#i had no idea the character is a garbage man | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

horanghater · 8 months

Text

Imported

Summary: Seungcheol can hold a conversation and liquor, but that’s not what counts, is it?

▸ Pairing: Seungcheol x AFAB!reader

▸ Rating / Genre / AU: 18+ (MINORS/AGELESS DNI)/ smut, pwp / fuck buddies to ? If you are a minor AND/OR if your account has no age in the bio, you will be blocked upon interacting (liking/reblogging) with this post.

▸ Warnings: infidelity, creampie

▸ Word Count: 2k

▸ A/N: This is another take on the “people making bad choices at a wedding” idea explored in Like I Want You, though the perspective is closer to Imported (Jessie Reyez & 6LACK). Yes, I am a garbage character enjoyer. Perpetually trading favors with the loml/beta/banner maker @shuadotcom! <3 Starting with a read more due to the opening vulgarities.

The first time you and Seungcheol hook up, he’s simply looking for a good fuck. The second time, too. The third time is a thinly veiled dick appointment, but he’s not against being a booty call for a hot piece of ass. When the drunken hypothetical idea of being an Official Sidepiece comes up with friends, he’d said that’s only for losers, yet when you call him for a fourth time - after you’d said the first three were a mistake while you were on a break with your fiance - his pride goes out the window. Seungcheol isn’t the type to fall in love at first sight, but he was pussy-whipped at first lick. When that fourth call comes he figures maybe he can help you get over that prick by getting on top of you, just the way you like. And it seems to work – kinda. Eight months later he’s still on your speed dial, which is his personal best for staying as a legitimate contact in a woman’s phone.

But nine months later your engagement ring is joined by a matching silver band and calm, cool Seungcheol has never had to try so hard not to make an ass of himself in a room full of people.

You look stunning in your wedding dress - almost better than you look naked. Those rings look good on your finger too, though he can’t help the thin-lipped frown that settles on his face when that clown slides the band on. He barely hides a disapproving “eugh” with a cough when you kiss your beloved a little too long at the altar. The collective applause from the rest of your wedding guests is the only thing that saves him.

By the time the ceremony has crawled by and everyone breaks for cocktail hour, Seungcheol’s thoroughly irritated and has an itch on his palm that he can’t seem to scratch. He’s this close to going home, but then the DJ announces your grand entrance as “Mr. and Mrs. L/N” and despite the much less hidden “eugh”, he stays. Fuck the wedding dress. This shorter dress with your garter just barely peeking out is less of a dream and more of a tangible treat. Seungcheol’s stomach is doing acrobatics as he stands on the sidelines of the dancefloor with a drink in hand, watching you make the rounds to each of your guests. No matter how much time passes, he never gets tired of looking at you. He is tired of watching you turn around in search of your husband, only to plaster on your fakest smile when you spy him roughhousing with his groomsmen on the other side of the room. The man is completely oblivious to your needs - your words nine months ago at the bar - and frankly, is a complete embarrassment next to someone as immaculate as you.

The groom drives that very point home soon enough. When he finally does rejoin your side, drink in hand, it only takes one good joke from another guest for him to nearly spit out his drink as he roars with laughter. And although he spares everyone his spit, he’s generous enough to slosh some of his beverage onto your dress. Most people can’t see the aftermath, but from Seungcheol’s corner he can see the way you barely mask your vexation and politely excuse yourself before too many people notice anything’s happened.

The idiot returns to his friends. Seungcheol opts to down the rest of his liquor and quietly exit the reception hall and follow you to the bathroom.

You’re dabbing at your chest with a paper towel when he lets himself in and locks the door behind him. “O-Oh!” If you’re trying to sound nonchalant, you absolutely suck at it. “Cheol, hey. Thank you for coming.” Seeing you like this twists his innards into a knot that sits heavy in his gut like bad indigestion. He has to choose being being mad at your beau or being mad and you - and there’s only one person he can punch in the face so… “Why are you so fucking fake?” “I– What?” You stop fussing with your dress to fix Seungcheol with a belligerent look that you used to give everyone but him at the bar all those months ago.

Seungcheol takes a few steps toward you, but is careful not to get in your face. His mouth isn’t as cautious as his body language, however. “Why? Are you? So? Fake?”

“Are you serious? You’re fake. What are you even doing here?” “Are you serious? You invited me!”

You show the least amount of restraint you’ve had all night, closing the gap between the two of you to square up with the man who could easily throw you into the toilet headfirst. “Stop copying me. I invited you because we’re friends, but I wouldn’t have if I thought you were gonna be a jerk.” Seungcheol’s laugh is more bitter than he’d intended when he scoffs, “How many other ‘friends’ are you sleeping with? Besides, you’re already married to the biggest jerk in existence.”

You’re fixing your mouth to bite back at his casual slut-shaming, but the second comment gives you pause and you conspicuously eye the locked door. “What is this about?”

What is this about? Seungcheol had been taken with the idea of swooping in to comfort you, swept up in the idea of being a rock (instead of just a cock) for you to lean on. He needed to step in as your man, not just a lover. The realization shakes him and when he falters, you ensnare him in your web yet again.

“Ooh, Cheollie,” you coo, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your chest into his. “Are you jealous? You want me that bad?”

Is Seungheol experiencing a cardiac event? No, but the way heat seems to radiate from your joined chests and into his bones is startling. He enters autopilot as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to rest your core on his thigh the way he knows you like. His dick reminds him that common sense wasn’t invited when this conversation started and isn’t welcome now, not when your bedroom eyes are dragging him into the depths of his greed need to make you his. “Cheol~” Your siren song calls him back to the reality of you grinding against him weakly, asking for more.

You’ve been picking him apart piece-by-piece for ages and even though Seungcheol knows it, he decides he’d rather you eat him alive than leave him to rot without your touch.

“Babe…” it sounds so normal on his tongue - it’s sick. “It should be me and you know it.”

“Prove it, then.” With the way you try to plant your feet in your heels, Seungcheol knows you’re going to roll your body into him again. He stops you before you can steal another ounce of pleasure - he’ll give so you don’t always have to take, take, take. Crowding you toward the sink, he spins you around so you’re leaning your elbows on the counter and arching your back to leave little to the imagination as your dress shifts halfway up your asscheeks. Not that Seuncheol has to imagine - he does the rest of the work for you, pushing the fabric to rest on the small of your back and leaving only your thong and garter to cover your supple skin. A finger pulls your thong to the side and you keen impatiently, watching him in the mirror as he marvels at the way your lower lips glint with the shine of your arousal.

“Cheol–”

“Shut up, Y/N.” He finally scratches that itch on his palm by slapping your ass so hard that you’ll have to explain yourself to that other dickhead later. Seungcheol’s dick is out of his pants and battering your walls before you can say much about it, his weight keeping you trapped between himself and the cold granite as he mounts you the way you deserve. Your pussy does most of the talking, squelching every time the plush of your ass meets his hips in a sloppy, barely coordinated dance. That’s ok - Seungcheol doesn’t need you to talk when he can watch your brows knit together and your mouth open in that perfect, silent “o” in the mirror as he hammers into your g spot again and again and again.

When your legs start to shake, Seungcheol pulls hard at your bunched up dress with one hand and uses the other to grip you possessively by the front of your neck, almost making you stand straight up so he can spear you on his fat cock (your words, again) the way no one else can. “Say it.” He loves the way you go pliant under his touch and flutter around him when the low gravel of his voice scrapes the shell of your ear. “Say that no one else can fuck you like me.” He’s so caught up in the pursuit of his own climax that he doesn’t hear the quiet knock at the door. “Answer. Me. Y/N.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust harder than the last and your whimpers in response are hoarse.

“O-Occupied!” you call weakly instead and it’s only then that Seungcheol’s brain touches back down to where you are and what you’re doing. It’s too late to stop anyway. He lets you go in favor of pushing you back down to the counter and pulling you into him by your hips, watching your ass jiggle in the shitty bathroom lighting as he continues to serve take you. A few more thrusts are enough to establish that this is how he’d finish you off and he underlines it by snaking a hand around to press messily at the hard nub of your clit. Seungcheol doesn’t even need an answer anymore. “No one is ever gonna fuck you like this. Nobody can. Only me. You can only cum like this from me.”

“Is everything ok in there?” The night’s biggest fool is on the other side of the door and his voice only serves to make Seungcheol fuck you harder - he almost puts you straight through the mirror with the way he’s damn near forcing your torso into the sink.

“Y-ye-heh… Yesss, I’ll be rrright out! Just…fixing! My dress!” Your words are slurred with pleasure and you should have some shame, Seungcheol thinks distantly, but shamelessness is what got you both here in the first place, so who is he to judge?

“Ok, honey, love you,” the moron calls from the hallway. You just barely manage to wheeze out “I love you too” before you’re gasping loudly, a hand flying back to scratch at Seungcheol’s wrists as your orgasm seizes your muscles where they are so you can ride out the pleasure. Seungcheol keeps his momentum for just a minute longer before he cums inside you like fate intended, groaning loudly behind you as he throws his head back.

The euphoric wave of his release is dampened, however, when his eyes slip open to meet yours in the mirror. Seungcheol regards you like a priceless piece of art. You look at him like a plump black widow, sated for now.

Seungcheol release you and pulls out as quickly as he can without injuring you. “Let me get you something.” He shuffles into a stall behind him and grabs a wad of toilet paper to present to you. You can clean yourself up for once.

“Lose my number, Y/N.”

Another month goes by and Seungcheol is moving on by laying beneath another gorgeous woman, ogling at the endless wonders of her tits as she rides him to completion. Pussy and tequila cures all, he muses lazily when she falls asleep beside him. He grabs his phone to set a timer as a reminder to kick her out after a quick nap when an instragram banner glides across the top of his screen. Message from **Y/N:** You blocked my number fr? 😒Let me make it up to you. Bar @ 11?

#kvanity #s.coups #scoups #seungcheol #s.coups x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #s.coups smut #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #svt smut #s.coups fic #seungcheol fic #scoups fic

271 notes · View notes

finkinthisfrew · 7 months

Text

TEACHER'S PET (Pt.4)

cw: 18+, teacher/student, slow burn, pining, public arousal, public nudity, vomit (I'm so sorry- it's brief), v inappropriate :)

Since most of y'all were okay with another (accidental) chapter of buildup/tension/pining, here you are (any complaints that they haven't fucked yet can be disposed of directly in the garbage- good things come to those who wait <3 )

Teacher's Pet Part 4

You barge through the door of the bar, your blood boiling, what was lust before now turning into anger as you storm towards the bar, your eyes burning your anger into the back of his head where he sits, chatting with the same band mate as before. You tear at the buttons of your Professors coat, wrenching it off of you and tossing it on his lap as step between him and his tall drummer friend. You lean in front of him across the bar towards the same bartender that’d been drooling over you mere minutes ago, painting on your most seductive smile.

“Hazel,” you hear your Professor warn quietly as you flutter your eyelashes at the bartender, ordering another drink from him.

“Maybe when you get off we could get out of here,” you say loudly with a cheeky grin to the bartender as he hands you your drink, blatantly ignoring your Professor. You slide a few bills across the bar, letting your fingers linger on the bartenders hand, just long enough for your Professor to open his mouth before swiftly turning around and walking away. You don’t even hear the bartender as he sputters and stutters at you while he drools over your backside. No, all you care about is the brief flash of fury you caught in your Professors eyes as you turned, the image now playing over and over in your mind as you walk with purpose back to the dance floor.

You see Bex in the back, lips locked with a new man. You have no idea what happened to the last guy, but you can’t focus on that now. You’re on a mission. You scan the crowd, spotting a familiar face on the edge of the dance floor chatting with a girl you don’t recognize. You walk up behind him, tapping him on the shoulder, pleased to see a smile of curiosity on the bass player’s face as he turns to meet your flirtatious gaze.

