#she was so real for lines like 'he's so fragile right now'
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comfort cuisine - TEASER
🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader
🔮 preview. You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch. Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more.
tw/cw. unprotected sex, breast worship/massaging, big dick Johnny, fingering, pussy stretching prep, 'it's finger licking good,' praise, dirty talk, masturbation, multiple reader orgasms, cumming together, creampie, soft sex, longing, fluff, etc… I pet names: (hers) honey.
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.8k
🍭 aus. aged up/widower dad!John, best friends to lovers, Chef!John, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. I'm so happy that people loved Line Chef Mark in my fic Real Talk, I received so many messages about giving Head Chef John his own love story, and this is what I came up with in the past four months :) it's a little different from what I normally do, but I wanted to continue with that 'slice of life' theme and venture into a plot line I've never tried before with widower/single dad John :)
“So two line chefs called in, huh?” you prompt, tucking your legs up and making room for the large man on the sofa.
“I expected it from Haechan, but Mark’s generally pretty reliable. His girlfriend was on shift today, so I know he wasn’t skipping to be with her- I’m guessing they got pretty messed up last night.”
“They’re young,” you point out, accepting a beer from him. “We used to be young.”
“Used to be,” Johnny laughs, taking a swig of his drink.
Looking at this man- this father, you realize maybe he never really got the chance to be young. At twenty five, he had a six year old, he wasn't running around blacking out and getting hung over, he was working his way up the employment ladder, dreaming about a better future for his daughter.
“You mentioned Mark has a girlfriend, I think I’ve heard about her a few times now, it’s interesting that she was in and he wasn’t.”
“I’m going to be honest, I love Mark, he’s a great kid- but, he can sometimes be peer pressured into things. Haechan has a hold on Mark unlike any I’ve seen, they bring out… interesting sides of each other.”
You laugh at the description, and it’s clear there’s more on Johnny’s mind, so you wait for him to continue.
“It’s nice that Mark is young and in love, I can understand that- but at the same time, I just hope he doesn’t make the same mistakes I did. Not that Soonbok is a mistake, of course- I just mean that… life is fragile. You think you’re going to be with someone forever, and then you’re reminded of how frail things can be.”
You frown at his words. Even after all of these years, Johnny still holds so much pain about his lost wife. You want to do your best to help Johnny in every aspect of his life, especially emotional, but this is a topic you never know how to approach. He’s right for grieving, his ex was his first love, his true love- how is there anything you could ever say to make him feel better about her passing?
You open your mouth, only to close it, and Johnny watches you intently. Sometimes he looks at you, the way he’s looking at you right now, and you wonder if he feels the same level of connection with you that you feel with him. You wonder if he wants you to kiss him, if a kiss would make him feel better, if it would - if even for a moment - help him forget about the pains he’s faced in his life.
But it’s because of the pains he’s faced that neither of you can close the distance, you’d like to think about it that way at least. Even after all these years, it’s still too early, so you simply reach out and gently squeeze his hand.
Johnny offers you a smile, and you’re glad that in some small way, maybe you’ve helped him.
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shout out to ianthe naberius. for like generally existing but also for being a john gaius loser truther
#she was so real for lines like 'he's so fragile right now'#john rlly had to pick new saints and went with two people most likely to talk shit about him behind his back#this is exactly why we want a sitcom with these three. the sheer implied dynamic is so so delicious#tlt#tlt shitposting#ntn#ntn spoilers#nona the ninth#nona the ninth spoilers#the locked tomb#ianthe naberius#ianthe tridentarius#ianthe the first#john gaius#tlt jod#tlt john
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praline sweet
Mature | 1.8k | Read on Ao3
This is a belated birthday gift for @tboyeddie! Sorry this took so long, I had like 4 versions of this going at once and couldn't figure out which one to actually use! I wanted to give you something soft, though, so hopefully this fits the bill! <3
CW: Omegaverse, Alpha Eddie, Omega Steve, Pre-heat fluff, Rated mature for a little dirty talk and some indecent thoughts
The call is unexpected, when it comes. Robin's voice is familiar on the other end of the line, but what she says-
“Hey, Steve hit his pre-heat today, and the party is bringing him stuff to add to his nest, just to make our scents stronger. Pick out a t-shirt or something and bring it over when you have the chance, yeah?”
Eddie blinks, almost pulls the phone away to look at it, make sure it's real, because what?
“I uh, I didn't know Steve was so close to his heat.”
“Yeah, it's kind of early, but he said that's not weird. All you need to worry about is bringing something to add to his nest. Got it, loverboy?”
That's kind of a big deal. Omegas in pre-heat want to be surrounded by the scents of their pack, to have that sense of familiarity as their bodies slowly adjust in preparation for what is basically a three day sex marathon. This is Steve's first heat that Eddie is really aware of. He'd apparently had one a couple of weeks after the spring break from hell, but Eddie had still been hospitalized at that point.
So now, three months later, Steve's heat seems to be right on time. The fact that he apparently wants Eddie's scent in his nest makes the alpha nearly kick into a purr. It ignites something deeper, too, the desire to bundle Steve up in the nest, to hold him and keep him safe, to stretch him open on the alpha's cock and help him through his heat instead of leaving him to suffer alone-
And yeah, killing that train of thought immediately while he's still on the phone with Steve's best friend.
“Yeah, sure. I'll head over this afternoon.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Eddie.”
Eddie can't resist bringing a few things with him to Steve's. He grabs a couple of shirts, soft ones he's worn so much that they nearly have holes in them, and an old sweatshirt that used to belong to Wayne, that Eddie snagged for his own not long after he moved in.
Somehow, Eddie makes himself wait until after lunch before he heads to the Harrington house. He's nervous the entire ride over, only because he doesn't know how this is going to go.
The thing between him and Steve is new, like three-weeks-old new, like only-Robin-knows new. It's a gentle bond built through joking and talking and just spending time together, and it's so, so fragile, at least to Eddie.
