#ic action ooc writing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

penofdamocles · 9 months

Text

> Give a Gift (a week ago).

In a flash of green light, an overburdened angel appears in Season's Harbor in the motion of opening his mouth in a sharp but short scream and taking a step backward, away from a horror that's no longer present. Staring instead at the contents of his own, safe, puppet-less bedroom, Madison Aurel hugs the large soft object already in his arms in self soothing, focusing slow breaths to interrupt the moment of panic. He has absolutely no desire to know what the fuck the /moving teddy bear/ was about, or to ever visit that shop again, really, no offense meant to its disoncerting and concerning owner, whom he really hopes doesn't /always/ look like that.

Soft footsteps sound from the hall outside, audible only because of their hurried approach, and there's a light, careful knock on the purple bedroom door. Taking 1 last deep breath, Mads puts the massive green plush dragon he carries down on his wide, soft bed, before adjusting his sunglasses, approaching the door, and tugging it partially open.

“Hey, kiddo.”

A small befreckled human looks up at him through the gap with wide green eyes, lit with concern despite their unphased expression. “Uncle Mads Aurel, you screamed, are you in active danger or crisis?”

“No, uh, don't worry, I'm fine, just got freaked out for a second before I teleported back, but I'm safe and fine now so it's all cool. I have a surprise for you though, a positive 1, do you want it now?”

Andy relaxes at Mads' assurance, but perk up in a less tense fashion to stare at him in excitement. “A surprise? I have no reason to postpone obtaining such a gift if it is already prepared. Is there a specific purpose, event, or rewarded behavior corresponding to this sudden generosity?”

Mads can't help but grin a little at their response, always a rewarding part of getting people unexpected presents. ”Nothing in particular, I saw an open opportunity to easily help get you something you actively, specifically wanted but couldn't pay for yourself. I mean, what kind of angel uncle passes up a gifting chance that golden?“

The hint's not terribly subtle to a teen this clever, and their hands rise in front of them in giddy realization, their feet bouncing as they almost hop in place with joy.

“Rose created it already? How impressive, at the estimated measurements of material in this timeframe that must have taken dedication unexpected from a commission I was unable to offer down payment on.”

Andy's droning assessment doesn't express how excited they had initially been at the opportunity, how tempered that had been by the assessment of required work to pay for it, or the deep disappointment when it became clear that their currency was nearly worthless to the toymaker, even if she finished the commission and they did as much work as they could. They'd sadly written it off, already attempting to move on, but Mads has successfully relit a snuffed hope; he can tell, and he's proud of it.

”She did work super fast, yeah, but she seemed really, uh..happy, with the results.“ Or whatever that was. ”Want to see slash have it?“ Mads offers, opening the door further and taking a step back.

Andy is already nodding before the question is fully stated, they'd be happy just to see it but to have it for themselves, also? Despite the angel obtaining it of his own efforts? Praise Madison Aurel, they've been bestowed a great blessing. They rush into the angel's bedroom, a space they've long since been welcome in, and immediately fixate on the contents of the bed.

”The dragon…they are so large,“ the warlock assesses in quiet awe, observing the sheer size of their new friend. Their fingers touch their chin and their eyes are literally sparkling with some variety of revealing magic as they examine it on other levels, following a deep curiosity to Know everything about it, of course. Andy steps closer, reaching out to learn more via touch, and Mads leans on the door watching while they pet every patch of fabric, play with every fin and claw, squeeze its limbs and tail, finally kneeling at the base of the bed to stare the stuffed dragon intensely in the sewn-on eyes. They're having a moment, trying to Understand this new and important addition to their life, and Know their True Name.

The angel doesn't question or judge their process, it's far too endearing to him, drawing a soft and steady smile from his tired face. He may not understand their thought process, but he knows how important this is to the little human, no longer of any conscious relation to someone he hates to think of; Andy's established plenty of their own associations by now. The nickname helps. They just remind him so much of his ward in behavior, it's easier to ignore the way their stare, fixed on him intently, sometimes makes his strings feel a little tighter around him. But they're happy, right now, and it makes him happy to see.

After several minutes of intense staring and thought, Andy nods to themselves, once, solemnly.

“Leofric.”

“Is that their name?” Mads raises an eyebrow, straightening up.

“That is the name he desires and deserves, yes. It means ”beloved king“. As he shall be.”

“A king, huh? What qualifies him as nobility here, was he voted in? Founded the kingdom?”

“As with many rulers who have historically claimed, to various levels of accuracy, to have been designated rulers by a divine messenger bestowing such power upon them personally, so shall Leofric receive a celestial's blessing and the right to rule from an inarguable source.”

As they explain, Andy stands up and moves back over to Mads Aurel, taking him by the hand and tugging him over to the bed, still very serious. They position him in front of the dragon, looking up at the angel expectantly.

If anyone can play along, it's Mads, but he does need to take a moment to figure out what he can do here that means jack shit. It takes him a second to remember he has more literal than usual divine magic at his fingertips. Raising both hands, Madison Aurel mutters a spell, a golden glow enveloping his fingers and, in a shining aura, Leofric and Andy. The latter looks from their glowing hands to their dragon to Mads, wide-eyed at the power and authority they see in him. It doesn't make him uncomfortable anymore, they mean well, and it feels nice to meet their expectations sometimes.

“Leofric, son of Rose, I declare you the rightful king and ruler of..“ He raises an eyebrow at Andy, and without speaking they send him a mental prompt. ”..the kingdom of the Safest Room, and all the lands and creatures within. May you rule with compassion, wisdom, and, a perpetually comforting presence. And, Andy, child of Hinata, I declare you the king's chosen steward, guard, and cuddle buddy, a bond made unbreakable by the divine blessing I've given you both. Do you accept this position?”

They stare in awe at this unexpected involvement and personal assigned task, but nod respectfully, hands shaking in front of them with semi-contained excitement. “I do, and I declare my eternal devotion to the king, and his divine patron.“ Dramatically, they kneel before him; Mads isn't sure how serious they're being, but after an awkward second he gestures them back to their feet.

”How was that, is Leofric nice and officiated now?“

”He very much is, I express my deep gratitude for your contribution. And- oh, my goodness, it did not occur to me.” Andy suddenly moves forward to hug Mads, feeling smaller than usual in this position, due to his literal height increase. He doesn't flinch, but hugs them back, looking down curiously.

“Thank you, Uncle Mads Aurel, thank you very much for providing access to this rather frivolous desire of mine, it means more to me than I am capable of clearly expressing.”

“I dunno, kid, it's perfectly clear to me,” Mads chuckles, rustling their curly hair. “It's not frivolous, I'm sure he'll bring you a lot of joy. You're very welcome. Now, let me give you a hang getting it back to your room because it's literally taller than you are.”

“That will not be necessary, I must adapt to transporting him regularly.” With that confidently established, Andy hefts Leofric up and off the bed, instantly concealed behind his plush mass. Mads watches them go like an ant with an entire marshmallow out his bedroom door, removing the king to his new domain and closing the door behind them with a deftly wedged foot.

#((a belated scene i was meaning to write but that i'm quite proud of!#((it's very cute :)#action #No Strings (ic)#learningeye #viewed ooc

6 notes · View notes

holyhappyhour · 10 months

Text

The Bad Deal: part 2

part 1

Le goes quiet, keeping her gaze unfocused and away from Conrad's look of concern. But she joins him in sitting up in bed, though she stays close, shoulder against his broad chest.

"What do you mean? There's no way--"

Le cuts him off. "I got a message on Tumblr. Told me where this uhh. Some deal was s'posed to go down. And, fuck, Connie..."

"What happened, Le....?"

She sighs a long, tired sigh. "It's. Uh.. Shit. Hold on. I got a uh, a video--"

Excuses herself for a moment to fetch her phone from where she'd undressed in the entryway She takes a quick pull from the open bottle of Irish whiskey she'd left in the living room, then quickly rejoins her partner in bed. She settles in and unlocks the device, pulls up her most recent videos, and holds it for them both to watch.

"Just... Look."

The shaky, unsteady video is taken from a distance, though the focus zooms as far as possible within the first few seconds. Four figures can be seen, three presumably male figures dressed in more clothing than appropriate for the warm weather, and a much smaller female with blonde hair. The group appear to be standing in the middle of a nearly empty warehouse, cast in the warm, golden glow of sunset.

The blonde reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small bag of something. Even zoomed in on the phone's camera it's hard to see just what was contained in the sack. She reaches out to one of the people, and a quick deal is made. "Now don't use it all in one place!"

The bubbly voice chimes in as the bag is held. The three men begin to argue amongst themselves, and it is clear the direction that is being taken as the woman takes a couple steps back, swinging her hands clasped behind her back.

The man with the bag barks something at the other two, and quickly gobbles the content up, "oh, look at you go," the blonde says, still slowly inching away. The plastic container falls daintily to the floor, letting itself ride the wind down.

Le wants to look away from the screen. She's already seen this, she knows what's coming next. But she keeps her green eyes glued to the video anyway.

Immediately the man begins hacking up, coughing and welching to himself while it echoes through the empty room. There is a distinct sound of skin beginning to tear and rip as the whines become screams.

His partners look on in confusion up until the sound of his arm snaps, the visuals showing the limb bending at ninety degrees, bone jutted outward. Muscles and tendons hang loosely from the tear when the other arm snaps, the screams louder and easily puncturing into the outside world. An ichor rolls from his eye sockets, reverb adding to his voice.

Flesh shifts, muscle moves down and his height slowly begins to increase. The jagged bones that were once arms elongate even more, protruding out like makeshift spears while the remaining arm falls off. The other two Supers now also back away, watching the mouth of the first rip open and grow in size.

The video pauses, Conrad's finger against the screen. Le looks over, only to see his brown eyes wide with horror.

"...Yeah. Uh. We don't have to finish it, but--"

Conrad shakes his head. Takes a deep, slow, unsteady breath. "No. No, it's okay I just." Another deep breath, and heavy sigh.

"Look, I know it's a lot to--"

"Le. Le, look at me," Conrad says firmly, turning to put a hand on each of Le's bare shoulders. "I get it, I get.. Why you didn't tell me first. And we! Can talk about that later." There's high note to his voice where he was going for a joke, only to fall flat in the sternness of the moment. "But I'm your partner, and I'm your boyfriend too. Whatever you face, I. Want to face it too."

For a moment, Le just stares at him, her typical, unreadably dour expression in place. "...That's. Like. The gayest shit I've ever heard." She can't help but break face into a light, hint of a chuckle. But a deep breath brings the brief comedic break to an end.

"Okay. It's. Not much longer. But uhh," she vaguely warns as she presses the screen to resume.

"Oh, hun, told you not to take it all," she says, marveling at her work. The other two Supers seem uncertain what to do as the screaming slowly comes to a halt, but the same ichor now rolls out of the mouth, his head having lost eyes and nose during the process. What was once a normal sized person was an ugly and gaunt looking creature of skin and bones. Clothes begin to rip at the seam, protrusions of bone popping up like spines.

"Oh, dear, would you kindly give your friends a message from the Church?"

Her words are turned to action, as the transformed Super impales his left most colleague with the bone arm, lifting the man high off the ground.

The video cuts off abruptly.

And a long silence floods the bedroom.

"...So that's uhh."

"..."

"The uhh.. The other one got away."

"The...?"

"Yeah, the uhhh. The- the junkie guy, not the uhhhh...." Le gestures with her free hand to the image of the Monster, frozen mid attack on the screen.

"Monstrosity."

"The... Yeah." Le's voice sinks. She feels Conrad's arm pull her tighter. His hand is shaking.

"Did you.. Fight that thing....?"

"No! No no no, fuck no."

"Then...?"

Le pauses a moment to recollect. She had almost dropped her phone in shock at the moment the video cut out, and had replaced it with her revolver instead. Which meant the rest of the bizarre rendezvous had gone unrecorded.

"There was another woman that I swear just kinda.. Came out of nowhere? Just uhh.. She let the other guy go, the one that-- Yeah, yeah. Then she just kind of.... Completely. Minced that thing with this like. This big ass spear..??"

Conrad's eyes go wide, but he nods for her to continue.

"Right, so uhhh. Yeah, she cut that monster up into pieces before it could even fight back, she was insane, Connie. Didn't bat a fuckin' eye. But this thing, it had uhh, it- it regenerated, you know? Kept healing itself up the little cuts, but it was like, too slow to keep up. She had it down just totally helpless on the ground and.... Fucking walked away, Connie."

"...Wait. Wha--"

"She said she wasn't gonna follow through and told it to go. Told it to go out into the world, like some kinda relocated possum."

"A possum with an.... Insatiable hunger for blood and flesh....."

"....Yeah. So uhh."

A look of horror suddenly crosses Conrad's face. "He's not still..."

"No!! No no no no n o. No I uh. I put it out. For good, I'm sure of it. But that woman got away before I could catch her."

Conrad is quiet for a moment, then sighs heavily. His tense shoulders slump, and he pulls Le in to a tight, warm hug. "So you didn't get hurt then...?"

"Nah, nah. Only the trauma-- Oh." Suddenly she readjusts, kicking one leg out from under the covers. "Cut myself on some glass, I uhh. Shit, I really forgot about that. Huh."

"You... Had a lot on your mind, I think. Here, let's.. Get that cleaned up real quick," He slides out of bed, walks around to offer a hand to Le, who rolls her eyes but can't help a little smile. "And we can think about this more tomorrow, okay? Or, iiiif you can't sleep, I'll stay up and we can talk about it tonight."

Le thinks for a moment as she takes her partner's hand. It's not often she allows him to take care of her so kindly, normally insisting to treat her wounds herself. But for tonight, she thinks maybe they both deserve this.

"Mmm. Tomorrow. Yeah. Gimme 2-- okay 3, more shots of that Jameson. And it can definitely be tomorrow."

(( Italicized paragraphs are written by @hulizi / @calestro and taken directly from the RP where these events took place!! thank youuuuuu Rayne for your contributions and for being a phenomenal RP buddy 💖💖💖💖 ))

#ooc #ic actions #not visible ic #the bad deal #drabbles #idk what other tags I'm going to try when I inevitably look back and realized I have no consistent tagging system for my actual writing so #emetophobia //#kind of #body horror //

6 notes · View notes

seashaper · 1 year

Text

Clash In the Fog

> Madison Rook waits near the middle of the aforementioned campsite, positioned in a forest of tall evergreens, frosted-over needles coating the ground outside of the pentagon of arranged tent spots. They circle the large stone firepit in the center, trying to ignore the charred wood still piled within, watching all angles of the dark woods around them. They’re trying to draw the creature out, there’s not too much point in hiding, but by Arctic they’re not going to let themselves get snuck up on. Their hood is down, they need to keep their peripheral vision, and Rook’s long, pointed ears twitch at any little noise. Footsteps, cracking branches, breathing..

What they don’t expect to hear, echoing from the shadows, is a voice.

“You’re just standing alone in the woods? At least the other prey brought friends and a reason to be here. It’s almost like you *want* to be eaten. Pathetic.”

It comes from off to their right, and the tiefling’s blood runs cold as they spin to face it. They were supposed to be fighting a beast, not a person. Is this a person? They’re a pretty good imitation of one so far, if not. Of course, Rook still can’t resist responding to the jab.

“I have plenty of reason, and you’re it. I bet you haven’t met much resistance from your ‘prey’, lately, have you?”

They already have their sword in 1 hand, their staff in the other, as it grows from their thin, spiraling wand, the crystal at the top gleaming even in the fog.

“Not that I’d make very good prey, you wouldn’t like how I taste.”

“Prey always says that, when they get the chance. I’m sure you’ll make just as fine a meal as the others.”

The voice sounds like it’s circling, as it slowly grows closer, but Rook can barely hear it. A paw on the ground- they turn and there’s nothing there. The fog is growing thicker, they can’t see their target through it, but they hold firm, preparing to either hit or be hit at any moment.

In a flash, both occur; from their left a creature pounces, a catlike creature with long, tufted ears, a sneering, sharp-toothed grin, and long claws outstretched towards Rook; the tiefling pivots and puts the momentum into a swing, which carves a deep gash under the creature’s foreleg, as its claws do the same to Rook’s upper arm. Both of them hiss in pain, the tiefling withdrawing to the other side of the firepit to heal. The creature, however, falls with a thud to the ground, frozen in time for the moment, and gives the sorcerer a better look. The spotted, dark grey-furred beast is almost as tall as they are, and bears a striking resemblance to an oversized lynx, except..he can see where the edges of its body- his body, he can talk after all- fade into mist that would be swirling and blending into the fog if it weren’t magically motionless.

Taking stock of the situation and advantage of the quick pause they’ve provided themselves, Rook hurriedly casts their spells, Aegis of Night for defense, and a Mind Spike that sinks right through the lynx’s inactive mind, marking him in Rook’s awareness; he won’t be getting the jump on them again. As the time freeze fades they ready and fire an Edritch Blast. The lynx, which climbs to his feet with a loud growl and a sudden blinding headache, gets a blast of sea-blue energy to the snout, 1 to the shoulder, with a 3rd firing right between his furry ears as he barely ducks the beam. The first hit makes him howl, tears in his magic-burned eyes, but the body hit barely seems to phase him as he shakes himself off, taking a moment to taunt them again. It’s strange to see the lynx’s mouth move in human speech, his lips forming a snarl as he says “A magician? All the way out here? That’s fine, I suppose. You can’t cast your silly little spells on a hunter you can’t see.”

Snarl twisting into a grin, the beast’s form swirls and disperses into a cloud of mist, ending with the face in a Cheshire-esque display. It catches Rook off-guard and they cling a little tighter to their staff; they can keep track of where he is, at least, despite his blending perfectly into the fog.

