyes.
Morgan waits for her to take her place in the sand, swinging his arms over the desk. "Are you sharing with us, too?"
"Shut up," Spencer says, stopping short when he notices you at Morgan's heel. "Y/N. What are you– when did you get here?"
"I couldn't let you guys have all the fun." You cover Morgan's arm with a perfectly kept hand. "Hotch asked me to come. Didn't even have to beg! And now I get to spend time with my two favourite heavyweights."
"Funny," Spencer says.
"He's defensive today," Morgan assures you, his smile smug and catching.
You test the waters. "Not too defensive, I hope," you say, opening your arms.
Spencer tucks his coke bottle against his chest and hugs you obligingly. He's warm and he smells like coffee grounds, his hand wide as he pats your back.
"It's nice to see you," you say. Then, with less good intent, "I missed you, Dr. Reid. Did you miss me?"
"Don't," he says.
"I'm serious." You pull away from him, checking over his face. "You've been taking care of yourself, I can see. Where are your glasses?"
"I got contacts."
"And you look so good," you croon, rubbing your hand briefly down the front of his chest. You'll miss the glasses dearly.
Spencer laughs and grabs your wrist. You have to be careful with Spencer, because the very last thing you want to do is give him attention he doesn't want; the point of your affections isn't to make him uncomfortable, the opposite. He needs confidence. "You have the bone structure of a male model," you continue.
He rolls his eyes and moves you bodily out of the way by the hips, wandering off to who knows where. Morgan gives you a knowing look as he leaves, shaking his head at your flustering.
"What?" you mutter, pretending to watch the goings on of the director rather than meet his eyes, "I'm not made of stone."
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello! I sAw your intro and was intrigued. I have a request,- you don't have to if its too much-
imagine AFAB reader who is a devotee to this Eldritch being, seeing them as a deity or a God. As the world grew more modern/OR there's a great war. SOMETHING that lead the other devotees to not believe in this being anymore, bUt ofcouRse, our reader are devoted n loyal to the being, iN which the being will RewaRd the reader
You could get creative with this! I imagine when the reader prays, the Eldritch will speak to them telepathically, (whether to ask for a sacrafice- oR other *orDers~*) SO, reader has a voice kink ;). And soMe other stuff too- like corruption, tentacles, anal, cunnilingus, edging, and over stim pleasee-! (if its too much I understand-)
Bonus if our devotee reader was rlly innocent before hand :)
Thank You!!
~ 💫
Eldritch Being/Deity x AFAB Reader
Title: Fearfully and Wonderfully Made
NSFW, 18+, MDNI
Content: dubious consent, religious kink, corruption, tentacles, voice kink, praise kink, edging, overstim, mindfuck, double penetration (v and a), cunnilingus.
Notes: Thank you for the idea shooting star anon. This is probably the filthiest thing I’ve ever written. I hope you enjoy it.
Constructive feedback from readers is appreciated.
+++
Your God is one of secrets, veiled and hidden, his mysteries not fully known to you.
+++
When the army approaches, the convent Mother hands you a leather-bound book and tells you to run, as far and as fast as you can.
You stop after the sun begins to set. When you look back, you can see a thick plume of smoke rising in the air, above where the convent should be.
You find yourself alone for the first time in your life. All the temples to your God that you pass are ransacked and burned with no worshippers left.
When you pray, there is no answer. But you keep your faith.
You head east because that is where your God first revealed himself. You keep away from the towns, frightened of the men that gather in the streets with their loud voices and assessing eyes. You are innocent. You know what they would do to someone like you if you were found out.
The next evening, you page through the book that was given to you. Between prayers and invocations for your god it is illustrated: a penis twined in a feeler, spitting pearly beads of come from its fat head, breasts gripped by tentacles, men and women drawn with every hole stuffed, heads flung back in ecstasy.
You feel your crotch grow more sensitive and liquid with each page. You lie on your back and your hands roam under your clothes to pluck your nipples, then glide down your stomach to scratch at your thighs. When you can resist no longer, you open your thighs wide and rub two fingers across your soaking slit and push them inside.
You’re bucking against your fingers, almost at your climax, when you hear a voice.
Stop.
You freeze. There you are my little servant, the voice says, pleased.
After that each time you stop to rest and before you sleep your God is there telling you to touch yourself for him. You feel his presence as you push your fingers into your mouth to suck on and then rub at your clit. You chase your pleasure and each time your Lord tells you to stop, you do. Even when your body is shaking from the need to come. Your needy cunt throbs as you make your way to the place you will finally meet him.
You had been kept pure in the convent, awaiting the ritual that would make you your Lord’s bride. But when he demands you debase yourself you follow his command. He tells you where to go, and in these places, there is always someone willing to take your body and use it.
You will offer up your pain and your pleasure to me, your God says, and I will grow strong again.
You kneel in a stable, a cock pushed in your mouth then down your throat until tears leak from your eyes. At an inn, a man spanks you so hard that when you bounce in his lap after, the fingers digging into your ass leave you gasping. In front of a campfire, two men fill your mouth and cunt with their cocks so the movement of one pushes you deeper onto the other; after, a third man slides into your dripping cunt and his thrusts buckle your arms into the dirt. He pulls out to come and stripes your back with his spunk.
Each time, you climax to the rumble of your Lord’s approval in your head and his name on your tongue. The bruises on your knees, the ruined rasp of your voice, the spilt seed dirtying your flesh. All are marks of your devotion to him.
His voice becomes more powerful, a constant buzz filling your head that makes you shake and tremble.
+++
The temple you find is abandoned. But the altar is still there, surrounded by burnt-out candles.
A cloth-covered statue stands in front of the altar. You remove it, fold down to your knees and gaze at your God. The statue is the green of old copper. A shrouded face devoid of detail except for six eyes made of ruby. Numerous tentacles spill forth from under a mantle. You imagine those tendrils tight on your tender flesh.
You strip yourself bare and read the prayer to invoke your God. The cool air of the temple brings goosebumps to your skin, and you shiver. The anticipation of his arrival makes you wet. You clench your thighs around nothing, aching to be filled.
You know he has arrived by the scent that appears, like the air before the storm.
My most devoted one, he says.
The words warm you, but you are afraid to turn. You keep your eyes on the statue and reply, “My Lord”.
His tendrils slide across your arms and pull them behind your back. Your thighs are forced apart. A sticky tentacle pries its way into your mouth and holds down your tongue. Two more slide up your thighs where they rub in an alternating rhythm across your slit, sliding but not pressing in.
The first tentacle pushes in and seems to grow fatter. The stretch burns. The other rubs against your clit hard and insistent, and you whimper. Your hips twitch, wanting more. You feel your Lord touch the edges of your mind, and then push deeper, into your memories, even as the tentacle pushes deeper into your hole.
You are pressed to the stone floor of the temple as the length of the tentacle inside you rams in and out of your cunt with a squelching sound. The one in your mouth twines with your tongue and pulls. You feel the chilled stone floor against your cheek but also –
-- your hair being pulled as your face is fucked and –-
-- your already red and puffy nipples being bitten and --
-- come spattering over your face as you grind your hips back on another man’s cock and --
-- you feel your orgasm seize your body whole and --
Time stops, and you are held on the precipice of your orgasm.
You have made yourself my perfect servant, and you will reap the rewards.
And your orgasm crashes down and your God says, Now we begin.
Tentacles lift you and you are splayed on your back over the altar, your legs held wide. Your hands are released, and your God looms over you. You cannot see his face, only the suggestion of many eyes that makes you dizzy to look at. Your God dips his head, and a ridged tongue appears from under his hood. It rasps over your nipples making you squirm and then trails down to your stomach where it stops.
Hold yourself open for me.
You pull your cunt lips wide for his inspection. You see yourself then, through your lord’s eyes – your chest heaving, and your hole stretched ready to be fucked into - and feel his hunger.
So delicate, he says. So desperate.
His tongue laps against you, the irregular surface causing shocks of pleasure when it flicks over your clit. It wriggles inside you, torturously slow until you are filled to the brim. When his tongue begins to move your hands drop to the cool stone of the dais and you scrabble uselessly for purchase.
You cry out with loss when the tongue is removed, and then again with delight when he sheaths himself in your cunt with the thick tentacle that juts out of his mantle where a man’s cock would be. Two smaller tentacles spread your cheeks and drip fluid across your asshole, circling and pushing in you in a sinuous glide. Your body is full to bursting, and it trembles, overstimulated. The exquisite ache builds and when you climax again, it rips through you with every muscle tensing and then relaxing.
Your now limp body is buffeted by the three tentacles’ increasingly punishing thrusts, and you hear a loud “uhuhuhuh” echoing off the walls of the temple. Your foggy mind realizes that the noise is coming from you.