Because Eddie's never dated anyone - much less courted an omega before. What if he fucks it up? What if he does something wrong that makes Steve break up with him and their friendship is ruined and Robin fucking kills him for hurting Steve? Fears that he has yet to voice, that he’s shoved to the back of his mind every time he's seen Steve since they started dating.
He tries to shake it off, but he’s still nervous as he rings the bell, announcing his arrival. It’s not long before the door swings open to reveal Steve on the other side. He looks a bit rumpled and sleepy, like he’d been napping before Eddie showed up, but he chirps when he recognizes the man on his doorstep.
Eddie grins as Steve blushes at the involuntary reaction, but doesn't comment on it. “Hey, Stevie. Robin said you needed some stuff for your nest, so I brought you a few things.”
The omega seems to melt a bit at the gesture, and the scent of praline pecans fills the entryway as Steve says “Thanks, Eds. You wanna come in?”
Eddie nods and follows Steve inside, waiting briefly for the younger to lock the door behind them before he guides Eddie up the stairs to his room. He passes the clothing over to Steve, who immediately takes one of the shirts and presses it to his face, inhaling Eddie’s own black tea and clove scent.
“I didn’t realize your heat was so close,” Eddie says as he props his hip against the desk, and Steve glances at him as he begins to add the shirt into his nest.
“Yeah, it’s actually early. I was gonna talk to you about it, but I wasn’t expecting it so soon. I, uh. I think being around you made it happen faster.”
Eddie tamps down the alpha pride that swells at the admission, that Steve’s omega is reacting to him, to his presence. “Well, we can talk about it now, if you want?” he asks instead, and Steve turns to look at him, the second shirt in his hands. He wrings it nervously before turning and tucking it into the walls of the nest, a bit closer to the head of it this time - easier to smell. Eddie’s Alpha preens.
With that task done, Steve takes a breath and turns to face Eddie once again.
“I like you, Eddie. Like a lot. I had some time to get to know you even before we started dating, and I really, really like you. I know we’ve only been together a few weeks, so it feels way too soon to ask you to spend my heat with me - I don’t want you to feel like you have to, just because you’re my alpha - but I’d really love it if you would stay for some of my pre-heat? If you want to, no uh, no pressure or anything.”
His alpha. Steve called Eddie his alpha.
Eddie’s been so worried, so scared of fucking things up that he’s been taking it slow, carefully feeling out each step before moving on to the next. He hadn’t realized that Steve was so far ahead, that he was already so comfortable with claiming Eddie as his after only a few weeks of dating, not even courting yet. And Eddie wonders-
He’d already been half in love when he asked Steve out. Had Steve felt the same?
For the first time since he decided to take that chance, to ask Steve on a date, Eddie’s worries disappear as Steve’s claim instantly quells the alpha’s fears. He crosses the room to stand in front of Steve, and can’t resist reaching out to touch him, one hand settling on Steve’s neck and the other on his waist. The omega hums softly and leans into the contact, and Eddie smiles.
“Stevie, sweetheart, honey. I would love to stay with you; for your pre-heat or your full heat, whatever you want.”
Steve blinks at him, hazel eyes wide with surprise. “You don’t have to, Eddie-”
Eddie shakes his head. “I know, but I want to. Gotta make sure my omega is taken care of during his heat, yeah?”
Hands snap to grab Eddie’s shirt as Steve actually trills, the sound high and delighted before it shifts into a pleased purr. Eddie laughs and tugs Steve into a sweet kiss, and feels the vibrations against his hands, his lips. It quickly peters off into a gentle hum as they just stay there, holding each other and trading soft kisses.
“I am a little disappointed,” Steve says after a moment. “I was kind of hoping we could have our first time before my heat hit.”
Eddie shrugs and rubs his thumb over the twin moles on Steve’s cheek. “I mean, we still have a few days, technically. If you're, you know, feeling up to it. If not, our first time doesn't have to be during your heat. I can help you this time without fucking you.”
“You say that, until I’m in the middle of it, crying and begging you to fuck me, to come in me and knock me up.”
And fuck, the mental image that conjures up. Eddie takes a deep breath to settle his Alpha, to calm the sudden desire that shoots through him at just the thought of it. The scent of sweet praline floods his senses, and he can practically taste the teasing undertone as Steve grins at him, clearly aware of what he’s doing.
Eddie gives a playful growl and goes to respond, but is cut off when Steve's hand shoots up to his face, covering his mouth as he yawns wide. He forgot that Steve had been sleeping when he showed up, and probably hasn’t slept enough to satisfy his instincts.
“Is this what the next few days are gonna be like? Lots of naps?”
“Not just naps. There’s also cramps and snacking,” Steve corrects, and Eddie just shakes his head fondly. He reaches over to grab the sweatshirt and passes it to Steve. “Well, let’s get you back to bed, then. I need to run back home and grab some stuff since I’m staying, and I’ll feel better knowing you’re all cozied up and safe.”
Steve smiles, something soft and gooey, but as he takes the sweatshirt and holds it up, reading the logo on it, it shifts. He looks at Eddie, unimpressed but with a teasing shine in his eyes as he says “Atlanta Braves? Really?”
Eddie just shrugs and doesn’t bother to hide his grin. “Wayne's from Georgia.”
The omega just shakes his head before pulling off the sweater he’s currently wearing and slipping on the navy sweatshirt. “This feels wrong,” he says even as he tucks his nose into the collar, eyes fluttering as he inhales the alpha’s scent, and Eddie chuckles.
“I’m sure the Cubbies will forgive you this one time, sugar.”
Steve rolls his eyes but smiles as he climbs into the nest, and Eddie watches as he bundles himself up in the soft blankets. He looks so fucking cozy, and the alpha can’t resist leaning down to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “I'll be back soon, okay?” he says, earning a soft chirp from the sleepy omega.
It only takes Eddie about half an hour to collect what he needs and get back to the Harrington house, and Steve is still asleep when he makes his way back into the bedroom. He toes off his shoes and shakes the omega gently, trying to wake him as carefully as possible.