It isn’t enough, unfortunately, to keep those claws from lashing out suddenly from seemingly nothing as the lynx reappears right up against them and digs in deep. The razor-sharp claws sink through their clothing and scale armor on each side, drawing blood that doesn’t show against their black jacket but flows heavily down to the forest floor. They can’t help but cry out at the intense pain, especially as a single claw hooks deep enough through their soul to catch on and snap a rib. The lynx rumbles a laugh and pulls back his paw for another, wider swipe, but Rook catches this one with a splash of water from the frost around them, melting slowly as their warm blood makes contact, which stops the attack’s momentum more than the creature expects, shifting its arc to barely draw a line across Rook’s chest. Each attack, as it makes contact, cuts through the layer of shadow surrounding the sorcerer, which responds with sharp spikes that sink into the lynx’s paws and forelegs before he pulls away.

Growling, head still aching but feeling as if he’s already crippled his foe as they lean heavily against their staff and bleed the same weight, he goes for a bite to their sword arm. His teeth sink in, even as the shadows painfully pierce the roof of his mouth, and the anticipation of humanoid blood pouring across his tongue has his adrenaline pumping- until he tastes it. He draws back quickly, spitting Rook’s blood and his onto the hard-packed campground dirt, hissing his surprised rage. Ink, seawater, alcohol and oil, all approximate tastes mixed together in the black liquid now flowing back into Rook’s veins, more than bitter on the tongue, it’s like an assault on the senses. “What in the 9 Hells?? You’re disgusting!”

It’s meant as an insult, but Rook doesn’t take it as one; they laugh, in fact, though it’s cut off by a pained cough as their rib clicks back into place. “I did literally tell you, fucker, that’s your own fault. Was a mouthful of sharp shadows worth that? If not, I wouldn’t recommend trying again.” “No, I suppose not. I’ll find better prey. Your lucky day, for being such an abhorrent nuisance.” The beast turns to run, but as they do, the spherical crystal gleams again, and Rook casts Compelled Duel, an old favorite in fights like this. He stops in his tracks, trying to bound off into the fog but unable, his limbs stiff and trembling with rage that he can’t help but focus on Rook, turning to glare at them with piercing blue eyes. The tiefling gives their own sharp grin, twisting their sword arm as the bite marks close.

“I don’t think you will. You’re my prey. You have been from the start. Now let’s try again, shall we?”

The lynx is a smart creature. He can see the tide of battle turning, and unable to run, he begins to disperse into mist; Rook is already casting before he can, and 2 buzzing, transparent knives form in the air on either side of their staff, fundamentally altered Ice Knives, firing directly at and into the half-mist creature. They don’t quite draw blood upon entry, but the vibration in his skin is painful, even before they both explode. 2 blasts of thundering air blow apart his right shoulder and left foreleg into fog that quickly disperses into nothing, major parts of his body vanishing instead of trailing away into a less vulnerable form. The inside looks like swirling fog as well, and it reaches to fill the empty spaces, but there’s no replacing that. The thunderous explosion clears away much of the nearby natural fog as well, revealing his position rather thoroughly. Suddenly the lynx is, in fact, the prey, and he looks panicked, an unfamiliar and unwelcome experience. His heavy breathing as he backs away turns into a blue mist, rolling across the ground at his feet and rising to obscure them both again.

Rook sighs, focusing on where his spell knows the link to be- and in their deep breath, begins to choke. Something sickly in the air enters their lungs, and they begin to grow dizzy, before their soul flares up inside, and they cough up a cloud of violet sparks, clearing the invasive toxin from their body. The lynx’s last resort now having failed, his ears go flat, and yet, he has no choice, he has to pounce at Rook again, despite his limited range of movement, now. Unbalanced, he has to rise onto his rear legs to take a swipe at Rook’s throat with his 1 remaining claw, which simply glances off their staff as they place it in the way.

“Sorry, but I have to kill you, and it has to leave a body. It’s a shame, but you did eat people, so you really had it coming.” They don’t fully believe this. This lynx is technically a person. They’re not happy with this decision, but it has to be made in the moment.

The staff moves aside, and suddenly, right against the lynx’s throat, Rook swings their sword hard, as it glows with a bright white light. The blade sinks through in an arc, the light pouring out of the wound as well as the lynx falls back, glowing, now, fully in view despite the holes, and still weakly twitching. No blood comes from the neck wound, but it’s still decidedly fatal. For now, though, the lynx remains alive..barely.

Rook, having expected their final blow to kill, stands over their defeated opponent, still breathing, but shallowly. They stand here, a moment, and think, considering their options, what they can do and what they should do. And what they can do to accomplish what they should do..

Their staff shrinks back into their wand, and with some careful spellcrafting, Controlling Water on their Watery Cube, they create a box around the lynx, made of solid ice, with, for now, a hole in the side. Reaching their hand through, keeping away from the teeth and remaining claws, they send some sparks, repairing the heavy throat damage. Just as the lynx sucks in a deep breath, the hole seals over, and the lynx is trapped in an airtight, transparent box. No gassing his way out of this one. Rook is already calling animal control, explaining the situation and that this isn’t simply a wild animal attack; soon the authorities have arrived, more professionally contained what is apparently referred to as a Vapor Lynx (a little on the nose), and they’ve been given thanks and proper paperwork to confirm with the guild that they finished the job. Well, ‘finished’ it. Rook’s grateful that they didn’t have to kill this clearly intelligent, if cruel and violent being, but a wrathful part of them bitterly wishes they had gotten to see the light go out of its eyes. A murderer. A devourer. It deserved to die. ..but it didn’t. He didn’t.

Rook will just have to push aside their dark desires and continue to try and keep to their principles, however complicated they may be becoming in this strange world where defining a ‘monster’ becomes more and more unclear. For now, they’ve gotten their fight, they’ve gotten their justice, and they’re off to get their payment; a productive day, all in all.

#action #Crafting Incantations (ic)#long post #((i was going to format this differently but i REALLY wanted to write third person omniscient #((so here we are #ooc save #blood ment

6 notes · View notes

yumichikah · 2 years

Text

Arrives.

#ic for ooc #Got stuff done and now I shall try writing!#hmu on discord or dms if you need some Yumichika action in your life

3 notes · View notes

lazyjellyfish300 · 2 months

Text

The Woman He Didn't Choose part 2🥀

AU Bachelor!Miguel O'Hara x Fem contestant Reader

Synopsis: the aftermath of the show as you and Miguel move on(sort of). The first part is mostly from his POV then transitions into your experience on the spinoff show- Singles in Paradise where you have a second shot at finding love. Word count: 6k

A/N: Sorry to any Xina fans, I made her OOC and quite mean in this one. I haven't read the comics but from what I've heard of her and seen so far she's one of the canon love interests I like the most. (Even tho I shamelessly self ship with Miguel lolol bc as far as I know ATSV Miguel is separate from comic Miguel Soo until we hear otherwise I'm gonna be delulu.)

Also, I am sorry if any of the couple pairings in this part bother you, it's purely for the purpose of the plot since we're supposed to be on another dating show and I am too lazy to create a bunch of OCs. If you're unfamiliar with the show Bachelor in Paradise, here's a clip to give you an idea. Basically, it's another dating show usually in a tropical location where single people couple up, and new arrivals come in every so often and ask people on dates to shake things up, leading to drama and chaos, and couples can choose to stay together or break up in the end and there's typically an engagement. DISCLAIMER: I HAVE NO RIGHTS TO THE SHOWS THE BACHELOR OR BACHELOR IN PARADISE, ALL RIGHTS TO THE OWNERS. I CHANGED THE NAME OF THE SHOW IN THE STORY.

TW: MINORS DNI, ANGST, RACIAL MICROAGGRESSIONS ABOUT ESL AND FAMILY STRUCTURE(IF THAT'S SENSITIVE FOR YOU PLEASE SKIP ❤️) EMOTIONAL ABUSE, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, ALCOHOL ,DOWNPLAYING MENTAL HEALTH STRUGGLES, LITTLE BIT OF EMOTIONAL CHEATING ON MIGUEL'S PART, STRUGGLES WITH RELIGION AND FAITH, MENTION BULLYING AND FAMILY STRUGGLES, BREAK-UP, FANTASIZING, JEALOUSY, INSECURITY, CLASSISM, MODERATE SMUT(P IN V BUT IT'S ONLY MENTIONED NOT FULLY DETAILED, THESE ONES ARE DETAILED: DRY HUMPING, HEAVY MAKING OUT, AND FINGERING. ALSO, VOYEURISM-ISH)

(couple pairings are Ben Reilly and Felicia Hardy, Jessica Drew and Noir, George Stacey and MJ, Xina Kwan and Miguel O'Hara, not saying anything else bc spoilers)

Part 1 , Part 3

@miguelhugger2099, @kodo1221,@mimiemie, @laysmt, @cheerrioeoz , @spicydonut25 , @thisistotesnotspam-heart , @thekidscallmebosss , @librababe99 , @ce3stvu @irishbl0ss0mz @nommingonfood , @mauvecherie-writes , @royale-skeleton-key , @famouscattale

I'm so sorry if I forgot you in the tags , just lmk

------

"Miguel!"

Miguel looks up abruptly from a spot on the floor he was zoning out on to look at Xina's slightly annoyed expression. "Hydrangeas or peonies for the guest tables, babe?" she repeats, standing next to the sample table where the wedding planner and florist awaited with anxious eyes.

Miguel blinks rapidly. "It doesn't matter to me, baby...um...." he points to the peony arrangement. "That one."

Xina huffs and turns to look at the planner and florist. "We'll do the hydrangeas."

Miguel smirks and puts his hands in his pockets. "Now, why would you ask me my opinion if you're going to just pick the one you wanted?"

Xina's annoyed look softens subtly but she shakes her head. "It's mostly the bride's day, you know. You're just supposed to show up."

Miguel smiles. "Well, I guess you don't need me to come to the wedding planning dinner tonight? Since you seem to have it all handled?"

Xina groans. "Miguel! You said you'd be there! Have you even read through Exodus like I asked you to?"

Miguel feels his cheeks burn. "Shit...um, no..."

Xina shoots a glare at the wedding planner and the florist and makes a shooing motion with her hand. They both put their heads down and quickly leave the room, giving them privacy. Miguel adjusts his tie, a little bit thrown off by her dismissive actions towards the staff.

Xina sits down at the table and pours herself a glass of ice water. She takes a long sip and sighs, looking at Miguel. "Babe...," she says in a low voice. "You know that getting married in the church is a top priority for me. You know what it means to me..."

Miguel's eyebrows knit together with worry. "I know it is..." he rapidly crosses the room to join her and kneels in front of her, hands on her thighs. She squirms away from him a little and purses her lips, looking down.

"Promise me you'll catch up on your Bible reading by next week and set up an appointment with the missionaries?"

Miguel hesitates for just a fraction of a second in his mind but he answers her, almost a little too quickly, "Of course I will."

Xina manages to give him a little smile, fiddling with the top button on his shirt. "Love you..."

"Love you too."

---

Later that evening, Xina and Miguel are sitting next to each other at a large, circular, oak table across from her parents, eating dinner in their mansion of a home.

Xina's mother makes a face when she takes a bite of the salmon.

"Something wrong with it, hun?" Xina's father asks, dishing himself some potatoes.

Xina's mother spits the bite into a napkin. "Rex!" She barks. An older, balding man with a kind face and chef's uniform enters the dining room. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Salmon's not up to par, I'm afraid." She pushes the dish towards the puzzled chef.

"M' sorry ma'am. Can I make you anything else you'd like instea-"

She cuts him off. "No, my appetite's ruined. That's all, Rex."

The chef looks down in shame at the dish he worked hard on, picking it up with shaky hands and shuffling quickly out of the dining room.

Miguel tightens his grip on his fork and shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. He had not seen this side of Xina's parents. But, it was only their third time meeting, so he did his best to concentrate on who he was really there for, Xina. He took another bite of his roast beef.

Once the old man was out of earshot, Xina's mother tuts her teeth. "Sorry, he's insufferable... I don't know what we'll do with him.... is your roast beef even edible, dear?" She asks Miguel.

Miguel inhales slowly, trying to stifle his outrage on the chef's behalf but Xina's father cuts in.

"So, Miguel," Xina's father says, breaking the silence. "Your folks are planning on driving down on the... 25th, right? For the rehearsal dinner?"

Miguel nods, blotting his lips with a cloth napkin. "Yes, sir."

"Remind me who's coming?" He asks, pouring a generous helping of gravy on his potatoes.

Miguel clears his throat. "My younger brother, Gabe, and my mother-"

"Right, your father's not in your life." Xina's father says, waving his fork.

Miguel's lips fall open and he blinks in disbelief at the abruptness of his statement. I mean, he wasn't lying, per se. Miguel took a sip of his wine, trying to chalk it up to just him not choosing his words carefully, that's all.

"Right, he's not..." Miguel says, straightening in his chair.

Xina's mother pipes up, "You know, that's really such an inspiration on your part. Most people like you with your background end up on the streets, or worse."

Miguel abruptly stops cutting his meat, first looking at Xina's mother, who sat with a smile on her face looking at him, to her husband, who was too occupied with his potatoes to even care, to Xina who was just looking at her lap, clearly a little embarrassed at her comment, but stayed silent.

It got worse. She continues, "... wouldn't even guess that English isn't your first language. You're so well spoken for someone like you."

At that point, Miguel is so uncomfortable that he stands up abruptly, removing his napkin from his lap and setting it next to his wine glass.

"...if you'll excuse me..." he briskly walks out, making sure to close the front door a little extra loudly than he normally would.

Miguel paces in the driveway, taking deep breaths. He exhales a little bit when he sees Xina, but he's met with a different reaction than he was expecting.

"What the hell are you doing?" she hisses, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her stomach.

Miguel's face contorts in confusion, "Babe..that comment your mom made-"

"It's just how she is, Miguel!" Xina says, her annoyance starting to make itself apparent as her face comes into view.

Miguel is now even more confused.

"Just come back inside, please?" Xina looks around, hoping none of the neighbors were witnessing their spat.

Miguel takes a step back, his face hurt. "Xi...what's got into you...?"

"Look, I'm sorry that she said it, okay? But that's just how she is. She doesn't have a filter. Old people are just like that. Now she's upset because you stormed out."

Miguel becomes angry now. "Babe. I understand your parents are from a different generation and your mom has a certain way of... communicating." He sighs. "But what she said was kind of racist. I felt extremely uncomfortable."

Xina looks up at the sky in utter aggravation, "Okay! Fine! You're right! It was totally racist, okay? Happy? I'll talk to her about it later, but I really don't wanna fight anymore about this. We're supposed to walk down the aisle in three and a half weeks. They're just stressed because they're not only hosting my family, they're hosting yours too. I'm stressed, you're stressed. We all are..."

Miguel takes a deep breath. Now he's second guessing himself and his feelings. Did he overreact? The last thing he wanted was for them to dislike him. They were his future in-laws after all. Even though Miguel is hurt she won't defend him and is downplaying his feelings, he decides to shove them aside for her sake. Miguel looks down at her, taking her waist in his hands. She flinches a little and tries to pull back at first, but remains where she's standing when he holds her a little tighter.

"I'm sorry...okay? I'm sorry for being an ass..." Miguel can't help but feel a little odd that he's the one apologizing, but he continues. "Let's go back inside, yeah? Maybe we can go on a date this Friday, just to get away from all this wedding planning stuff."

Xina gives him a half smile and takes his hand in hers. "Deal..."

----

Later that night as Miguel showered in his shared apartment with Xina, he kept replaying their fight over and over again. He didn't know what it was, but lately, Xina was showing a very different side of herself. One that was completely the opposite of the soft spoken sweetheart he fell in love with when the cameras were rolling

He knew that she was religious when he proposed, but had the impression she was more of an Easter and Christmas-only attendee. Her devoutness amped up shortly after their engagement. Her pressure for him accept Jesus and get baptized so they could be married in her church started making him realize he bit off a little more than he could chew.

He felt a phony when she'd ask him to pray over meals and when he'd be called on to read a passage in Sunday School, like he wasn't supposed to be there. His scientific-inclined brain clashed with the idea of a magical being in the sky who would send him to Hell if he touched himself.

Furthermore, Xina demonstrated that she could be quite insensitive to his feelings, and he couldn't unsee the way his future in-laws poorly treated their chef in front of him, and the casual microaggressions they were throwing out about him and his family.

His whole childhood, he was bullied for his accent and for being one of the kids who would get pulled out of class for extra tutoring because he was so far behind everyone else. He was used to being doubted and constantly faced taunts from his classmates and teachers. Conchata was generally the better parent compared to George, but unfortunately that wasn't saying much.

She put immense pressure on Miguel to do well and excel in everything, constantly shifting the goalposts for the near impossible standards she expected him to reach.

But, he worked his ass off and eventually started reading two grade levels above his current grade and took home placing trophies in Math and Science olympiads. It wasn't long before Ivy League schools set their sights on him, and he went on to be the successful geneticist he was today, even buying Conchata a new house despite their volatile relationship.

Throughout it all, he never felt ashamed of where he came from, or his heritage. Nevertheless, it was something he was still was VERY sensitive about and he told Xina about it many times which is why it stung when she couldn't defend him. He even told you about it.

Oh God....you. This was the first time in a while that he finally allowed his mind to dwell on you for longer than a minute. He remembered how receptive you were when he told you. For once, he didn't hear a, "well at least you have it better than most", or a "cheer up, it's not so bad," when he explained his life story. Instead, you listened carefully with a soft look in your eyes and one of your hands resting on top of his, letting him know that the way he felt was completely valid. Something he didn't realize could be so healing when he heard you say that in that moment.

On top of that, your family was so...kind. Your mom even went out of her way to whip up an extra loaf of banana bread just for him when she caught wind that it was his favorite. Your siblings treated him like he was just another member of the family and it was a little unreal how seamlessly he got along with all of them. And, he distinctly remembered how gracious every single one of them were to the restaurant staff when you all went to lunch, with no awkward, demeaning energy like Xina's parents unfortunately demonstrated at dinner tonight. The cameras must have kept them on their best behavior until their true selves could come out once they turned off.