The tentacles press deep with a final hard grind and fluid spurts from them. The liquid fills your cunt and asshole. The two tenacles in your ass slip out, and you feel the fluid leak out of you and drip onto the floor.
A feeler plucks the hood from your God’s head. Another holds your face so you cannot look away.
You see your God’s face.
It is beautiful.
It is terrifying.
Looking into your Lord God’s many eyes, the most afraid and most joyful you have ever been, you think that this is what you were made for. To service your God in any way he sees fit.
You feel his approval clamour through your body. You come again clenching on the tentacle still spearing your cunt, and shake apart.
Then, all is dark.
+++
After, you crawl down from the altar and stand on legs that are as wobbly as a newborn colt. And it does feel like you have just been born, changed into something new.
Your God wraps you in a robe of silk, embroidered with a coiling design you remember from the convent. Draped in it, you walk out of the abandoned temple with your Lord God’s fluids still leaking out of you.
There is no fear left in you. You know what you must do: go and create new converts in any and every way your Lord asks.
#monster smut#monster lover#monster x reader#monster fucker#monster x human#eldritch being x human#tentacles#tentacle kink#tentacle monster#answered requests#monstersighing#Terato#teratophillia#monster fucking#monster romance
652 notes
·
View notes
Text
TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS
(I watch her go with a surge of that well known sadness and I have to sit down for a while– the feeling that I'm losing her forever.)
The rundown: That cake scene with Miles at his father’s bodega party but it’s with Miguel and his universe’s daughter. He’s late and it’s your quinceañera.
Content: Father!Miguel O'hara x Daughter!Reader / Angst! (wc: 3844)
There was something oddly peculiar about your father. People would assume that he would be the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child; the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them. You’d argue it wasn’t true– you were fed, you had the weight of what a fifteen year old should have, and education was proper.
You love your papa with all of your heart, but there was no denying the fact that he would never be around often enough. You understood this when you were eight years old, and mornings would bring only a cold breakfast accompanied by a hastily scribbled note from him. He’d leave early– far too early. You tried staying up in an attempt to tell when he gets up and leaves the house, but you swear you don’t hear the door open every time.
Then came twelve and the missed events. Miguel seemed to be missing in action when it came to certain school activities, not showing up for things that he had previously made commitments for. It became more and more frequent as you grew older– you wouldn’t hear from him for days.
He was a man dedicated to his profession, and although you felt pride in what he had achieved, there was this empty space in your heart that hadn’t been filled ever since you were eight. It was said that a child needed the presence of their parents to feel security– to feel important. You never truly understood it, not until you had to endure many nights at dinner alone and the numerous times you spent walking home with nothing but your own thoughts for company.
You had always pondered over the question of whether it was a common phenomenon that fathers seemed to love their daughters less once they had reached teenagehood– or if it was possible for fathers to unlearn being fathers.
“Is your papa coming, bebita?”
The faint notes of classical music filled the air as you sat on the wooden floor, stretching your sore limbs. You observed the ladies who were much older than yourself starting their exercise routines, having come in early before the group class began. You waited for Miguel to pick you up.
– But that had been two hours ago. Your teacher finally worked up the courage to approach you, hesitantly looking for the right words to say. She wasn’t exactly pleased to be the one to let you down, but she’d seen you walk out the studio’s door alone time and time again after you told her that your father would bring you home himself.
“He said he’d come pick me up today.” You spoke, nervously twisting the ends of your skirt. Your teacher had most likely heard these words countless times before from you, but the faint ray of hope in your voice remained firm. “He promised.” You added quietly, praying that maybe it would be different this time.
“Ay, bebita– you know how this ends. You tell me those exact words and you walk out here on your own anyway.” She slightly shook her head, her face softening with a sympathetic smile as she knelt closer to you. “Tell you what, how about I offer to give you a ride home today? I have plenty of snacks in my car that you can enjoy. You can take as many of them as you'd like.”
You took some time to consider it, letting her gently weave her fingers through the strands of curls that couldn't quite fit into a bun. Your lips pursued as you sighed softly, “What if he comes and I’m not here anymore?” You’d hate to miss the opportunity.
Of course you still had faith that he would come, having endured all the other times he had let you down. You were never one to quickly give up on people and your father was the only one you trusted the most— you’d hate to admit that his inconsistency was starting to hurt; digging a deeper wound to the already bleeding cut.
“He’s not coming and I know you know that too.”
She stands up, grunting slightly as she hefts herself up. You knew there was no more room for negotiation anymore when she urged you to come along. She carefully takes your backpack from off your back and drapes it over her own shoulders, “Come on sweetheart, let's get you home.”
The silence in the car was palpable, with no one feeling the need to prod conversation. You hadn't stopped fidgeting with the hem of your bag since you got in, and you could feel your teacher's worried glances burning into you. Your mind was a jumble of emotions that kept bubbling away as they all competed for your attention. What could be his reason this time/?
She switched on the radio in an effort to lighten the tense mood, but when a melancholic tune filled played instead, you couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh.
“Is it possible for fathers to unlove their daughters?”
It was a question that took her completely by surprise, so much so that another uncomfortable beat of silence passed before she could respond. The stillness made you regret asking in the first place. Your legs shifted nervously, an unconscious habit which you had never noticed before.
“Of course not,” She muttered, almost inaudibly. “Fathers tend to forget is all.”
But you knew that wasn’t the case.
While Miguel was never home, something else resided on the corners of your house– someone you have never met at all. She smiled back at you from the frame sitting atop your dad's nightstand, wearing the similar blue soccer jersey your school had. She was the picture on his wallet and the little widget on his phone. It was beyond you– the few blue ribbons hidden on the box beneath his bed; the medals, the drawings you know you’ve never drawn or given him. For all you know, the kid didn’t even go to your school.
It wasn’t anything sinister, but in a way she felt like a ghost. A child your father mourned for all his life and you had no idea why.
This was a physical pain in your chest; one that was peeling away the very layers of your heart until it was nothing but ugly– just how could Miguel love a child more than his own? It was ridiculous to feel like you were in competition with someone you barely knew, yet somehow, you felt like you were losing. It felt even more absurd when you considered the possibility that maybe you weren't really his child at all.
“I joined our school’s soccer team today, papa.”
It wasn’t an ordinary occurrence for Miguel to be at the dining table for lunch. But on this Saturday noon, he was there. Sitting across from you, quietly eating his food. Finally, he paused and shifted his gaze towards you, seeming to linger on you longer than normal before looking away, cracking a grin.
“Soccer? You hate sports, mija.” He says, a bit of laughter in his voice. "What made you decide to try out? I don't recall you being the least bit interested before."
Something in his eyes becomes brighter, a sense of familiarity as he eagerly awaits your response– and the thing is, you couldn’t tell him why. Not without addressing the elephant in the room. Maybe you’d hang my medals too? Maybe you’d frame a photo of me? You know well your question reminds him of someone else.
“No reason.”
It was no surprise that you were terrible at it. After barely two seasons, you'd already given up. However it was surprising to see Miguel in the stands during the times that you had a game, but there wasn’t much to watch anyway— not when you’d been relegated to the bench for most of the time. All you felt was shame.
Oddly enough, he didn't question it. He remained silent during the rides back home, his gaze distant and never once looked at you. Had you embarrassed him to an extent where he couldn’t even acknowledge you? Or have you given him the impression that you were just no better than the little girl in his pictures?
You dared not to talk about it too.
Music was your passion; the pulse, the poise and elegance of it all resonating with you deeply. Ballet was something that spoke to you particularly in ways no other art form could. You found a special joy out on stage, a feeling that grew deeper and greater each time you danced.
But like every flame that you desperately try to keep alive, Miguel had a way of snuffing it out.
You remember it all so vividly, even though you'd much rather the memory be nothing more than a faint blur. Your very first recital and yet he wasn't anywhere to be found amongst the audience.
Your focus was a tunnel-vision, only set to finding even a glimpse of him— you had been so determined to find him that you forgot about all of your own movements. Soon, the few wrong turns had turned to missed cues; as soon as the music stopped, you made a run for it.
Your teacher had done her best to console you that day, attempting to coax a smile from you in front of the vanity mirror with its bright lights. She had wrapped her arms around you, doing anything she could to draw even the faintest curve of your lips. But you stayed slumped on your seat, feeling the weight of the unshed tears on your eyes.
The door swung open, finally revealing Miguel; he was out of breath and sweat glistened on his forehead. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top and his tie was undone, a clear sign that he had run all the way here. He paused for a moment to catch his breath before walking in frantically, eyes looking for you.
His eyes softened at the sight of you in your pretty pink tutu– then the tenderness was replaced with a feeling akin to plummeting one hundred stories down. How could he miss this? How could he let his sweet girl wait? He rushed to your side, sinking down into a kneeling position. He looked upon you with lines creasing his forehead and you already knew what was to come out of his lips.