“Stevie?” he says and gets a soft grumble in response. Eddie huffs a laugh and tries again. “Baby, I’m not gonna get in your nest without permission. You gotta invite me in, sweetheart.”
Some part of Steve’s sleepy mind must recognize what Eddie’s asking, because a hand appears from the mess of blankets to grab Eddie’s shirt and tugs him closer. The alpha smiles and lets himself be pulled forward until he’s laying with Steve, their arms wrapped around each other and Steve’s face pressed into his neck.
Eddie’s purr rumbles low in his chest as he starts to doze, and the room is flooded with the scent of spiced pecans and home.
#cj i hope you like this!!#we've talked before about pre-heat fluff and i just wanted to give you some of that#i did try to make it spicy but they were not cooperating 😔#so fluff it is#steddie#steddie fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve x eddie#joey writes#omegaverse
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This is gunna sound confusing and Idk if you do him or not but could you do a Vox x reader where they have been dating for a while and Vox realizes that they havnt kissed yet and whenever he has tried or tries she turns away with a nervous laugh and says something to distract him and he finds out it's because she is nervous that she will mess up his screen like smudge it or break it (like when you touch a tv and the light warps because the screen moves slightly and if you do it to hard it can stay that way)
A/N i am actually obsessed with this idea. it is so cute and fluffy. it was so fun to write. Also, I know I said that part four of Cover Up was next in line but that part is gonna be NSFW and I am kinda nervous about it so....
Smudge (Vox x Gn!Partner!Reader)
Pairing: Vox x Reader
Warnings: Hurt/comfort (but you're the one comforting Vox mostly)
Word Count: 1,255
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Vox had known Y/n for nearly a year now and they had been together for just over five months. At first, he had assumed their resistance to have any physical contact outside of the holding of hands, the occasional hug or cuddle in front of the TV, was out of a desire to take things slow.
He looked over at where they sat beside him on the couch, his arm draped over the back of the sofa.
That he could understand. What he didn't understand was how slow taking it slow really meant. More than five months in and they had yet to have their first kiss. Y/n had never even so much as given him a peck on the cheek. Vox was a patient man but it didn't stop him from trying, he leaned in. Just as his lips were about to make contact with the side of their head -- not even their face! -- he felt a soft pressure on his shoulder.
Y/n had stopped him, again. Their eyes met his. They hadn't even given him the dignity of a gentle hand on his cheek, of anything other than an apologetic smile.
"I need to shower, my hair is greasy."
Vox was a confident man. In his position, it was hard not to be. Still, the whole situation was beginning to weigh on him. Y/n must have noticed as the smile slipped from their face, morphing their features into an expression of mild concern.
"Vox, hunny, are you okay?"
"I..."
He withdrew from the warmth of their touch, fixing his gaze back on the TV. It was unfamiliar territory. He had never had trouble getting people before, he had no idea how to act. In every past experience, he hadn't cared what disregarding such a request as to not kiss a prospective partner, or real partner even, could do. The care was what made things complicated.
Vox was not a good man. He had never been a good man, not even when alive. Y/n made him want to be one. The way they saw him... they didn't want him for his power, his influence, his money. They wanted him for him. It was obvious. In every lingering touch, every word, every home cooked meal or surprise outing. It was all so new, so different. They made Vox want to be the man they thought him to be.
"It's nothing."
Y/n was silent for a moment. He could feel their eyes on him but did not dare to return their quizzical stare. It was all so fragile, their relationship, even Y/n themself. He heard them sigh and felt their weight shift on the couch beside him. The TV clicked off. At last, he met their gaze once more.
"I don't like it when you lie to me." they hummed softly, turning to face him fully, pulling their knees up onto the couch, "What's going on?"
Vox grimaced.
"It's... please, Y/n. Don't worry about it. Everything is okay, I promise."
Y/n raised their eyebrows, cocking their head to one side. They could tell he was lying. Somehow, they always could. From the moment he met them, Vox had the uncanny feeling Y/n could see right through his facade, to the very essence of his being. It was a fear, it was a thrill, it was a delight, it was...
Vox sighed, his eyes finding his hands where they rested in his lap. He wasn't used to feeling small, to feeling weak. He did now.
"It's stupid."
"If it is bothering you this much, it's not stupid Voxy."
The dam broke.
"Why wont you kiss me?"
His voice came out smaller than he'd meant it too, more frail then he thought it was possible of being. Y/n said nothing in response and tentatively, Vox looked back over to them. Their lips were slightly parted, their eyes met his. Y/n blushed and looked away.
"Oh."
"Yeah." Vox sighed, leaning back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling, "I told you, don't worry about it."
"No, Vox. It... clearly its upsetting you, let's talk about it."
"So, why wont you?" he prompted after a moment.
He watched them out of the corner of his eye, noting the way their eyes flicked nervously around the room, the way they fiddled with their interlaced fingers. A tremor in his diaphragm, his heart fell.
"If you don't..." Vox took a deep breath, "if you d-"
"It's not that I don't love you." Y/n interrupted, still refusing to meet his sidelong glance with their own eyes, "It's... I want to be with you Vox, you're the best thing that has ever happened to me for Christ's sake it's just..."
"Just what?"
"It's... stupid."
They looked up at him, the hint of a smile on their face, their brow furrowed. Vox straightened himself. If they were going to repeat his words, he could repeat theirs too. He took their hands into his, facing fear head on.
"If it's bothering you that much, it can't be stupid or... or whatever it was you said..."
Y/n let out a slight laugh.
"Okay fine, but you have to promise not to laugh, okay?"
"I promise."
They watched him for a moment, appraising the validity of his statement, before nodding their head once.
"Isn't it going to... I don't know... what if I crack your screen?"
Vox's eyes went wide. He couldn't help himself, he laughed. Y/n pulled their hands from his, hitting his arm playfully.
"Hey! You promised."
"I know!" Vox struggled to catch his breath, "It's just... thats what you've been worried about this whole time?"
"Uh... yeah?"
Finally, Vox managed to calm himself, looking over at Y/n happily.