He's about to do something he knows he shouldn't, but he can't resist. He unblocks you on Instagram. (He has only one post on his own account and it's from when he was announced as The Eligible Suitor, the show forced him to create one for publicity's sake, he actually loathes social media in all forms).

And there you were, smiling with your friends at brunch. Another one of you showing off your new dog you rescued from the shelter named Hamilton, and your gorgeous headshot of you in a swimming suit for your debut on Singles in Paradise, where you and other rejected candidates from the show were all going to go at it in a fancy beach resort in Mexico.

Man, you looked good, curves on full display. The smile that he fell in love with was spread across your lovely face. The same one he was responsible for erasing when he broke your heart with less than 10 words on a tranquil beach in Thailand months earlier.

Now, you seemed happier. Trying to carry on with life as though he was never there. Like he didn't haunt your dreams and the sound of his name didn't cause the sting of a thousand burns to scorch through your body. Like you were never the first girl he ever spilled his cum into during that sexy night in the Fairytale Suites, remnants of him imprinted somewhere deep inside you.

Xina climbs into bed next to him and he closes out of Instagram immediately, ashamed that he let his mind wander. Her hand wanders down to his cock and it's not long until he's pounding into her. His mind struggles desperately to fight off the memory of the way your lips parted in ecstasy the whole time she's underneath him.

-----

A few days later

"What the fuck, Miguel?!" Xina screams at him over the phone. Miguel holds the phone away from his ear for a moment, the sound too harsh against his eardrum. She was upset at him this time for his interview on a morning talk show, promoting their upcoming wedding which was supposed to be aired live as the show's long awaited special before Singles in Paradise made its debut.

The host smiled and leaned on her elbow.

"Now, Miguel. Eligible Suitor's number one fan blog is releasing rumors that you only chose Xina because she was the safer option compared to y/n, the season's edgier "bad girl". Is there some truth to that statement, or can you elaborate on that?

Miguel nods slowly, a little bit of panic settling in on the inside, wondering how the hell the fan pages were eerily accurate, despite him not giving away any hints about his internal struggles regarding his engagement to the press that he was aware of.

"Well, as the man chosen to be the Eligible Suitor, there are certain expectations for me and who I ultimately end up with...Xina fit in well with my family. She had all the qualities of the ideal partner. Overall, it just seemed to be a better match..."

"But you're making it sound like if say, y/n for example had all of that, would you have picked her instead?"

Miguel hesitates, turning a little red. He wasn't good at lying. "Well, I mean..."

Awkward silence that lasts a little too long.

He quickly tries to recover but he ends up making it worse, "I mean, what's done is done. There's not really a point in wondering about that, you know....? We-we're very excited for the wedding..."

It wasn't longer than a minute after the show cut to commercial that his phone was ringing off the hook.

"Tell me right now that you love me, and not her, or I swear to God, Miguel I will call off this whole thing!" She says through tears.

Miguel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Now he really felt like a jerk.

"I do love you baby..."

Xina is still distraught and doesn't seem to want to listen. "After everything we've been through. I've supported you. I got along with your mom, I got an apartment with you. I even supported you through all that mental health bullshit of yours and you still can't even defend me on live television and say you love me more than that broke piece of trash!"

Miguel freezes. "Hold on, mental health bullshit....?" Miguel really hopes that he didn't just hear what he thought he heard. He does his best to keep his anger at bay but he can feel it rising anyway. "So, all of the internal struggles I trusted you enough to tell you about....my depression which is something that will ALWAYS be a part of me, Xina...you think it's bullshit?"

Xina sputters, "Miguel, no, I didn't mean it like that. It's just...ugh you are just so hard to deal with sometimes, you know? I totally understand and respect the fact that you're going through a lot right now, but so am I. And I can't sit here and coddle you through everything if you don't get help."

Miguel's world comes shattering down. His worst fear that started to creep into the back of his mind ever since about 2 weeks after he proposed to Xina had just been confirmed to be true: she was not at all the woman he thought she was. It was merely an act for the show, and, with the help of the producers and audience, they pushed him towards her simply because she was the woman they wanted to see him with, when his heart truly lied with you the whole time.

And now, you were on a beach in Mexico probably getting courted by all sorts of men who could give you way more than Miguel ever could, while he was left to contend with a broken heart and a cancelled wedding.

He says in a shaky voice. "I was getting help...I told you I started therapy. I trusted you with THE most sensitive parts of me, Xina. And you threw it in my face. By the way, why do you say y/n is broke trash, as you put it, huh?"

"Miguel, stop putting words in my mouth..."

"Nononono...you LITERALLY said it, Xi. Don't start with your gaslighting bullshit on me!" Miguel is raising his voice now. "You called her broke trash. Let me guess: you shoo away our wedding planners, your parents treat your chef like complete shit. She has less money and prospects than you, therefore she's just trash, right? Well, I came from hardly anything, too. Does that make me trash? Huh?"

There's only silence on the other line, then she says, "Miguel, you're different..."

"No. No, Xina. You're different. You're not who I thought you were, and I think we shouldn't be marrying each other." Hot tears spill down Miguel's face and he hangs up his phone. He presses his back against the wall, sliding down until he hides his face in his hands, sobbing on the floor.

--------

A few weeks later at a beach bungalow resort in Mexico

"Welcome back to another season of: Singles in Paradise, I'm your host, Jason Donner and boy is it good to be back!" Jason beams, flashing his pearly whites at the camera.

You hear your cue and you walk out, clad in a white bikini with a pretty purple coverup wrapped around your midriff with the knot resting on your hip, emphasizing the curve, a certain post-break up glow about you that immediately made you hard to resist, a confident twinkle in your eye. You greet Jason with a hug and he holds your hands in his.

"Great to see you. Feelin' nervous?"

You flash a lovely smile at him, playing it up for the cameras. "Just a little bit. But I'm more so excited than nervous."

Jason's lips curve into a smirk. "Anyone down there on that beach you're hoping to run into?"

Miguel.

No, you hadn't really thought about it. Noir was pretty cute. You throw his name out there. "I hope Noir is down there..."

Jason nods, giving your shoulder a good luck squeeze. "Well, go on down there and see for yourself. Good luck! And welcome to paradise once again."

"Thanks, Jas!" You play it up, giving him a little flirty wink as you walk down the stone path and disappear into some trees, making your way to the beach. Necks turn slowly and you feel your heart pound as several pairs of eyes land on you.

Felicia Hardy is standing at the beach side resort bar waiting on her piña colada with a bad case of RBF. But, her snowy eyes melt into an enthusiastic expression when she sees you.

"Noooo way!!! Oh my GOD, you're even hotter in person! Girl! What!!"

You beam, flattered as she pulls you into a hug. Her long, platinum blonde hair hangs loose from a claw clip with the ponytail flowing in waves that brush against her back, a few stray wisps framing her face. She's wearing a dark blue tube top dress which is doing her figure all types of favors, accentuating her goddess-like pear shape. And, she smells totally divine of coconut body spray, evidence of sunbathing apparent in her sunkissed cheeks and tan lines.

"Holy shit, where'd you get your outfit?" She asks, giving her piña colada a sip, shamelessly eyeing you up from head to toe.

You smile, giving her a little twirl. "Girl, $20 at Marshall's for the whole thing. I swear to God."

"No way! Oh my God, I love that place!" Felicia smiles. "I gotta say I'm a huge fan of you. Dude, that pissed me off so fucking bad when Miguel fucked you over like that."

You smile back at her, flattered. You can tell that you definitely want to have Felicia be your beach bestie throughout this whole process. She had been the Eligible Suitorette about 2 seasons ago. Her tenure was one that went down in the show's history, the way she didn't take any shit, and had so many guys falling all over her. But, unfortunately her engagement to Flash Thompson went down in flames when his dumb ass eventually got caught cheating, making fans of the show rally around her even more.

"So, I guess I should give you the low down on who's coupled up with who so far?" She asks.

You nod, familiar with this part of the game. "Yes, please. Oh my God, tell me everything."

You two go sit down on a pair of beach chairs, turning them so your knees are touching each other, leaning in close together for your woman to woman huddle, the cameras zooming in on you both.

"Okay, so first of all, I'm with Ben." She gleams, biting her lip. You follow her gaze and see Ben shirtless, playing volleyball with some of the other men, his baby blues are locked right back on Felicia with his angelic, pretty boy face. He nods and gives you a polite wave hello.

"Girrrrrrllllll...." You smile, turning back to her. "Good for you, honestly, he is SO damn fine, respectfully of course."

Felicia throws her head back and waves you off with a laugh. "Girl, thank you. No worries at all. Yeah, he's uh, he's something else alright." She bites her lip again and looks down. "He treats me so good. It's going really well..."

You give her a warm look, the unmistakable signs of falling head over heels quite recognizable all over her demeanor and the way she's talking about him.

Felicia resumes her report. "Noir is here, but he's got a thing for Jess."

You feel slightly disappointed to hear that but nod, encouraging her to continue.

"Peter B. is here, but it's been kinda awkward. MJ is here too."

"No fucking way?" You sit up, interested. "They really invited both of them here?"

Peter B. and MJ were considered royalty as far as the show goes, with Peter being one of the most beloved suitors of the show's history. However, that quickly became tainted with scandal with the volatile on-and-off nature of his and MJ's relationship. They got engaged at the end of his season, then they were "taking some time apart", then they reunited, but he was seen in the Barbados with some mysterious brunette, but she was also out and about with no engagement ring. BUT, they were spotted in Chicago holding hands and all over each other in a night club just a month ago

"Yeah girl, I have no fucking clue. They're clearly off at the moment , but you can totally tell it's bugging Peter. She's all over George right now."

"Girl noooo. George Stacy?!"

"George, fucking-Stacy, girlll."

George had troubling political opinions and was known for being quite a douche. BUT he was also well over 6 feet tall with ocean eyes, big arms, and money. Well, for you, personally, no way in hell you'd tolerate that.

"MJ hates me though." Felicia warns.

"Wait, why??"

"She thinks I "stole her man" even though Peter was literally throwing himself at me when they were on break number 394 or some shit." Felicia chuckles, shaking her head, stirring her piña colada which is now becoming a watery slush. She pauses for a moment then looks at you. "So, girl, tell me, who did you have your eyes on coming here?"

"Well..." You sigh, the options so far were not promising. "I did think Noir was cute, but he's already with Jess."

"You could still invite him on a date, technically." Felicia points out. "But, I understand. He does reallyyy seem to be into her right now. It would be hard to try and pull him at this point." She drums her fingers. "Girl! Go for Peter. Oh my God you guys would be so cute!"

You blush internally. Peter? You hadn't given him much thought. You turn around, searching for him. He's standing in the ocean a few feet away up to his ankles. He turns to the side a little, and the wind blows open his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt as he leans down to examine one of the seashells under his feet.

Oh God, he was handsome. 6'2, lean muscles peppered with dark hair that ran across his chest and belly button, and a shadow of stubble on his face gave him a rugged feel, but those chocolate puppy brown eyes made him look so innocent. One of his cheeks had a little dimple that would pop out when he made that signature little smirk of his.

"Fffuck...really, girl?" You murmur, your jaw practically still hanging open at the sight of him. "But I thought you two were a thing?"

Felicia smirks. "Hell no! I rejected him forever ago. You sooo like him! I can tell. Just do it!"

You take a shaky breath. "God...okay, fuck it. I'm gonna go talk to him."

"Good luck!" Felicia calls after you. "Come find me afterwards and tell me everything!!"

You nod and shoot her a smile as you walk away. You bite your lip, your stomach doing all sorts of flips and tricks as you approach Peter. He has sort of a hopeless look on his face as he watches George and MJ from afar cuddled up on their beach towels, George's rough hands rubbing sunscreen into her shoulders as he was practically eye-fucking her.

"Peter!" You call for him. Peter turns, confused at the sound of a woman's voice calling for him, but his pupils go wide when he locks eyes with you for the first time.

"H-Hey!" His lips part a little bit at the sight of your gorgeous hair and friendly smile. His eyes start to land on your figure but he quickly flicks them back upwards to look into yours, not wanting to look like a perv. God, he was so cute. He offers you one of his hands, his voice gentle. "I'm Peter B."

You introduce yourself and he repeats your name back to you. The way he says it is making you scream a little on the inside, his voice is soothing and low. And suddenly you want to know more, so much more about him. And with the way he's gazing down at you, he does too.

You two just stand there in the ocean, chatting as the wind rustles against you both. Soon, the sun is starting to dip further down in the sky and you feel a chill coming on. Peter notices the goosebumps on your arms and wraps his shirt around you, holding you under his arm as you both meander back to the beach.

You squeal when he swoops you into a bridal style carry, butterflies appear in his stomach when he feels your hair brush under his chin, and he's almost tempted to pull you in closer. No, he decides there's plenty of time for that later, if all of this continues to go as flawlessly as it is already. He sets you down on one of the poolside cabanas, spreading a blanket over your legs. You curl up under it, shooting him a smile of appreciation. He looks at you with adoring eyes at how cute you look curled up like that.

"Can I get you something to drink?" He asks gently, the tips of his fingers brushing against your thigh, sending a chill down your spine.

"Um, vodka cranberry, please." You say sweetly. Peter gives you his signature smirk, the little dimple in his cheek driving you wild. His fingers make full contact with your thigh this time, stealing the breath from your lungs.

"Coming right up..." he's off to get you your drink, leaving you internally screaming by the pool.

---

Jason is leaning against a palm tree, silently monitoring the scene of flirtatious couples below when a tall dark figure approaches him. The camera stays on Jason and captures the look of shock across his face.

"Well, well, WELL! Look who it is, great to see you man!"

The man's face isn't shown, and it appears his response is being muted off mic, Jason's voice is the only audible one, the camera focusing on his reactions with the mystery guest,

"Wow...I'm so sorry to hear that man...yeah, yeah she's here. And you're sure about this.....? Alright, well here's your date card, feel free to use it whenever you wish. Good luck down there man."

------

You and Peter are laughing together by the pool, the alcohol slowly starting to weave its way into your banter. The daybed you're sharing is just a smidge too small, forcing your thigh to touch his as you squish on it together, bodies laying side by side. When you ask him a question, you subtly push yours a little closer into his. Peter seems to notice your increasing touch, his train of thought stalling for just one minute, before he turns pink and apologizes. "Sorry, must be the alcohol," he mumbles cutely, looking sheepishly at you.

"Yeah, the alcohol..." you tease, your pointer finger traces his sternum. His breath hitches and he's looking at you with wet lips, his eyes come to rest on your breasts that are squished so deliciously together.

You're looking back at him too, letting your eyes rake over his body up and down, admiring how good he looks and how the faded blue lights from the pool are casting a sensual shadow over his form, wondering how it would look if it were in the darkness of your bedroom instead.

Peter clears his throat. The nervousness catching up to him, and he turns his head, gazing at the shimmering water. "Sorry..." he lets out a breathy chuckle, then turns back to you. "I haven't connected this quickly with someone ever since...well I mean, since my last relationship which ended badly..... As I'm sure you're well aware of thanks to the press."

You hum, your finger now tracing little circles on his shoulder, making him tremble slightly. "Yeah....I heard. I'm kind of in the same boat."

You take a deep sigh. God, just when you thought you were getting over him, Miguel pulls you right back in. Being with Peter right now feels foreign, strange. You can't put a finger on it. You notice that those decadent brown eyes are already fixed on you, and you stare back, your voice oozing a hint of desire as you softly tell him,

"But, I wouldn't mind if I...spent some more time getting to know you."

Peter exhales softly, you detect the sweetness of the liquor on his breath, the wetness that the rim of his glass left behind is shiny on his bottom lip, and all you want to do is taste.

Peter slowly smirks back, his fingers coming to pull under your chin, bringing your face closer to his.

"I wouldn't mind either..." lust codes his voice now. But, before he goes in to kiss you, his eyes soften a little bit as he drinks in your features. "You're very beautiful..."

You feel the heat rising in your body, you drape one of your legs around him, resting your knee on his hip. "Thank you..."

Peter lets out a soft groan, his hand immediately comes to grip your thigh, encouraging you to press your body against his, and he traps your lips in his with a fiery kiss.

The stubble from his face is a little scratchy, but you don't mind. His tongue is sweet from the wine he was drinking, and you can't get enough. His hands travel a little higher on your thighs and you gasp into his mouth as he pulls you on top of him so you're straddling him with one knee on either side of his waist.

"C'mere..." he purrs.

You lean in closer to him, pressing your forehead against his to try and make your moans more quiet as he grinds your pussy against the bulge in his swim trunks, the soft fabric of your bikini bottoms separating you. The friction is delicious and you reward him with a neverending chorus of his name.

"Peter...."

Peter gives a loud groan, his grip on your hips tightens, this time bucking his hips under your spread pussy, letting you ride the outline of his cock.

"Ffuck....Peter, baby...." you whine.

"Mmm yeah, baby?" Peter lands a sharp spank on your ass in response, making you curse under your breath again. "You like what I'm doing to you?"

"Yes baby, I love it." You bite your lip, closing your eyes. "What if someone sees us, baby?"

"Let em watch.." Peter moans.

"Oh God...don't stop, please." Your moans rise in pitch.

"Fffuck....." Peter breaths out, his hands coming up to grip your breasts while you ride him. "I won't baby...fuck..." The sensation causes him to close his eyes as well. "You feel too good to stop."

You lean over, your lips crashing greedily against his, both of your tongues dancing in each other's mouths, while you grind together. His hands can't get enough and he finally starts to curl two fingers inside your pussy which elicits a sharp cry of passion, Peter playfully shushing you as he kisses your nose.

-----

The rose Miguel is holding falls onto the sand below as he watches you and Peter heavily making out, now engaged in mild foreplay and you might as well start fucking at any moment now due to how hot and heavy the scene is.