“I’m sorry muneca, I came as fast as I could.”
The other parents of your classmates started to barge inside the very room, their children giddy with joy and excitement, running to them with beaming smiles. You could hear their loud congratulations– voices singing sweet praises and telling how they looked outstanding on stage. The noise sounded like static in your ears, like their words were unfamiliar to you. They received bouquets of flowers, sweets– gifts for a job well done. Miguel came late and only with apologies.
“You want pretty flowers too, mijita? We can stop by the flower shop a few blocks away from here, you can pick any bouquet you want.” His lips curved into a gentle smile, desperate to make his daughter feel better– the same daughter who wouldn't even meet his gaze. “Papa had to deal with something. I’ll be sure to go to your next recital– pinky promise.”
“But I worked really hard for this.”
You wanted so desperately to blame him; to yell at him for every mistake that you've made on the stage. You felt ashamed, humiliated, and helpless all at once- and still, you couldn’t have the heart to be mad at him.
He looked at you apologetically, "Baby, I'm sorry I couldn't make it earlier. How about we talk about the flowers you want to buy instead? There are lots of restaurants nearby as well— you can pick whatever pleases you, just name it." He paused for a moment before continuing, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know how much this meant to you.”
If he did, why couldn’t he have come at all?
You let out a deep sigh, feeling completely ridiculous in your tutu. All of the sudden, the leotard appeared to be two sizes too small and utterly irritating; your tights seemed unbearably itchy. You looked down helplessly, wanting nothing more than to leave this situation behind. “I just want to go home. Can we just leave? Please?” You pleaded softly.
He bit the inside of his cheek, a gesture that conveyed own sinking heart in a way words could not. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly, breath hitching as he gave in to your request instead.
“Of course.”
After that very moment, you'd vowed to yourself never to wait in anticipation of something that may or may not come. You wouldn’t put your faith in any more of your father's promises spoken under the dead of night. It took a toll on you– your naivety had taught you better than before.
But when your fifteenth birthday drew near, you never expected he would go so far.
The locks clicked and whirred as Miguel fumbled with the keys to the front door. You could hear your Father's voice, clearly agitated as he jostled the keys back and forth in an attempt to fit them into the lock. Finally, he steps inside, eyes immediately darting to you.
“You’re not wearing your birthday dress, sweetie. Is something wrong?” He’s wearing a smile, struggling to keep the two boxes of cake upright as he locks the door from behind. The banner is lopsided and the balloons scattered all around seem small– like they’ve been there for days and were starting to deflate themselves. He kisses the top of your head once he gets close, getting a better view of what you were working on on the counter. Homework. “Did you have your friends over today? How was it? Wanna hear all about it.”
And he must have forgotten. You decided to pretend not to hear his question, continuing to jot down notes, only humming at his presence. He settles the boxes down, sitting on the stool beside you.
“I know papa’s late, but you can still go and wear your dress. I want to take pictures– should we order pizza? Do you want something else?” He’s rambling, hurriedly searching for his tone to dial down a few numbers. Miguel turns frantic, looking at the closed signs under every nice restaurant. “Pizza should be fine, mijita– you’ve eaten dinner, right?”
“Not hungry.”
Miguel chuckled, dialing anyway. “Did school suck today, sweetie?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “You know what can cheer you up? Cake. You love cake.”
“I don’t like cake anymore.” You say, your voice barely above a whisper. You can feel frustration boiling over inside– and you fear it wasn’t the kind you’ve grown accustomed to suppressing. He was oblivious and it was killing you, hurting you in so many ways possible. “I’m not hungry.” You repeat again.
“Don’t be like that, __. Besides, it’s still tradition.” He stands up to check the drawers, only finding worn out candles from past birthdays. He takes a lighter. “Know what’s better than a cake? Two cakes! You’ll change your mind, go and open the boxes mija,”
Miguel excitedly pressed his hands on your shoulders, pushing you gently forward to open the two boxes of cake. The look in his eyes was that of pure anticipation as he waited eagerly for you to do so. It almost hurt you to tell him the news— that you wanted more than to just take the blame itself. It was conflicting.
You finally got up from the bar stool, settling on your feet in front of the counter. Taking a deep breath, you carefully opened the lid of the boxes. What greeted you had made you visibly recoil– the small flicker of hope that settled in your chest gone as quickly as it came. The cakes were crumbled and the frosting was all over the box, like it had been trampled and tossed around.
Was this all a joke? Were you a joke to him? Your shoulders trembled as you couldn't bring yourself to look away from it; the letter was still visible but amongst the cake crumbs lay written a name– Gabriella. Not happy birthday to you, but Gabi.
You didn’t know what hurt most. Your lips quivered and all you could mutter was, “Gabi?”
His eyes widened in surprise as he quickly moved to your side to take a look at the cake himself. He swiftly closed the lids, shaking his head. “Must’ve been a mistake back at the bakery. I can–”
And you could barely catch your breath, not when the hurt piled over one another.
“Are the medals from her? The one’s from your bed? The trophies?”
He furrowed his eyebrows, clearly irritated. “What did I tell you about snooping around my things, __?”
“Is this the girl–” A ragged inhale cuts your thoughts, “on your nightstand and wallet?” You didn’t even realize you had started to cry, but when another breath had caught itself in your throat, you were inconsolable– finally letting the dam break all at once.
Miguel did nothing to console you– he didn’t know how to. He knew he had messed up royally and all he could do was helplessly watch you break down. Who knows how long you’ve kept this?
“__, come on. It’s just a simple mistake, it’s still cake–”
“And it was my birthday!”
“Baby, what’s the big deal?” He was shocked and understandably so. His sweet, babygirl, who was usually so quiet and docile, was talking back angrily to him– but Miguel knew better than to point fingers. This was his fault– your unbecoming was his own doing.
“You just had to be late– on my birthday!”
“I have work, baby, you know this.”
“That still doesn’t explain anything!” You cried out, desperation flooding your voice. “Why are you never home? Where do you go? Who is Gabriella– why do you love her more than me?” You could feel your breath catch in your throat as your voice rose and trembled with every question. Your breathing grew unsteady and your throat began to close up, not allowing anymore words to come out as much as you wanted to scream. You feared there’d be no more room for air.
And there was something about Gabriella that everytime she was brought up, Miguel would be defensive. Perhaps it was the plenty of times Lyla would reprimand him when she catches him watching the few videos of them or when Jess would pity his state. “Don’t be ridiculous, __. I made a mistake– that’s it. We don’t have to fight.” He says, grabbing a spatula. “If it bothers you so much, here,”
Miguel frustratedly spreads the lettering with the spatula, leaving smudges of red on top of perfectly white frosting, resulting in a more muddled mess. He's making a complete mess of it and you can't bear to watch any longer. Your still figure finally reaches out to grab his wrist, “Stop— stop that! What are you doing?!”
It was no use. The cake was nothing but totally ruined now. You didn’t even have the chance to read the message. He forcefully digs the candles on both, sliding it in front of you. Your eyes stayed on the cake– you didn’t have the heart to look at him. Anger boiled up within you and without a moment's hesitation, the words leaped from your mouth, "You're not listening to me! This is not what I'm so upset about—!"
But he responds in the same loudness as yours, slamming his hands down on the cold tiles of your countertop. “Okay, champ, you got it– go for it! Say what you have to say,” A sarcastic chuckle left his lips, adding insult to the already deep wound. “What do you have to tell me so bad?”
And you didn’t think it was possible for silence to be more deafening, but as you stared each other down, all you could think of was how maybe Miguel was worse than the archetypal absent one who chose to abandon his child or the dead-beat-dad who ultimately never cared for them.
You were right. Fathers were capable of unloving their daughters and the way his dark eyes burned into yours was all the answer you needed. This wasn’t your papa– did you ever know him?
“My birthday was two days ago.”
He furrowed his eyebrows, doubt creasing his forehead as he looked back to the calendar hung on the fridge. His gaze resting on your birthday date, the red circle mocking him in vivid reminder— two days ago. Your birthday was two days ago. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and he felt nothing but guilt tying his stomach in knots.
“Mijita–” He’s quick to console you, the anger in his words disappearing immediately and turning into an apologetic one– but every time he’d try to move forward, you’d only step back. Miguel couldn’t even bear to think how you’ve celebrated on your own. How you waited for him all night in your birthday dress. He subtly shook his head, trying his best not to clog his mind yet.
He needed to make it up to you. He couldn’t lose you too.
“My birthday– why did you have to take it?” You rubbed your eyes harshly, but the more you wiped the tears away, the more they seemed to fall. “It’s mine and I still had to wait for you to be able to sing the song. It’s my day and all I could think of was what time you might come home tonight.”
You wanted nothing more than for him to run to you with open arms, to let you cry on his shoulders– but as his silence stretched on, you mistook it as nothing but ruthless. He simply didn’t care. Miguel was too much of a wall for that.