"What."
"Come here."
He patted his lap. Y/n looked doubtfully between his hand and his face.
"Come here." Vox said again.
They rolled their eyes, standing up and taking a few steps towards Vox before sitting down.
"Other way."
They shot him a look over their shoulder. Vox rolled his eyes.
"Please."
"Why?"
"Just... trust me."
After a moments thought, Y/n readjusted their position, now straddling their boyfriend. They placed their hands on his shoulders, keeping their balance. Vox reached a hand up to their face, cupping their cheek gently. Y/n leaned into the gesture as if on instinct, their cheeks flushing pink once they realized what they had done. Vox chuckled.
"Y/n, can I kiss you?"
"What if I smudge your glass? Or like, leave one of those weird imprints or something on your face? I-"
He cut them off mid worry, pressing his lips softly to theirs. It was not a long kiss or a very deep one but it sent shivers down Y/n's spine, sparks to Vox's fingers. Their eyes met, Y/n was breathless.
"Not so bad, was it?"
Y/n leaned forward, balling their hands into the unbuttoned collar of his shirt as they kissed him again.
"No." they hummed, "Not bad at all."
Vox laughed. Running a hand through their hair, he pressed a soft kiss to their forehead. He couldn't stop smiling.
"I'm alright."
"I was right though."
Vox's brow furrowed and Y/n grinned up at him, raising their hand to his face.
"I did smudge you."
------
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You are so talented?? Hells bells!!!
could I please request Simon Riley x Wife!Reader where Simon is “pronounced dead” for a mission and it has to seem real enough so like price shows up to your shared home and hands over dog tags? And then like months later he shows up at the house and they reunir?! Like all just very very sad and very comfort/ hurt??
please and many thanks , sugarbean
Till Death Do Us Apart
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
"Love..." He finally breathes out, and she realises that she hasn't said a word in a full minute.
The single word tears a gasp out of her throat, makes her take a small step back. The rasp of his voice, the scent of him as she breathes in...
It's him.
Death itself couldn't stop him from crawling home to her.
Masterlist
Song: I, Carrion (Hozier)
It's funny how fragile the illusion of safety and content is.
Her life had seemed so unshakable, so sure and sturdy and promised. She'd fought for what she had with her husband, made a home with him, gone through years and bumps and ups and downs all because the chance of having him was better than giving up without ever having tried.
Truth be told, she'd never really liked the silence of their home when she was the only one living in it. Simon had asked her a couple times if she got lonely, whether it was too much. He'd asked her about it pretty much every time he packed up and left for a mission halfway across the world. Brows furrowed and voice lilted in concern late at night with his arms around her.
He's met with her smile and a reassurance that the silence was worth his arrival back home. Distance makes the heart go fonder, doesn't it?
And so Simon took it in stride, let the knowledge settle the creep of doubt in his heart beacuse this? Them?
It was more than he'd ever hoped for himself.
Never did he think he'd be the reason someone smiled at him like she did, not once did he consider himself one to want something so cliche as a home until she came around with her warmth and promises of unshakable devotion.
And God had he tried to shake her off. His indifference had only fuelled her determination to worm her way under the cracks of his armour. Once she'd reached inside and pulled out a part of himself he'd long thought was killed by 'Ghost', Simon had found himself letting go of his carefully crafted distance and crumbling under her hands. The best decision of his life.
It's why his breathing is ever so ragged as he watches Price console his hysterical wife from afar, a pair of bloody dog tags with his name engraved in them clutched in her shaking hand.
Simon Riley. Deceased.
If he didn't feel like his world was off kilter he might have made a joke about how it's the second time.
Simon barely manages to hold himself back from running to her, to their home, their bed. It's his instinct to protect, and right now seeing Price let her clutch onto him in grief, everything in Simon is telling him to go, to run and hold her, console her, assure her that he hasn't broken his promise of coming home to her.
It had been a vow whispered against her lips in the dead of night after she'd aired out her fear under the light of the moon. The fear of losing him. Of opening the door to Price instead of him.
Just a few months, he repeats in his head over and over again, because it's the only thing keeping his legs from moving. Just a few months and he can fix this, go back to how everything was. He feels like a jackass, making her go through this, but there was no other option.
And fuck if he hadn't tried to argue.
Death itself couldn't stop him from crawling home to her.
But his line of work could.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Four months and it still feels like yesterday.
Nothing felt...right anymore.
She felt guilty sitting at the kitchen table where the use to eat together, the sheets on their...her. On her bed had long since lost the subtle scent of him. The living room where she'd curl up in his lap, snicker at him complaining about her choice of movie even when the bastard was just as enraptured and into it and she was.
Everything felt off.
She sets down the half eaten plate of food in the fridge and swallows down the lingering emotion.
When she'd opened the door that day, she very nearly slammed it back shut.
It seemed surreal. Her Simon, her untouchable husband gone in the line of fire. An accident, Price had phrased it as.
She missed him so much it fucking hurt.
Taking a deep breath, she grabs the shopping list she'd scrawled last week onto the fridge and tucks it in her pocket. The dog tags clink against each other around her neck, tucked into her sweater as she moves.
It had taken weeks for her to even look at them.
The doorbell cuts the search for her car keys short.
It's been a while since she's seen anybody, really. Her friends come over every now and then to keep her company, bring her homemade foods and gifts to cheer her up and it does work, but only for a few hours. She appreciates it, she really does, but the small periods of relief are only followed by the guilt of trying to forget and the pain of remembering all over again.
She'd tell them to come back later, she decides. Today was worse a day than usual and she's not in the mood-
Simon.
Simon...?
Her knuckles pale with the grip she has on the doorknob, it's all she can do to stare up at the figure that she only held in her dreams nowadays.
He's so familiar, with that hair she loved to rake her hands through, the slight downturn of his lips, the scars that scatter across his face that she loves to trace in the dark. He's looking down at her with brown eyes so tortured and serious, and...and a little anxious?
This is a cruel joke.