“Hi, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” you say, running your hand down his large bicep lightly as you ignore the look of murder thrown at you by the girl he’d been speaking with. “I just had to say, you played so well- the show was amazing!”

“Oh thank you! That’s very kind of you,” he says with a charming smile, tilting his head in intrigue as he takes a step closer to you, his large muscled body towering over you.

He is quite handsome, you realize. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so difficult to make your Professor jealous after all…

“Fancy a dance?” You ask with an innocent smile, gesturing behind you with your thumb.

“I’ve been waiting all night for someone to ask me,” he replies with a big grin, taking your hand in his as he pulls you onto the dance floor.

It’s not long before the two of your are grinding, running your hands all over each other, losing track of whose is whose. You’re having so much fun, but nothing is more rewarding, nor delicious than the look on your Professor’s face every time you look over. It doesn’t matter how much time passes (not that you’re a good judge of character while drunk), every time you take a peek at your Professor, he’s exactly where you left him: leaning against the bar, arms crossed, watching you with a scorching glare on his face. You hum happily as you grind against the giant muscled man behind you, closing your eyes and imagining that it was someone else behind you…

You open your eyes once more and smile devilishly as you spot your Professor’s glare once more.

“I’m thirsty- shots?” You yell to the bassist who nods with a smile. You weave your way through the crowd of bodies straight, and this time the bassist leads you over to your Professor. He nods at him cheekily, missing the lack of your Professor’s reciprocation when he turns to order a round of shots for all three of you. He passes them out and holds his up to cheers, your Professor tossing it back without waiting.

“To new friends,” the bassist smiles warmly to you as he clinks his glass against yours.

“Hopefully not just friends for much longer,” you say suggestively without breaking eye contact before tilting your head back and downing the shot. He raises his eyebrows with a smile as he takes his own shot, impressed by your forwardness. This was one step too far though, your Professor’s loud voice commanding his friends attention.

“Ross, can I speak with you for a mo-”

“Oh my god, I’m sorry to interrupt, but this is my favorite song,” you groan with excitement as you bounce on your toes excitedly, grabbing onto Ross’s arm and dragging him back to the dance floor. There was no way you were going to let him interrupt your plans- not after what he said in the alley…

“Talk after, mate!” Ross yells, holding up his index finger to your Professor as he follows you back onto the dance floor.

You realize as you stumble after Ross that you’re finally starting to feel a bit drunk. You savor the inhibition, letting your body move closer against Ross’s as you dance. You close your eyes, allowing the relaxing feeling to take over your body, lulling you into a haze as you feel Ross’s hands run sensually over your stomach, their touch the last memory you have of the night…

——

The pounding in your head wakes you up and the smell of something acrid fills your nose as you groan loudly, rolling over in your bed. But you realize very quickly that you’re not in your bed. Your eyes shoot wide open as you sit upright in the bed, the sudden movement making you wince in pain as your hangover protests. You scan the slightly spinning room, bright and white, the few simple modest wood furnishings in the room covered in endless piles of books, the only decoration on the walls being various shelves covered in more books as well as vinyls, CD’s, tapes… You look to your right, the culprit of the smell sitting in a large metal bowl on the wooden floor beside you, a wave of nausea hitting you along with the stench. You pinch your nose in an effort to not add more of your stomach’s contents to the bowl when the thought strikes you. You look down to your body in a moment of terror, comforted slightly when you confirm that you’re clothed. Another moment passes and fear seeps in again when you realize you aren’t wearing your own clothes. You touch the soft fabric of the washed out black long sleeve shirt and heather grey sweatpants underneath. You catch a whiff of something familiar… You clutch the shirt in your hand, bringing it to your nose, taking in the scent of cigarettes, chalk, and something a little spicy…

“I was starting to worry I’d have to dispose of a body pretty soon,” you hear in a familiar voice. You turn and freeze as you spot your Professor leaning against the doorway of the bedroom with his eyebrows raised, a mug of something steaming in his hand. He takes a sip as you look at him, and you frown in confusion, looking down at yourself in his bed once more.

“Nothing happened, in case you’re fretting,” he clarifies with a frown of distaste. You feel an odd combination of disappointment and relief- though the thought of sleeping with him thrills you, you don’t think you would have felt entirely comfortable if you hadn’t been conscious enough to remember it… It felt somewhat reassuring that he didn’t feel comfortable with it either.

“Why am I here then?” You grumble in annoyance before cursing loudly at the throb of pain in your head, running your hands down your face as you moan. You hear a soft chuckle come from the doorway. You feel your blood boil. “Got too jealous to let me go home with anyone else?” You taunt in a hiss.

“Miss Schwartz left without you,” you hear his tone darken. You open your eyes to see his face dark once again. “I’m not sure if you remember the rather unsavory characters draping themselves all over you last night after you finished your little rebellious performance for me…” he trails off with a grumble.

“Oh you mean your friend from the band?” You say smugly, trying not to wince from your pounding headache as you lay back against the pillow with your arms crossed proudly.

“No, Ross left after your third round of shots,” your Professor says in a bored tone. But his eyes don’t look so bored, the anger simmering behind them causing you to look away, their intensity too much for your hungover brain to handle right now. “This was much later into the night,” you hear him say as you begin to sulk.

“Who says I was performing for you?” you mumble stubbornly with a frown, clamping your hand to your forehead when the sound from your own mouth banged like a gong in your forehead. The ringing continues in your head as you look down at your lap to steady your breath, but you realize quickly that the room has become silent. You turn to look at your Professor and are met with a cold, unimpressed look. Another beat passes and he stands up straight, eyes boring into you.

“There’s pain medication on the counter in the kitchen. You can see yourself out, Miss Thompson,” he says before turning to walk away.

“Wait!” You call out, the room spinning a bit as you sit up. Your Professor hesitates at the door, and you jump on the opportunity before he can disappear again. “Can’t we just talk about this? Us? Like adults?” You plead angrily, his unnecessary kindness and cool behavior making you more confused than ever.

You watch him turn, his eyes narrowing on you.

“There is nothing to talk about, Miss Thompson. Now, please help yourself to something decent to wear home. I’d rather you not be seen leaving my building in that handkerchief from last night…” he ends with a mutter before making to turn again, but you’re too enraged to let him leave you in shambles once again. Whether it was the intimacy of being in his home or the residual thrill from his promise last night, you’re not sure, but something makes you finally snap.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” You yell as he freezes in the doorway, his eyebrows raised slightly in shock. “You act like the thought of sleeping with me would send us both to death row, then you tell you me you’re going to fuck me senseless, but,” you point your finger for emphasis, “Not for four years! Then you tell me to leave, and now I’m waking up in your bed?!? Seriously, what the fuck!”

You catch your breath, waiting for a response as you watch him slump slightly against the doorframe looking at the floor in silence. You stare at him expectantly and he eventually he looks up at you, a glimmer of sadness in his eyes before he averts his eyes once again.

“I didn’t want you to get… hurt,” he says quietly, his voice faltering slightly as he shifts his eyes uncomfortably. He pauses for a moment, looking at the floorboards in silence before he clears his throat of the emotion in his voice. His eyes flicking back up to you, his gaze more firm this time. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone in a strange home with no explanation,” he finishes abruptly. Your heart flutters when you realize how much he��d gone out of his way to keep you safe- to take care of you. To do something so incredibly risky and incredibly selfless- even after you’d been so reckless last night. You feel touched as you blush, raising your hand to your cheek as you hear your Professor clear his throat again.

“This is a very dangerous game to play, Miss Thompson,” he says formally now as you look back up to see him emotionless once again. “And if anything showed me you’re not ready to play it, it was last night.” He pauses, scanning you one last time before standing up straight again. “Now. I’m very late for a rehearsal. Good day, Miss Thompson…” he says darkly before turning into the hall, leaving you alone, more dazed and confused than ever. If it weren’t for the emotional whiplash, you would have yelled after him again, but instead you sit with your head spinning as you listen to his footsteps fade behind the slam of a door, the sound dying off into the distance.

As you sit there stewing in your frustration, a fresh wave of anger hits you, this one much stronger than the previous ones. Very quickly you realize that with this anger came a wave of nausea.

Toilet. You need a toilet. Now.

You get up from the bed quickly and dash down the hall directionless. You see a door just before the entrance to the living room and spot the toilet, diving into the bathroom just in time for the second, even stronger wave of nausea. But not before you catch the sight of a couch in the corner of your eye, rumpled grey blanket and white pillow still arranged on it as if someone had just slept there…

You heave into the toilet, annoyed at the familiarity of the sensation, realizing you must have thrown up in here multiple times last night as you rest your clammy forehead against the cool porcelain. The only thing missing from the ghost of last nights memory, you realize, is the soothing sensation of hand rubbing tender circles in your back…

— —

You tighten your coat around you as a particularly strong gust of wind hits you, mumbling a string of curse words at yourself for having decided to wear such a short skirt on such a chilly fall day as you arrive at campus early Monday morning. It’s been over a week since you’d found yourself at your Professor’s house that morning and you can’t help but smile smugly to yourself as you walk up the steps into the familiar brick building, several hours before you needed to be there.

The Monday after the concert, you’d decided to skip class- your mind too scrambled, too fried to be able to sit through an entire class with Professor Healy teaching. The following Friday, you showed up expecting your teacher to ignore you, make his own life easier by just snubbing you, but to your surprise (and let’s be honest- delight) his stern gaze followed you as you entered the room just in time for class to start.

“Nice of you to join us today, Miss Thompson. I presume whatever ailment prevented you from attending my class is gone now?” He’d said loudly, the class silent as they waited nervously for your response.

“Yes, I’m feeling much better, Professor,” you said meekly, standing awkwardly in front of his desk. You stared at him with pink-tinged cheeks, taking in his beauty for the first time in almost a week. It felt impossible you could have forgotten just how handsome he was, and yet somehow you had, his features even more perfect in person than the countless times you’d reimagined him while rubbing useless circles into your clit, laying frustrated in bed as the memory of your Professor burnt an endless need within you.

Suddenly you realized the room staring at you, as well as your teacher, the look on his face expectant- you didn’t even hear his question.

“Huh?” You said, blushing immediately at your ineloquence. The smirk on your Professor’s face only deepened the shade of pink on yours as he repeated himself.

“Are you ready?” He asked, eyebrows raised patronizingly.

This is a very dangerous game to play… and if anything showed me you’re not ready to play it… echoed over and over in your head.

“Yes, Professor,” you nodded quietly in a daze, still standing in your spot.

“… If you’re ready to begin the lesson, then I suggest you find your seat, Miss Thompson,” he said sternly, but you weren’t fooled. You could see the delight at your dazed state dancing behind his eyes. You turned on your heels, fuming inside before sitting down, realizing that if you wanted to play his game, you were going to have to show him how ready you really were.

Now, as you stroll down the hall only a few days later, you practically shiver with excitement at the thought of your plan as you climb the large staircase inside up towards the teachers floor. Once you arrive at the door with its simple brass plaque that read ‘Prof. Healy’, the window covered with several sheets of newspaper for privacy, you knock before trying the door handle, the door swinging open with ease. You’d never seen his office before, but it was exactly like you’d expected after having seen his home- full of warm brown wooden furnishings and covered head to toe in books, the walls decorated in old exhibition posters and prints of various paintings. It was academic and handsome, just like him. Pleased when you see the office empty, you close the door shut behind you, then hurry over to his desk, eager to get in and out quickly. You reach under your skirt and begin to pull down your already soaked panties, your plan exciting you well before you stepped onto campus this morning. You place them in the centre of his desk, smiling at the glistening fabric in satisfaction before scurrying back out, pulling the office door shut.