The look you gave him was nothing but hate– a look no parent wants to ever come across and it almost makes him stagger back. It was like what he had done was the most disgusting– most inconsolable act ever beyond repair and all he could do was watch; watch as another daughter of his slip through his fingers. He’s holding you like water and he doesn’t know how to keep you in.
You scoffed, averting your gaze. “You don’t want to talk about it? Fine by me.” You turned your back, letting out another shaky exhale. You couldn’t look at him the same– not after this.
“You make it really, really, hard to feel like a daughter.”
And with that, you run to your room, leaving Miguel to stay rooted to where he stood. He thinks to himself– had he taken that from you too?
#alrighty honey ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚#across the spiderverse#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara angst#miguel o'hara atsv#father!miguel o'hara x daughter!reader#miguel o'hara x reader#father figure miguel o'hara#atsv angst#atsv#spiderman#across the spider verse angst
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘧𝘶𝘭 || joel miller x reader
𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 || joel wasn't looking for a follower, or a protégé, or an employee— whatever you're supposed to be— when he saved some dumbass kid from a couple runners. but he ended up with you anyways, and you swore to always be faithful to him... in every way.
𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 || 9.2k
𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 || smut (18+ only; oral f receiving, unprotected sex, very slight dacryphilia kinda?, a touch of degradation and dumbification in there, and virginity loss with some pain and one mention of blood), heavy age gap (not specified but the reader is absolutely an adult), insecure crybaby reader, unrequited love/pining, reader wants to fuck joel so bad it makes her look stupid (and we love that for her cause same), angst, tess getting kinda screwed over but only because it's absolutely necessary for the plot, emotionally repressed joel, mention of reader's parents being deceased (implied to be infected)
this fic does not contain spoilers for anything but minor details from episode one!
They were doing that thing again— where they talked in front of you, as if you weren’t there.
“So we make the run tonight,” Tess decided, standing while Joel sat on the worn-out sofa with his hands clasped and his elbows resting on his knees. “We should be back by four, that’s when the FEDRA boys have their shift change, so we can avoid too much risk of getting caught.”
“What should I do?” you piped up. They both looked at you with that oh yeah, she’s here glare and Tess sighed; she didn’t try very hard to hide her frustration with you, but at the same time, she was actually nice to you when she was in a good mood (which was rare). Joel was less mean but also less nice— he stayed steady in his neutral-to-mildly-irritated state, and you figured if he wanted you to fuck off, he would’ve said so (probably in those exact words, too).
At the same time, they both instructed you flatly: “Keep watch.”
You sighed, shoulders sinking. “Again? Can’t I at least—?”
“You’re safer here,” Joel insisted.
“Yeah, and your gun is safer in the box under the bed, but it’s not gonna do shit to protect you if you never take it out,” you countered.
Tess scoffed. “And what are you gonna do to protect us?”
“I wasn’t,” you admitted. “You know I’m a great shot, but I wasn’t gonna try to shoot anybody. I’m quieter than both of you. I can get in and out better— and nobody’s looking for me. Everybody knows you’re smuggling—”
“Not everybody,” Joel defended himself in a mumble.
“ — so if I do get caught, I can probably get out of a search,” you bargained.
“And what are you gonna do to get out of a search?” Tess smirked. “Bat your eyelashes?”
That did sting, but you rolled your eyes and hoped you had effectively looked like it didn’t affect you at all. “If implying that I’m pretty enough to get out of a search is supposed to be an insult, I can’t wait to hear one of your compliments, Tess,” you replied— but your voice was soft and almost shaky, not as confident as the comeback merited. That summarized you pretty well: you had the will to be tough, but when it was time to really go for it, your body failed you and your hands got shaky and your eyes watered. Almost anything could make you cry, Tess had already made fun of you for it; Joel just seemed to get really uncomfortable when you started crying, but you always did your best to hide it from him. It just didn’t usually work.
Your whole face probably lit up when you caught Joel’s suppressed smile— did he think your joke was funny? He hadn’t been smiling when Tess made fun of you, so it had to be what you said— or maybe he was thinking of something he would say if he cared enough to say it, some comment about how you could do more than that to get out of being searched. He didn’t seem the type to make comments like that, but he was well aware what guards might let (or make) a girl do to avoid punishment.
“Whatever,” Tess decided, shaking her head, “you’re not coming with us, that’s the point.”
“Joel gets a say, too!” you blurted out. “You can’t just pick for him that I’m not coming, he has to—”
“You’ll stay here,” he interrupted. So much for getting Joel to let you go— you thought maybe he would side with you, for once. Deflating, you nodded, and they stopped paying attention to you at the same time that you stopped paying attention to them.
Your mind wandered in times like this, when they were talking and it was clear that it didn’t concern you; Tess said once that you had an ‘overactive imagination’, but she hadn’t said it in a really mean way (like she said most things). You didn’t want Joel to think that you were always daydreaming, but you couldn’t help it sometimes— you really just hoped that he didn’t know he was the subject of so many of your thoughts.
Truth was, he’d caught your eye long before he even knew you existed. You’d seen him around, doing all those odd jobs he did to make ends meet, and thought he was… well, handsome, but not just that. Mysterious. Intimidating, though he didn’t exactly intimidate you— okay, he did, but not like he did everybody else. He intimidated others because they were afraid he would hurt them; he intimidated you because you kind of wanted him to hurt you. Not, you know, bad, just… maybe a hand around the neck or pinning you to a wall or something?
It wasn’t in spite of your inexperience that you had thoughts like that— it was because of it; you had been lonely for a long, long time, and maybe it was just fantasy, but you always wanted someone like Joel. You wanted someone to take care of you, protect you. You were just guessing that he was capable of that, but he proved it when you met for the first time.
It wasn’t exactly a meet-cute, or even just a pleasant way to meet; you were short on rations, because you’d given most of yours away to Mrs. Davis who was too old and weak now to earn any extra for herself, and someone offered to pay you ten if you snuck something they could sell out of the old mall in the QZ… well, that went about as poorly as anyone would’ve expected.
You asked Joel what he was doing there, after he’d saved you from the runners, but he refused to tell you. Either way, it was the best luck you ever had that he showed up and fought them off. For a moment, he’d held you close to him as he pulled you away from the Infected; you wished, later, that you hadn’t been too terrified to appreciate that.
Ever since, you’d sworn yourself to him— in more ways than one, but he only knew about the main one: you wanted to assist him however you could, figuring after he saved your life that you should dedicate it to his service. Well, Joel had never been interested in your assistance, or anything else about you. It was actually Tess' idea to let you stay: "if she wants to help, let her do it for free," she whispered to Joel, and he shrugged, and he did. That was how it ended up like this: you were the squeaky, wobbly third wheel of Joel and Tess’ operation, more often than not doing the least important work if not filling your time with essentially goose-chase tasks they invented to keep you occupied. Keep watch and listen to the radio were your biggest assignments; just wait here was another common one, when they were too lazy to call it one of the other two.
Tess left a little while later, and Joel laid down on the sofa. You broke away from your thoughts and tried to make yourself useful— you got up to rinse the dishes, humming a random tune to yourself as you worked. You were already back inside your head, wondering if you should tell Joel it was a song you’d heard on his radio and had stuck in your head ever since. Probably not worth it; it usually didn’t go well when you tried to talk about things like that. Joel and Tess talked about before a lot— well, it wasn't that often, because it wasn't very productive to talk about it. But they talked about it occasionally and you never had anything to say. Once, you tried to weigh in: they were reminiscing on concerts before the outbreak, bands and artists they remembered, and you chirped about how "I read about that in a book once!"
They both glared at you, and you didn't say anything else. But you didn’t take it too personally, they just didn’t want to feel old— but you didn’t think either of them were old! These days, old wasn’t a matter of years, it was really just about usefulness— like poor Mrs. Davis, she was old, she couldn’t do much for herself anymore— and they were both… actually, they were both significantly more useful than you. That made you sad. But at least Joel had helped you get better with guns— not that he ever let you carry one.
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Joel broke the silence as you washed his favorite mug.
“I know,” you said back, voice light and chipper. “You don’t have to.”
You felt his eyes linger on you for a moment after that, but he didn’t say anything else.
~
Though they had decided already that you weren’t joining them on the run, you ended up there— mostly by happenstance— when Joel and Tess met with the buyer who wanted half of what they managed to bring back. Not many people in the QZ could afford that kind of contraband, so it made sense that it was one of the FEDRA soldier’s bankrolling this. They were by no means rich, but they had a lot of pull and could provide all sorts of ration cards and promises to look the other way if future issues arose. He couldn’t guarantee safe movement out and back in through the boundaries of the city, but he at least promised to look the other way in any future run-ins with the law.