Here he is, bare faced in front of her just like how she'd dreamed about for all those weeks. How often had she cried at night, hoped that this was all a joke and she'd pull open the door to him one more time?
But he wasn't here, was he? No, there was no way. Her fingers touch cool metal and distantly she realises she's clutching onto the piece of himself he left behind, looped around her neck.
"Love..." He finally breathes out, and she realises that she hasn't said a word in a full minute.
The single word tears a gasp out of her throat, makes her take a small step back. The rasp of his voice, the scent of him as she breathes in...
It's him.
It's him.
Something akin to a sob tears its way out of her throat as she lunges towards him, tangles her hands in the fabric of his uniform. She only cries harder when his arms circle around her just as tightly, crushing her to his chest.
"You...you're home?" She manages to push out between stuttered intakes of breaths and sobs. "No, you're...you were-"
"I'm here." He hooks his chin over her head, sways her a little from side to side. If she hadn't been trembling she would have noticed the slight shake of his hands. "Said I'd always come back to you, didn't I?" He walks them backwards, shuts the door with his foots.
"You died!" She exclaims, choking on the words as she pulls back, not far but enough to meet his own red eyes. "You died, I thought you died-"
"Mission," He rushes out, "For a mission, yeah? Wouldn't ever leave you alone-"
"You did!" She suddenly pulls away from him barely out of his grasp and it takes everything in Simon's willpower not to pulls her back in.
Beneath the worry and the grief and the sadness, there's a hint of running anger.
"Four months, I thought you were...were dead." She wipes away her tears, still crying but angry. "And you show up now? Just like that? What the fuck, Simon I thought I was a widow!"
"I'm sorry." It's all he can say. It's pathetic and desperate and he feels frustrated and angry at everyone and himself but it's all he can say to her and he'll repeat it as many times as possible.
They stare at each other for a second, grieving and angry and crushed and hopeful...
And she falls back into him with the promise of an explanation later on, a tangle of limbs, muttered apologies and kisses.
Not because she forgives him. Not because she's willing to brush past it and move on, but because this crushing wave of relief feels better than the last four months of suffering. Because they'll always find their way back to each other.
Because she has her husband back, in one piece, and for the first time in months...
Something in her life clicks back into place.
Reblog, Like and Comment!
(20/10/2023)
#ghost cod#cod mw ghost#ghost call of duty#ghost modern warfare#ghost mw2#ghost simon riley#ghost x reader#cod ghost#mw2 ghost#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#call of duty modern warfare 2#modern warfare x reader#angst#x reader#x y/n#fluff#simon riley#simon riley fluff#simon riley imagine#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare ii#modern warfare#cod modern warfare#modern warfare 2#modern warfare ii
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Not Allowed To Die
PAIRING: Female Reader x Bucky Barnes
SUMMARY: We never know how much time we have left and fate is a cruel mistress. We can only make the best of the time we have left.
WARNINGS: ANGST! Like omg so much angst not really a happy ending but it's not super sad either. Sad! Bucky, mentions of death, dying, tears
Word Count: 755
A/N: Would you like to be sad and or have your heart ripped out? Good. I was thinking about this the other day and it just felt like something so raw and real to talk about, especially since this is one of my greatest fears.
Enjoy! <3
It was around three am when Bucky woke up with a start. He heaved deep breaths into his lungs, physically willing his heart to slow down. He looked to his side and saw her still asleep, the moonlight drifting in through the window casting a halo on her hair as steady, strong, breaths fanned across her pillow. It was the sight of her next to him in their bed that allowed Bucky to finally catch his breath. He reached over with his flesh hand and traced her features with his finger, mapping every dip and curve, freckle and crease on her face, permanently ingraining her face into his mind.
His feather touches eventually woke her up. Her brows furrowed together as a sleepy “James?” left her lips. Her eyes fluttered open and landed on the man staring at her with worry and fear etched deep into his features.
“James? What’s wrong?” She mumbled as she started to sit herself up. Bucky stared at her for a moment before blurting out “You are not allowed to die before me.”
This surprised her. She sat up a little quicker and looked at him, “What?”
Taking a deep breath, Bucky repeated himself, “You are not allowed to die before me. You, just can’t.”
She let out a deep sigh as she leaned back against the headboard keeping her gaze trained on the man she loved.
“Now James,” She started, reaching for his hand, “What on Earth brought this up, my love?”
Bucky takes a shuddery breath, his throat suddenly becoming tight as he tries to speak.
“I- I just realized how fragile all of this is. I realized that I m-might lose you and that scares me. I’ve already lost so much, I don’t think I’d be able to handle losing you too.” He chokes out, tears starting to sting his eyes, threatening to spill.
“I can’t lose you. I- I have to go before you.”
Now her throat constricted, the thought of him leaving before she did was not a foreign thought to her, with his line of work, there is always a possibility that he won’t come back, but something about him making that statement when the world was silent weighed a little more on her.
“Well that’s n-not exactly fair is it?” She choked out as tears started rolling down her cheeks. Bucky reached over and cupped her face in his hand.
“I s’pose no darlin’” He murmured as his breath caught in his chest.
“B-but I just can’t lose you. I- I wouldn’t survive it” He choked on a sob as his admission hung in the air. Y/n sighs and gathers Bucky up in her arms, tears still streaming down her face.
“Baby, we can’t avoid it. It’s inevitable but I need you to promise me something ok?” She says softly, pulling away slightly so she can look Bucky in the eye.
“If I do die before you, don’t let that grief bury you alive, my love, ok?” Bucky opens his mouth to speak before she silences him.
“Take each day as it comes. And promise me, when the pain eases, you'll let yourself feel joy again.”
“But, you’re my everything darlin’,” Bucky sobbed, pulling her into his arms. She wound her arms around him, further deepening the embrace.
“And you are mine. But you know what my ma told me? Love doesn't end with death. It transforms into memories, moments that live on, even when the people in them are long gone.”
The pair sat in silence, content to just sit in one another's embrace before Y/n pulled away taking a deep breath.