You planned ahead this time, wearing a black skirt today which you were grateful for, as the first few classes were torture to get through- the thought of your Professor finding your wet panties on his desk all too delicious for you to do much more than take autopilot notes in your classes as you imagined all the different faces he might make when spotting them. You’d just begun to daydream about him touching himself in his office, the thought so filthy, so thrilling, so forbidden, you could feel yourself behind to drip down your leg when you finally headed towards your last and favorite class of the day. You bit your lip as you walked towards the door of the classroom in an effort to hide your smile of excitement, holding your breath in anticipation at what was to come.

You keep your eyes on your seat in the front row as you enter the room. You can feel his eyes burning on your skin as you walk. You sit down in your seat slowly, and take your time as you pull out your things from your backpack one by one, carefully placing them on your desk, organizing them neatly while savoring the burn of his stare. You sit up straight, cross your legs, and lace your fingers together in your most innocent goody-two-shoes pose before finally lifting your eyes up to meet his.

His stare shakes you to your core, his dark eyes glaring at you unimpressed from under heavy eyelids, his thick curls covering his subtly furrowed brow. His hands are clasped in front of his mouth, propped up on his elbows as he runs his thumb over and over his bottom lip. The last time you’d seen his eyes smolder with this much intensity, he’d dragged you out to the alley to tell you he was going to fuck you senseless after graduation. Either his patience was wearing thin, or he had understood your message that you were ready to play his game, but either way, you could tell he wasn’t planning on letting this go anytime soon. You simply smile back at him, too pleased with yourself not to luxuriate in your obvious success.

The class begins as normal and you try your best to focus as you take notes, writing down your Professor’s words ravenously, an effort not to draw hearts around each one. You’re grateful for the lack of class participation during the lesson. There was no way you’d be able to construct a coherent sentence, let alone one worth participation marks- not when every moment of silence between his words filled with the images of your Professor pumping himself in his hand to your panties. By the time the end of your class nears, you can feel you've soaked through your skirt- significantly.

You glance at the clock- only a few minutes of class left. No time for homework prep this time… Your eyes hurry back to your Professor- so little of your precious time left to look at your gorgeous teacher. You scan his body once more as he paces the front of the class when you notice a curious shape in his pocket, the fabric on his right side moving a little differently than on the left. Then, you spot it. A little sliver of black lace peeking out of his pocket, imperceivable to anyone who wasn’t looking for it, the black of his pants masking its presence.

He pocketed them. Professor Healy has your panties in his pocket.

You recross your legs, squeezing them tightly as you do, the itch between your legs desperate for some relief as you all but drool at him. The last minutes of class slip away like sand between your fingers, and suddenly everyone is gathering their things and leaving the room. You shake yourself from your daze, then smile to yourself as you take your time with finishing up your notes for the day and placing your belongings in your backpack. When you’re sure you’re the last person in the class, you slowly stand up.

“Excuse me, Professor?” You say loudly, your tone dripping with innocence. You wait for him to look up at you, eyes already challenging you before you turn, then slowly bend over, revealing your lack of undergarments- your glistening cunt entirely on display as you bend over to retrieve your backpack from the ground. You could practically feel his eyes, their gaze caressing the skin between your legs, a fresh drip of wetness rolling down the inside of your thigh. You stand back up straight and shiver with pleasure when you turn, the look on your Professors face all too delicious as you approach him.

“I finished the homework you assigned,” you say as if you hadn’t just exposed yourself entirely to your Professor.

“You didn’t have any assignments this week, Miss Thompson,” he replies. His tone is bored but the look on his face is anything but, the lust practically dripping from his parted lips.

You step even closer to him. There’s less than a foot between you two now.

“I don’t think you assigned it to everyone, Professor,” you say, your voice thick with desire. “I’m pretty sure you only asked me to touch myself at the thought of you, sir,” you say under fluttering eyelashes. You watch as his mouth tightens, nostrils flaring as he deliberately holds himself back, desperate not to let you win.

“If you think this is going to wo-“ he begins in a threatening voice, but you cut him off.

“I thought it was only fair to give you something to think about when you touch yourself, Professor,” you say innocently, looking up at him with your biggest doe eyes. “I’m just trying to be the best student I can be for you, sir,” you blink up at him.

“And you thought exposing yourself in my classroom would make you teacher’s pet?” He says, his voice gravelly with restrained desire.

You nod at him.

“I’ll be your pet,” you say, your eyes softening to something more sincere. “I’ll be anything you want me to be,” you breathe, tilting your chin up towards him, your lips only a couple inches from his.

“How about clothed and not a nuisance in my class?” he offers through gritted teeth.

You reach up on your tip toes, brushing your lips against his neck as you purr into his ear.

“If you wanted me clothed you shouldn’t have hid these somewhere so tempting…” you whisper as you slip your hand into his pocket where he’d tucked your panties. Just as your fingers enclose around the familiar delicate lace, you smile when you come across something even more exciting. You hear his breath hitch as your fingers brush against his length, warm and hard against your fingertips. You suck in a gasp when you feel his hand on your wrist, gripping you tightly as he removes you from his pocket. Your heart pounds in your chest with anticipation, as he looks down at you with a fury so deep, you can barely stay upright from the weakness in your knees.

Then, he utters one word. One sinfully delectable word.

“Detention.”

part 5

171 notes · View notes

thezombieprostitute · 4 months

Text

Dream Come True - Part 3

Summary: The “Garbage Men” are the guys in the mob who get the dirt on others and clean up after the higher ups. They have many different ways of gathering intel by running legitimate businesses. One such business is Jefferson/Jensen’s cyber cafe where you regularly go to work. You’ve actually become good friends with Jefferson’s daughter and Jensen’s niece. You even volunteered as their after-school tutor. One day, there’s a robbery attempt where you get hurt protecting the girls. This is how you are introduced to Curtis Everett, the guy in charge of the “Garbage Men”.

Warnings: Violence mentioned and referenced, not written. Insecure reader. Bullying with an emphasis on fat shaming. Please let me know if I miss any!

Part 2 -- Part 4

Series Masterlist

Ransom was not having a good day. Truth be told, he hadn't had a good day since Steve punched his stomach over a week ago. The writer's block had hit harder than usual. Many applicants for the Assistant position were garbage, completely upsetting his idea that you just needed to google the right answers.

He was starting to realize that Fatso, as he had taken to calling her in his head, was able to help him through his writing blocks because she had the context of the other questions, some rough draft information, and she'd include ways to use her research into the story. Maybe he just needed to actually hire someone from the "competent" file and try from there?

Problem was, time was an issue. His writer's block had kicked in hard and his publisher was getting more impatient about updates. He spent so much time just staring at his computer.

He was startled out of his contemplation by a phone call. If it was his publisher he'd just ignore it but the Caller ID showed "Steve Rogers".

Ransom answered, "Rogers! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Where the hell are you Drysdale?" Steve was quiet growling into the phone. Indicating he was around others.

"What do you mean?"

"The damned Stark party? Raising funds for Rhodes's campaign?!" Ransom could swear he heard Steve's teeth grinding. "You're supposed to be here chatting with Mrs. Devereaux. Buttering her up to at least not donate to Wilford?!"

"Shit," Ransom jumped up and ran towards his closet. "Tell her I'll be there in 20 minutes. If she needs an excuse, I was writing up a storm. I'll make it up to her by naming a character after her or something."

"Just. Get. Here." Steve hung up.

Yeah, Ransom was not having a good day.

Your life was returning to some sense of normalcy. The crutches were a pain but, thankfully, you didn't have a lot of places to go. You wanted to get back to working as quickly as you could, if only to feel like you were actually earning some of the money you'd been given.

But you'd kept your promise to be safe, and allow yourself to heal. You did your best to keep within the movement restrictions you were given. Part of you was still waiting for that hospital bill. Yes, Curtis, Dr. Beck, even Jake and Jefferson all said it was taken care of but part of you still waited for that dreaded notice of nonpayment.

Thankfully the cybercafe wasn't too far and you were able to convince the J's (as they told you to call them) that it was the perfect distance for your needed exercise and movement and you'd sit at the cafe long enough to rest for the return trip. You were happy to get back to tutoring the girls in the afternoons. Your mornings were spent applying for other jobs.

One morning your applications were interrupted by Jake.

"Hey, Y/N, this is Hal," Jake gestured to the handsome, shirt-haired man, wearing a too small shirt, next to him. "He's here to work with you towards getting his GED.”

"Oh, yes," you perk up. "Curtis mentioned another possible student." You reach out your hand and Hal, grinning even wider, shakes it.

"It's mighty kind of you to agree to this," he began. "I've been meaning to fill in that gap on my resume for some time.”

"Well I'm happy to help you with that. Please, have a seat so we can get started?”

Hal pulls out the nearest chair and turns it so that he sits on it backwards, his muscly arms resting on the back of the chair.

"So, is this a time that works for you," you ask. "I've got a pretty open schedule so your time preferences are get priority.”

"Well," he hesitates, "my schedule is pretty all-over-the-place. Is there any chance we could take it a week at a time?”

"Sure," you affirm. "As long as you give me notice so I'm not sitting here doing nothing.”

"Yes, ma'am," Hal nods. "I'm not in the habit of leaving pretty girls wanting." He gives a wink but you drop your eyes and sigh.

"Hal," you scold. "I'm going to guess you're the type to hit on anything that breathes?”

Clearly taken aback by your tone Hal straightens in his seat. "No," he denies. "Maybe. I swear I was just trying to compliment you.”

You pause your comeback and take a deep breath instead. "I suppose there is a difference," you concede. “Just please be careful with both of those around me. I am not a "pretty girl" and I do not appreciate being addressed as such.”

Hal's eyebrows furrow in confusion so you continue, "let's just keep the compliments related to our work? Please? I'd always prefer being smart or nice to being pretty." You give him a small smile and he visibly relaxes.

"Sure thing, Teach," he says. "So, where should we start?”

Curtis was cleaning up the interrogation room after Barnes and Fowler's latest “message” to Rumlow’s crew. They had already taken the body to drop it off on Rumlow's front door, Curtis would make sure all evidence was removed from the room. It was ugly work but maybe, just maybe, Rumlow would stop trying to push his drugs and thugs in their territory.

He was finishing up when he got a text from Jefferson saying Hal’s first session went well. He normally doesn't need these kinds of updates from the legitimate side of things but he found himself rather invested in your progress. You were unusual. A puzzle he wanted to figure out.

Or so he kept telling himself to explain why he was thinking about you so much. You’d shown yourself to be sweet and patient with others but he remembers the fire with which you spoke to him. He almost felt like a moth drawn to your light but he had to keep himself in check. For now it was enough to know you were doing well and helping his family.

At least until he got the follow up text from Jefferson saying, “Ran is looking for Teach. Ok to share info?”

Curtis felt his jaw tighten. The pompous ass had fired someone for taking a bullet. He didn't want him anywhere near you. He was sure you wouldn't want to see Ransom, either. Jake had told him you'd blocked your former boss’s number and his emails would go straight to spam. He texted back a simple “no.” Let the asshole suffer.

Part 2 -- Part 4

Tagging @alicedopey because I promised I would.

@dontbescaredtosingalong

@icefrozendeadlyqueen

@texmexdarling

@veltana

@winter-soldier-101

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

#Curtis Everett x plus size!reader #curtis everett x reader #mob!curtis everett #mafia!curtis everett #Curtis Everett x female!reader

119 notes · View notes

punkshort · 9 months

Text

Chapter warnings: language, violence, angst

A/N: I have very little knowledge of the NYC subway system, or the NYC landscape, really (I've only been there once). Just use your imagination lol it's fiction!