“So that’s it: you’ll leave at eleven, you’re back by four, and you bring me my share the next day during my break?” the soldier confirmed.
“Yep,” Tess agreed. “Quick and painless. Hopefully.”
You didn’t expect the man’s eyes to land on you, but you didn’t particularly care for it. "Is your little lap dog coming, too?" he smirked, glancing at Joel after he was finished raking his stare over you.
Your face got hot instantly, with shame and confusion. "I— I'm not in his lap," you denied, "that's not— we don't—"
“No,” Joel interrupted firmly, “she’s not coming.”
There was an awkward silence, the place where he might’ve said and she’s not my lap dog, if he cared much about the accusation. Tess seemed to be hanging onto that silence nearly as tightly as you were.
“Whatever,” the soldier finally brought everyone’s attention back to the conversation, “just meet me here tomorrow at half past one, and we’ll see what you’ve got.”
You were still thinking about that conversation that night— while you were keeping watch, like Joel had asked you to. It was really boring; you spent most of the time on the couch, reading a book you’d bought off someone for a few rations. After a while, your curiosity got the better of you, and you started snooping around Joel’s apartment. There wasn’t much to look at… he didn’t own much, just a few shirts— actually, you thought those jeans he always wore might be his only pair…
Your search led you to his bed. Even with no one here to see you do it, you were a little embarrassed to lean in and take a whiff of his pillow— but it was totally worth it. It smelled just like him, that warm piney kind of scent he had; in times like this, not many people could afford to smell nice, but Joel could. Not to say that he was the type to splurge on all the nicest stuff, you were pretty sure he didn’t even own cologne, but he owned shampoo and deodorant, so that put him in the 80th percentile for hygiene in the Boston QZ.
But it wasn’t just those products you smelled on his sheets— there was something quintessentially Joel to it all, something impossible to define but incredibly addictive. It was instinctual, the way you got in his bed and curled up in those sheets, burying yourself in the comfort of him. It was so easy to imagine how he might hold you, now that you were here— all you were missing was his strength, his weight, slow and steady breaths behind you as he drifted to sleep…
You woke up when you heard the door shut. Startled into sitting up, you were hoping you’d have time to get out of his bed before he saw you— but he was already standing there, staring at you. He was just a shape in the dark, so you couldn’t see his face, but you heard the exasperated sigh.
“I thought I told you to sleep on the couch,” he said.
“R-right, sorry,” you coughed, recalling last time this happened with a pained wince.
“Better yet, I thought I told you to keep watch!”
“You know you just say that,” you mumbled, “so you can keep me away from the real work.”
He didn’t say anything, probably because he knew you were right— but even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t, because Tess walked in a second later. “Can’t believe he tried to stiff us,” she was saying as she walked in, half-laughing in frustration. “Well, yeah I can,” she added a second later.
Her attitude changed when she saw you in the bed. “I— I’ll go back to my—” you started, but you ended up just getting up and leaving in a hurry before you could really finish your thought.
Wiping a small tear from under your eye quickly, you walked out of Joel’s apartment and started for your own bunk across the city— even though it was more likely than not that somebody would hassle you for walking around during curfew.
Yes, if you had a little more self-respect, you would just stop hanging around those two and find some other work to do, but Joel had done something for you that you could never repay and never forget. He didn’t have to love you the way you loved him— and you’d been sure for a while that he never would— but couldn’t he at least be a little nicer? You wouldn’t feel right being anywhere but at his side, no matter how much he made it seem like he never wanted you there at all.
~
Honestly, you did consider not going back the next morning— but you figured they might actually need you for the next part. Okay, not need, but they could at least use you for something: after smuggling anything in, you need a fence, someone to pawn this stuff off. Joel and Tess did a decent job of keeping a low profile, but it was even easier to do so when they had someone like you moving contraband around Boston’s population.
So, after a few hours of sleep on that radically uncomfortable cot, you decided to head back to Joel’s place. The sun was just above the horizon by this time, but only the people working early shifts for their rations were up now; you liked the city best when it was quiet like this, but then again, you liked almost everything better quiet.
Usually, Joel’s apartment was the same way. But when you walked in, the energy was completely different than you were used to. Where you’d normally find Tess counting up the score while Joel sipped on coffee (or liquor, depending most on the hour), instead you walked in on what was clearly a lover’s quarrel.
The thing was, this was not your typical argument— they were doing it Joel and Tess style, which is to say, as repressed as possible. In fact, they weren’t even talking when you walked in, but just the way they were standing was indicative of the discomfort they were clearly trying not to acknowledge.
Tess was at the window, arms crossed, looking at the view; and you knew that was a bad sign, because there was no view to be had, the QZ was an eyesore and she complained about it all the time. Joel was sitting at the table, facing the other way, his hand squeezing his own fist instead of the handle of his mug— it didn’t look injured, but his face still had a hint of pain on it.
“I’m sorry—” you mumbled, not sure what you were apologizing for yet, but Tess interrupted you.
“I’ll go,” she decided, walking over to the table.
“Okay,” Joel agreed, not looking at her.
Well, you were no relationship expert, and you didn’t even know what they were arguing about… but you knew that was pretty cold. “So that’s all you’re gonna say to me?” Tess prompted him, her tone tight and her eyes red.
You kept your head low, as if that would hide the fact that you could clearly see and hear all this.
“Yeah,” Joel decided, not as aloof as usual; it reminded you of how he usually spoke to you, that frustration, but it was definitely different. More… exhausted. “Yeah, it is.”
Tess put her weight predominantly on one leg, her hips shifting, as she let out a scoffing sort of breath. For a moment, she looked at you; you looked back at her shyly from beneath your brows before looking away. Why would she look at me right now?
Shaking her head, she left, mumbling to herself but you couldn’t make it out. The door slammed behind her. Joel sighed next.
“Everything okay?” you asked sheepishly, twisting your boot on the floor to watch the shapes it made in the thin layer of dust.
“Clearly,” he insisted, and the sarcasm was obvious though his voice was neutral. You could tell he didn’t want you to prod more— anyone who knew Joel for two minutes would know that— but you still chewed your lip as you wondered what you should do.
Your attention turned to the stacks of contraband on the table; most of it was perfectly legal material to own, just not legal to acquire from outside the city’s perimeter. “Looks like a good haul this time,” you noticed, hoping a change of subject would soothe him a little. Maybe it did, but he didn’t show it. He just kept squeezing his fist, and you gently sat down across from him at the table— and you started doing what you figured you should, going through what they’d brought back and starting to figure how much you could get for it.
For a while, he entertained that conversation, though with as short of responses as possible. Not even a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, just hums and grunts that got the point across. You could tell he was thinking, but you could also tell he didn’t want to be— that he’d rather forget about all that. For once, he was struggling to do that.
It scared you to imagine doing something he so obviously didn’t want you to do, but you knew you couldn’t ignore it forever. “What made her so upset?” you asked softly, finally.
He paused for so long that you thought he was just ignoring your question, but he did eventually say something. “She told me something I wasn’t ready to hear,” he answered, “and… and I guess I said the wrong thing.”
“What did you say?”
“Actually, I didn’t say anything,” he admitted with a thin laugh. “But, I said nothing in the wrong way.”
"... Do you think she'll come back?" you pressed, and his sigh was answer enough.
You had to wonder if he'd make you a real partner in all this now. Probably not, right? He thought so little of you before, that wouldn't change just because Tess was out.
“I’m sorry,” you decided.
“It’s not your fault,” he promised. “It was me.”
You didn’t press on that, already thankful and pleasantly surprised by how much he’d shared. He stood up a moment later, leaving the table and moving to the kitchenette so he could make some coffee; oddly, that comforted you. Like things were going to go forward now, like life could be normal again and he would still drink his coffee.
For a while, it was quiet— just how you liked it, and how you figured he liked it, too. He was humming a song at one point but you didn’t think he realized he was doing it.
It was so quiet, in fact, that when you went to lay on the sofa later, you ended up accidentally dozing off. You couldn’t say how long you were asleep— you were pretty underslept, but it didn’t feel like more than an hour— just that you were awoken to the sound of movement in the kitchen area.
Sitting up, you tilted your head when you saw Joel had begun packing up the contraband haul— well, half of it. “What are you—?” you began to ask, but then you saw the time, and you remembered; but he answered you anyways.
“Our buyer’s on his break now,” Joel announced as he stuffed a pack of bandages into his bag. “I said I would meet him to show him what we got.”
“I can go with you!” you announced. “You know, if Tess isn’t—”
“It’s fine,” he insisted, “I can do it myself.”
“Joel, please,” you pressed, “I promise I’ll do whatever you need me to, I just wanna help—”
“I need you to stay here,” he frowned.
Some things never change, huh? “Why don’t you just let me go? Let me help you?” you whimpered, lip shaking as you started to cry. You hated yourself for it, but you knew you couldn’t stop it.