“Now, as things sit, right here, right now, at this moment, I’m not going anywhere any time soon ok? We still have a lot of living to do, together, alright?” Bucky nodded.
“But I’m still afraid.” He whispered.
“And that’s ok, my love,” She whispered as a ghost of a smile danced across her features, “As long as we don’t let that fear cloud the beauty that surrounds us right now.”
Y/n laid back down, pulling Bucky down with her so that his head was resting on her chest where he could hear her heartbeat.
“We’re going to grow old together, and make lots of memories, so when the time comes, and one of us has to go, we have a lifetime of love behind us. And who knows,” She whispered, “Maybe, just maybe we will go hand in hand, and I’ll follow you into the dark.”
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky barnes#bucky x female reader#bucky angst#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x reader angst#bucky x reader angst#bucky x you angst#bucky barnes x you angst
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─────── NEW ROMANTICS.
✩ ིྀ ! WE'RE ALL BORED, WE'RE ALL SO TIRED OF EVERYTHING ! •˙ ⌗
𓂃 ࣪ c. henituse + boredom has its own solutions ˖ 𖦹
“this is so boring.” cale groans as he fiddles with the piece of parchment in his hand. his eyes linger towards the female who was indulged in reading something about mystics, that he could have sworn she said was a stupid book that was nonfactual yet still read with an engrossed desire.
“Oi. Earth to name, i am in dire need of some affectionate company over here.” he seemed sarcastic in saying it, but in his heart he really did. the female did not move an inch, immediately realizing the depth of her reading he decides to take a different approach or entertainment and just simply admires her from where he is.
he sighs deeply before he buries his face in the books and sleeps. only now did name notice him, a small smile flickered on her delicate lips as she looks for something he could lay his head on that wasn't a hardbound book.
she takes off her own coat, not at all minding the freezing frostbite of air she felt as she folds it up and places it under his head, slipping off the book and replacing it in a quick motion.
proud of her work, she made the decision to return to her book. before she could, cale’s hand shot out and kissed her soft fingers. his lips grazing on her knuckles brought more than enough colour to her pale skin.
embarrassed as she was, she gave him a playful swat and left. leaving a chuckling cale behind.
✩ ིྀ ! HEARTBREAK IS OUR NATIONAL ANTHEM, WE SING IT PROUDLY ! •˙ ⌗
𓂃 ࣪ j. agriche + how to get away from political marriage ˖ 𖦹
for some reason, her best friend jeremy had the sudden idea to meet her in the woods in secret and she hasn't the foggiest idea why.
but like the good friend she is, she went anyway. she enters the quiet midst of the forest. her eyes look warily around her, noticing a whine of a horse she follow the direction of the sound.
she finds jeremy, sitting on his horse. his blue eyes seem to shine when he sees her. he slides off and takes her hand, kissing it gently.
“lovely to see you've come, my beautiful lady.” you could swear it almost sounded sincere, but that is simply uncertain due to jeremy being an agriche by heart.
“yes, yes. what's the meaning of this?” she responds, her response seemed to make him flinch.
“i’ve upset you, my lady. that was not my intention.” jeremy murmured. “but let's get straight to the point, i'm here to let you in on one or my schemes.” he could tell this peaked her fragile line of interest. “i need you to be my pretty mistress.”
“what?!” she is stunned to say the least. and she had every right to be.
he gave a small smile to her outburst. “my father wants me in a political marriage and i do not like the woman i’ve been paired up with.” “so you're asking me to helo you break here heart?” name asks and he nods. “are you insane? sign me in.” she grins and jeremy chuckles, patting her head.
in the end, the fake relationship for heartbreak turned to a real one that they consummated quickly.
✩ ིྀ ! PLEASE TAKE MY HAND AND PLEASE TAKE ME DANCING ! •˙ ⌗
𓂃 ࣪ h. niccolo + a dance with the marquis ˖ 𖦹
it all went by so fast, the marquis spoke with her and a moment later took her to dance. his fingers intertwined with hers, his arm on her waist. the two of them swayed gracefully on the dance floor.
their dance seemed to catch everyone's attention as everyone seemed mesmerized. it ie understandable. even she is. the marquis is beautiful, breathtaking. words could not describe his elegance, his looks. he is an angel that descended from heaven.
and to be dancing with him? that is a high honour for her. she is absolutely in awe. also quite panicky. she didn't want to do any wrong, especially not with him as her partner.
he suddenly carried her and spun her around moving her down, they spin and twirl for ages. when they finish, he guides her to the quieter parts of the party. his eye filled with love and admiration as he kisses her on the hand.
“thank you dearest. it was a lovely time to dance with you.” hie voice is soft, gentle, soothing... his purple eyes is fixated on her own. his hand slipe and caresses her cheek. “you look ravishing, my lady.”
this brought a flush of colour on her cheeks. “thank you..”
“no problem.” he smiles and kisses her cheek so suddenly. “please excuse me now, lovely. i’ll see you again sometime, yes?” he asks, and she nods.
✦. ⊹ ˚ dedicated to @bertry3 !! gift no.2
guests — @lombxrdi , @achy-boo ,
@crownxie , @histxricaldrama ,
@yevene , @nyrwve , @hikamins : ˚⊹ ᰔ
────────────────────
© dxmoness. do not copy,
take inspo or translate my
work! none of the chars i
write for are mine unless
stated!
#manhwa#manhwa x reader#jeremy agriche x reader#twtpflob#twtpflob x reader#the way to protect the female lead's older brother#the way to protect the female lead's older brother x reader#trash of the count's family#trash of the duke's family#trash of the count's family x reader#cale henituse x reader#your throne#your throne x reader#helio niccolo#helio niccolo x reader#helio tropium x reader#— the skillfulness of the deities. . . . written works ♡#— a field of dreams and desires. . . . manhwa ♡
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"Hey, Buck, you busy tonight?"
It's just the two of them in the locker room. They'd stuck behind to shower off their shifts whilst Hen had rushed home to relieve Karen of baby duty and Chim had sped off for a cake tasting appointment Maddie has been worryingly strict about.