It's almost a race with how quickly the jealousy, nausea, and rage rises in Miguel's body, filling him to the brim. He stands there, jaw and shoulders tense. His cock twitches a little at your whines but seethes at the sight of another man's hands all over you. He finally rips himself away, not able to withstand it any longer.

Noir and Jess look at him with raised eyebrows as he sits at the beachside bar after downing 3 shots of tequila back to back. He just sits there, eyes glazed over at the empty shot glasses in front of him for several moments until he leans forward, laying his head in his arms with his eyes closed.

----

To be continued...

#miguel o'hara #miguel atsv #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #spotify #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara smut #miguel o'hara angst #miguel ohara angst #miguel x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara imagine #Spotify

497 notes · View notes

pedgito · 3 months

Text

MILLER'S GIRL ✎ SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter Three: Forbidden Fruit

Chapter Summary: Mr. Miller receives your assignment in it's full detailed exposé and despite his reaction, doesn't seem as pleased as you anticipated. It leads to a tense interaction that lands you in his office with more questions and confusion. [4k]

[student/teacher relationship, age gap, no outbreak, power dynamic]

Chapter Warnings: fem!reader, professor!joel miller (his teacher persona is v different from outside of the classroom, so if he seems slightly ooc....close your eyes), dom!joel, sub!reader, reader is a little obsessed with joel (and delusional), background tess x joel, inappropriate relationships/actions, masturbation (m), confrontations, joel manhandling reader (kinda roughly), panty ripping, one (1) forbidden kiss

— AO3 | PLAYLIST | PINTEREST

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec

Joel takes the plunge into the assignments the following night—it was a small class so he knew it wouldn’t take a large chunk of time, a couple hours at the end of his day and he’d have it out of the way and grades posted before the following morning. It was always easier to do things this way, hidden away in his office to force his focus and block out the rest of what was going on.

He flies through the assignments with a detailed precision, giving proper and full notes on things he thinks the students could work on or tweak, give some personal thoughts on creativity, and allow some encouragement where it was needed.

But, your name sits in the bottom of his inbox, bold lettered and unread—he saved it for last.

He could lie and say he didn’t do it on purpose, but he’s come to thoroughly enjoy your writing, so he pushes it off until it’s the final thing he has to grade that night. He knows Tess should be arriving home soon, so despite his want to give you his full, undivided attention—he intends to give it a quick skim.

Joel knows there’s no real notes he can give you. You always had a clear idea on your work, so meticulously planned out that it reminded him of himself in a way.

He takes a sip of the quickly dissipating bourbon in the cup sitting on his desk, ice clinking against the glass as he clicks on your essay and watches it expand onto the screen.

He likes to jot down his thoughts on paper as he goes, making it easier to format and type as he replies—he grips the pencil tight, reading the title of your essay.

ill-suited innocence

In a crowd she finds herself searching, looking for him. Days and days of tense glances and inappropriate thoughts—he must share them too? While she can’t be bothered by the fantasy of mythical creatures and things that only made sense in fiction, she did believe in the fantasy of wanting what she couldn’t have. Him.

Much older, wiser—grim around the eyes and a deep sorrow that burrowed its way into his chest and made home. He couldn’t fix himself, but she could. At least, she thinks she could.

Joel straightened his back, leaning into the screen to assure himself he wasn’t misreading. It was…an interesting take on the assignment he gave you, but he’ll bite. He’s used to your stuff being a little more unorthodox.

Something along the lines of forbidden fantasy? A tale of love? It wasn’t his particular choice of fiction but he wasn’t opposed to it. He squints, reading more.

He drops the pencil for a moment

Their lives mundane and unassuming, they traverse through life with little enjoyment. Two sides of the same coin and he was too oblivious to realize. He offered smiles and kind words, guidance that seemed from a good place but only allowed her to feel more misdirection. He was an enigma, difficult to decipher and she craved him.

And though he tries to fight whatever attraction he may feel, she can see it in his tense gaze. The lingering touches he leaves on her body. Secret meetings, talks that allowed themselves to be more deep than should be allowed. He was allowing her in little by little but she needed more.

She just had to ask, so she did.

Joel feels a tightening deep in his gut that wasn’t there before, reading between the lines of text and allowing faint glimpses of memories with you to match themselves with the words—his brow furrowing under the guise of…anger? No, frustration. He shouldn’t be equating his perfectly…appropriate relationship with you to this. In fact, it shouldn’t cross his mind. But, it does.

All of this from a dream? He could lie and say he wasn't intrigued, but that wasn't the case.

Joel doesn’t expect the full 180 turn as he glances down at the chunk of text that follows.

“You’re my student,” He whispers to her, “I can’t allow this.”

She bites at her lip, noticing the subtle click of his heels as they hit the floor, back them against his desk as she takes a seat, plastic cup full of pencils falling to the floor but neither of their eyes leaving each other.

“You can,” She encourages, “I’m hardly a student anymore. I’m a friend. We’re friends, right?”

And given his ability to let her in so easily, he also considered her a friend. Naively. He’s gotten himself into this position and he can’t find a reason to not give her what she wants—what he wants.

He captures her lips in a searing kiss, much less polite than a friend would, her fingers quickly undoing his belt—

Joel feels his cock hardening under the confines of his slacks, clearing his throat slightly. He should stop reading—he knows he should. The glaringly obvious lines being crossed are blurred for a moment. He shouldn’t have led you on like this, allowed you to cook up some depraved illusion of what you thought things could be.

Because they couldn’t. That wasn’t what this was. Joel had told himself over and over—he was helping. He didn’t think you’d take advantage of the scenario like this. Still, he finds himself loosening the buckle of his belt as well, unzipping his pants enough that he can stuff his hand into the tight space between his bare cock and briefs, palming himself impatiently.

And he skims—words sticking and fading in his mind. It starts of with a slow, sensual make out and a messily described handjob that has his cocking throbbing with every tight stroke he pulls at his shaft, eventually tired of fighting the tight space he’s allowed with his slacks making it impossible to move, he leans back and pulls his cock out far enough that he has free, unrestrained range. The bourbon glass leaves a sweat ring on the oak of his desk but Joel can’t be bothered, he scrolls down further, taking in the last few scenes that allowed him a full idea of just what exactly you thought was going on between the both of you. Or, what you wanted to happen.

He allows himself a moment to slip out of his headspace and imagine, selfishly.

Bent over the desk, items scattered to the floor he pulled at her skirt, something she wore necessarily—easy access, she whispered against his lips before he bent her fully over the desk, chest pressed against the solid wood.

Joel imagines it vividly, his breath quickening as he tugs at his cock in rough, fast strokes and pictures it—you, bent over his desk and your ass presented to him like a prize and how good it would feel to squeeze the flesh between his hands. He knows your sounds would be sweet, divine, and it drives him wild.

He’s thought about you before like this, hand wrapped around his cock, but never in full detail as you’d written out.

And then he slips his cock inside of her, a small gasp of, “Just like that, professor.” falling from her lips and it only spurs Joel deeper into his despair, tugging himself until he feels his orgasm creeping up on him, a churning in his gut that feels too good to quit and he reads out the last few lines, as he comes deep inside of, recklessly and without much decision making.

He thought you were smarter than this. Expected more out of you.

There’s a creak of a floorboard down the hall that sends his world crashing down on him, dampening his orgasm almost immediately as he scrambles to shove himself back inside of his slacks, buttoning and buckling his belt hastily as he clicks out of his browsers and feigns exhaustion, Tess’s fingers curling around the doorknob as she peeks her head in, watching as Joel’s fingers circled the glass of liquor.

God, he hates her.

Not you. Tess.

He figured his reasoning was valid, but truthfully—he just couldn’t stand her any longer. He's been battling the decision to go through with his divorce, but this seemed like as big a sign as ever. It's the unbridled rage he was tired of harboring around her, trying to act like things were fine.

Nothing was fine and his life was imploding.

He was lusting after a student and worse, he know you were after him—actively, clear in the boldness you showed through your assignment.

He thinks back briefly on the video call that he shouldn’t have allowed, your question that seemed…vague but unassuming. Had you planned this the entire time?

Was he just that stupid to not see it?

“Coming to bed tonight?” Tess asks hesitantly.

Joel offers a clear and concise, “No.”

He wasn’t sure if he could even sleep, contemplating over how to handle this…situation.

He couldn’t allow it to stray further.

It would damage his career and ruin his life.

But truthfully, he felt like he’d already reached that point, so what did he have to lose?

You wake up on Monday with a deep pit in your chest, knowing that grades were posted that morning. You knew it was a risk, being so open with him—but he couldn’t fail you. You followed the parameters of the assignment and made sure to clear the few questions you had with him.

Part of you is expecting another email from his private account, wondering his thoughts beyond what he would address appropriately. But, the moment your eyes drag along the screen, still blurry from sleep, you feel your heart stop.

0/100. A complete failure.

No comment besides—Rewrite and resend immediately. No extension. Due by the end of the day.

Your jaw clenches in frustration.

Oh, you were not being ignored that easily.

You storm into his room later that day during your free hour for lunch, knowing he’d be saddled up at his desk eating his own lunch.

You couldn’t even think about eating, full of anger and annoyance that kept you full and ready to strike. He can hear your footsteps before you approach and is wiping at his mouth with a napkin when you stop at his desk.

He holds a hand up, face steely and emotionless.

For a moment, you think he might break. Crack a smile and say it was an excuse to get you here.

Instead, he has your essay printed out and ready to shove at you, your fingers curling around the stack and crinkling the edges.

“You can’t fail me,” You start tensely, “I did your stupid assignment and I followed the steps you asked for.”

“I expect a new one by the end of the day. Appropriate to the topic. End of discussion.”

You scoff, not daring to look at the glaring zero he drew out on the paper just to prove a point. It lands in the trash as you throw it down, “No.”

Joel’s chair squeaks as he rises and it startles you slightly, and suddenly he’s invading your space, the muscles in his neck tightening as he pointed an accusatory finger at the trashed papers.

“In what situation did you think any of that was appropriate to write and send to your professor?” Joel asks, noting the way you blink quickly, backing away slightly.

He almost…feels bad? No. He quickly wipes the thought away as more anger crosses your face, eyes dilating in rage.

You lean in slightly, thankful that the halls were quiet around this time of day and that you had closed the door behind you.

“You started this,” You argue, “You crossed that line when you messaged me on a private email. Telling me that you liked the time we spent together. I’m your student—maybe you should’ve taken that into account first.”

His fist clenched at his side, almost to restrain himself, knowing he’d rather shove that finger into your chest and blame you. But, you were both to blame. And he even more so. Still, he doubles down.

“Rewrite it or I’ll fail you for the entire semester.”

Your mouth gapes open, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“That’s…completely unfair.” You settle, voice softer as you drop the act. “I just—”

“Rewrite it.” Joel responds firmly.

“Mr. Miller—” You begin, trying to find a feasible way to get him to listen.

“Or I fail you.” He says with finality. “You’re lucky I don’t take this to the board.”

Which, he never would. He’s just as much at fault. But, he’s taking his frustration out on you. An easy target, slim pickings.

You weren’t playing into that though, not now.

“You won’t,” You challenge him, “because if you do—I can assure you, you won’t appreciate the results.”

It was a threat. Cold and plain.

“Rewrite it,” He reiterates again, his voice softer now. “I have to submit these assignments at the end of the semester and if—that cannot be in there. I need a real essay. Real. Not some fucking delusion.”

It’s the first time he’s talked so…out of term. It feels like him, the real Mr. Miller.

Fine—you’ll write the goddamn essay as he intended. You roll your eyes and Joel relaxes slightly, seeing your defeat as you settle your shoulders back.

“I want it on my desk by the end of day.”

Sure, you could manage that.

If anything, it gave you more of an excuse to drag out his torture a little longer.

You spend the entirety of his class working out a new essay, bullshitting your way through an hour of class and typing up something feasible enough to get you a decent grade, knowing that his views of you were already tainted. But, that didn’t matter.

You had plans.

When evening rolls around and classes are finally done for the day, you make the long trek across campus to his class, finding it empty but spotting the light in his private office is still on, a low and muted orange that shined through the window. You approach slowly and knock on the door, hearing his muffled greeting on the other side.

You peek inside, noting his position as he rests with his fist pressed against the side of his face, seemingly nursing a headache as he rubs the fingers of his free hand over his forehead and sighs, closing his laptop as you hold out the small stack of papers for him to grab. He does, skimming through it briefly. You toss your bag off your shoulder and rest it in a nearby chair, standing quietly.

“Something bothering you?” You ask politely, hands crossed over your front as fiddled idly with your fingers, “Mr. Miller?”

He looks up tensely, eyes darkened and foreboding.

“What did you mean earlier?” He asks suddenly, reading your essay with a careful eye. Scribbling something down before he pushes it away, fingers clasped together under his chin as he gives you his full attention. “That I wouldn’t…appreciate the results?”

“Oh, that was—”

A threat. He knows it. You know it.

And he voices it.

“It was a threat, wasn’t it?” He asks coarsely, his voice sounding rough.

He seemed worse for wear, with good reason.

The dignified squeak of his chair is like deja-vu but you don’t back away this time, turning to him as he rounds his desk—his tie is gone, starch pressed shirt unbuttoned to a dangerous degree and his belt is missing, your eyes tracking it in a nearby corner where it’s slung over an empty chair.

He allowed you in here, the small glimpse of his relaxed state. He wasn’t shutting you out necessarily, which was good. But, you still felt unwanted. It was almost like he was dangling a myriad of fruit in front of you, ripe for the taking, but riddled with poison. Forbidden.

“No—”

He grabs your wrist suddenly, tight and gasp-inducing as he pulls it up until it’s level between you both, right at chest level and you’re waiting for him to let go, but he doesn’t.

“Tell. The. Truth.” He says pointedly, a small jerk of your arm with every syllable as he pulls you undoubtedly closer, “I want to hear it.”

Instead of admitting that you did openly threaten him, you switch gears.

“What? That I want you to fuck me?” You ask innocently, pulling your wrist away harshly. “Joel, come on—don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.”

His name is like a gut-punch, a reminder that he gave you that information under the idea that you would keep it safe, but now you were using it against him.

“Don’t—” He warns and your hands press into his crisp button-up, scrunching the fabric in an effort to wrinkle it, feeling the solid press of muscle under your hands that makes your mouth water, eyes widening slightly at the touch and for a split second, he allows it.

He had to escape the situation before he acted on something he would regret.

“Get out.” Joel responds through gritted teeth, shoving your hands away harshly and in turn, forcing you back a few steps with the urgency of it. “Now.”

Still, you step closer, chest against chest as you can feel the distinct bulge in his slacks against your front, tongue clicking in your mouth as you cocked your head to the side mockingly, a finger tracing along the buttons of his shirt until you can curl the tip of it around the hem of his pants.

“You can do it, you know,” You offer, “You could fuck me right now and I wouldn’t tell a soul, not even your wife—or…ex-wife? I’m not sure since you never wear your ring.”

Fuck this and her smart ass mouth, Joel thinks.

Joel’s nostrils flare and he snaps, backing you into the wall by his hand pressed against your chest, the bookshelf beside you shaking with the force. His hands creep up your neck, pressing rigid against the skin and he keeps you there, trapped.

“I can feel it,” You tease through strained vocal cords, his finger squeezing against your neck–not quite cutting off air flow, but the pressure is there and you feel it. It makes your head swim, squirming against his hold as he shifts closer, body pressed against your own firmly, “is that why you asked me to turn the paper in by the end of the day? You wanted me here, didn’t you? I guess my essay did strike a nerve after all.”

The laugh that follows is sickening, a grin appearing under his sneer. His fingers move up a few inches to grip your face. Hard. Squeezing until he feels the solid press of your cheekbones under his thumb and he speaks, so quietly into the space you can barely hear him, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Your eyes drift to his, his head tilting up slightly away from your ear that he had whispered into and there’s glint in your eye. It’s exactly what you wanted. You wanted to burrow yourself under his skin so he couldn't get rid of you.

He feels your fingers continue to trace along the seam of his shirt, tracing over the bumps of the material until you meet his slacks, pressing your palm flat over his cock, hardened under the material and straining–and he can’t help the way his breath intakes sharply, the full body restraint it takes to not rut into your hand. He knows he has the upper hand here, but with the small amount of effort it takes to break his revere for himself, he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up.

“I would,” You nod slowly, eyebrows furrowing as he tightens his grip with your admittance and in turn, you squeeze him just a little harder. He hisses and leans in, letting go of your face to return to your neck–he isn’t squeezing this time, but his hand is a solid presence. You move, he moves. And if he doesn’t like how you move, you would end up exactly where he wants you to, “Come on, Joel. You read all about it. I can do so much more than whatever your wife is doing—isn’t that why you reached out to me?”

“Don’t—stop saying my name.” He warns, trying to keep what little line of professionalism he had between you there, unblurred. “I reached out to help. As your mentor.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s a few things you could teach me.” You say sweetly, the deft sound of his zipper being undone by your hand, popping the button on his pants, “Joel, please.”

He stops your hand in it’s decent, fingers tracing along the hem of his underwear before he’s gripping your arm and turning you with little resistance on your end, front pressed harshly against the stucco wall, a sharp gasp emitting from your throat as he crowds you in again, whispering harshly into your ear, “Mr. Miller. Not Joel. You don’t get that privilege. And stop talking about my fucking wife.”

You moan brokenly at the feeling of his cock pressed against your ass, skirt riding up your thighs and you were sure—positive that Joel could see the fabric of your underwear clinging to your hips from how high up and mused your skirt was now, but he can’t take his eyes of your face, anger emitting from his own and suffocating you like a blanket.

You were pressing his buttons just right and he hated it.