There was a pause before he responded. “I don’t like the way he looks at you,” Joel explained, but you doubted that was the real reason he didn’t want you to come. “It only takes one of us, you’re better off here.”
“Tess was gonna go!” you reminded him, getting more upset. "I know I'm not…" you trailed off as you tried not to cry too much or too loudly. "I can't do what she can— I'm not strong…"
He sighed as he knelt down in front of you, resting his hand on your knee. You peeked out from behind your fingers, but looked down again.
"I'm not— I'm not smart, either," you whimpered. "I don't know anything, about before, about now—"
"That's not true," he mumbled, but you weren't finished yet.
"Nobody knows why you even keep me around, I sure don't," you shrugged, dropping your hands defeatedly, hot tears running faster down your face and dripping onto your pants; his hand reached up and wiped your cheeks with a gentleness you never knew he had. “M’not… I’m not tough, like you guys…”
"You know what you are, little girl?" he replied quietly. "You're good. You're sweet. Me an' Tess, we need someone like you to keep us from bein' sad old assholes all the time…"
He sighed, and you thought was done talking, until he spoke again, softer.
"I need someone like you."
Your heart swelled, and light filled your chest, until you had just enough confidence to finally blurt out what you'd been holding in for months: "Joel, you should know that I always—"
"Shh," he soothed, nodding. "I know."
Your face got hot instantly again, and your heart sank. "I think everybody knows," you mumbled awkwardly, giving him a half-smile through the drying tears. "But I thought— it's just that you never—"
“I couldn’t,” he insisted. “You understand that? I couldn’t, not with you—”
“Why not?” you snapped. “Why can’t you?”
“If you don’t know why, you’re more hopeless than I thought,” he frowned.
“I know— I know I’m… a lot younger than you…” you mumbled, almost not wanting to say it in case he actually hadn’t noticed that. “I know you think I’m not very mature and stuff… but that shouldn’t matter when you really love someone—”
“Woah, hey,” he coughed, “love? Sweetheart, you’ve got a crush—”
“No! Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snapped, surprising both of you with your sudden ability to stand up to him. “You can tell me what to do but not what to feel.”
“Okay,” he softened up, “fine. That’s fair. But it’ll pass—”
"I've never loved anybody before," you whimpered, "and I'm never gonna love anybody like I love you. I know that! I know you think I'm just a stupid kid who doesn't understand love, but I know that I really love you! Okay? So just… just stop talking! Doesn’t need to take this long for you to reject me, geez…”
There was a pregnant pause, you were too caught up in your own frustration to really notice it: the way he looked to the side, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment. You weren’t expecting him to say anything after that, so it nearly startled you when he spoke. “It was last night, after you left,” he explained. “I— I thought about telling you to come back, figured you’d be safer on the couch than walking back across the city at that time…”
Wrapping your arms around your chest, you smiled a little imagining that, but you knew you couldn’t have taken him up on that offer: it would’ve killed you, trying to sleep on that sofa while Joel and Tess shared the bed.
“She told me not to,” Joel continued. “That’s… that’s how it started, I guess…”
“That girl’s so obsessed with you,” Tess laughed lightly, toying with Joel’s lapel. “It’s cute, really. I mean, it’s sad— but it’s cute.”
“Hm,” Joel said first, not really listening— it took him a second to properly react. “Why is it sad?” he asked when her words processed completely.
“‘Cause she thinks she might actually have a chance,” Tess explained.
That was it, what he did wrong; he sees it now, in retrospect, but at the time he figured saying nothing was his safest bet. Apparently, he didn’t have to say anything.
“Shit,” Tess said suddenly, moving instantly from shock to anger. “Are you fucking serious?”
“What?” Joel spat.
“You know fucking what,” she returned sharply. “That look— you looked away.”
“Okay? So?” Joel tried to defend himself, but he knew that she knew now— believe it or not, he really wasn’t much of a liar. Especially with her.
“She’s a goddamn fetus, Joel,” Tess reminded him. “She hasn’t seen a hundredth of the shit we’ve seen, she hasn’t lost anyone—”
“Lost her parents,” Joel corrected.
“Well, we all lose our parents,” Tess rolled her eyes, “that’s part of life.”
Not the way she lost them, Joel wanted to add, but he was going back to his original plan of saying nothing.
“She’s not like us,” Tess insisted.
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Joel decided.
That was the point of no return; because Tess had never thought of you as competition, she barely even thought of you at all, but if innocence was something he wanted… then the competition was already over before it even started. The silence was heavy, more sad than angry, and Joel knew he really fucked up because he’d never really seen Tess speechless before. Is it bad that he didn’t regret it, though? Maybe he could’ve handled things better, but telling her the truth couldn’t be wrong. It’s not like he’d been hiding it, really— he never even acknowledged it himself, not often.
“I can’t believe you,” she shook her head, and shame twisted in his gut. “Part of me always— not always, I guess, but part of me wondered. Sometimes the way you looked at her…”
As she trailed off, Joel looked down, too afraid for her to look in his eyes now.
“You’d do anything to keep her safe,” she said instead of finishing that last thought. “I told myself you didn’t look at me like that because you knew I could protect myself.”
“I do,” he promised.
“So what do you want?” she asked point-blank. “Something you can protect, or something you don’t have to?”
“And what did you say?” you asked hurriedly.
“I told her what I wanted,” was all he replied, and your heart skipped. “And that’s… that’s why she left.”
Joel nodded slightly, looking away. But you reached out and touched his face, turning it back towards you. Impulsively, you leaned forward and kissed him; it took all the courage you had, and a hand on his shoulder for balance, but you felt him kiss you back after a moment. It was gentle, for how sudden it was, and you sighed as his hand moved higher up your leg.
You were still crying, because of course you were, but he didn’t mind as much as you’d worried: he only wiped your tears away, holding onto your face, standing up and pulling you with him.
“I love you,” you whispered as he embraced you, wanting to say it a thousand times now that it wasn’t the worst-kept secret in Boston. “I love you, Joel—”
“I know,” he promised, whispering back into the kiss which got deeper with each passing moment. “I know, darlin’.”
That was enough for you— that was plenty: the way he kissed you, and held you, calling you darlin’ in that rough-yet-gentle voice… you were weak already, melting into his touch, ready to give him anything.
In fact, he had to put a hand on your shoulder and gently push you away to get you to calm down, and your face heated up as you realized how eager you’d been. “Don’t need to get so worked up, m’gonna take care of you now, okay?”
“You always take care of me,” you noticed.
“A different way,” he explained.
Just the way those brown eyes darkened, just the way he said that made your thighs clench against each other. “Y-you’ll miss the meeting with the buyer,” you realized.
“Fuck,” Joel grumbled, and you smiled a bit. “Waited this long and now I’ve gotta fuckin’ leave you again.”
Your hand rested on his chest, the soft flannel of his shirt transmitting some of the warmth of his body, and you looked up with him with wide, wet eyes.
“I know you hate waitin’ here, but… I always liked it,” he admitted, his voice softer yet deeper. “I always liked knowing you were here, waiting for me…”
Your heart swelled. “Y-yeah— I didn’t mind waiting for you so much,” you admitted in return, “just didn’t want you to think that’s all I was good for.”
He kissed your temple, making your chest flood with warmth. “I know,” he promised. “You’ll be here when I get back, won’tcha? Can’t disappear on me now.”
“I won’t, I’ll be here,” you assured, turning your face to peck his cheek in return. It seemed to surprise him, like he hadn’t had tenderness of that sort in a long time.
~
Funny how you’d waited for him all night before, but that half hour felt longer than all of them combined. You were quite sure you knew what he meant before— about how he would take care of you in a different way— and it put you on edge all afternoon.
You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d kissed you, about his hands pulling you closer. Or his eyes: if he’d ever looked at you like that before, you hadn’t noticed (which was probably what he intended).
For how much time you spent wondering what you would do, what you would say, when he returned, you ended up not doing much of either: he was on you the moment he stepped in the door, though that was sort of what you’d been betting on when you decided to strip down to just your underwear and wait for him like that. Not that you minded the idea of him, you know, tearing your clothes off like one of those romance novels— you just didn’t like the idea of having to wait any longer than you already had and this shirt had way too many buttons.
He did take a moment to stare you down when he came back, to appreciate your nakedness, and despite imagining showing yourself to him many times before, you felt a little self-conscious with his eyes just piercing through you like that: you didn’t cover yourself, ignoring a slight instinct to do so, but you did wrap your arms over your stomach and cross your legs as you sat on his bed.
Waiting for him to say something— or, possibly, waiting for yourself to find some courage to speak— you were a little taken aback when he grabbed you and kissed you. And you realized, as his lips moved with yours even harder, deeper, needier than before, that there was nothing else to say.