"Yeah, man." Buck tugs on his jacket, watching Eddie fasten his watch out of the corner of his eye. For a moment, he's back at the tailend of an endless shift, blackout over, watching Eddie piece together a breakup in real time. The image of it sends a thrill through him as confusing as it is satisfying. He bites down on it and tastes blood. "Movie night? Like the old days? Or does Young Mr Diaz have another social responsibility he's abandoning us for?"
Eddie huffs a laugh, but it's wistful. Buck gets it, tries to remember the last time they sat down to watch a movie all three of them. Or, well, just the three of them.
"Nah, not tonight." He grimaces a little like he's been thinking the same thing as Buck. "But, uh, I do."
"Ah, I see." Buck nods as he busies himself with his duffel, it's already packed, neat as can be, but he fusses anyway. He can't face Eddie's gentle expression of apology, a sudden fragility in the way he holds himself. "Babysitting duty then?"
Eddie grimaces agin, his face twisting and scrunching and crumpling into a complicated expression of something to the left of disgust. Buck wants to smooth out all the wrinkles in his face until only the smile lines remain, he wants to revel in Eddie's obvious discomfort for reasons he can't explain.
"I wouldn't really call it babysitting."
"Yeah, you're right. Kid'd probably kill me for calling him kid never mind baby." Buck aches a little as he says it, remembers when Chris was small enough to swing up into his arms and over his shoulders, when he'd giggle til he couldn't breathe rather than complain until his lungs gave out from sheer teen angst.
"No, I mean." Eddie sighs, packing his own duffel now, stuffing things in haphazard in a way that always makes Buck feel a little crazy. But then all Buck can think of is whether Eddie's hiding in his duffel for the same reason Buck had. "Hen didn't rush home to babysit, did she?"
If only his duffel bag was big and sentient and hungry enough to swallow him whole. As it is, he just kinds of stops functioning halfway through zipping it up.
"Whuh, um, what?"
"Fair warning though." Eddie swings his duffel over his shoulder. "He's in a crappy mood at the moment. He told you about the new supply teacher who gave him a C on that short story he was really proud of?"
"Bitch," Buck mumbles, still functioning just enough to hate the woman that made Chris feel anything less than proud of his tale of dragon-fighting knights and best friends who Buck thought might have been a little bit in love—he'd been too afraid to ask, too afraid Chris would shut down and start thinking things Buck had to think when he realised who he was as a teenager, too afraid of what Chris had grown up around. Eddie snorts.
"We'll have a movie night soon though," Eddie tells him, still seemingly oblivious to Buck's pretty spectacular implosion. He looks up from his watch, meets Buck's eyes and winks. "Promise." He's off then, leaving Buck staring off into the middle distance like he didn't just turn the world upside down with one sentence. "Oh, um." Eddie smiles down at his shoes a little, rosy cheeked as he pauses in his stride. He glances up at Buck, another moment of hesitation before he drops his hand to Buck's shoulder. "Don't tell him I tipped you off, but he's got a little surprise." Eddie's eyes, molten vats of chocolate Buck wants to sink into, drown in. He's had the thought before. He doesn't know what it means. (He does, he really does.) "He's pretty excited about it, so..."
Eddie squeezes his shoulder once, then he's gone, and Buck. Buck tries to breathe beyond the burning want in his chest.
He's not going home to babysit. He's just going home to his kid.
#sami rambles#seti kept begging me to write and well. here u are.#idk what this is except i'm really digging the essay theory#911 show#911 abc#911 spoilers#911 spec#buck x eddie#buddie#eddie diaz#evan buckley#buckley diaz family#buddie fic#buck x eddie fic#buddie ficlet#911 spec fic
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RED FIGURES ! 18+
ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader
content. toxic reader, re2 leon in mind, mentions of readers abusive mom, degradation, sub!leon, dom!reader, pinching, slapping, biting, mentions of violence!! WC — 1K (half ass proofread)
synopsis. leon’s pretty face gets him in trouble
note. borders in pinned post! 🏷️ list— @ghostkennedy @adaelines @konigbabe @meowsiee @d34ng3l @redvleanli @rigorwhoring
Red was all you ever saw. A constant state of anger— maybe it was genetic because mommy was the same way. Her anger seeped into you creating a bitchy angry spiteful child who wasn’t afraid to bite, and fortunately for you, Leon didn’t mind being bitten. Mommy never spanked you, she’d pinch you whenever you acted out of line. It made you angry as a kid wanting to thrash, kick, scream, and bite, but mommy made sure you didn’t. Suppressing all that anger never did you any good, it bubbled up and boiled over like when you’d make food and forget about it and now it’s spilling over the pot. Mommy would get mad and pinch your ear and stomach real hard while yelling at you for being so useless. Hot tears and snot would stain your face as you tried to escape her grasp but it never worked.
That boiled-up anger got redirected towards everyone else, it always scared the boys away. They never liked how much of a spitfire you were. Maybe they were just fragile, that's what you told yourself at least. It had to be them because there was nothing wrong with you of course not. Leon only affirmed your belief, he’d come into your life broken and you fixed him right up. He clung to you like a cute puppy, it made you less angry and for the first time, you felt something more than anger. Leon knew about your “outbursts” he didn’t seem to mind too much, he would rationalize it in his head because of your past. He never held you accountable for the things you said or did, he took it like your personal punching back. Naturally, you were insecure, and having such a handsome face by your side didn’t help when other eyes looked at him. It angered you beyond belief and you truly didn’t know why, you chalked it up as normal because you had always felt angry and this wasn’t new.