Chapter Nine

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

You sat perched on a couch in the living room while Joel tended to the body in the kitchen, but only after he confirmed you were alone. You felt numb, like there was an aching hole in your chest about to destroy you. Staring at the ground with your jaw slack, you rocked back and forth with your knees pressed to your chest, reliving the murder you just committed. His blood was warm and sticky over your face and chest as you drove the heavy statue into his skull repeatedly, brain matter spattering out on the floor. You remembered slipping in the blood when you had to shift your weight and get better leverage. You remembered the helpless moans and gurgles the man made in the beginning, before the fourth or fifth strike put an end to him. But you had kept going, kept crushing his face until he was unrecognizable. You had no idea you could do something so savage, so brutally unhinged, and you were terrified. The only other time you could recall feeling that type of rage was in Joel’s office a week ago. But even then, you were just mad. This was different. This was violent and sick. You felt your stomach churn and you glanced around frantically under the light of a lantern to find a receptacle. You spotted a garbage can under a desk at the side of the room, and you made it just in time, kneeling on the floor and heaving into the basket.

Hearing the noises from the kitchen, Joel reappeared in the living room, quickly wiping his hands of blood before you saw. Once you had stopped and leaned back, Joel took a few tentative steps forward. “You alright?” he asked, fully aware how ridiculous the question was, but he didn’t know what else to say.

All you could do was shake your head, then you buried your face in your hands, trying to hold back the next wave of tears. Joel picked up your canteen from the side of the couch and brought it over. You took a small sip before screwing the lid back on. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“I’m going to jail,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “What am I going to do, Joel?”

He shook his head, sitting down on the floor next to you. “You ain’t goin’ to jail. I don’t think that’s the world we live in anymore.” He finally got a good look at you for the first time. You were covered in blood, your clothes were ruined, your face only clean where your tears washed away the carnage. He stood up and headed back to the pantry, which now was home to two dead bodies shoved against the far wall under a sheet. He reached down to the packs of unopened water bottles and grabbed as many as he could carry. Joel stood up and was about to exit when he remembered the gun. He put the water bottles on the kitchen island and dug the gun out from under the groceries on the floor. He opened the chamber and confirmed it was fully loaded before tucking it into the back of his pants.

He returned to you with the bottles of water in his arms. "Why don't you go wash up and change your clothes? I got some water here, and I'll get you some towels, then you should really try to get some sleep."

You didn't feel like moving, but Joel was right. Smelling the coppery blood and feeling how tight it made your skin as it dried was a sensory nightmare. You stood up wordlessly and headed back towards his bedroom, while Joel followed behind you with the water. You walked into the bathroom and stood in the middle of the huge room you once envied, but now you were struggling to feel anything at all. Joel brought the lanterns in for you and opened the shower door, setting the water bottles down on a bench. He turned around and opened the linen closet, pulling out a few towels, wash cloths and a basin. He set all the supplies on the counter and faced you, still standing and staring.

"Do you," he cleared his throat, "do you need help, or...?" He trailed off, unsure what to do for you. He just hoped getting clean and some sleep will help.

You shook your head, but before he left you asked quietly, "Can you bring my pack in here? My clothes-"

"Right, 'course, yeah, hold on," he hurried out to the bedroom and brought your pack to you. "Holler if you need anythin'." And he shut the door behind him.

You sighed, dragging your weakened form over to the basin, grabbing it along with the washcloths and putting them alongside the water in the walk-in shower. You peeled your shirt off, soaked in so much blood that it made a wet noise as it lifted from your skin. You weren't sure where to put your clothes, so you balled them up and put them in one of the two sinks. You stepped into the shower and filled the basin with a few bottles of water, deciding to dip your hair in first to scrub the dried blood out. You reached up and grabbed Joel's shampoo that smelled clean and fresh, like oranges. The scent lifted your spirits a small fraction until you moved one of the lanterns over to the basin of dirty water and saw just how red it was. You felt your stomach roll again, but this time you held it together and moved the light away, dumping the water down the drain and refilled it to rinse your hair.

You completed this process as you made your way down, scrubbing your face and ears until you felt raw, then your arms, chest and hands. Your lower half wasn't in bad shape, but your fingernails were the worst part. You did your best, but there was still a little bit of blood stuck under them when you had finished.

You wrapped your hair up in one of the big towels Joel gave you and wrapped the other around your body. You stood there for a few moments, staring at yourself in the mirror under the light of the lanterns, feeling numb and tired. You didn't think you would be able to sleep earlier, but it turned out your body was exhausted. You felt weak as you picked some clothes out of your pack and pulled them on, quickly drying your hair and hanging the towels up before opening the bathroom door.

Joel was waiting at attention on the other side of the door the entire time you cleaned up, in case you needed something. He stood when you opened the door, pleased to see you had scrubbed all the blood off and looked more like yourself, but when his eyes met yours, he didn't see the light in them anymore. His chest tightened, hating himself for putting you through this. You stood before him, unsure of yourself, glancing around the room.

"Let's sleep in the living room, would that make you feel better?" he asked you. You nodded, and he grabbed the pillows and blankets off the bed before heading down the hall back to the couches. He made a makeshift bed on a couch for each of you, and you eagerly buried yourself under the blanket, your eyelids getting heavy. Before you fell asleep, you remembered your clothes in the bathroom.

"Joel?" you whispered, your voice crackling from disuse. He immediately sat up from the couch across from you.

"What d'you need?" he asked.

"My clothes, they're in your sink, I wasn't sure what to do with them."

"Oh, right, I'll get rid of 'em, you go to sleep I'll be right back."

You didn't have to be told twice, sliding your eyes shut as a restless sleep overtook you. Joel got a trash bag and a few more bottles of water from the pantry. He got to work bagging up the empty bottles of water and your bloodied clothes, then did his best to wash the shower and sink of any remaining blood so you didn't have to see it in the morning. When he returned, after throwing the bag of garbage in the pantry with the dead bodies, you were fast asleep.

He laid on his couch, berating himself over and over for letting this happen. Had he not been so goddamn distracted with thoughts of fucking you, he would have heard the intruders and maybe got the jump on them before you even woke up. Or maybe his distracted thoughts keeping him awake was what saved you both. He would never know, but what he did know was you were put in that position because he wasn't careful. He should have been quieter, he should have grabbed the gun, he should have expected a second intruder. When he inspected the apartment after he calmed you down, he saw they had jimmied open the lock on his door. He had no idea how they did it so quietly. Maybe had he gone right to bed, he wouldn't have heard anything, and you would both be dead.

He rubbed his hands up and down his face roughly, agitated, feeling helpless and riddled with guilt. These feelings for you had to stop. Tonight was a close call, and he wasn't going to risk anything happening again. His sole focus had to be just on your safety and survival going forward.

He shut his eyes, desperately trying to get a few hours of sleep before another long day tomorrow.

Both of you woke up a little later than you had intended, but given the events from last night, Joel figured you both could have used the sleep. You still weren't saying much, but your face looked like it had a little bit more color to it, and he hoped that meant you were coming around. Joel grabbed another armful of water bottles from the pantry, the smell of the bodies beginning to fester in the closed room, and used them to refill your canteens and wash up once more before your long journey. He unpacked the clothes he had stolen from your neighbors and repacked clothes that he picked out of his closet, in the process also grabbing a few smaller t-shirts that didn't quite fit him anymore to offer to you, since you had to get rid of one of your own. When he walked back into his living room, he saw you leaning over and examining some framed photos on a sofa table against the wall, running your finger over the frames and faces in the photos.

Joel cleared his throat to announce his presence, and you jumped back guiltily, spinning around to face him.

"Those are all old pictures, like I said before, I'm terrible at changing 'em out," Joel said, trying to draw you out more. You gave him a weak smile.

"You and Tommy looked so young in some of these."

He smiled, pleased that you were warming up a bit, and walked over to look at the pictures. He frowned slightly when he saw the same picture from the rodeo that he had hanging in his office, completely forgetting he still had it out. But you pointed to an older portrait instead.

"Are these your parents?"

Joel nodded and picked the picture up to look at it more closely. It was his parents on their wedding day. The picture was faded but he could still see the warmth and happiness in their eyes.

"They passed some years ago," he said, placing the picture down gently, "heart attack and lung cancer. Within a year of each other," Joel said softly.

You hummed apologetically, your eyes glancing over the rest of the frames before landing on the one at the rodeo. You opened your mouth to ask but remembered what Colleen had mentioned about an ex-fiancée, so you stopped yourself, but Joel saw where your gaze landed. He picked up the picture and looked at it wistfully.

"That was a fun night, rodeo up in Dallas. Tommy got so drunk we had to keep him from goin' down in the ring and jumpin' on one of those bulls himself," Joel chuckled.

You smiled, and still avoided bringing up the third person in the picture, but he answered the question for you anyway.

"That's Amy," he began, smile faded from his face, "we, uh, we were engaged. Didn't work out. Caught her cheatin' on me." He placed the picture back on the table.

"I'm sorry, Joel," you whispered, genuinely apologetic for feeling like he had to share that with you. He shook his head and turned back to the kitchen.

"Let me get you somethin' to eat before we head out, I'll bring out different things to pick from," he said.

Joel headed towards the kitchen, not realizing you were on his heels. He did his best to clean up the blood from the night before, but it was dark, and his resources were limited. There were still some stains in the grout of the tile and on the oak cabinet. You balked when you entered the room, somehow momentarily forgetting you killed a person less than 12 hours ago.

"I'm sorry, I did the best I could. Go back in the living room, I'll bring you somethin' to eat." Joel said, turning you away by the shoulders and giving you a gentle push in the opposite direction.

"Don't be sorry, Joel. You saved us last night," you said over your shoulder.

He paused, not sure how to approach the topic with you for the first time, worried he would upset you further.

"No, you saved us, and you shouldn't've had to do that," he said firmly.

You turned back around to face him, this time unphased by the blood stains he had tried to hide, looked him right in the eye.

"Us or them, remember?"

The two of you stared at each other for a minute, something shifting. There was a mutual understanding before, but now it had been solidified with your actions. It was one thing to say the words, but another to follow through. You had both killed somebody yesterday in order to save the other.

You each ate handfuls of trail mix, peanut butter crackers, and dry cereal before Joel restocked your packs with whatever food could fit, making sure to jam in a couple cans of Beefaroni in his own pack. Before hitting the road, he went to the spare closet where he kept his gun safe. You hadn't noticed it in the dark when you arrived the night before. He unlocked the safe, and pulled out a rifle, a shotgun, and a small handgun, the latter of which he handed to you. You offered to hold one of the long guns as well, not wanting Joel to be burdened, and he reluctantly agreed, handing you the rifle. When he leaned forward into the safe you saw he already had a revolver tucked into the back of his pants. You almost asked him about it but figured it out on your own: the men you killed must have been armed.

"I didn't realize you were a hunter," you said, shouldering the rifle on your back.

"I'm not. Well, not really. Some of the clients Tommy signed tended to be more the "outdoorsy" type, so we would take 'em on hunting trips or shoot skeet," Joel explained, pulling the shotgun over his shoulder before adding, "Didn't bother me much, I'd rather shoot than play golf."

Joel didn't have much ammo, but he packed whatever he had into both of your packs, which were now filled to the brim. Grateful he was able to trade out his borrowed sneakers for his own boots, he laced them up as you slid your hiking boots back on and headed out towards the stairwell on your journey.

The pair of you made your way back down into the subway without any issue, feeling a bit more confident now that you were armed. You stopped for just a few minutes to check in with Josie and Peter's group. They were happy to see you had made it. Neither of you mentioned the events that took place the night before, both eager to put it behind you.

It took you a few hours to walk all the way to the end of the subway, as far as it would take you this time so that when you emerged, you wouldn't be on the streets for too long. You didn't speak much, and Joel was becoming a little worried, but he wasn't sure if there was anything he could do to fix it. He just kept trying to pull you out of your thoughts, asking you a question here or there, but your replies were quiet and short.

You decided to take a break before emerging from the tunnel and sat to eat on the last platform. You kept your eyes glued to the grimy subway tile floor as you munched slowly on a protein bar and some dried fruit. Joel sat next to you watching your unwavering gaze and mechanical movements while you ate, and he couldn't take it anymore. He dusted his hands on the side of his pants and sighed, getting your attention briefly before you returned to your food.