He climbed on top of you on that bed, laid you down on it gently, as his weight pressed you down into the mattress. You could've sworn you heard him growl when he rocked his hips against yours, a firm bulge in his jeans pressing right up to where heat had gathered between your legs.
Fingers weaving in his hair, you hummed as you did all you could to keep him close, as if he might just disappear if you didn’t hold him near to you. But he didn’t seem like much of a flight risk, considering his tight grip on you— so tight it could leave marks, which you hoped it would. You needed more than just memories of this.
“Tell me this is what you want,” he demanded, his voice breathless yet somehow not weak at all. “Need to know you want this.”
“Fuck, Joel, f’course,” you promised— wasn’t it obvious? It probably was. But you could understand if he was still fighting back some guilt; you just wanted to do everything you could to help him forget about that. “So bad,” you continued, “for so long…”
“Since I saved you?” he assumed, his teeth grazing your lip like a threat to bite down harder— a threat that made you throb from the inside out.
“Before,” you admitted, smiling sheepishly.
“Didn’t even know me before,” he noticed, raising an eyebrow.
“Saw you around sometimes—” god, am I blushing as hard as it feels like I am? — “thought maybe you could… you know…”
Protect me. Hold me. Take care of me. And fuck me like the world is ending even though it already did.
He smirked at you proudly, leaning in to kiss your neck this time, following some invisible trail that made you even more sensitive to the touch of his lips; after he kissed right under your ear, he whispered to you.
“Then just go ahead and take what you want, darlin’.”
After a shiver ran over you, so strong you thought it might never end, your hands shot down between you so you could get to work on his belt and fly; you felt his smile against your skin, then his teeth a moment later, as his hand rubbed the curve of your waist gently.
Both of you gasped when your fingers wrapped gently around his cock, for different reasons. The skin was so smooth, it was hard to believe something this soft and silky was part of Joel— and it was hot, or maybe your fingers were just cold, but you hoped that didn't bother him.
He was already starting to move his hips just a bit, rocking into your touch, and you hummed when he suddenly grabbed your hand to force it to press firmer against himself. "You thought about touchin' me like this before?" he asked in a voice that was breathy and low— you loved hearing the pleasure in his voice.
"Y-yeah," you admitted shyly; when he let your hand go, your touch wandered, your hands sliding up under the bottom of his shirt so you could feel the skin there— the firm muscle, the thin scars, the graying hairs that formed a trail down his stomach…
Grabbing your wrists, he pinned them down above your head, and you let out a joyful whine. "Keep those there," he ordered, and you nodded as you watched him intently.
His hands traced down your body, making shivers run all over your skin; how could a man with so much strength touch you so delicately?
He purred as his fingers ran down to your panties, toying with the edge of the fabric before carefully pulling them down your legs. You tried not to wiggle too much, but your hips were desperate for some friction, for some attention from him— they didn't have to wait long, though. He groaned at the sight as he parted your legs, grabbing himself to rub his fat head through your folds. "Fuck," he mumbled, your channel clenching on nothing as you saw how far apart his tip forced your swollen lips, "so wet for me already, bet I'll slide right in…"
Your back arched with a moan just imagining that, and he pushed your stomach down flat with his free hand so you wouldn't angle too far away from him, laying his body atop yours. Though you tried to stay still, you couldn’t stop shaking as he lined himself up; it felt surreal, it felt hyperreal— his skin against yours was unlike anything you could’ve imagined.
You’d sort of wondered if he’d say something before he put it in, maybe a quick you ready? or even here it comes which would’ve been stupid but an appreciated warning nonetheless. Instead, he just looked at your face carefully, and pushed inside. It was sudden, sharp; your whole body tensed up and you sucked in a breath before biting your lip.
He only made it halfway in, struggling against how tight you were. You were doing everything you could not to give away your pain, but he must've seen it in your expression.
"What's wrong?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. "I'm hurting you…"
"No— Joel, please don't stop—"
You wrapped your legs around his hips to try to keep him inside, but he pulled out most of the way and looked down— and you winced when he saw the blood. "Baby, you… are you— is this your—? Fuck, why didn't you say something?"
"You wouldn't have done it with me if you knew it was my first time," you explained with a whimper.
"No, baby— I just would've taken my time with you, s'all," he sighed, "would've helped you— sweetie, it didn't need to hurt like that…"
Clutching tighter at his shirt, you pulled him down into a needy kiss. "Hurt me more, Joel," you pleaded into it with a breathy whisper, "do whatever you want to me. I'm yours— that's all I want, just to be yours."
He kissed you back, slow but passionate; but, much to your dismay, he pulled out and sat up.
"No, Joel, I'm sorry," you whined, "I'm sorry— I didn't mean to lie, I'm so sorry, I promise I can be good! M'gonna be really good for you!"
But he just shook his head, and you bit your quivering lip as tears ran down your temples. He smiled, just a little. "Such a crybaby," he scolded you softly. "What am I gonna do with you, little girl? You can't even keep yourself together."
He leaned down again, but he slid his knees down on the bed so he could position his face between your legs. He kissed your inner thigh first, and you jumped because it tickled.
Then he held your hips, running his thumbs over your skin soothingly, and you tried not to squirm too much as he looked up at you with those dark eyes— much darker than before. “You want me to taste you?” he asked, like it was your idea or something.
“Uh, yeah,” you mumbled sheepishly, and he actually laughed for a moment.
“Yeah?” he repeated. “Could you be a little more specific?”
Oh— he wants me to beg. “Um— please? Taste me, Joel…”
He smiled, but not like a haha funny smile or an oh that’s nice smile— a really dirty kind of smile, even though his teeth were actually in better condition than most out here. “Okay, baby,” he agreed.
He was subtle about it at first, just giving gentle kisses all around; you felt… exposed, even more than you had with his face between your legs before.
“Is that alright?” he asked, his voice rougher than the last time you heard it.
“Y-yeah,” you choked, clearing your throat. “Don’t… don’t stop, please…”
When he got back to it, he was much more aggressive— long, slow licks between your lips, sloppy kisses with his eyes shut tight; and you whined as you held on tighter to the sheets. You didn’t realize how hard you were shaking until his grip on your thighs was bruisingly tight. And as he held you down, he just dug in deeper: every time you thought he’d stop escalating the intensity of it all, he just did it more— he just did everything more— until you couldn’t control your moans and gasps anymore.
His tongue was the fucking devil; he slid it inside you and your eyes rolled back. He sucked greedily on your clit until your hips bucked uncontrollably, moaning against your skin just enough that you could hear it over your own shameless cries.
"Joel, fuck, how are you—? Oh god—"
"Mm?" he encouraged you to finish your thought without breaking away from you.
"How does that feel so good?" you sobbed. "Oh my god— please don't stop, never stop, oh fuck!"
All he was doing was flicking his tongue over your bud, such a small interaction with a tiny little organ, and your whole body was shaking. Reaching down and grabbing his hair, you didn't mean to tug on it so hard but you also didn't expect him to moan deeply when you did.
His mouth moved a little higher, focusing on the bud you were sure had never been this swollen or this sensitive. Doing so freed your opening, and one of his thick fingers prodded at it. "Please," you panted, wanting any part of him to be inside you again.
He pushed it in, the roughness of his skin creating the perfect friction on your delicate walls. You were waiting to feel his knuckle against you, but instead he only put it in maybe halfway, not very far at all. It didn’t make much sense to you, until he started to rub one place just inside and a gasp instantly inflated your chest.
“Oh—” you choked, and he was licking harder on your clit at the same time that he added a second finger; you’d never felt anything like it before. “Joel!” you squealed, hating how girlish it sounded but helpless to the control he had over your body with just two fingers and his tongue.
His rhythm wasn’t all that fast but it was relentless, the exact tempo you needed for that pleasure to build and build, toes curling and vision getting all spotty— you tried to look down at him sometimes, but your head wanted so badly to tilt back and let everything go black.
“I— oh, fuck— I’m gonna— fuck, Joel!” you sobbed, grabbing on tighter to his hair; you took one glimpse at it, and when you saw the scattered silver hairs peeking out from between your fingers, it just made you even more overwhelmed.
He hummed and looked up at you, encouraging you— his fingers pumped faster and faster suddenly, and when it hit, you felt like your whole body was going numb. It started where he was touching you, but then a moment later it was in your head, then it was just running all over and you were too weak to do anything but give into it.
Suddenly it became too much, and the hand that had been holding him down by his hair was suddenly pushing him away; you blinked away the spots in your vision to catch a glimpse of him with that beard soaked in you, but his fingers hadn’t stopped yet. “Oh… ohhh my god…” you whined, breathing harder than you could ever remember breathing before, your head getting all dizzy and cloudy as he smirked up at you and continued fucking you with his hand.