“So, no marital troubles then?” You pester him and he shuts you up immediately, palm covering your mouth tightly as his free hand grips at the hem of your underwear at your hip and tugs—yep, he saw them. Some soft color, all lacy, meant to be attention-grabbing. And if Joel couldn’t have you the way he truly desires, he’d make you wish you could have it even worse than he wanted it. “You—huh, you can’t even wear your wedding ring, Mr. Miller—don’t lie to me.”

He pulls at the material of your panties until they’re riding up your ass slightly, pulled tighter against your cunt and the drag of the material against your clit is almost unexpected. He’s pointedly avoiding touching you so intimately, teetering on the edge of not enough and too much.

“You thought it would be that easy?” Joel asks testingly, jerking your head slightly when you don’t answer. You figured it was redundant but clearly not. You mumble against his hand, overwhelmed by his touch that all you can do is nod, forehead pressed against the wall as he breathes down your neck. “You’re mistaken.”

There’s a distinct rip of fabric as he removes his hand from your mouth quickly using his hands to grip your panties in tight fists, tearing it apart as it falls from your body and you think he might just do it—shove his slacks just far enough down his thighs and slip inside of you, bring an end to all of your suffering.

And his own.

Instead his fingers tighten around your forearm, spinning you in his hold and shoving the ripped fabric into your hand, leaving you bare under your skirt and exposed and Joel doesn’t mistake the wetness on the material. His fingers linger over your palm and you scoff, adjusting your skirt and slightly skewed shirt.

“Keep them,” You challenge, shoving the material into his chest before he allows them to drop to the floor, eyes trailing your departing figure as you reach for your discarded bag, “a gift for your wife—you know, the one who you avoided to spend time with me. Right?”

You want the words to linger and sting, bag slung lazily around your shoulder as you depart for the door, ignoring the quickly approaching footsteps. Joel, unbeknownst to you, had already pocketed your panties, torn to shreds in the pocket of his slacks. But, the words cut deep and he can’t leave things like this and allow you the final word.

Joel yanks the strap of your bag and backs you against the office door, the wood rattling against your conjoined weight as his lips press against yours in haste, messy and uncoordinated but your brain quickly assess what’s happening and joins, your lips parting to allow his eager tongue into your mouth. His kiss is biting and furious, mean and full of nothing but tense emotion. It’s months of suffocated lust pouring into you, out of him, and you swallow it down eagerly. His hand holds your chin forcefully, sloppy exchanges of spit and forceful bites, a battle for dominance that Joel quickly won out on.

And you think that maybe that comment was the final straw, that he might just give you what you want, but your delicate moan that slips into his mouth as chase him, his head pulling back slightly at the noise—it had him falling back to reality, right on his ass.

There wasn’t any line left to cross anymore. He’d obliterated it.

“Don’t threaten me again,” He warns, “ever.”

There’s one solid shove against the door as your head hits the surface gently, his touch quickly dissipating and his disheveled appearance a tell-tale sign in your mind. He was fighting his own battle and losing terribly.

“Of course,” You agree sardonically, “Mr. Miller.”

The silent click of the door is deafening and Joel retreats to his desk, punching a fist into the solid wood, the papers of your assignment flying to the floor. He can't be bothered to pick them up or even allow them the proper glance they deserve.

Because you—in his mind, don't deserve it.

And he's not going to give you that satisfaction.

It's unprofessional, but he'll allow it this once. It only takes a few quick clicks and he's adjusting the assignment out for your new one.

Poof. Gone. Like it never existed.

But, the grade is unchanging and he knows that will make things tremendously worse, but he can't be bothered to care anymore.

You'd be back and that's exactly what he wants.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #professor!joel miller #tlou fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #my writing #pedro pascal characters

365 notes · View notes

hope-drunk · 1 year

Text

- crush | a. anderson

| abby walks in on you at the wrong (or right) time

| content warning: inexperienced but not naive reader, female masturbation, oral (r receiving), strength kink kinda, pet names (sweetheart, baby), idrk this is pretty tame, probably ooc bc my first time writing abby, a lot of the word patrol

After doing a long, long day of rounds, all you wanted to do was relax. There were more infected than usual at the checkpoints. Once you finally get back to base, you’re quick to strip off your dirty clothes and take a hot shower. After you get out, you put on an oversized t-shirt and a pair of soft shorts.

Happy to be back in your room, you lay down, shimmying under the covers rapidly. Your muscles were heavily fatigued, and you felt drowsier with every passing minute, but you knew something that would get you to sleep even faster.

Using one hand to rub your nipple, you move the other down, teasing the seam of your underwear before sinking your hand lower to rub your clit. A soft sigh creeps out of your mouth as you feel instant relief. You speed up slightly, not wanting to rush yourself, but naturally chasing your high. While you focus on your pleasure, your mind drifts to a memory.

Abby was running her calloused hands through your hair. She had been begging to braid it for a few months, always going on about how convenient it was. You eventually caved in, you were never able to say no to her for long. While your fingers were hard at work, you imagined Abby’s, gently pulling your hair, making sure the braid was tight.

She kept complimenting you while she did it.

“Your hair is so soft.”

And also reprimanding you.

“Can’t believe you’ve never let me do this.”

You had to squeeze your legs together then, to dull the ache her words and actions were giving you. Between the thought of Abby and the pace of your fingers, the coil in your stomach was wound tight, ready to break at any moment.

“Hey, I found this mov– oh shit.”

You let out a gasp at Abby’s voice, quickly pulling your hand away from your heat and covering yourself with a blanket that had fallen off of you. Abby had her hand covering her eyes, while also facing the door that she just burst through.

“Abby! Whatever happened to knocking!” you said. You were flushed all over, embarrassed about being caught in the act.

“I know, I’m sorry! I was excited about the movie I found; wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.” She was still facing the wall.

“You can turn around, I have clothes on.”

She turned slowly, hand rubbing the back of her neck in an awkward motion. She stands by the door, not sure if she should go or stay, you weren’t really sure what to do in this situation either.

“What movie is it?” you say, trying to break the ice.

Abby walks over to your bed and sits down by your legs, handing you the DVD case. It was some old movie about an apocalypse.

You laugh at her. “Don’t you think it’s a bit ironic?”

“I thought that’s why it would be fun.” she says sheepishly. “Y’know, compare their apocalypse to ours.”

Your laughter intensifies, and you nod your head

“That would be fun.”

You looked up at the same time, you didn’t realize how close you had moved to her, it felt like you were naturally pulled to her. Abby’s brows were pulled together, she had the same look on her face that she did during patrols.

“I could help, if you want.” she says, not breaking eye contact.

“Help? With what.” you ask.

“You know, with what I walked in on.” Abby answers, no shyness left in her tone.

“Oh I don’t– Abby, I’ve never…” you say, blood rushes to your cheeks as you try not to break the intimidating eye contact.

“You don’t have to. You can tell me to fuck off right now and I’ll never speak of this again. But, I would really like to make up for ruining your orgasm.”

Her crass language makes you impossibly redder, causing you to look away. When you turn back towards her, Abby is scanning your face for a sign. Her blue-gray eyes go from your lips to your eyes.

You feel like your throat has dried up, unable to give her verbal confirmation, you nod your head at her.

“No.” She says, taking your chin in her hand. “Need to hear you say it.”

You sit up straighter, nervous of the repercussions that these few words will have.

“I want you to help me, Abby.”

She lets out a sigh, and pulls you in. Naturally, you let her tongue guide yours. Abby grabs your hips, pressing your body up against hers. Gently moving her kisses towards your jaw and down your neck, hitting a spot on your collarbone that has you moaning

“There it is.” she whispers.

Abby spends a few moments on that spot, long enough that you knew there would be a large purple mark there by the morning. Stopping for a second to remove your shirt, she then lays you down onto the bed. Moving her mouth lower, she keeps your legs propped open with her knee. You moan as she wraps her lips around one of your nipples.

She comes back up to look into your eyes.

“Does that feel good?” she questions, looking down at your hips.

You cock your head at her and look down, realizing you had been grinding your leg over her knee. But she doesn’t laugh at you, in fact, she seems very serious about it all, she left no room for you to be embarrassed.

“Yeah.” you reply, barely a whisper.

“I bet it does, sweetheart.” she says, nodding her head sympathetically before removing her leg from your heat.

You let out a light whine, as she whispers an, I know, I know, quickly removing the plaid pajama shorts you were dressed in, making a note in her head to tease you about them later. Moving her cruel kisses right above your mound, you think she’s finally about to give you what you're aching for, but instead, she moves her mouth even lower, to focus on your thighs next. You wanted to tell her to get on with it, but you couldn’t find it in you to actually say it.

Abby was so intimidating, and she always got what she wanted. After many, many, patrols with her, you knew that it was her way, or the highway. Finally, she places an open mouthed kiss to your clit through your panties before taking them off. You instinctively lift your hips for her.

“Please.” you whimper.

“Hm? What do you want?” Abby answers, teasingly.

You move to put your hands over your face, embarrassed by the thought of begging. But Abby is quick to catch your wrists, the show of strength making you clench around nothing.

Shaking her head at you she says,. “C’mon, shy girl, tell me what you want.”

Wriggling your hands in her grasp, you try to get away. It was all a game to her, and it was to you, too. You knew you couldn’t get away, and you were barely trying, but it was fun to try, to pretend like you had a chance against her. Abby laughs at your weak attempt.

“Just tell me what you want, you know I’ll help you, I said I would.”

You suck in a breath. “Want you to touch me, Abs.”

It’s not loud enough for Abby’s liking, but she figures she made you wait long enough. Moving down between your thighs once again, her broad shoulders push your legs far apart, and she licks a long stripe up your cunt. You let out an inhuman groan, and Abby laughs again, sending a vibration from your cunt all the way up to your chest.

You move your hands to the top of her head, trying to grip something, but her tight braid makes it hard. Moaning as her nose bumps your clit, you feel Abby’s middle finger you, which only causes your noises to become even louder.

She comes up for a breath, her finger still steadily going in and out of you.

“What were you thinking about?” She says through panting breaths.

“What?” you question, glassy eyes coming up to meet hers.

“When I walked in on you, what were you thinking about?” She adds another finger, throwing your train of thought out the window. “Answer me, baby. I wanna know.”

“Was– was thinking about when you braided my hair.”

Abby smirked, she knew what you were talking about. You thought she didn’t notice how quiet you got right when she started lacing her fingers through your hair. How you would only shake your head in response to her questions, and how you crossed your legs the first time she gave your head a light pull.

“Yeah? You were thinking about me while you touched your pretty pussy?”

Whimpering, you nod your head at her. She moves back down to your cunt, sucking at your clit causing your hips to shoot up, trying to grind on her face. But Abby is quick to put her strong arm over them, forcing them down.

“Quit that.” she mumbles. The show of dominance sends a wave of arousal through you.

You didn’t know how long it had been since she had started, but it felt like it had been hours. Your head was becoming fuzzy, your hearing muffled, it felt like your ears had been stuffed full of cotton. All you could focus on were Abby’s fingers lazily going in and out of your hole, and her mouth on your clit, she gave it a quick nip with her teeth every once in a while just so she could see your hips jolt again.

You were positive you were being too loud, but you couldn’t seem to care, your stomach was in knots, the ruined orgasm from before was building up again quickly.

“I need– I’m gonna-” you tried to finish your sentence, but nothing worthy was coming out.

Abby took her mouth off of your cunt.

“I know, it’s okay. Let go for me, baby. Let it all out.” She says, kissing your cheek and forehead.

Her words send you flying over the edge. Abby connects her lips with yours, muffling your moans. You were floating, your vision stark white. When you came back down, Abby’s fingers were still moving inside of you. Groaning, you try to push her away.

“Alright, okay, I’m done, promise.”

Abby removes her fingers and you let out a weak sob, she was quick to shush you, planting another kiss on your jaw before leaving the bed. You watch her go into your bathroom to find a towel to clean you up with. Once she was satisfied with her work, she moved in beside you, murmuring small praises the whole time. She showed her strength once more by propping your fatigued body on top of hers, quickly grabbing a blanket to cover you both up with.

“Thank you.” you whisper, looking up at her from your position on her chest, your shyness naturally creeping back in.

Giving you a small smile, she kisses the top of your head.

“It was only right. Couldn’t just ruin your night like that now could I? We’ll talk about this later, get some rest.” Abby says quietly, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

With that, you drift off, feeling content in her arms.

#abby anderson #abby anderson fic #abby anderson x you #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fan fiction #tlou fic #abby anderson x reader #abby !

2K notes · View notes

thedemises · 7 days

Text

. . . ICE CREAM! featuring xiao!

contains! . . . genshin impact, adeptus xiao :OO !!, ooc probably, gn! reader, can be read as either platonic or romantic (though mainly platonic cuz there's barely any hints of romance here), reverse isekai (cuz there's hardly any content about it), xiao being randomly isekai'd to our world 💀, this is kind of inspired by the fact that I AM IN MANILA RN-, pinipig ice cream cuz I recently just ate one I love it so much that I got the motivation to write smth about it!!!, reader is on vacation, reader is kinda knowledgeable here- notes! . . . wew!! the plot's kinda shitty but whatever.

“... what is this.”

with a narrowed gaze, xiao stares at the chocolate coated ice cream he holds by the stick—suspicious of the frozen delight treat that you gave in front of him.

ever since the adepti had been isekai'd into your world and into your country, you'd thought to have some fun showing him around and letting him (more like encouraging him, actually. he's pretty reluctant to do anything since the guy's unfamiliar with the place) try things that weren't in the existence of Teyvat's regions.

(and to also teach him how to act appropriately without raising suspicions. thank goodness that you had spare clothes that fit him well, unless you want to deal with A LOT OF unwanted attention and unnerving stares).

and right now, you and xiao were sitting on a bench nearby a sari-sari store you've just came out of to buy some delicious treats—considering the concerning slight increase of warm temperature in your area near the hotel you're staying at (damn the sun).

plus, you wanted to cool down a bit before continuing to explore the capital of the Philippines, Manila, which you were originally taking a vacation in before xiao came barging into your life like a whirlwind of chaos.

(literally. he suddenly crashed right on to your bed while you were taking a shower before going to bed, which created a loud noise and made you get out of the bathroom to check what's going on—let's just say a lot of yelling from you and xiao being xiao alarmed the owner of the hotel for them to come knocking on your door to check if anything's okay there. you had to lie to their poor face, shouting from the other side that you have everything under control while you were manhandling and restraining the adepti the best you could. in the morning, after you and xiao settled things down for the night, you decided to fake up a story to the owner that the “friend” of yours had decided to spook the hell out of you by coming in through your window that night and that he needed to stay for a while—which they surprisingly bought and let you and your proclaimed “friend” xiao to switch to a bigger room for the both of you to stay in. rip your wallet though).

meanwhile, the corners of your mouth quirk up into a smile as you also were holding an ice cream that was identical to his, “oh! its called pinipig ice cream. its basically a vanilla ice cream bar that was rolled in pinipig before then coated in a layer of melted liquid chocolate. then, its settled aside for the chocolate to cool down before its packaged and shipped to places where it'll be sold.”

“what is ‘pinipig’?”

“basically a flattened rice ingredient that's made of immature grains of glutinous rice pounded until flat before being toasted.”

“... huh.”

then you randomly grasped xiao's wrist—the one he was using his hand to hold his ice cream—and gently guided the treat slightly closer to his mouth, which sort of startled him by your actions but you payed no mind to that.

“try it! it's delicious, I promise.” you flash him a more prominent smile as you let go of his wrist and tested your hand by your side, now anticipating for the guy to take a bite of the ice cream before it starts melting. xiao stares at the treat momentarily, debating if he should do what you've suggested him to do or should he not—nonetheless, he tried it anyways and took a small bite out of the corner of the ice cream.

“... its good.”

after moments of waiting and xiao stating his thought about the frozen delight, you pumped your fist and grunting a “yes!” to yourself which makes xiao briefly ponder what the neck you just did but just decided to eat his ice cream any ways, making you also eat your own ice cream before it could start to melt on your fingers.

you were sort of glad to have someone to company you on your vacation, even if it's an anemo vision wielding adeptus from a hit video game you knew all and well that got isekai'd here into your world for no apparent reason. but for now, you'll just chill for a while during your vacation until you can soon find a way to get him back to his world once again.

let's just hope he doesn't find out he's a fictional playable character whose only purpose is to serve and fill in a role in the game for entertainment (and comfort) reasons.

79 notes · View notes

skyethebisexualwolfwizard · 5 months

Text

Sanctuary Status:

^ This is for interaction purposes, if you wish to RP the above paragraph will tell you how you can contact or interact with me (Skye IC).

The Sanctuary is free to be entered and exited, only the towers themselves need my permission to enter and are protected by thaumaturgical writing and sigils.

But you can also just interact with me (Skye OOC) where I am still my furry self, but I drop all the lore.

Credits:

PFP by @dr1nk00

Text GIFs from blinkies

Identity and Orientation:

(Disclaimer: any labels I use are for your convenience, no amount of labels will ever describe me fully or accurately. I only have them for your convenience)

I am genderfluid/nonbinaryfluid and trans most of the time identifying as some mix of nonbinary, alterhuman, agender, and a few xenogenders, but always feminine in some way and some other word that doesn't exist to describe the xenogender I am.

You can use she/her, but preferably si/ser

And I am aroaceflux sapphic lesbian bisexual. And always up for gender fuckery.

Content:

This is my main blog, I RP, wizardpost, post art, post comics, reblog, and the general stuff.

And also warning for gore, sometimes NSFW content, and topics of self harm and suicide.

And do not use my art or writing as training data. I will not take that lightly if you do.

Tag System:

Art: #skye's art

Comics: #skye's comics

OOC: #wizardpostingn't, #ooc, untagged, etc.

Wizard Posting and Canon RP: #wizardposting, #wizardpostingrp, #wizardlore

Ret conned RP: #this interaction has been erased

Writing and Poems: #skye's writing and #skye's poetry

Warnings: #tw gore, #tw self harm, #tw suicide, #wizardpostingnswf, #tw death, #tw violence, #tw flashing lights

DNI if:

— You exclude certain groups from human rights or exclude certain groups from a larger group for arbitrary reasons, usually to do with your lack of understanding or continued ignorance.