"I think we should talk about it," Joel said, and you paused your chewing, considering a response before ultimately deciding to ignore him.

"Listen," he sighed, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "I'm not gonna sugarcoat this for you. Once we get out there, it's only gonna get worse. I can't promise somethin' like that won't happen again, but I'll do my best to keep you safe and get you to your parents."

You weren't sure why that angered you so much. It was probably all the pent-up emotions from the past several hours that boiled over, but you didn't care, so you shot your eyes up to glare at him.

"You think I don't know it's going to be worse, Joel? I'm not stupid," you snapped, furrowing your brow. "It doesn't mean I'm going to be okay with killing people."

"And you think I'm feelin' good about it?" he shouted, making you jump. "This ain't exactly what I had in mind a week ago."

He stood, his jaw clenched and his hands combing roughly through his hair as he paced around the platform. You stood up now, too. You realized the anger coursing through you had replaced the sadness, and in an effort to keep it at bay, chose to keep spurring Joel on.

"Don't put words in my mouth, that's not what I said!" you yelled back at him, finally feeling a spark breaking through the numbness inside, like ice being cracked. "No one appointed you to be my guardian, I can take care of myself. You think I don't know you're just helping me because you feel bad? I don't need your fucking pity, Joel, I can do this myself!"

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest and your hands began to shake, but most importantly the numbness inside was breaking up. Your face felt hot with anger, and you trained your gaze onto his when he whipped around to glare at you as you continued to shout.

"You have no obligation to me; we hardly even know each other!" Your breathing was picking up and you watched him flinch at your words, then his eyes flashed with fury, and he scowled at you.

"Oh, I think we know each other a little better than that," he shot back heatedly, nostrils flared. You gasped in shock, glaring at him, trying to come up with a good response to his vague reference to your kiss a week ago. You didn't think he would ever bring it up again.

He looked at you smugly now, crossing his arms over his chest. He was still pissed, but he was pleased to see you were at a loss for words. He was about to put an end to the argument and suggest you get moving when you charged right up to him and gave him a hard shove against his shoulders, making him stumble backwards.

"What the fuck?!" Joel uttered in surprise, swinging his arms out to his sides to regain his balance. You ignored him and shoved him again, this time only causing him to stumble back a little bit. He was about to reach out and grab your arms to stop you when it dawned on him. You needed this. You needed to yell and scream and push. He could see in your eyes that you were less distant, even though they were still filled with anger, you were looking more like yourself again. So, when you leaned forward to shove him a third time, he let you, standing strong and tall with his arms resting at his sides as you shoved him again and again. He would stumble back a little each time, but he kept his gaze pinned on your eyes, watching how they would soften and clear with each push to his chest.

You finally grew tired of shoving him, so you stood there, trying to catch your breath. You could feel your body again, the numbness that overtook your body last night finally was floating away, like taking your anger out on Joel was what made it crack and melt, like thick ice over a pond on the first warm day of sprng. You tilted your head back and sighed, wondering why Joel was the only person who managed to bring out this side of you. Last week in his office, you told him off without shedding a tear. That was so unlike you, you had never acted like that before. Then last night you had killed somebody to save him, and not just killed him but savagely and relentlessly bashed his skull in. And now today, he figured out how to draw you out and heal you. He was safe, he made you feel safe.

You brought your head forward to look at him, seeing the heat and intensity behind his eyes. He didn’t look mad anymore, but he regarded you questioningly, desperately trying to see underneath the veil, imploring you to take what you needed from him so you would be yourself again.

You felt this inexplicable surge of warmth and desire, your gaze darkened, and you licked your lips. You didn't know why, but you felt like he would do anything for you at that moment, so long as it made you forget the horrors you went through. You took one step forward hesitantly, keeping your eyes locked on his, and you reached out to run your hand up and down his arm, feeling his muscles jump under your gentle touch.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you murmured, taking another small step forward. “I didn’t mean any of that, I’m sorry.”

He gulped and let his gaze flick down to your hand rubbing his arm. When you stepped forward, he saw the look in your eyes, and his breath hitched. What were you doing? He shook his head and stepped back.

"It’s alright. We should get a move on, we gotta find somewhere safe for the night," he said, clearing his throat.

“Why don’t we just stay here?” you asked.

It was an innocent enough question, but the way you said it and the way you were looking at him said otherwise. He was struggling to keep up with your mood swings. "We got a lotta ground to cover, and there’s still daylight left, we shouldn’t waste it.”

He told himself his feelings for you were done, and he meant it. He had to focus, he had to keep you both safe. You clearly were still processing all your emotions and he couldn’t trust anything you were implying. So, he stepped away from your touch and headed for the stairs that led up to the street. You halfheartedly followed behind him, feeling more like yourself again, but also feeling something different, like this world was beginning to change you. You weren’t sure if it was for better or worse, but you knew you had at least come around to adapting to your environment. You killed somebody to save Joel’s life. You rose to the occasion, and you did what you had to do, and you didn't hesitate. You no longer felt like you were useless, and as fucked up as that sounded, it made you feel good.

You spent the rest of the afternoon trapsing through fields and forests on the outskirts of the city, trying to stay out of sight and quiet, taking very few breaks. Joel wanted to cover as much ground as possible and get far away from the city. You were still reeling from your argument, or whatever it was, in the subway. You weren’t sure what would have happened if he had leaned into your advances, but as more time passed, you knew it was for the best that he rebuffed you. You couldn’t remember if you were about to get your period, or maybe this was a normal reaction to murdering someone, but your emotions were all over the place. The longer you walked, the more at peace you felt with what happened. Joel was right – things were not going to get better, you had to toughen up, or else.

The sun was getting low, and Joel still hadn’t found a good place to set up camp. You kept walking as the evening turned to dusk, your eyes squinting in the small forest when Joel let out a frustrated groan. You looked up at him curiously.

“This is a good spot, there’s a stream nearby and it’s quiet but there’s not enough coverage. I don’t like how thin these trees are,” he explained, motioning to the young, skinny oak trees surrounding you. You sighed and sat down against one of the trees to take a break, opening your canteen as Joel remained standing and looking around as he considered building up some fallen tree limbs into a makeshift shelter.

You tipped your head back to drink, and that’s when you saw it: a treehouse, at least 40 feet above the ground, right above you. You stopped drinking and stood quickly to grab Joel’s arm, pointing up towards the top of the tree. He chuckled when he saw it, a smile spilling across his face.

“Yeah, that’ll do,” he said, turning to look at you happily.

You smiled at him, then looked back up at the treehouse above you. It wasn’t very big, but it was enough for the two of you and it had a roof. It was better than the alternative.

You went around the other side of the trunk where the ladder had been nailed into the wood and climbed up. Once you got to the top, Joel did a full sweep of the area surrounding you, confirming that no infected or people were nearby. He could see the stream from about 20 yards away. He couldn’t contain his smile again; this was perfect.

The contactor in him reviewed the construction of the treehouse to make sure that it would be sturdy enough to sustain two adults. He walked around to each corner, hunched over because the roof was maybe 5 feet from the floor, and gave the walls a firm shake to test their strength. There were three small windows sawed into each wall, the door being on the last wall, which meant Joel had a full view of your surroundings. The windows and door did not have any coverings, so it would be cold, but the waterproof sleeping bags you had should be able to keep you warm. He turned back to you, satisfied you'd be safe for the night.

"I think this used to be a hunting stand, then some kids turned it into a treehouse. See how the wood looks older in this part, and some of the roof is made from different material?" he said, pointing around to the spots in the shelter. "They added the walls themselves, matches the rest of the wood on the floor," he mused out loud. You had stopped rolling out your bag to listen to him and found it kind of amusing he was discussing construction with you after the last few days you've had, as if the world wasn't ending and it was just another day.

"Do you think we'll be safe here?" you asked, sliding your boots off and setting them next to your bed. Joel unrolled his bag on the other side of the treehouse, the side closest to the door. Without looking up at you, he nodded.

"As safe as we can get, yeah."

You couldn't shake the guilt for the way you treated him earlier. What you said was exactly right: he had no obligation to you, but he stayed by your side anyway, and saved you a handful of times. You had already apologized, but the way you went about it didn't come across as sincere. You had nearly thrown yourself at him, completely confusing you both, so you wanted to try again.

"Hey, listen, about earlier," you began, making him pause from rooting around in his pack, but still didn't look up at you. "I really am sorry. I didn't mean it. Any of it. I think I was still in shock; I don't know what came over me." You took a moment to let your words settle before continuing. "I'm really grateful for everything you're doing, I would already be dead if it wasn't for you." You held your breath, hoping you came across as genuine as you felt.

Joel tried to hide his disappointment. It was hard to hear you didn't mean any of it. He knew you didn't mean what you said, but he couldn't help but wish you had meant the way you looked at him in the subway, with a heat behind your gaze he never expected to see again after the way he treated you. But maybe that was what he needed to hear so it would help put a stop to the overwhelming feelings he was struggling to contain on his own.

He brought his gaze up to finally meet yours, trying to hide the sadness as he gave you a warm smile.

"I know, you don't got to apologize, it's alright," he said quietly.

You looked at his face closely. You didn't fully believe it, you could tell something still bothered him, but you chose to let it go.

After you had settled in for the night, each of you tucked into your sleeping bags, you whispered out into the darkness.

"Us or them, right?"

You thought maybe he had already fallen asleep since you were met with silence, until you heard his voice, thick with emotion, reply.

"Us or them."

Chapter Ten

Taglist: @chiogarza

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel x reader #joel x reader smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us game #the way we were joel miller fic

246 notes · View notes

hainethehero · 10 months

Text

A JOSS WHEDON HATER FOREVER- a think piece on how Avengers 1 set up Steve Rogers to be the MCU's punching bag for the rest of the franchise

(We all know Joss Whedon is an absolute garbage person. He's done many horrible things including being a racist, sexist moron who should be behind literal bars.) This is a commentary on his absolute shit writing for Avengers 1.

This one particular scene and the one following it is purely poor writing & direction for the character of Steve Rogers.👇

After Coulson dies, Fury addresses Steve and Tony and tosses Coulson's bloodied Captain America cards at Steve. He says something like "guess you never found the time to sign them" which is just horribly cruel and though not OOC for Fury, is not something he'd say lightly. We later realize here👇

...that he's secretly trying to put together the team. This is where he makes his big "there was an idea" speech and mentions that "Stark knows this." Because yeah, Tony was made aware of this in Iron Man 1 when Coulson visited and told Pepper. In contrast, Steve had no idea about the Avengers Initiative.

In fact, the dude was just pulled from the Valkyrie in the ice!! In the beginning scene of Avengers 1, we see him at the gym with the punching bag having LITERAL WAR FLASHBACKS about Bucky and Peggy and the Howlies! He's not stable and yet Fury confronts him and ropes him into the mission to get the Tesseract. Steve says, "you should've left it where you found it." And I can't help but think that maybe Steve means himself as well because dude just lost EVERYONE & EVERYTHING he literally knew and cared about.

Anyway, back to the point, Steve knows nothing about the Initiative but is suddenly made to feel guilty about Coulson's death in some kind of roundabout way of "convincing him to join the team" in honor of Coulson.

And then, to make matters WORSE, in the next scene they make HIM comfort Tony 👇

They make him say, "im sorry" (like it was his fault???!) and "he was just doing his job" and "is this the first time you've lost a soldier?" LIKE WTAF???

*INSERTS JACOB ELORDI MEME FROM EUPHORIA SAYING WHAT THE FUCKKKKK?!*

First of all, Steve barely knows these people! Second, he was fond of Coulson and I'm sure they would've been close friends. But did they have to GUILT-TRIP Steve into joining the team? Like, that's just dumb and proves that they don't actually give a fuck about his character!