Your hole was pulsing, flexing over and over, waves of slick leaking out until you could feel the puddle spreading under you. Your cheeks burned with humiliation, even though he kept praising you as his fingers milked everything from your swollen spot. "Good girl, good girl," he said over and over, "fuck, good job, soak the sheets, baby— soak my fingers, keep going…"
"Joel," you sobbed, desperate for some relief from the overwhelming sensation. He didn't really stop, just slowed down a lot, but he kept twisting his fingers and rubbing that one place until your quivering body collapsed completely onto his mattress. And then he went on for just a little bit longer after that.
Then he stopped. When you thought you might fucking pass out.
He climbed up your body and brought his two soaked fingers to your slack lips.
"You want a taste, too, baby?" he purred.
You dutifully opened your mouth and did your best to clean his fingers off, sucking and licking as he hummed a bit; his eyes got a little darker as he felt your tongue run all over his rough fingers.
"What do you think?" he prompted when he pulled his fingers away, and you swallowed as you made a little face.
"I dunno if I like it," you admitted nervously. "Kinda sour."
"Really? I think your pussy's fuckin' delicious."
Your face flushed, but you didn't say anything else because he was reaching down to hold his cock again— and your heart started racing.
"Ready to do this the right way?" he prompted, and you nodded eagerly. "S'gonna feel so much better, now you're all ready for me. Ready for something this big inside ya— but it might still sting at first, okay? Just hold onto me tight."
That you did, tighter than you thought you could— apparently you were stronger than you realized, especially considering that orgasm nearly took you out a minute ago. But you had to hold on that tight as he began to push that fat head inside you, stretching you so wide before he'd even gotten the ridge of it past your opening. It didn't sting like before, or at least not as much, but it was still completely overwhelming. You forgot to breathe until he was halfway in: you gasped out his name, reminding yourself he was inside you and above you and everywhere, everything.
"See how much— fuck— how much easier it is now?" he grunted, sliding into you slowly until his hips met yours. "See how you're takin' all'a me? God damn, still tight as hell, though."
You were delirious already, he hadn't even moved yet. You didn't think it could get much better than his mouth on you, than coming because of him, but this? This perfect stretch, this addictive friction, knowing he was completely inside you and that he liked how you felt? This was ecstasy, bliss. And he hadn't even fucking moved yet.
"Gonna have a hard time being gentle with you now," he admitted with a growl beside your ear. "You've got one of those perfect little pussies that just needs to be fucked hard— suckin' me in, just beggin' for it rough and fast."
"Joel," you whined, "fuck me however you want, please… I can take it, I swear, I want you so bad…"
Still, when he moved, it was slow and patient. Too goddamn slow.
"Fuck," you sobbed, back arching up off the bed as he carefully savored every detail of you. "Fuck, Joel, I can't— I can't believe you're— I can't believe it's you. I wanted you so much I couldn't fucking breathe."
He smiled at you, and leaned in to kiss your neck; you let out what could only be described as a joyful whimper. “Wanted you too,” he finally admitted. “Tried not to, you’re so young… jus’ couldn’t help it after a while.”
"Faster," you whined, "please, fuck, please please—"
"You are so goddamn spoiled, you know that?" Joel grunted— but then he did it, he fucked you even faster than you'd imagined. His thrusts were still deep and long, but they came at you quicker than you could process and you nearly screamed.
You were even more sensitive after he’d made you come the first time; it was just overwhelming, the feeling of him, and you felt like your mind had left your body— like your mind had left you entirely.
“Y’feel fuckin’ perfect, darlin’,” he praised lowly, kissing your neck with all the gentleness and patience his thrusts lacked. “So good for me.”
Maybe it was pathetic, but being good for him felt fucking amazing— not just physically, obviously. It felt like having a purpose; you’d never really felt that before.
You lost track of time; honestly, you lost track of everything. Everything that wasn’t this had fallen away, and it was just you holding on for dear life as Joel wrecked you all over again with every motion. "Hear that? How wet you are for me?" he groaned, and yes, there was a squishy-wet sound that filled the room with each thrust. You tried to answer him, say something witty about how he made you that wet so many times, but only moans came when you opened your mouth. "I asked you a question," he reminded you. "Can you fuckin' hear it?"
Whimpering, you could only bite your lip and nod.
"Oh," he smiled, "I see— you get stupid with cock in you, huh? Get fucked right and that silly brain just turns off?"
You nodded again— wasn’t much else for you to do.
"Just gonna be a dumb whore for me now?" he asked. "Just kidding, I know you already were."
“Fuck— Joel—” you choked.
"No no, it's okay— it's good,” he soothed you, kissing a tear from your temple that you hadn’t even realized was there. “You don't need to think. I don't need you to think. You can just be my fucktoy, okay? You can just be my slut. Say it."
"I-I'm your slut, Joel…"
He hummed appreciatively; your moan caught in your throat, and you tried to hide your face in his shoulder— you couldn’t believe he was still dressed, for all you knew he still had his boots on, and meanwhile you were stripped of everything. Not just your clothes: you were stripped of all pretense (didn’t need it) and dignity (didn’t want it). You’d thought of yourself as his for quite some time now, but now that he’d really made you his, it was more than you could’ve imagined.
When you came with him inside you, it wasn’t like how it was before— definitely similar, obviously the same thing at the core of it, but very different. Before it was so… sudden, like a firework going off and then glittering into darkness (at least, that was how you understood fireworks to be, you’d only ever had them explained to you). This was more like a deep pressure that just built and built and built, and then at some point you’d crossed that threshold and you were there but it didn’t go away, it just stayed at the peak while he kept moving inside you.
He grunted as your walls beared down on him, watching the tears of ecstasy stream down your face. “Tryin’ to milk my cock, huh?” he accused with a snarl to his tone. “S’that what you want?”
You weren’t really paying attention, you couldn’t while he was fucking you like that. Digging your fingers into his shoulders through the flannel shirt, you just whimpered and nodded.
“S’workin’, baby,” he smiled, “little pussy’s got me so tight— is it a little too much, honey? You’re cryin’...”
“I— I always cry,” you sniffled.
“M’not gonna make you take too much more,” he promised, “doin’ so good honey— gonna let you rest soon—”
“No, d-don’t stop,” you begged, and he laughed a little.
“I’m close,” he explained, and even though that should’ve been obvious, it made you feel better. “Normally takes me a little longer, but… never had a pussy like this.”
That was probably just flattery, but you were happy to believe it. Happy enough to just lay back and let that pleasure wash over you, but of course, he expected more of you than that.
"Tell me where I can come," he ordered.
"Fuck, Joel— anywhere you want, anywhere," you pleaded, struggling to keep your train of thought but desperate to appease him as best you could.
"Inside you?" he pressed.
"Yeah, fuck, anywhere," you insisted.
"I bet that's what you want— you want it inside. You want this cunt full and dripping."
“Fuck— yeah,” you agreed, “s’what I want— please, please—”
“Shh, don’t need to beg,” he assured sweetly, kissing your neck again— burying his face in the crook of your shoulder, until his panting breaths echoed on your skin. “Don’t need to beg, darlin’, gonna fill you nice and deep—”
“Please,” you said again, ignoring his assurances.
“Just like you need it—”
“Please, Joel— love you so much,” you sobbed, your thighs starting to go a little numb where his jeans were rubbing against them and your clit getting sore from the way he stayed deep inside and grinded himself against you.
“I know,” he promised again, “jus’ say it one more time.”
“I love you, Joel,” you cried, and it was over somewhat suddenly: he stayed still, and you could feel his grip on you tighten, and you heard that sound that was like a groan and a sigh at the same time. You’d hoped you’d be able to really feel it inside you, the warmth of his come, but everything was so hot that it was all the same— what you did feel was full, even more than you had just from his cock in you, and it was enough to make you clutch at his shoulders again despite having almost no energy left in you.
Though he stayed inside for a little while after, he did eventually have to pull out; you were too exhausted to even think about trying to close your legs when he stared down at you— at his come leaking slowly from your hole.
You knew there would need to be a conversation soon about what this all meant— what should happen now with the business, with your relationship, even just what should happen tomorrow morning since you’d both given in to instinct rather than take the safer route and have Joel pull out…
But that would have to wait; you still couldn’t think straight, you couldn’t think about anything but him in fact.
Thankfully, Joel was just fine with the silence. He just held you, let you wander between sleep and wakefulness, and wiped that last stray tear away from your face.
“I’m sorry I keep crying,” you offered quietly, breaking a long silence.
“I don’t mind,” he promised.
#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller hbo x reader#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n
4K notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
bag-o-demons
A Stupid Kinnie On Main
snddesigns
SND ARCHITECTURE
pennylittlekitten
PENNY KITTEN
allthingsbruceboxleitner
All things Bruce Boxleitner
cultofrezz
The Cult of Rezz