— You don't understand the difference between differences in morals and differences in opinion,

— You don't give even your most differing of fellow humans the most basic respect and clemency. Though, make sure to know the differences between basic respect of a person and respect for their actions.

— You don't believe every person, and I mean every person, creed, class, religion, belief, moral, all deserve equal respect as we are more than any label.

But I encourage you to interact if you are anyone not like the above, this is a safe space (I try my best to keep it a safe space) for anyone! LGBTQIA++, any religion, belief, nationality, race, ability, and being. I just ask you to return the favour.

ㅤ

#transgender #wizardposting #lgbtq #intro post #bisexual #nonbinary #furry #aroaceflux #genderfluid #alterhuman #lgbtqia #lgbtqia+#sapphic #xenogender #otherkin

90 notes · View notes

writefightandflightclub · 1 year

Text

Uninvited: Nathan Bateman x fem!reader

Summary: Nathan attends the Met Gala, but there’s something missing. That’s you. (If you’re literally Elon Musk please don’t read this 😂.)

Genre: mainly fluff, getting together fic.

Warnings / rating: mature for implied smut but that’s not the focus. Swearing, alcohol mentions (Nathan has a beer). Boss / employee relationship. Some reader self-esteem issues. OOC Nathan, probably (I’m writing him older and a bit more mellow here).

Author’s note: it’s not that deep and it’s not that clever. I just want Nathan to take me to the Met Gala, okay? So, welcome to my self-indulgent drivel 😝 Probably typos, this was only ever meant to exist for me so I didn’t spend a ton of time on it, but hopefully it’s coherent enough?!

You startle when you hear the door to Nathan’s apartment click open, feeling only a little relieved when you see the familiar silhouette of Nathan by the door.

Shit.

He’s not supposed to be back yet! And you’re not supposed to be here at all! He should still be out at the Met Gala, and you -his long-suffering assistant- should very clearly be in your own home on your night off. Certainly not stretched out on your boss’ couch in sweats, eagerly shovelling this snaffled, bougie ice cream into your mouth.

You spring into action immediately, slamming the lid of your laptop shut as first priority. The last thing you would want is for Nathan to realise you’ve been meticulously monitoring the socials, your prime objective to swoon hard over every photo and tik tok of him in that suit on that infamous red carpet - Getty Images be damned for their slowness. Next, you shove the tub of ice cream away from yourself, as though Nathan will be able to tell -somehow- that you have been near crying into it all evening. Your plight is quite a singular one, after all. Not only was your boss - who you are secretly crushing on, by the way - slated to attend the Met Gala without you (the audacity!) but he looks so good whilst doing it that you could easily form a puddle and seep between the cracks in his hardwood floors.

So, when he enters, you spring up from your seat guiltily, and a little too fast, swaying with an instant head rush. Or, perhaps, the sudden light-headedness is because you have finally gotten a good look at Nathan as he steps into the soft light, cast throughout the open plan apartment.

You drink him in and God, he looks even hotter in real-life in this formal get-up. The suit’s a little bland for the Met Gala, granted, even if you had begged his monochrome, minimalist ass to go all out for the occasion. Still, it is tailored to perfection. The details add a little flair beyond his usual attire, a subtle sheen on the lapels, and the fabric cut in the deepest midnight blue, complementing his golden brown skin perfectly. It sits just right too with his metallic silver frames, as well as the few grey hairs which sneak through his dense raven beard, glinting like solder and circuitry. He looks like the night sky, welcoming and deep and dense and alluring as all hell, his eyes hooded, enthralling planets.

To sum up, Nathan looks divine, especially given that he has now loosened off his bow tie - and a few buttons on that crisp white shirt. Given that he has his hands shoved in his pockets, tugging the luxe material tight over his hips and thighs - and ass, no doubt. You bet he looks damn good from behind too.

As he stands there, looking up at you from beneath his lenses in that singular way which turns you into putty, you will your face to contort in any one of the accepted formations - a smile in greeting, perhaps - but, instead, you get the feeling that’s not quite what you’re pulling off. Not at all. In fact, you get the distinct impression that you’re looking at him like a goldfish butting its head up against the side of a tank.

For a moment you feel slightly sick at the thought that he might have returned early because he brought someone home, and you manage to tear your eyes away from his deep, dark allure long enough to scan the place, satisfied to find out that he is indeed alone.

Nathan’s thick brows knit in concern as he surveys you, yet you can detect the faint hint of amusement in his tone when he speaks. You know him well enough to catch the subtle smirk beneath that glorious beard. “You okay, honey, or are you having some kind of aneurism?”

Well. Something is certainly happening to you. He is having an… effect, that’s for sure.

“Sorry. I’m…” You clear the sudden frog in your throat. “I’m not at my apartment. I’m… here.”

Wow. You’re not doing too well, are you?

Meanwhile, Nathan looks at you like you’re stupid, and you decide you’d probably have to pay a lot of dollar to your therapist to figure out why that makes you even hotter for him. Better left alone, you wager. “Yeah. I noticed, sweet cheeks.”

“Sarcasm. That’s a new one,” you say sarcastically, your cheek finally tugging on a smile.

He looks handsome. Beautiful. And, you slouch despondently as you all too suddenly recall your own sloppy sweats situation. He wasn’t supposed to see you like this. Especially not after spending the whole evening rubbing shoulders with the most beautiful people, donned in the most dazzling finery imaginable. He definitely wasn’t supposed to have that unfavourable comparison rattling around in his big fat genius brain, now was he? You already felt like you weren’t good enough for the likes of him.

Regardless, in the next moment, you trip over a million words, wanting to offer up some explanation for your presence, and yet all you manage to say is… precisely nothing. Therefore, to distract yourself from him - and to distract him from wondering what you’re doing here - you sidle over to the fridge, grabbing him a beer and you a mineral water. He looks grateful when you pop the cap, crossing the space to hand it to him, condensation pooling on your fingers.

Instantly, he takes a casual swig, and while he does, you finally manage to compose yourself. At least, halfway there.

“Nathan,” you say plainly. “You do know the Met Gala is happening now, right? I know I put it in your calendar.” You toss your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing towards the humongous TV. “Also, you were there. I saw you on E.”

His eyes crinkle subtly at the corners, with a fondness and a familiarity which -honestly- takes you aback. He doesn’t even seem to mind that you’re in his apartment. This is all… very unexpected.

After all. He’s not supposed to be here! Then again… neither are you.

“What are you doing here?” you both ask at the same time.

Nathan huffs out a breath, impatiently. “You first.”

Well, that’s fair, you suppose. You are in his house uninvited.

As your brain trips over excuses, you barely register when Nathan’s warm hand grips you by the elbow, seamlessly guiding you back towards the couch. Once arrived, he nods for you to take a seat alongside him, plonking his ample ass down.

You bite your thumb nail. “I’m so sorry. I thought I’d finish up some work while you were out.” It sounds plausible, right? No. It doesn’t sound plausible at all, you realise, as Nathan openly surveys the scene on the coffee table before you. He delivers a knowing quirk of his eyebrow. Your palms start to sweat. Your game is all the way up, it looks like. “And then, okay. I ended up watching E, ordering take-out, and eating all your ice cream.” You opt to leave out the part about foaming at the mouth over every snap of him to have graced the internet this evening. Nathan’s ego is huge enough, right, to forego that detail? “It’s just so much nicer here than my shitty place. And I didn’t think you’d be back for ages.” Well, it’s not a lie. However: the whole truth is that you’d simply wanted to be with him tonight, and this -sad as it might be- was as close as you could get. “And I.. God. I just looove the Met Gala, okay?”

“You do?” Nathan’s mouth twitches into an amused smirk as he witnesses your combo of panicked excuses and excited gushing.

“Not that I’d know, obviously. But hey! Clearly I love it more than you do! Why in the hell are you doing back so early anyway?” Nathan simply regards you stoically, and you clap your hands to your cheeks, suddenly imagining the worst. “Oh god. Nathan. What did you do?”

Nathan all but rolls his eyes. “Calm down, honey. Calm down? Well. That’s a nice notion, but you can’t. You can’t quite manage to calm down when he’s looking at you so attentively, long lashes fanning intermittently over his big brown eyes, blown-out and obsidian in this dim light. Not when he’s dressed in that tux jacket and crisp white shirt, the top few buttons loosened off. When the scent of his expensive, intoxicating cologne is wafting over you. “I managed to behave myself. More or less,” he reassures.

“First time for everything.”

“Uh huh.”

“Though it is only like 9pm.”

“Still plenty of time to be naughty, huh?”

Shit. That hits different. You’re used to his flirting by now. His crude comments. His explicit banter. Of course. But you could swear he injected a touch more grit into his deep, robust voice this time. Could swear he looked at you some kind of way, his eyes hooded, animated by a languidly catching spark. And, thinking of what being “naughty” might possibly involve? Well, it has your brain short-circuiting all over again.

That system failure is the only reason you fail to protest as Nathan shifts to the edge of the couch and reaches towards your laptop. It all feels a little blurry and unreal. You can barely even hear the words he’s saying anymore over your loud thoughts. Your thoughts of the bare patch of skin at his neck. His warm, veined hands peeking from beneath those white cuffs. The way his suit jacket tugs taut over his cultivated shoulders as he moves.

“You know who was on my fucking table?” Nathan begins casually, another indicator of his familiarity and comfort with you. “Royce Whistler’s Mother-Broadbean, or whatever the shit his name is. Do you remember - that blonde prick? The guy who called himself a businessman because he played Rollercoaster Tycoon 5 one time or whatever?” You look at him blankly, and Nathan takes that as a sign to continue sharing. “I played him at squash one time - and he got so pissed off at losing he pulled his pants down and stuck his flat, pasty ass up against the glass. Mooned the entire board. Fucking unreal.”

You’re half-listening, but your brain still hasn’t kicked fully into gear. Still hasn’t quite caught up with the fact Met Gala Nathan is here, in front of you, never mind blathering on about his table mates. Your brain certainly has not caught up by the time Nathan is leaning forward, lifting the lid of your laptop with a knowing smirk. “Let’s see what you were up to while I was gone, huh?”

Oh shit.

Your brain catches up so quickly now that your thoughts cause a pile up, and yet there is no time left to stop him.

You could swear that you almost pass out from embarrassment when Nathan finally flips the lid, his action revealing every one of the tabs you have had open this evening. Naturally, of course -just your luck- the first just had to be the most incriminating, didn’t it? He just had to see your BlueBook image search for “Nathan Bateman Met Gala hot”.

His eyes spark, his gaze electric as he drinks in the screen. He sinks his pearly teeth into his plush lower lip and practically grunts. “Searching for wank fodder of your boss, honey?” He clicks his tongue in what you hope is faux disappointment. “And you didn’t even go Boolean.”

“Heh. Trying to,” you scoff, the response -in your head- forming a suitably scathing comeback, alluding to how you couldn’t even find any hot pictures actually because he’s so gross or whatever. Well, you realise quickly that you messed that one up entirely, especially as a smug, lopsided grin blooms on Nathan’s pretty mouth.

Honestly, you were not far off giving yourself a little treat. If Nathan had been a little later he may even have walked in on it. You cheeks heat with shame, though it’s hardly the first time you’ve had sexual thoughts about him. Not even close. Still, it’s not like you are keen for him to know that.

In haste then -nay, desperation- you reach to slam the lid closed, narrowly missing Nathan’s fingertips in the process as he begins to skim effortlessly through your other tabs.

Then, springing to your feet with a surge of guilt once more, you scoop the laptop up against your chest, like an ailing quarterback cradling a football in the closing minutes of the Superbowl. Damn you and your motor mouth! “I meant… Look, actually, never mind what I meant!” Your voice is growing increasingly high-pitched, and Nathan’s face is becoming increasingly smug. “Why are you here?” you accuse, as if he doesn’t have every right to be. “Why aren’t you at -oh I dunno- The Freaking Met Gala?” You even stomp your foot and jab your finger a little, so help you, in your last ditch attempt to turn the tables. And, certainly, in attempt to deflect before Nathan can probe you any further about that so-called “wank fodder”.

Nathan, for his part, leans back ever so casually and deliberately on the couch, his sturdy thighs spread open and straining against the fabric of his pants, his arms hooking backward over the lip of the couch. The shift makes that crisp white shirt ride up over his stomach, straining the buttons to show you glimpses of his smooth tan skin.

Hnnnggggg.

You feel positively ill with desire at this point, and Nathan, meanwhile, looks effortlessly cool. He even takes a casual swig of his beer. “Meh. Honestly? Was kinda boring. And I couldn’t get the image of the mooning Royce Flat Ass-Coachella out of my head. Put me off my fucking caviar. Also, I thought there might be somebody bang-able there. But who the hell wants to risk losing an eye to some pointy-ass fashion apparatus while you’re going down to beaver town, huh?”

Oh goodness. Poor little rich boy!

All that, and he’s bored. And, on the other hand, what you wouldn’t give to attend the spectacle that is the Met Gala! Your little Museum Nerd heart is positively outraged! “Boring?! Boring, Bateman?! It’s only the most glorious, fabulous institution to exist in modern America!” Highly amused now by your gushing, Nathan stands too. Slowly, and far more calmly than you did, his eyes glowing with a soft, shrouded affection for you, if you’re not mistaken. “Boring, Nathan?!”

“Yeah.” He tightens his lips into a thin line, as though he’s trying to stop himself from saying something he may royally regret as soon as it’s out of his mouth. “Was no fucking fun without you.”

Your eyebrows jump up towards your hairline, your whole torso curling around your still warm and whirring laptop as you tighten it in your arms. You can’t believe the words he’s just spoken. )You especially can’t believe it after all of the hints you’d dropped about wanting to go with him!) Luckily for you though, you’re still having a near out-of-body experience, and so his words fail to register completely. “Boring?! It’s only full of all of the most beautiful, interesting, important people in the country!” you continue, your voice so high and careening now that you’re sure you’re making a mockery of yourself.

Nathan takes a couple of slow, casual steps towards you, still looking at you steadily from beneath his lenses. “Well… almost all of them.”

A swallow bobs down your throat with the unspoken implication, and you dare not follow that thought through to completion.

Then, wordlessly, Nathan shuffles up close to you, and eases the laptop from your grip. He sets it down on the table, and then he turns his gently heating, amused gaze back to you, looking you over in your crumpled sweats.

You swallow, still experiencing cognitive dissonance, Nathan’s words not matching up with what you’ve told yourself for so long - that he could never be interested in you. Instead of acknowledging him then, you instead cling to your futile, part-sensical assertions. “It’s only an unparalleled showcase of the greatest creative costuming of the modern day.” Your argument is losing strength, however. Your voice is breathy and barely there now, as Nathan’s face hovers ever closer to yours.

His voice drops low in his throat, becomes a low, warm rumble which you swear you feel in the pit of your chest. “Maybe. But no-one looked half as cute as you do in these baggy sweats.”

Nope. No way. This isn’t happening.

Your brain is definitely broken now. In fact, all you can do is whimper pathetically as Nathan looks hungrily down at your mouth. Is this some kind of dream? A joke? You have to be sure, before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. Before he makes a fool out of you.

“Really. Nathan. What are you doing here?”

Nathan pauses. Pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. His face goes taut, brows drawing down. “Well. I went to your apartment first, and you weren’t there.”

“Because I’m here.”

“Yeah. No shit.”

You gulp. You gulp as Nathan reaches up to pick a tiny bit of lint from off of your sweater, the gesture so tiny but humungous. His gaze gently, warmly, flits over your face. “Now I’m here too. Asking you…” He sucks air through his teeth, like he’s about to regret all of his decisions in life, but then… he still says it anyway. For the first time in your memory, Nathan Bateman even looks…bashful. “Do you wanna come to The Met Gala with me?”

Your mouth opens and closes wordlessly for a few moments, in complete and utter shock.

“I know, I know.” Nathan concedes, his eyes blinking closed and his palm waving through the air. “I’m a dumb fuck. You’ve been hinting incessantly. To the point of irritation. Beyond even. You’re not subtle, honey. And my timing is beyond shitty. But… what do you think? Will you be my… date?”

You blink at him. Look at him regretfully. “Nathan. I… I can’t. I…”

He quirks a thick eyebrow. Runs a hand over his buzzed head. “Fuck. Why not?”

You have to laugh. This situation is all so completely absurd. But you look down at yourself, your palms gesturing towards your clothes. “I… don’t have anything to wear.”

Nathan purses his lips then, and nods contemplatively, releasing a long-held breath, perhaps even in relief. “So the clothes thing is the issue? The idea of dating your asshole boss doesn’t bother you?”

You swear his eyes have grown uncharacteristically soft, hopeful even, but of course, your mouth runs off ahead of you to ruin the moment before you can even get there.

“I mean. Nathan. I’d go to the Freaking Met Gala with anyone who was willing to get me in there, honestly. Elon fucking Musk if he asked me. It’s not like I’d be fussy.” Nathan gives you a glare. Curls his tongue around his top lip in mild aggravation. And, there it is. That hand settling on his jutted hip. “Of course. I’m not saying he’d get to any bases. Bleuch. I’d ditch him right after the canapés.” You slide your palm over your face, regretting your motor mouth as Nathan eyes you judgementally over the brim of his frames. Holy shit. Why exactly are you still talking? “Wow. I sure wish someone would shut me the hell up.”

Nathan shifts gently, winding his hands around your waist, his fingers clawing into the soft fabric of your hoody like they belong there on lazy Sunday mornings. “You’re in luck, honey. I’ve been dying to help with that for months now.” His thick eyebrow sweeps up suggestively, and you can’t believe this is happening. You feel giddy. You feel like you’re in some kind of modern fairytale and Nathan is Prince Charming. Or, wait… maybe Prince Crude or something would suit him better.