AND TALK ABOUT MEAN! Fury at least knew about Steve losing Bucky on that train. He KNOWS Steve's first words when he woke up from sleep was "I had a date" reflecting the tragedy of the man out of time. To just rip him out of sleep and thrust him into a mission and later making him feel guilty about Coulson was just pure cruelty, making SHIELD no better than HYDRA. They all saw Steve as a pawn, another mindless soldier to carry out their missions and I hate JW for that.

Steve's character was not accurately portrayed nor was his trauma properly dealt with and so this is why today, we see alot of MCU "fans" calling Steve the worst avenger, lame, boring and basically a crutch to Tony's genius. (I'm a huge Tony Stark fan, don't @ me). It just felt that the mcu wanted to make Tony the ultimate hero- which is fine, Nothing's wrong with that- but they did it at the expense of Steve's character and trauma.

Sadly, this narrative continues all the way down to Endgame and for that I will always hate JW & the mcu's portrayal of Steve Rogers.

210 notes · View notes

fourraccoonsinacoat · 3 months

Text

Midnight Prayer | One Shot

Pairing: Astarion x Dark Urge / Tiny bit of Enver Gortash x Dark Urge

Chapter Count: One Shot | Read on AO3 Word Count: 4,016

Summary: Takes place during the events of Baldur's Gate 3 after Gortash's coronation in Act 3. Explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge after the implications of a past relationship between the Dark Urge and Enver Gortash are made known. Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Mentions of Violence, Soft Astarion, Spoilers for the Dark Urge and BG3 in general, Dark Urge as Original Female Character Rating: Mature

Author Note: Those new lines in Patch 6 between Durge and Gortash are to blame for this. Plus the fact that I adore the Astarion x Dark Urge dynamic because they're on the same level, meaning they're both barely functioning beings who no business getting into a relationship and yet they make it work. Also, Astarion gets to be the supportive one when Durge goes off the rails.

All these idiots live rent free in my head and I had this scene that just wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it out. This is a one-shot based on the same Durge MC, Eli, as my other ongoing fic - which I have not updated in some time, and I am sorry for that. Have some brainrot to make up for it! This is grade-A mushy, soft garbage.

Sleep was difficult to find as Eli lay on the stiff makeshift cot. Her glassy half-focused eyes were fixed on the patchwork ceiling of Astarion’s tent as her mind coiled around and around, like a snake trying to suffocate itself. Her thoughts were circular, aimless and chaotic as she chased the ghosts of memories that always haunted her nights.

Sleeplessness was nothing new, and Eli’s propensity for restlessness and nightmares was well known throughout camp. She had a tendency to toss and turn as rest evaded her, and when the darkness of slumber finally overtook her in the small hours of mornings it was never peaceful. She was often agitated and unsettled, mumbling low to herself until the shock of some cruel fever dream sent her into an outburst of screams as she flailed and fought to rouse herself from whatever terror had uncaged itself in her mind.

She’d wake shivering, breathing as if she were fighting for her life against legions of the Absolute rather than visions within her own mind. He was always there, though, whispering soothing reminders that they were safe. That they were together. That the horrors inside her broken mind were toothless phantoms. Remnants of a fractured past she could only catch flashes of.

She’d offered on many occasions to sleep alone, saying it made little sense for both Astarion and her to suffer because of her tortuous insomnia. He’d been firm in his refusals and finally told her that if she didn’t stop saying such ludicrous nonsense he’d figure out how to charm one of Gale’s used socks to jump down her throat every time she mentioned the idea.

Gods, was she thankful for that absurd and stubborn man.

She turned her head, eyes focusing on the pale elf who slept beside her. They’d settled into a habit of overnighting in his tent due to the plank of wood that served as a haphazard bed. Like her, Astarion’s sleep could be troubled, disturbed by his own breeds of monsters that lurked around the corners in his brain. His past was filled with grim and vicious memories. What small comforts he had been able to acquire over the past 200 years were things he clung to like life rafts upon a boiling and thrashing ocean. The stiff plank he slept on brought him a strange sort of peacefulness. He’d told her once that the only soft bed he’d been allowed to use while under Cazador’s control was the large plush bed in the palace’s guest room. The room where he and the other spawn “entertained” those who were brought back for Cazador to feast upon.

His bed in the dorms had been stiff and old, and yet he’d far preferred it to the lavish guest bed. Sleeping on something too downy and cushioned reminded him of the countless nights he’d spent being smothered into a pliable mattress by whatever piece of transient garbage he’d lured back to the palace. They’d have their way with him while he’d disassociate, his body working through the motions of sex while his mind walled itself off. It had become second nature to disconnect himself from the present the moment he slumped onto that soft bed.

It was a cruel byproduct of his torment that laying on comfortable bedding triggered a deep seeded anxiety in him, but Eli honestly didn’t mind the stiff makeshift cot Astarion had set up in his tent for them. Her body recalled sleeping on worse, even if her mind didn’t clearly remember the details. Astarion had even started laying down a thin bedroll atop the plank once their shared sleeping arrangements became a regular thing. It had been completely unprompted. One evening she’d entered his tent and it had simply been there, an unspoken acknowledgement of the validity of their relationship.

They were both uncouth morons when it came to navigating the delicacies and emotions of romantic relationships. They’d been quick to indulge in one another physically, the both of them looking to find refuge from the specters of their pasts in one another’s arms. They hadn’t meant for it to mean anything, and yet they’d kept seeking one another out - drawn together like kobolds are drawn to shiny objects. They’d tried ignoring their growing affections, but neither one of them were particularly good at pretending to be nonchalant and stable. Primarily because neither one of them really knew what that looked like.

Astarion had confessed first, admitting to his initially manipulative intentions with her and revealing truths about his enslavement to Cazador that made her heart ache for him. Eli knew, instinctively, that empathy was not an emotion she was incredibly familiar with. It made her anxious, feeling for someone else. And yet, when Astarion had said he wanted something real with her, she’d felt an almost wild desperation surge to life within herself. She wanted that, too. With him.

A cruel and vicious voice at the back of her mind had admonished her for her pathetic weakness. She should be punished, skinned alive for allowing herself to feel this kind of fondness and yearning for someone else. Once, she had been worshiped as a god by those around her. Once, she had been feared and her name whispered in awe and horror. Once, she had been something powerful, something violent and vicious, a conduit of destruction and carnage. Though the details were fractured, scattered about her ruined brain like shards of glass, she knew instinctually that she was a child of slaughter and that the bonds of mortals should have been beneath her.

But that didn’t stop her. Perhaps…perhaps she could be different. Something else. Something that was valued as more than just a weapon. Something that wasn’t just a means to an end. Something that didn’t need to butcher and rip the world inside out in order to be loved.

She’d pushed the Urge down, beating it back as she confessed her own affections for Astarion.

That had been some weeks ago, back in the Shadowlands. Now, they were just outside Baldur’s Gate, and things were…good between them. To her never-ending astonishment.

Her eyes focused on the sleeping elf next to her. He looked so peaceful, the worried lines of his face smooth and serene at rest. He was pallid, pretty and perfect like a cadaver forever tranquil. Just one stab, a stake through the heart and he’d always be like this – he’d never know torment or despair again. No one would ever hurt him.

She took a long, slow breath and banished the intrusive thoughts back to the shadows of her mind where they always lingered. She would never…she couldn’t…gods, she hated those thoughts that never let her be. They filled her with a sick guilt as she recalled nights tied up, howling and screaming and raging as she spat out all the ways she’d flay and ruin his beautiful body. Afterwards, once the Urges had quieted, Astarion would simply laugh as he cut her bonds, always joking about how you had to pay good coin for degradation like that in the city. He’d hold her until she calmed, the both of them quiet, content to just be together for one more day.

They shouldn’t work, not as a couple or as anything else, really. They were barely functional as individuals. Together, they should have been about as operational as a dumpster that was missing one wheel and was on fire. But they did work. They were careful with the broken pieces of each other, treating them with reverence and respect. They understood pain all too well, and not just the physical kind but the raw and panicked pain of having everything you valued ripped away. Of having your very self torn from your control…the pain of being used and the fear that no matter how loud you screamed or how hard you fought it would happen again.

The fear that you would never be anything more than a tool.

And so they were gentle with one another, in a way only reserved for them. Careful touches and trusting hands, concerned glances and warm smiles, constant wordless affirmations that they were at one another’s backs - that when one of them crumbled the other would be there to help build them back up, attentively and without judgement.

Neither of them knew what they were doing. Their combined histories with healthy relationships added up to an unsurprising number of zero. Astarion had admitted to her that he couldn’t remember ever bedding the same person twice. And Eli…well, she couldn’t remember anything, frankly. Her memories of past lovers were nonexistent…at least…

At least until today. Today, when they’d finally met the infamous Enver Gortash.

The name had always struck her as strange, from the first time she heard it when Karlach told Eli about the tiefling had acquired her infernal engine. The name had stirred something in her brain, like a familiar tune that she couldn’t remember the words for. And every time someone mentioned him, that sense grew stronger. It was as if there was a crack in her skull and every time she’d reach for that sense of familiarity, it would leak out and away just beyond reach.

Until today, when they stood in the opulent and grand hall of Wyrm’s Rock Fortress, surrounded by the elite of Baldur’s Gate, and she finally saw the man who had wrought so much suffering not only upon the city and the coast, but on her friends…

The flash in his eyes when they met hers…a sense of knowing, a sting of excitement. That spark of familiarity suddenly blazed hot and she knew this man was not a stranger. Not to her…

“If you keep staring, darling, I’m going to start charging you for the privilege,” a soft and slightly chiding voice lurched her back into the present.

Eli flinched, startled, blinking away the haze of her thoughts and focusing on Astarion, who now was peering at her through half-lidded and slightly weary eyes. He’d been sleeping with an arm draped across her waist – Astarion had grown fond of resting with an arm or a hand touching her, and she liked it, too. It was comforting.

He trailed his hand along her side in a calming manner, brows furrowing slightly with a hint of concern.

“Sorry,” Eli said with a slight yawn. “I was worlds away.” She gave him a small, tired smile as she reached out and brushed her fingers against the ruffles of his shirt, mindlessly beginning to fiddle with the cloth.

Astarion’s hand slid to her back, pulling her closer until her head was tucked below his chin and he could rest with his cheek against her silvery hair.

Eli could feel the soft rumble of his voice vibrate up from his chest as he chuckled quietly. “I’ve been told I have that effect on people,” he mumbled cheerily as his other hand began to gently brush through her hair, fingers carefully smoothing out any snarls as he stroked back and forth.

She hummed appreciatively, breathing deep and feeling eased by the familiar scent of rosemary and bergamot. “And who told you that?” she asked, teasingly.

“Hmm,” he pondered, running a dexterous finger along the side of her ear, causing goosebumps to prick along her arms. “I think it was you,” he mused slyly before his voice dipped lower into a growl and she felt his breath warm against her ear. “You remember, don’t you? That one night you told me I ravished you so thoroughly your soul left your body.”

He couldn’t see Eli’s exaggerated eye roll, but he could hear the grin in her voice as she responded. “I seem to remember that very same night you saying I exhausted you into delirium,” she teased, poking tenderly at his chest. “In the best way possible, of course,” Eli smirked.

Astarion sighed, the hand on her back drawing aimless circles as he murmured, “I do miss our nighttime trysts.”

Eli smiled, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and placing a light kiss there. “You know what they say. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Or some such bullshit like that…”

“They sound awfully boring, whoever they are.” The vampire hummed low in his throat, kicking a leg over her waist and hooking his foot between her legs at her knees so that they were tangled together in a possessive embrace.