“Nathan!” You emit a dirty laugh and attempt to bat him in the chest, but in that moment he tugs you closer. And so, your palm simply ends up resting lightly against his chest, your fingertips grazing over the bare brow skin beneath the “V” at his neck. Fuck, he looks hot. Feels warm and smooth. Your knees are barely keeping you up at this point.

What in the actual fuck is happening right now?!

“So, how about it?” Nathan prods, giving the closest thing to puppy dog eyes that you’ve seen from the man, the edge on his usually cool, calculating stare completely blunted - only for you. “Will you come with me?”

You want to say yes. Of course you do. Want to jump at the chance. But this is all so surreal you can barely think straight. Can barely imagine a world where you could be the woman who gets to attend a Gala on Nathan “Gift from God” Bateman’s arm. “You’re impossible, Nathan! I mean. You’re asking me while it’s already happening? This is all kind of crazy!”

“I know. You’re right,” he concedes, drawing back from you and clicking his tongue. Shoving his hands back into his pockets. He does indeed look good from behind, you are delighted to confirm.“Don’t know what I was thinking.”

You fold your arms around yourself, getting whiplash. This is all happening so quickly, and now it might not even be happening at all? “Now, wait a second. Let’s not be so hasty.”

Nathan wafts his hand through the air. “No. You’re right. I’ll call that upper east side boutique you obsess over back. What was the name again? I’ll them they don’t need to open back up after all. Tell them we don’t need a last minute gown.”

Your jaw drops and you audibly gasp. “Nathannnnn!”

He turns back towards you, and you can see the spark of mirth in his eyes. Can detect that he’s teasing you. That this whole thing is still very much on the table, if you want it. “Nathan Bateman. Are you seriously taking me to the Met Gala?” you squeal, unable to contain your excitement any longer.

“So long as you don’t ditch me after the fucking canapés, Princess.”

You subdue a face splitting grin, wanting badly to revel in it - but still not quite sure yet what you’ve done to deserve this. Not even the Gala, the gown, all that. Most importantly, this attention from your long-time crush. The man who, over time, has become so much more than your asshole boss. Your close friend. Someone you could even imagine a future with, so help you.

“I promise not to ditch you, Bateman - at least not until the entrées.” His eyes crinkle again at the corners and it makes you feel ten feet tall. “But… I don’t get it, Bateman.” It is your turn to take two steps towards him now. For your gaze to flit gently, warmly, over his face. Over that groomed, raven beard. His tan skin and his huge, brown, earnest eyes. “Why me?”

Your question seems to take Nathan by surprise. He looks a little more severe all of a sudden. More serious. A weight settles into his heavy brow, yet his eyes remain soft beneath it. “Well, kitten. I was -supposedly- hanging out with the most beautiful, interesting, and important people in the country and…”

“A-And what, Nathan?” You swallow, your heart thrumming and voice trembling at the potential implication of his words. He’s not going to say it though. You already know he isn’t going to say it. That “not one of them had anything on you”.

“And… it sucked ass,” Nathan finishes unceremoniously, in typical fashion. “And not in a good way.”

“S-so, you need me to be there?” You’re not above fishing for your compliments. You cast your line, waiting to see what you can manage to reel in.

Nathan’s brow folds with a newer weight. One which he can’t seem to shake off through smugness or humour or deflection. “Fine. You want me to play my fucking hand, honey? Here it is. Met Gala, Schmet Gala. I got there, and I realised that I…” His voice cracks with the weight of a million tiny revelations, hinted at in his eyes and they way they begin to sparkle. But, he doesn’t say it. Not every revelation he may have had tonight. Still, he does say something. He does say just enough. “I just… I realised that I just needed to be where you were.” Nathan reaches up then, and he lifts your chin with the crook of his finger. “So. We can get you a gown, if you want, and we can hit it up.” His eyes flick towards the TV, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. He offers a second option. “We can stay here and eat ice cream and watch E replay my Nathan’s Ass Broke The Internet red carpet moment all night long.” His eyes turn smug and dark, and a hunger intensifies in them as he looks you up and down again. “Or,” he says, slipping his expensive jacket off of his sculpted form, and passing it carefully around your shoulders. “You can go just like this. Technically, it’s now a Tom Ford ensemble. Would get you through the gate.” You even think he’s serious. You even think he’d have you by his side exactly as you are. That he sees you as beautiful, just like this.

You giggle into your palm. “I’m a mess!”

“No. You look good,” Nathan insists, not a whiff of a lie on him. In fact, as he drinks you in, he looks like he’s melting too. Like he might form a puddle and dribble through the floorboards any moment.

You finally allow a giddy, joyful, disbelieving smile to claim your face, and you reach up to fiddle coquettishly with Nathan’s loosened bow tie. “You look good.”

“Oh, I know, honey. Perfect wank fodder right?” He tips your head, allowing his lips to ghost up the column of your neck. He hums lightly when he reaches your pulse point, his mouth tasting your perfume. “Naughty girl. Gonna make you show me later, huh?” He presses a kiss to your throat. “If you want that,” he adds for good measure, and the addition makes you even hotter for him. He’s far softer and more gentle than you ever would have imagined, treating you like an intricate, delicate thing. You’ve seen his hands be careful as he worked his machines, but you never imagined them quite like this on your own skin. As though you were something magnificent. Special.

You feel another surge of embarrassment at the thought of showing Nathan how much he turns you on, as mental images carousel through your mind. You move to dip your face into Nathan’s chest; however, delicately, seamlessly, he crooks his finger to lift your mouth to his instead, his lips covering yours with a soft, earnest kiss. He hums into it, his tongue tentatively twining with yours as you open up for him.

You blink in disbelief as he breaks for air, your lips still tingling from the contact, your arms now hanging limply by your sides.

“Christ, honey. I’d better not kiss you on the red carpet.”

“And why not?!” On the contrary. You want a lot more where that came from.

“You look like a fucking goldfish. That good, huh?” There his crooked finger is again, gently fixing your slack jaw.

Well that won’t do. And so, with a determined, hungry glint in your eye, you pull Nathan back into your kiss by his lapels, slanting your mouth against him, kissing him deep and hungry. Kissing him until there is a moan spooling from his chest. Until, this time, Nathan is the one who is slack-jawed and dumb-founded when you pull away, his eyes fluttered closed and lips still puckered in search of you.

“You’re right,” you agree, surveying his own goldfish face. “No kissing on the red carpet. You’ll just have to grab my ass instead,” you snicker, and Nathan slowly wafts back down to earth. You could swear he even blushes at the suggestion, a crimson flush deepening the colour of his cheeks.

He strokes his hands up and down your forearms, searching your eyes. “So are we doing this? Because I have about 20 people on standby and ready to go.”

“You do?”

Nathan takes your hands. “Yeah. And I know you won’t wanna miss the exhibition tour, right? You big dork,” he teases with a sweet grin - as if he isn’t the biggest dork you know.

You clap your hands to your cheeks then, the situation suddenly feeling less like a fantasy and growing all too real. You feel a sudden flurry of nerves at the realisation there will be so many eyes on you. “I’m nervous,” you admit.

Nathan sighs, begins to grumble under his breath. “Christ. Don’t make me say it.”

You look at him quizzically.

He sighs again. More deeply this time. His words come out rather reluctantly, but no less full of meaning. “You’re gonna be the most beautiful, interesting, important person in the whole fucking joint. And I should know.”

“Oh yeah, Bateman?”

“Yeah. Got bored of those losers after 5 minutes, but you…?” His eyes twinkle again, with sentiments deeper than his words dare illuminate. You can see him rein it in a little. Backtrack. Keep things Nathan-y. Respond in his typical fashion. “Well. It’s been 9 months now and you’re still here. Clearly, you’re annoying enough to keep things interesting, Princess. Not bad to look at either.”

You chide him playfully with your eyes for the backhander, but despite his words, he’s looking at you with nothing but sweetness. “Besides, you’re gonna look like total wank fodder.”

You laugh. “Okay. True. But can we please retire that phrase? Otherwise I just know you’re gonna say it on E, and your publicist will kill me.”

“Publicist schmublicist,” Nathan breezes, and he pulls you into him for another kiss, a smile cracking beneath his raven beard. “Anyway, honey, you started it.”

You protest, bickering back and forth, exchanging snark as Nathan puts his arm around you and guides you out of the apartment. He leads you out of the lobby to where he has a car waiting, and he opens the door for you to clamber inside. Your belly is full of nerves and excitement, and you eye him with fondness as he calls up the boutique -your favourite, but one you are usually priced out of- to confirm you’re on your way over.

You can’t believe your dream of heading to the Met Gala is coming true. But most of all, you’re elated that Nathan wants you next to him. You’d always believed you weren’t good enough for him, but here he is, eager to show you off to the whole world. To have fun with you and enjoy your company.

It’s funny, you think. He wasn’t meant to be here tonight, and nor were you. But somehow, you think, you each ended up exactly where you were supposed to be.

Nathan hangs up his call and turns to you. “You okay?” He smooths a hand up your thigh and you nod, still smiling softly. “What kind of outfit do you want? It’s on me.”

Your eyes glint with mischief. “Nothing pointy.” Nathan takes a moment to catch your drift. “I don’t wanna put your eye out when you visit beaver town later, do I?”

You think you’d like something simple actually. Something to match Nathan. He may be a complicated man, but in many ways he’s so entirely straightforward. It’s one of the many things you like about him.

For a moment, Nathan looks lost for words, a swallow sinking down his throat. You can tell he’s already eager to follow that plan through to completion. “Please. Honey. Tell me we can we skip the after party?” He looks like he can’t wait for what you’re suggesting.

“How long is this ride?” you ask, arcing an eyebrow suggestively.

“What are you saying?”

“So you reckon you’ve got time to get a whole four bases further than Elon ever could?”

Nathan’s eyes glow with something bright and inexplicable. “You’re fucking unreal.”

“Oh, Nathan,” you purr, as he slides up the divider in the front, giving you some privacy. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

#nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman

257 notes · View notes

millenniumdueled · 1 year

Text

The Final Round

So this is what it all comes down to. Despite his Duel with Kaiba predicted in ancient stones, somehow Yugi knew this would be the final match.

Except, he isn't really Yugi, is he?

Of all the stakes on the line, that seems less important now. His memories, his past, his name seem insignificant. It's something else that drives him now as he steps onto the Dueling platform.

Mai Valentine's life on the line. The unstoppable Darkness Marik could unleash with all three God Cards. Joey's pride as a Duelist, and the fight they've promised each other.

Yugi's heart pounds as the platform ascends.

He adds the cards he's received from Kaiba to his deck, Obelisk the Tormentor and another, a gift given to him without explanation. Devil's Sanctuary? Without time to read over the card's descriptive text, he simply chooses to trust his fated rival with the addition.

"And now, the Battle City Finals!! Finalists Yugi Mutou and Marik Ishtar! Please approach your opponent to cut and shuffle each other's deck!"

The air swirls with tension, with hatred and resentment, with the scorching winds of battle as the two do as told. Marik towers over the shorter man, but Yugi's eyes burn with determination, a firey passion fueled by the support of his friends, of everyone counting on him.

I see that Kaiba gave you a little help. Doesn't that make 41? Oh well, no advantage will protect you from the might of Ra,

Marik sneers.

Yugi's brows crease as he hands his deck to the enemy. "I will defeat you, Marik. I'll take all of the pain and suffering you've caused and send it back to you tenfold," he spits.

Hahaha!! Unfortunately for you, Pharaoh, I enjoy pain!

Marik's laugh is wicked, deranged, his tongue hanging ludely from his mouth as he shuffles Yugi's cards.

Decks returned to proper ownership, the two finalists walk back to their ends of the platform.

Did you shuffle thoroughly? Hoping Ra would sink to the bottom?

"Heh. Don't ask me, ask your deck." Yugi turns on his heel, gripping the collar of his jacket draped over his shoulders to cast it off into the wind with dramatic flair. "It already knows you're going to lose!!"

Once again, the announcer's voice rings out. "Going first is Marik Ishtar. Duel, start!!"

The moment the game begins, black clouds swirl overhead, darkening the sky until noon turns to night. The air grows heavy, choking not only the Duelists, but the friends cheering from below. Another Shadow Game. Of course. Why would this final, dire match be different than any other of Marik's unsavory fights?

Look around you Pharaoh, the hungry shadows are calling. They're saying this will be the greatest Shadow Game of all! Darkness will reign, and the gates of hell will open... I'll snuff out every pathetic life on this planet!!

Yugi grits his teeth.

Starting with... This one!

The shadows come together, swirling inky blackness that parts to reveal another figure, a human form suspended in mod-air, visible only to the Duelists on stage and none of the spectators below.

Yugi's eyes go wide in horror.

"Partner...?!!!"

Yugi, little Yugi, his Partner, his other soul. Bound and suspended by rings of inky darkness, held aloft and spread eagle as his big, violet eyes flutter open.

"wh. what's going on?!" he gasps, struggling to comprehend the situation he's been forced into. his panicked gaze meets a similar pair of eyes from below. "other me?!"

Marik doesn't give the pair another second, using their mutual, horrified confusion, as a chance to summon his first monster.

Vampiric Leech!! Direct attack!!

Though the monster has only 500 attack points, the pain as it bites into the Pharaoh is excruciatingly real. But the scream that cuts the air doesn't come from him.

The Other Yugi looks again at his helpless Partner, only to see Yugi's face twisted in agony and horror as a section of his leg seems to melt away, skin sizzling and burning as it does.

Marik laughs at his cries.

Not only does your sacrifice feel the pain my attacks inflict on you.... His body will be devoured based on the life points you lose!

Again, the Pharaoh calls out to his Partner.

As for me, my Sacrifice is this guy.

Marik hooks a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of another suspended body. His own other half floats helplessly, bound in a similar fashion as Yugi.

The moment the Player's life points hit zero and the Sacrifice's body consumed, they'll both suffer the ultimate pain. You'll both feel every fiber of your existence shredded, ripped apart as you die, separated and alone!!

Marik's eyes narrow, an almost perverse expression on his face as he licks his lips.

Pleasure and pain, life and death... Even if you win, can you live with yourself, Pharaoh?

The Other Yugi's stomach twists. He's made so many promises this tournament, including one to his precious Partner. No more killing. For a second, his focus shifts below, to Marik's sister Ishizu.

"other me!!!"

Yugi's voice draws his attention once more.

"don't let him get to your head!!! please!!"

"But Partner, you--"

"just fight him!!!"

The Other Yugi's eyes narrow, directing his anger and his focus to the game at hand again.

"Hang in there, Partner. I will get you out of this alive."

#ooc #ic action #not visible ic #ppthththp im supposed to hang out with a friend so idk if I'll actually get to write out the whole Duel #I struggled getting started and now its pretty late LOL #but I did at least want to illustrate the Stakes here (:#drabbles

9 notes · View notes

penofdamocles · 2 years

Text

> “.. Okay, it’s a ring, we have tons of rings, how is this supposed to fix anything?” Madison Altair squints suspiciously at the innocuous piece of jewelry in Madison Rook’s gloved hand.

“Of course it’s just a ring. Rings are convenient, and you don’t have trouble wearing your others 24/7, so this should be no extra trouble.” Rook twists the ring between their fingers, a gold band with an angular black stone set in the center. Engraved on it is a concave silver line, what looks like a closed eye with 3 little eyelashes. Very pretty, and rather metaphorically dramatic, which they’re quite proud of. “Enchantments like this don’t have any reason to be conspicuous.”

The angel continues to glare at it doubtfully. He’s not mad, he’s trying not to be ungrateful, but he’s also sober and stressed and feeling stiff, as well as completely uninterested in hiding his bad mood from someone who can’t really judge him for it. “I guess. Don’t know if I’d wear it for aesthetics. Did Hinata enchant it? I thought you couldn’t do that.”

“This one isn’t mine. Hinata helped write down the elements of the enchantment, but Jasper made this one.” “..Jasper?” He raises an eyebrow, but much of the doubt seems to lift. “His amulet last time looked way different, and didn’t They get through that one?”

“Yes and yes, but they can enchant anything and told me very proudly that they’ve moved far past that level of enchantment, this one’s *much* stronger. Also fueled passionately by spite. Jasper’s seen what they’ve done, they would personally smite S if they could.”

Mads Altair finally takes the ring, peering at it closer. “Hm. Well I trust that, of course, but, what does it /do/?”

“This item prevents all external viewing, scrying, divination, or location abilities. They won’t be able to see you. No one will, aside from the people in your immediate vicinity. Might even work on security cameras? Not sure, no way to test that.”

His expression lifts further, and the ring slips right onto his pointer finger; it sure isn’t part of the enchantment, but the heartless man instantly feels his pulse go down, and takes a deep breath, just for a moment to chill. For the moment. He’s safe. He’s safe, he can trust Rook with something like this. But..

“..What if it falls off, though, and disappears? What if I need to take it off for something, and I set it aside, and it goes missing, or they come back that instant, or they’re already back and are just waiting for that moment and catch me the second it comes off-?” Whoops, okay, there’s all that stress back.

Rook moves over to the little nest in the back corner of the room, picks up one of several pillows, and tosses it over to Mads, who fumbles but catches it. “Okay, chill out, hug that a second. Let me explain. First off, if you can’t wear it on your hand put it on a chain like Hinata does, or in the pocket with your pen, it just has to be on your person. Also it’s not going to fall off your hand without you noticing, it’s not like you’re not hyperaware of everything your hands can feel at all times. You’ll know.”

Mads is very much hugging the pillow at this point, and Rook sits down in the chair next to their oddly arranged metal desk, semicircular and covered in papers and books, to keep talking. Their confidence and relative calm kind of pisses Mads off. Still, he listens attentively, actively holding his tongue and snarky comments.