Eli just chuckled. They’d backed off the sexual aspects of their relationship for now, the both of them having their own flavors of hang ups that they needed to sort through. For Eli, that meant parsing through her strange, sometimes disturbing Urges which continued to insist that the lines between butchery and eroticism were blurred. Bloodplay was one thing, and that would likely remain a happy little staple in their titillating toolbox once they were ready to be that physically intimate again. But Eli had…other thoughts. Thoughts she wasn’t exactly comfortable with. Darker ones that bubbled up at extremely inopportune times and had her questioning whether she really wanted to shed light on her obscured past.

She breathed in Astarion’s scent, grounding herself in the now and pushing those musing away for another day. The desire between Eli and Astarion had not diminished, and on more than one occasion they had teetered precariously on the boundaries they’d set and wondering whether they should just say fuck it and…well…fuck. They’d always talk themselves down from the ledge, though, comfortable in the knwoeldge that when it did happen it would be earthshattering.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, love?” Astarion’s voice held a note of worry and Eli realized she’d been drifting off into the confines of her own brain again.

“Everything,” she sighed, frustrated with herself.

Astarion was silent for a moment, considering. The hand in her hair stilled while the one on her back pulled her in a bit tighter. “Is it…” he began, then paused a bit uncertainly, hesitant with his question. “Are you thinking about today? About…Gortash?”

He said the name so quietly that it would have been inaudible had they not been so closely pressed together. Eli wasn’t surprised about the question. She’d been acutely aware of how Astarion’s eyes never left her as she spoke with the newly crowned Archduke of Baldur’s Gate earlier that day. How he had discreetly positioned himself closely behind her, just off to her right. How he’d tensed, fingers ghosting near the hilt of a hidden dagger when Gortash said he’d always liked Eli. How his gaze darkened and his jaw tightened as Astarion sized the man up from across the hall before they left.

She knew this was a delicate situation for the vampire. Astarion despised showing any sort of vulnerability that could be construed as a reason for pity. Vulnerability, in general, was something he was still figuring out how to navigate after two centuries of living in an environment where anything and everything that could be used against him was twisted into a tool for subjugation and pain. Even with her, there were times when he wouldn’t let his walls come down, needing space to sort through his own internal barriers before he was ready to open up. Eli didn’t mind, and would give him all the time and space he needed. And bit by bit it became easier, for the both of them.

“That…yes,” she admitted, wanting to be truthful with him.

It wasn’t just Gortash, though. It was what he had told her, about Eli’s role in the whole Cult of the Absolute fraud. It was difficult for her to reconcile what she had apparently done with who she was now…the misery she’d set in motion. The lives she had destroyed. She shut her eyes and pressed closer to Astarion, seeking comfort in the cool of his skin against the inferno she felt inside.

He hugged her close, voicing a thought that had been gnawing away at his insides all day. “Were the two of you…close? Like us?”

The tentative, halting way in which he asked squeezed at her heart. As if he were bracing himself for something terrible, for something that would rip her away from him, just like everything else he’d ever given a damn about.

She thought for a while, mulling over the question. There was still so much that she didn’t know about who she was. Who she had been. She’d tell him what she could, though. He deserved that.

“I think we were. Close, I mean,” she clarified when she felt Astarion stiffen anxiously. “Not like us, though.”

She pulled her head back, out from under his chin, so she could see his face and meet his gaze with her own. Astarion’s eyes were round and distressed, the pinch between his brows furrowed and the lines of his face were tense. His eyes searched her own, desperately wanting to know who that man was to her while also fearing the answer.

Eli smiled warmly, bringing her hand up to brush one of his white curls behind his ear. His face softened slightly at her touch while the hand on her back clutched at her shirt as if to hold her here with him.

“There’s still so much darkness in my memory. But, there are things that have come back in flashes and fragments,” she explained, holding his gaze as her finger trailed to the edge of his eyebrow. “And while I’m not wholly sure what Gortash and I were to one another, I know it wasn’t like this.” Her hand came to rest on his cheek, thumb gently caressing his face near the corner of his mouth.

“Not like us,” she affirmed with a tenderness that allowed Astarion to relax, the stiffness easing out of him as the hint of a smile twitched at his lips. “He knew what happened to me,” she said softly, putting into words a thought that had been lingering at the back of her mind.

“He knew what happened to me, and he welcomed the person who did it into his confidence,” she said with a tinge of sadness to her voice. There was an ache of betrayal behind her words, and thought she didn’t fully understand everything her history with Gortash entailed, she understood this. “He stood by while I was unmade. While everything I was, the person he claims to care for, was brutalized and decimated.”

Eli’s words took on a cold edge, sharp as a shard of ice. Astarion listened intently, his breath caught at the back of his throat. He ached to pull her back into him, to wrap her up in his arms and shut the world out. Instead, he placed his hand on the back of her own and intertwined his fingers with hers, holding it against his cheek as Eli spoke.

“When I woke up on the nautiloid, I was nothing. Just the discarded scraps of whoever I had been. I had been thrown away. And nobody came looking for me.” She paused, her eyes flicking down in a brief moment of uncertainty.

There were some truths between them that had still gone unsaid. Truths that neither of them were ready to admit, and some that simply didn’t need words to be understood. Not this, though. This, she wanted him to hear.

“Since then, it’s been difficult not to think of myself as damaged goods. Something that was used up until it broke and was discarded.” She felt Astarion squeeze her hand and she looked back to him. There was a pang of recognition in his red eyes. “Everyone who I spoke to about my…urges, they all confirmed that there was something very wrong with me, even if they sympathized. Everyone except you.”

She paused, brushing her thumb once more against his face before she lifted her hand from him and took his own hand in hers. She pulled it to her lips, lightly kissing his knuckles while he stared at her, afraid to take his eyes off her for fear that she and this moment might evaporate if he did. He had stopped breathing, which luckily was not something he necessarily needed to do in order to maintain his existence.

Eli searched his face as Astarion waited for her to go on, breathless and just a tiny bit desperate to hear what she would say next. She wondered if he understood just how much it meant to her to have someone who didn’t see the wreck that she was when they looked at her. Someone who didn’t see a monster and only saw her, broken pieces be damned.

She thought he probably did…

“You were the only one who encouraged me to simply be whoever I was, darkness and all. I know at the time you were probably just looking to entertain yourself with whatever chaos and bloodshed I could cause,” she laughed and the expression on Astarion’s face melted into one of complete adoration.

“Guilty,” Astarion admitted with a laugh of his own. “And you haven’t disappointed,” he added softly, brushing a knuckle back up against her lips with delicate reverence.

She kissed at it, holding his tender gaze. “I don’t think you know how much that meant to me, though. And then later, when I was at my worst, you stayed by me and took care of me and you never stopped.”

Eli swallowed down the lump in her throat and blinked away the warmth that was threatening at her eyes.

“Nothing else could be like us, because no one has ever cared about me like you,” she concluded, smiling softly and whispering the words with the sincerity of a prayer.

Astarion stared at Eli for a long moment, emotions colliding and burning in his chest with so much vigor he was surprised his dead heart didn’t start beating again. He felt elated and awed by what she’d said. So much so that he was struck speechless and could only play her words over and over again in his mind, wanting to capture them perfectly and tuck them somewhere deep inside himself where no one could reach to steal them away. He couldn’t recall anyone ever saying anything to him that made him feel so cherished and significant. He traced the planes of her face with eyes that were beginning to wet as he tried to clear his throat and failed.

Eli watched Astarion carefully for a moment before her eyes widened in concern and she lifted a hand to him, carding it gently through his curled hair.

“Oh shit, did I break you?” she asked, only half joking as she stroked her hand through his hair.

The feel of it helped to calm him as a wide smile spread over his face, eyes half-lidded and looking at Eli like she was the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

“Come here you sweet, silly thing,” Astarion said, voice low and underpinned with a raw adoration that caused a flutter to take up in Eli’s chest.

He pulled her into a needy embrace; one hand placed softly in her hair as he tucked her head back under his chin, the other hand tightening around the small of her back to hold her close. He kissed the top of her head and breathed in slow, savoring her scent. She’d always smelled like wildflowers and the cool mist before a storm, like something exciting and freeing.

“Gods, you’re incredible,” he breathed, wondering what in the hells he had ever done in his irrelevant life to deserve her admiration. “I don’t think I’m ever going to want to let you go, my love.”

Eli wrapped her arms around him and for a moment she felt safe, secure and at peace.

“Then don’t,” she whispered against him.

They stayed wrapped up in one another until dawn, thankful to have one more day and hopeful for so many more.

80 notes · View notes

shiny-jr · 1 year

Note

hello! congrats on 5k, you deserve it!! i was wondering if i could request waste with kalim? i feel like that’s probably best suited for him, but im not picky- anyway i look forward to your future writings! have a nice day 🥰

– Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.

– Prompt: Waste. “You could toss me aside like garbage and I would still come back to you.”

– Character: Kalim Al-Asim.

– Note: Been writing a lot of Kalim lately.

It was incomprehensible to him. Of course it would be. How could a young man such as him, who received everything he ever wanted and then some since the very day he was born, be able to grasp the idea of being denied? For the first time, he couldn’t immediately have what he wanted. Because what he wanted was you. And he has never wanted something so badly before, he had never wanted to be held closely and loved so intensely by one specific person.

No matter the money he offered, or the gifts he bought, or gestures he performed just for a single chance, none of it worked. And he couldn’t believe it. It was unbelievable. No one had ever said no to him. But, he wouldn’t allow himself to be disheartened! Kalim decided to see this as a wonderful opportunity to prove himself! And he would, he would definitely prove that he was worthy of your time and attention! It was honestly a little exciting for him, for the first time he’d work hard for something and you’ll definitely notice and appreciate his efforts! At least, that’s what he believed.

“You don’t like my gifts? That’s okay! I’ll just try again. You could throw me aside and I would still come back to you, you know that, right? That’s how much I care! That’s how much I love you!”

#yandere #twisted wonderland #twst #twst writing #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #kalim al asim #twst kalim #yandere kalim al asim

454 notes · View notes

leggerefiore · 9 months

Note

https://twitter.com/sasaku_rkgk/status/1635669369450795009?s=20

https://twitter.com/sasaku_rkgk/status/1638145415915925505?s=20

I've completely forgot about this but I found it while cleaning out things BUT s/o making bento boxes/lunch that look like this for them.

Thought it be cute.

anon, the pokemon café food could be so many cute reactions from characters. ingo getting the Sneasel Burger™️

▲Ingo▼

● Poor guy was already overjoyed you made him a lunch and just was tearing up. You could put literal garbage in there, and he would still eat it because he's just so happy his love made him something so sweet and domestic. Ingo makes certain he doesn't miss his lunch break because he simply must make sure to eat your lovingly made meal.

● When he finally opens the box, his eyes go wide at the sight of the dishes inside. An adorable Drillbur themed chocolate cream dish explained why you asked him to make sure he placed it in the refrigerator at work. A cute note you left assured him it wasn't overly sweet, to align with his tastes. A thermos held cooled coffee with an adorable Litwick cup sat beside it. He held back a bravo. This was already too much for him.

● The Trubbish and Garbodor themed rice balls broke him, though. You reassured him you were careful to choose fillings that he'd definitely enjoy in your note. Ingo needed to thank you for all this effort. It truly brightened his day. He happily ate all the cute dishes you prepared for him and was clearly in a good mood for the rest of the day. Even an incident report couldn't bring down his emotional high.

● When he got home, you were quickly embraced and showered with endless praise from your beloved train man. It may tempt you to make more dishes like that for him. (This is how the Sneasel Burger somehow happens with his post or after Hisui.)

▽Emmet△

○ When you placed the odd box into his hands on his way out of the house, he had been confused. You then explained it was his lunch, and he nodded. Emmet is happy you made him food, the container just caught him off guard. He eagerly clocks out for his lunch break and sits the box on his desk. He enjoyed your cooking a lot, so he already expected to like what you made.

○ You proceeded to make his jaw drop and him gasp. The food inside made his grin grow large after getting over the initial shock. Joltik omelette left him overly giddy. They looked just like his babies! The ketchup on one even had him slightly concerned at first. The egg rice with a styled Tynamo made him just sit there with a goofy grin. You left a cute note teasing him about needing a diverse diet than sweets and hoping he enjoyed the meal.

○ You, however, weren't so cruel as to deny him his beloved sweets. Two doughnuts laid in the box, themed like two pieces of a Klink. You gave one a black nose and the other a white one. He chuckled at the idea of he and his brother being the pieces of a Klink. Emmet devoured the entire lunch box, but with momentary hesitation towards the Joltik omelette. He was scared he'd bite into it and hear a familiar squeak. It didn't happen, however, thankfully. All the Depot Agents were then terrified by a genuinely at ease and happy Subway Boss Emmet treading through the station. No one dared ruin his mood.

○ When he got home, you got tackled into a hug and covered in kisses. He thanked you for such a “verrrry” cute meal and squeezed you tightly to him. You definitely were tempted to make more for him, though he did beg you for more sweets.

▲▽▲▽▲▽▲

Sneasel Burger.....

#ingo x reader #ingo/reader #emmet x reader #emmet/reader #pokemon x reader #pokemon/reader #pokemon ingo x reader #pokemon emmet x reader

153 notes · View notes

snowandglasslabyrinth · 1 year

Text

Damn, the Velma show really sucks. All the characters seem wrong and one-dimensional. There’s nothing funny, I genuinely laughed once and it’s because sarcasm gets me always. Also, specifically it was Velma’s line after climbing the wall to perform a break and enter into Fred’s family’s mansion.

Velma is painfully mediocre as a character, she is contradictory and evidently treats people poorly, laughs in Norville’s face when he says he has a crush on her, and just seemed really mean and poorly written. I also really hate the fat phobic jokes. That’s not right, it’s not funny, it’s just in poor taste and mean. Having it so that she eats french fries out of the garbage is insulting and just pointless. She’s got some massive crush on Fred cause he’s ‘hot’, she’s fairly shallow as a character but loves to point out (see ep. 2) that all the other characters are shallow. People in her school think she’s ugly until she wears revealing clothing, then everyone pays attention to her - in my humble but angry opinion that is a bad message to spread to young adults and teens.

Norville is a whole case, the drug references and jokes are neither funny nor entertaining and after his ridiculous and clunky line about being anti-drugs early in the first episode he pauses as if the audience needs a moment to laugh. It was awful. I get that it’s meant to be a play on the idea that Shaggy was a stoned character but that doesn’t mean it’s funny.

Daphne is vapid, and she’s always been a little bit vain (the stereotypical girl character to an extent because in the original series she was a round character full of depth) but in the show she has become a high schooler obsessed with sex who treats everyone horrifically. The obsession with sex is a thing for all of the highschool girls in the show, I don’t know who had that kind of experience in highschool but I certainly didn’t so it feels uncomfortable and inappropriate (also feels like that because they anime bubble censor a bunch of naked teenage highschool girls as they talk about sex in tv, that shouldn’t have been allowed.)

Fred is just a douche. I mean I know that’s a choice that the writers made but I strongly hate who he’s become (and yes I know I’m supposed to hate him but I think it’s supposed to be because he’s a jerk not just because he’s poorly written uninteresting and a man child that acts like a stereotypical ‘macho’ man). And the amount of times he calls himself a ‘puss’ is annoying and, unfortunately for the show, still not funny, so only sarcasm points for comedy right now.

Some side character notes: Velma’s dad’s girlfriend is an awful and boring stereotype. The show leans on cliches and stereotypes heavily I.e. any character in that show practically. The other students are boring and not memorable. There’s a moment where Fred stands up for Velma and accidentally cuts a student’s foot off, reminiscent of the comedy in those bad adult cartoons that are overpopulating Netflix right now (Paradise PD, Hoops (is that what it’s called?) and others). If I didn’t mention other characters it’s because I don’t remember they exist.

Okay tl;dr the show sucks, it’s not funny, I loved Scooby Doo as a kid so this hurts me, I hate what they’ve done with the characters.

So, I know I usually don’t make my own posts or write reviews but I literally got 10 minutes into the second episode and had to stop because it was bad, very bad. The first episode was bad enough but I thought I would torture myself and then I gave up because I just couldn’t anymore. Thanks for reading all of this if you have, and don’t watch Velma.

#scooby doo #velma show #Velma #hbo max

509 notes · View notes

izunias-meme-hole · 11 months

Text

Okay, I keep hearing about the stuff about “TOTK is Pro-Imperialism” and I want to share my thougths.

TOTK isn’t Pro-Imperialism, but it isn’t Anti-Imperialism either

This debate has been surrounding The Legend of Zelda: Tears of The Kingdom for quite a bit, so I’m just here to state my thoughts on it based off of stuff from previous games, and stuff from in-game to try my best to form the clearest possible explanation to all of this. I apologize if this sounds like ramblings, I’m just trying my damnedest to condesce my thoughts on this matter into one post.

Point 1: Rauru is flawed, but not a monster

A fair amount of people think Rauru was the real evil, primarily due to the imperialism, but the reality is not exactly that. Rauru genuinely is a good man, and doesn’t exactly match the image of a conqueror or malevolent being in the end, but he does fall into an archetype the series likes presenting; The Questionable Hylian King. King Rhoam and Daphnes both fall into this category by both being men who would do whatever they can to preserve the Kingdom of Hyrule, but they aren’t exactly great people. Rauru however is a unique case, because despite having a good heart, he is still questionable because of how he was planning to build his kingdom, the stash of Zonai Secret Stones that were just kept in the castle at the time, and based off of how he planned to handle Ganondorf before the bastard became the Demon King, he didn’t consider the potential problems.

As for the Imperialism, based off the scraps of info we have on the Zonai, and the fact that Rauru even considered on having that be the base for the system that Ancient Hyrule would function on once, it leads me to believe that the Zonai Civilization was most likely an empire that lived in the skies that mostly kept to itself and was around since Skyward Sword. Still, empires are destined to fall, and as a result, only 2 young Zonai were left, Rauru and Mineru. I think that when Rauru was founding Hyrule with Sonia, he was most likely thinking about the Zonai Civilization, and what aspects of that he could carry over into this new kingdom. Still, it’s clear that when building Hyrule, the one thing he DID consider was that he wanted a kingdom and land that would bring peaceful and orderly, and he might’ve flirted with the idea of a United Hyrule after finding out about the other races and civilizations.

Rauru if anything, wanted order. He wanted Hyrule to be a land that wasn’t sullied by evil, and he had good intentions and a good heart, but his methods were flawed at best and just garbage at worst. If anything, Zelda and Link are meant to basically are meant to look at him and learn what NOT to do when rebuilding Hyrule. Order may be something that’s usually associated as something good, but it just depends on who’s trying to establish it.

Point 2: Ganondorf has a motive and it’s one that brings only chaos

I hear talks about how Ganondorf has no motive in this game, but that isn’t the case here. This is mostly denied with some lines of his english dub and his motive is explained clearly in the Japanese dub. He, much like his other incarnations, is one of those antagonists who follow “The Mandate To Heaven,” which is basically a “the strong thrive while the weak perish” mentality that was used by a lot of real life emperors and conquerors, however there’s also another element to his character that seperates him from other incarnations of the character. He’s an embodiment of chaos and is aware of it.

Look at Ganondorf’s Demon King design, and his personality in this game and tell me that he isn’t chaos incarnate. Ganon has ranged from being a classic villian, a tragic villain, and magnificent bastard as a human, to a generic doomsday villain in his beastial forms. But here? He’s aware of his capacity for causing chaos and uses it to his advantage to ruin Rauru’s attempt at establishing order. Not only that, but he believes that hard times make people strong, and that anyone who desires peace is a coward. He and the Gerudo have thrived in a chaotic environment, The Desert, however while the rest of the Gerudo wish to just be left the hell alone, Ganondorf wished to extend his reach across the land, and after becoming the Demon King, his first act was to revive dead monsters, reintroducing chaos into the world as a result. He abandoned the Gerudo for the sake of his goal to dismantle the young Kingdom of Hyrule and turn the land into a hellscape where only the strong can thrive, a hellscape ruled by him, a king who MUST crush any opposition and rule.

This is a similar, yet different take on Ganondorf that not only remains true to his kingly mentality, but carries a chaotic and destructive energy that helps cement him as a true enemy to order as a concept, and not a king who’s selfish heart caused him to go power mad (OOT, TP & WW) or a genuinely good leader who still carries a monstrous and power hungry side to him (HW). This Ganondorf is not just evil, nor is he just a conqueror. He’s the enemy to peace and order, no matter who’s trying to establish it, all because peace and order doesn’t align with his worldview.

Point 3: Zelda is not a monster, but she does carry an impact

This one should be obvious, especially since Hyrule was still realing from The Calamity, but apparently it isn’t. Zelda is the last Hylian Royal in the present, but not just that. She’s been helping people recover, alongside the Shiekah too. She’s probably kept in touch with the Gorons, Rito, Zora, and Gerudo during that time and helped them too, and considering that she was friends with their champions, it gives her even more reasons to help, despite the fact that she would’ve tried to help anyway. Zelda in all of her appearances, especially in BOTW and TOTK is a genuinely good person, but unlike Rauru, she’s only concerned with peace and is careful with her steps. Remember, she DID question Rauru’s plan to keep an eye on Ganondorf. Sure it’s her duty to ensure order, as The Princess, but she genuinely believes that peace should be the objective of any royal. Zelda is willing to do whatever she can for peace, but she knows that there are certain paths that she cannot tread, unless she desires to abuse her power, and this is why she values wisdom, and this is why people trust her as much as they do.

Ganondorf’s puppet copy of Zelda did some heinous shit with her face, but even then, it still managed to fool some people. The puppet was designed to take advantage of that trust, and put people in distraught. In other words, when the REAL Zelda came back, you bet your ass that shit was set stright.

Point 4: The imperialism is just… existing in ancient hyrule, and is never glorified or demonized

Yeah, imperialism is implied, but it’s not glorified or demonized. It was just there for Ancient Hyrule before Ganondorf threw the land into chaos. Aside from that, based off of everything we know about BOTW and TOTK, whatever imperialism was in going to be in Ancient Hyrule, it didn’t see the light of day BECAUSE of the chaos created by Demon King Ganondorf. If anything it was just known as a thing exclusive to that era, and I explained Rauru’s deal. It’s almost like the imperialism was just a thing of the past and nothing more, a failed byproduct of a founder who was flawed as a King.

Before anyone brings it up, yes, the Gerudo of the past (TOTK Memories and OOT) are different from the ones in the present, and they even fought Rauru, but juding by how their leader revived a bunch of long dead monsters and tried to turn the world into his “only the strong survive” dreamland, it makes sense why they ditched him, it’s the same reason why the Gerudo centuries after OOT are allies of Hyrule in the BOTW timeline. They may have their problems with the hylians and men, but they’d rather work with them than pave the way for Ganondorf to bring them to ruin.

Conclusion: ToTK is not propaganda, it’s just a simple game with a piece of lore that has imperialism

As I said in point 4, the game isn’t pro imperialism, but it isn’t anti imperialism either, it just brings it up for the flashbacks as the implied system of government Rauru probably wanted to set up (Which I theorize was due to the Zonai Civilization being something akin to an empire that kept to itself before inevitably falling) for the purpose of genuinely wanting peace and order, and when the war against Ganondorf begins, that idea falls apart because chaos is sweeping the land and Rauru basically sacrifices himself to stop it, and Zelda at the end of her journey learns from the founders mistakes.

Hope this helps, but it probably won’t ☠️☠️☠️☠️

#the legend of zelda #legend of zelda #tears of the kingdom #ganondorf #ganon #zelda #king rauru #analysis #tw: imperialism

261 notes · View notes