“Second. This isn’t the solution. This is the backup plan I mentioned. I didn’t actually plan this ring, it just ended up being a convenient step in the process, but it’ll keep you covered in the short-term. Long-term, I’m working on something bigger. An extremely complex concealment spell, made up of my own magic, Hinata’s, Jasper’s, some shadowmancy, and more if I can manage it, I know a few other spellcasters I think I can ask. Each person is contributing a different aspect of the spell. Eventually, inevitably, S *will* get through that ring’s magic, it’s a single layer, with enough effort they can pull it apart, like last time. But if I give it several layers, components, *styles* like this, there’s no way they’ll figure it out. With a bit more planning, it’ll be a permanent enchantment, that will never turn off, they can never break through, and a few other things I’ll try to add along the way. Sound good?”

Madison Altair just nods sort of numbly. Yes he’s paying attention, or trying to, but he’s too fucking sober to be excited, and for lack of as much long-term stress all he has is a quiet emotional space to rest in. From what he understands, at least, this sounds like a great idea. “..sounds good, yeah, sounds great, I. Think that’ll work. I didn’t realize you were capable of..” He hates how much stronger Rook seems to get with every moment. “..something like this. It’s..incredible.” ..that’s a word for it. He’s quiet for a moment, staring into space, pulling at the edge of the black pillow he holds. With a sigh, he asks “..do you think. If I’d paid more attention to my magic stuff. I would’ve been able to protect myself instead?”

Rook thinks for a second, then shakes their head. “Hm. ..No. I doubt it. The magic you would’ve gone into would be far different from mine. It’d be dramatic, intense, helpful..but it wouldn’t help *you* enough. Not in the right way.”

That burns in Mads’ chest for a moment. If he weren’t like himself. Even if he’d tried harder. Maybe he would’ve been safe. Maybe they /are/ better.

Rook gives Mads a sympathetic glance. They get it. “But..if we’d traded places, too. I think. You would be able to protect me. I don’t know if I could do this for myself if I’d been going through what you have. You could probably fight them head-on, with that kind of power. If you wanted to for me, that is, but.. It sucks in practice, yeah. But. Overall.. Doesn’t it show how much we’ve both become who we want to be that we can protect others so well, even if not ourselves?”

He just stares, for a few seconds, still processing the surprisingly insightful observation. They’re right. As much as it hurts to be too weak for himself, he never wanted to be that selfish in the first place. As much as he wanted to protect himself, he always tried to grow stronger for others. ..and he certainly can’t see that as a bad thing.

“..Huh. I mean..yeah, I guess you’re right.” He’s not used to any version of him being correct or sincere about such a positive thought of himself. ..it definitely makes him feel better, at least, though the pillow is still in a stranglehold. “..so, I, um..I should just wait for you to be done making the spell?”

“Yeah, exactly. Keep the ring on you in the meantime, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you to be careful.”

“Right, no, I’ll be..I won’t let it out of my sight.”

“Great. Now, uh. Go hang out with Ned or something, seriously, you need grounding company pretty bad right now.”

“Right..sure..thank you, Rook. I still don’t know. /Exactly/ why you’re doing this, but thank you for helping me.”

“Well, I’m not going to explain because you really should know. ..And you’re welcome. I need to. This is too important to ignore.”

“I guess..” Mads nods wearily and walks out of the room. Then, shortly after, returns, a bit purple in the face, chucks the pillow back into the corner of the study, and leaves again. First try.

#Off Strings (ic)#action #((i did not have to write this for any reason but i did because. they're interesting to write together #also here's a summary of what rook's doing for people who don't plan on asking privately!#handy dandy.#viewed ooc

8 notes · View notes

holyhappyhour · 10 months

Text

The Bad Deal: part 1

As Le walks into the building of her upper west side apartment, her body moves almost on autopilot, her mind swimming deep in the events of the night. Through the atrium, into the elevator, down the hall, past her front door.

She sets her phone and revolver, now 3 bullets lighter, on the hall table before stripping down. First her shirt, then the black sash always tied around her waist, her jeans, all unceremoniously abandoned in the entry. A small silver case is removed from one drawer on the table.

Le moves silently to the kitchen to fetch a bottle from her freezer, then through her living room, out a window and onto the fire escape. Leaning against the iron railing, she raisess the bottle of Irish whiskey and takes a hefty swig without a flinch. She sets the bottle carefully by her feet, then takes a cigarette and lighter from the silver case, before tucking the case into the side of her sports bra. She lights up, inhaling a deep drag as she does, and looks up into the night sky. Any possible stars are drowned by the light pollution of the Big Apple, leaving the sky an endless sea of black ichor overhead--

and immediately she wretches. Leaning over the railing, she watches her vomit fall 8 stories to the courtyard below.

She wipes her mouth. Another long pull from her whiskey, and she can finish her cigarette in silence.

The hunter takes the bottle again, another swig, and heads back inside. To her bathroom, where she brushes her teeth, splashes water on her face. She takes the cigarette case from her bra before removing that too.

There hadn't been a fight. The mess from tonight's incident hadn't touched her. Yet she swore the smell of death clung to her. But she doesn't have the energy left for a shower. Instead, she crawls into bed just as she is, sliding under the covers to press her face against the warmth of her partner's chest.

Finally, she can breathe.

Le draws in a deep, shaking breath of Conrad's scent as his big arms wrap around her, and her own smaller arms around him too. For a long moment, they simply hold each other in the quiet of the dark night.

"Mm, there you are, Otter," the man's voice is low and deep and sleepy as he gives his partner a gentle squeeze. "...What's wrong..?"

Le shakes her head without raising it from his chest.

Conrad buries his own face in her hair, only to frown as the fresh smell of cigarette smoke meets his nose. "Le, what happened? Are you okay?" he asks, voice much more serious now.

Sighing, Le finally takes her face from Conrad's chest, but she doesn't look up at him either. For a long moment she's just quiet, chewing at her lip as she tries to find the right words.

"You can't tell anybody, okay?"

"Okay..."

"Not even Nico or Alice. Fuck. Yeah. 'Specially not Nico..."

Conrad stiffens. Sits up a little bit, but he keeps his hand on Le's bare shoulder. "What are you talking about? If something happened, he should probably know--"

"Because I think this might be my fault, Connie."

#ooc #ic actions #not visible ic #technically this would have happened uhhhhhhh #thursday night ???#I think technically it was set up for Wednesday night but thursday works better since I'm just now finally writing it and I dont want to #be packpeddling too much here #I'll write part 2 throughout the day at work #which will have the Context #but I'm at work so it might be a while #emetophobia //

5 notes · View notes

a-regular-ol-pill · 1 month

Note

This might be out of nowhere but but Xavier x reader x Aamon threesome ( i mean they really are not that related but they're so hot like really really hooot so i just wanna be manhandled by both of em😭😭) fem reader if u may. Thank youu! xoxo

"Who are you to her?"

Mobile Legends; Bang Bang

Pairing; Xavier, You | Aamon, You | Xavier, You, Aamon.

!! NSFW 18+ !!

A/N: Apologies for any inconsistencies and the horrible layout. I'm getting the hang of writing again ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

Pronouns Used: You, She/Her

Warning(s): Slightly OOC Aamon and Xavier, Dubious Consent, Manhandling, Smut, Threesome, Possessive Smut, Marking, Double Penetration in one hole, badly written smut, kind of sexual tension, just really really filthy smut, Etc...

You and Aamon were acquaintances. Not because you and him were friends; but because you worked for him. Since you were a kid, you were expected to tend to his needs. After all; you were the child of the most high end butler in the entirety of the Moniyan Empire. You were pressured, forced to stay and cook while your peers played all day.

Sometimes, you sneak out to pet the cat litter that was just near the playground. That's when you met Xavier. Xavier and his family had gone out to deliver shipments of merch to the Empire. He was told to stay put as his father bargained, due to that, and his boredom, he snuck away as well. He saw the cat litter first; didn't even see you as he stared at the kits in adoration.

You noticed him instantly and saw that as a chance to make a friend. And make a friend you did! In that short time Xavier's father and yours didn't notice your absence, you two bonded over liking cats! Blissfully unaware of Aamon who was watching. Because he was told to find you, as you were his new playmate/butler.

He envied the carefree attitude you both had and told on you to your father. Big mistake. The moment Aamon had said that you were slacking, you were pulled harshly back to the Castle Aberleen. Much to the horror of Xavier who was then caught by his father and taken away. You were given a heavy punishment; Forced to lift heavy shipments that your young body could barely lift; Forced to stay up until late at night to study so you could teach Aamon.

You grew to resent Aamon for that. And in turn, Aamon grew to resent himself. He regretted tattling on you and tried to cheer you up. Through your childhood— to your adulthood. He tried. Though, his efforts only met a stone cold face and a cold thank you. Albeit, growing warmer at each attempt. Your relationship was on thin ice, though, it was growing stronger. Even if it could crumble at any moment.

A few members of the House Paxley were requested to discuss the rivalry of the Knights of Light against the Light's Order of the Moniyan Empire; Why the House Paxley? They didn't tell you; But still, you and Aamon went. The topic of discussion was one you couldn't understand. A contrast to Aamon, who very actively participated in the discussion.

You weren't allowed to leave Aamon's side. So, to keep yourself occupied, you took down notes— Wrote down their responses word for word. Your actions caught the eye of the Youngest Arbiter of Light; Xavier had noticed how familiar you looked. But couldn't pinpoint why you looked familiar. He watches you. Eyeing the way you felt the intricate linings of the fountain pen with your fingers.

You were so.. familiar.. It kept bugging him. Until the meeting was postponed for both parties to think over each other's points. Aamon tapped your shoulder, and you two headed off to the dining room. Was it inappropriate to do so? Not really. The dining room was lined up with food; So the Knights of Light probably expected some of the residents of the House Paxley to eat.

Xavier followed you. As creepy as it may seem— He knew Aamon. But he didn't know you. Aamon was picking one of the deserts as you made sure no one noticed; it was the only time Aamon could indulge in sweets without getting told to watch what he ate; Someone taps your shoulder, you turn to the direction of said someone.

Instantly, your eyes locked onto Xavier's sapphire ones. The familiarity struck you both like thunder; You recognize him to be your friend! Why you were excited was self-explanatory. You get to reconnect with someone who also likes cats!

"Excuse me, may I know your name?" He asks, and you realize that you may have gotten too excited. Wait- what was his name? Maybe it'll jog up your memory. So you tell him your name, and he seems to perk up at that.

"Did you-." Suddenly. Aamon clears his throat. "I don't remember telling you that you could approach my butler, Xavier." He says bluntly. He knew his name, only because they sort of interacted when they clashed points. The air around you grows cold, and you look at Xavier apologetically.

"I'm sorry, but last I remember, you didn't say anything about me not being allowed to talk to your- ah, butler." Xavier's tone was passive aggressive; annoying Aamon even more. "You don't see me talking to your superiors about your obsessions with cats now, do you?" He spat, and Xavier furrows his brows. How did he know?

"Aamon.." You start, but the two are at a stand off. "Oh.. I remember why she looked familiar now.." Xavier says in a low tone. "You tattled on us because you were a pitiful child, with an even more pitiful childhood." He continues. Yikes.. low blow.. Aamon clenches his fists, and you tap both of them down. "Okay. No. Aamon- this is for the Empire's sake, remember?" Your attempts were short lived as Aamon suddenly grips your hand and pulls you against his chest.

"This is personal now." Aamon tells you. Xavier's chest burns as he sees the way Aamon handles you. "Is this a good way to get on our good side, Paxley?" Xavier steps closer. You were sandwiched in between them. And fuck did it made your heart race. "It's stupid how you think I care about the Knights of Light." Aamon answers. His hand moves to hold your waist, catching you off guard. Xavier's eyes flicker towards your waist, he was furious.

"Such a bold action to do to your butler." — "Do you think I care? She's my butler." The way Aamon said that was primal; possessive. Aamon did always have a thing for anyone else interacting with his possessions but— you?? "Look around." Xavier mumbles. Both you and Aamon were reminded of the fact that you were in the dining room. Sure, no one was looking; but for what it would imply..

"You want her, and so do I." Your ears grow red when you hear this. What the fuck..! You were almost 100% sure that Xavier just wanted to get reacquainted with you. But now this just fucked up what you thought before. Xavier's gaze went to look at your face, before he looked back at Aamon. "Back at that cat litter, you took her away. You owe me at least the duration of this break to catch up with her, no?" Aamon clicks his tongue and pulls you with him. Xavier follows, and all three of you managed to get into a vacant room and locked the door.

The room you went in coincidentally had a bed, and before you could even have a say in the matter, both men had their hands all over you. Xavier was feeling your chest, and Aamon, who had surprised you a lot this entire.. situation? Began to kiss your neck. Well, kissing is too much of a light word. Aamon was biting your neck, leaving deep bite marks that won't go away for a day or two.

He licked, sucked, and did whatever things you thought he wouldn't do to you; he held your arms to your side as Xavier began to unbutton your uniform. His hands work quickly as he pulls off your bra and begins to suck on your chest. Moaning softly as he notices how shaky you've gotten over this entire thing. You gasp, both Xavier and Aamon had their mouths on you and didn't care about the marks and consequences it would cause.

"Not.. Aamon don't.." You were breathless. Trying to stop Aamon as he continues leaving marks on your neck. "It'll be seen-." — "Be a good butler and shut up." He practically growls. Xavier whined at the lack of attention, and thus pulled down your trousers. His hands pull apart your thighs as he pulls your underwear down with his teeth. The cold air makes you gasp, your head craning down to watch.

Aamon didn't like that. He didn't want you to look at Xavier. He takes your chin, turns it towards his face and kisses you deeply. Tongue and all. You squirm against his iron hold as Xavier licks at your clit. The sensation of his tongue, furiously flicking that small bud up and down made you tremble and shake. You moan against the kiss, and Aamon moans in return. Xavier lifts up your thighs and places it on his shoulders, he continues to lap at your core.

Clothes. Oh shit Xavier's clothes! He was getting it wet with all your arousal and if anyone notices-. The thought makes your head spin, and you let out a loud, yet muffled whimper. Face bucking up into Xavier's mouth as you come. Aamon pulls back from the kiss. Looking down at Xavier with a glare. Xavier didn't reciprocate, as he licks you clean and stands up, between your legs. You were being held up by Aamon, and was about to get fucked by Xavier.

Were you in heaven?? "Don't you dare put it in before me." Aamon warns. His hand loops under both your arms as the other moves down to remove his pants. Xavier was annoyed at that, but if he argued, he knows Aamon would just walk away with you, no further discussion. So he complied. Pulling his pants down a little to let his cock free. As you were distracted, Aamon guided his cock into your core and lowered you onto him.

You were caught off guard once again, and you let out a small whine of pain. "Shh.." Aamon buried his head in your neck as Xavier stepped closer to you and kissed you tenderly. Your heart, despite running a mile a minute, skipped a beat at the kiss. "I tried to find you.." He whispered. Aamon heard that. Out of jealousy, he began pumping his hips, pushing his cock and out of your pussy in a quick, but soft pace. The movement causes you to moan, and you throw your head back against Aamon's shoulder.

You couldn't see it, but Xavier was stroking his cock. His eyes were locked onto where you and Aamon were connected. He pumped his hand to the pace Aamon was holding and moaned. Aamon pulled back from your neck, seeing you were fucked out of your mind, he smirked. He then looked at Xavier, taunting him. "She's so tight. Can't fit another one in here." Aamon chuckles. Xavier stops and looks at him with a glare. "Is that a challenge?"

"Maybe." Without wasting any time, Xavier smeared his pre-cum over your clit, stimulating you even more as you whimper and cried. "Wh- what are you-" You began to stutter. Aamon pulls your face close to his, your eyes bulge out of your sockets as you feel Xavier push the tip of his cock inside of you. Aamon groaned, the tight space got tighter as Xavier bottoms out inside of you. How was that possible..?!

"Fuck.. good kitten, taking us both.." Xavier mumbles, you almost mistook it as dirty talk until you notice how fucked out he looked. He looked high. They both begin moving their hips; Xavier out—Aamon in.. the sensation, the pace, it makes you cry out in pure pleasure. They start to leave marks on your body again. As if competing to leave the most marks on you. Your hands were flailing around, you didn't even know what to hold onto as their pace began to quicken. They lost the tempo that they had and you were being stuffed— sometimes half full, and sometimes empty.

They were molding you to the shape of their cocks, and you didn't even know if you loved it or hated it. Aamon, whom you still somewhat hated but have now begun warming up to, was fucking you. And Xavier, whom you haven't met since you were a kid was rubbing your clit— wait. He was rubbing your clit!

The stimulation made you come a second time, and the moment you tightened up, they both bottomed out. Spilling their essence into you like you won't even get pregnant.

Silence filled the room, aside from the heavy breathing and the light smooching as they leave even more marks on your body. Aamon let go of you, now holding onto your waist as Xavier pulled out. Kneeling down to clean up the mess they made inside of you before standing back up. "Are you okay?" They asked at the same time. You were unresponsive.

Aamon sighed and carefully laid you down on the bed. Xavier pulls his pants back up and clears his throat. "Does she have anything else to change into?" He asks. Aamon shook his head. "We didn't bring anything else." He then looks down at you; you were now unconscious. He smiles a little and brings you to the bathroom inside the room.

Xavier went out to get some water for you. And to also find some clothes for you to wear. He didn't expect to have a threesome with you and Aamon when he had just reunited with you, but that wasn't the priority right now. The priority was to find you some clothes.

They might not be getting along now, but for you, they'll try.

#mobilelegends #mobile legends bang bang x reader #mobile legends bang bang #mobile legends aamon #mobile legends aamon x reader #aamon x reader #xavier mobile legends #aamon mobile legends #xavier x reader #mobile legends xavier x reader #mobile legends xavier #mlbb x reader smut #mlbb x reader #mlbb aamon x reader #mlbb xavier x reader #‹♪°*~Pellet's Requests~*°♪›#ml #mlbb

29 notes · View notes