Red was what you saw as a girl talked flirted with your Leon. “Yeah! Thank you so much” Her voice was gentle, her eyes kind, her skin soft, everything you weren’t. It was eating at you, you wanted to bite back. Gouge her eye out. Marching over pinching the fat of Leon’s arm “Hey” feigning a smile. “I didn’t know you had a friend” pinch. Shove her eyes down her throat. Leon’s face hid a wince— good boy. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.'' Her voice was thin. “Y-yea I do” his hand slithering around your waist. Staple her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “Yea, he does” Fucking bitch you literally were around Leon almost 24/7 as if this cunt didn’t know. Of course, she knew she just wanted to test the waters. She wanted to take away Leon, the only person who made you feel normal. “Well, I better get going see you later Leon!” pinch. “Y-yea” pinch. Stab her jugular. Her figure disappears, pinch. “What the fuck” “I’m sorry-'' pinch. “No you aren’t” you spat walking away. You wanted to thrash, kick, scream, and bite something and you both knew Leon was going to be it.
—
Red was what Leon’s skin was scattered with— red welts. His wrist bound as you bounced on him— red all over his thighs and chest from pinching and biting him. His nipples were next on your list, “she was begging for your cock” his hips bucks into you. “N-no” he whines “You wanna fuck’r huh?” you laugh, bouncing harder. “No!” his eyes getting watery, rolling your hips as you pinch his nipple. He moans squirming trying not to cum, your fingers digging into his jaw as your lips ghost over his “If you like her so much go fuck her”. Hot tears roll down Leon's face as he tries to break free and touch you— he just wants to hold onto you like he normally did. Face in your tits sobbing for your forgiveness, poor pup couldn’t get his fix. “No” he hiccups “I-I only want y-you” awe what a loyal boy pinch. “Good boy” you kiss him smiling, his hungry lips try to suck you in for more.
You pinch him again “Calm down”, his breathing and movements were becoming unsteady as his stomach flexes. You could tell he was getting close from the way his eyebrows twitched “You're so pretty” you coe, “but so stupid” Your palm connects with his cheek as he cries out. He was so close and it made you laugh— you knew Leon couldn’t cum without you, you’d shape him to like this. He was so malleable, so easy to mold into whatever you wanted. You say jump and Leon would ask how high— you loved that about him. “Please” he sputters out “please” “heard you the first time” pinch. He was so cute like this, a babbling mess, it was sick that you got off to this but it was also just as sick that Leon could only get off like this. Pressure was building in your stomach as your clit was rubbing against Leon's pelvic bone. Dipping down your teeth sink into his neck— not hard enough to draw blood but enough to hurt. He cries out again as his hips buck up. Pervert. “I’m s-so close” he was so unbelievably fucking cute squirming and thrashing around trying not to cum “Almost” you breathe out sitting back up as your head falls back. The pressure rises as his moans egg you on. “good Leon'' you moan admiring your art— the marks all over his body. Your orgasm was so close to ripping through your body as your lips connect with the marks as you chase your release, slurring out “So cute Leon, such a good boy” before desperately breaking Leon's restraints— immediately he wraps his arms around you and jackhammers into you as you gasp and he sobs slamming into you simultaneously finishing together.
Heavy breathing was the only thing to be heard in the room as you both tried regulating your breath. Cum leaks out as you ease yourself off and roll over next to Leon. Yawning you pull his face into your chest and stroke his head “Don’t ever talk to her again or I’ll draw blood next time and paint the room with her brain matter” “Yes Ma’am” Such a good puppy he is.
© 2024 bonnibuckets. ─ do not copy, repost, or translate my works on any platform without my permission.
#leon kennedy#leon kennedy x reader#fanfic#leon s kennedy#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy x you#resident evil#leon s kennedy x reader#leon kennedy resident evil 2#leon re2#resident evil leon kennedy#leon scott kennedy#leon kennedy fanfic#leon kennedy re2#leon kennedy fanfiction#leon smut#leon resident evil#sub leon kennedy
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alone with you - l.m.
Liam Mairi x reader
part two of Liam and Spark's story.
words: 3.0k
🏷: Fourth Wing spoilers (spark knows things that Violet doesn't lmao), sparring and a tiny bit of blood, reader gets injured but not to worry, someone takes care of you. no pronouns used for reader but Liam does call you a girl. Tuile being a bitch (wbk) and perhaps some answers about what happened in spark's first year at basgiath... I'm still not good at writing fight scenes, sorry lol
Another year, another round of challenges. Another opportunity to show the entire quadrant that you’re not here to fuck around, nor to make friends.
You loosen your muscles as Emeterrio discusses the rules of engagement, cracking your neck and stretching out your arms, taking mental inventory of all the weapons on your body -- even though it’s frowned upon to use them in these fights, you keep the array of knives at the ready.
“I see the general’s girl has survived the week,” Tuile muses. “I’m almost impressed.”
You cast a glance across the room, seeing her standing next to the cadet who was in front of her in line for Parapet, the one she’d traded boots with.
“It’s only a matter of time,” you mutter back.
Even though Xaden had convinced the two dozen of you to leave her alone, it’s likely that somebody else is going to see how fragile she is and walk right up and snap her in two, to thin the herd -- not that she has a real chance of making it to threshing anyway, not without some divine intervention.
But she’s a perfect little Navarrian citizen, so she must pray to their gods every night before bed. Maybe they’ll help her, because you sure as hell won’t; you have a reputation to maintain, and there’s no rational explanation you could give her for why you would want to help her at all, not without jeopardizing the entire revolution -- she might not take after her traitorous older brother, who as far as she and everyone else in this death trap of a college is aware, is dead.
She seems to notice you watching her, locking eyes with you for a split second and quickly averting her gaze. She’s afraid of you and all of your friends, unaware that your respect for Brennan is what’s keeping her alive right now.
Fear is a requirement for survival here. Maybe she’ll make it longer than you’d thought.
It’s not a surprise to you at all that your name is called first, nor that you’re matched with the largest cadet in the class. It became clear to you last year that the professors aren’t making these assignments randomly. It couldn’t be a coincidence that they keep pairing you with the best fighters -- but never with another marked one, even though you’re all at the top of the class.
No, they’re probably entertained by all of this, betting on you like racehorses or wild dogs, placing wagers on who would come out on top. If anyone’s putting money on you, you’ve made them a killing -- you’re undefeated.
But that would require someone else to bet against you, and while you may not respect all of the professors and leadership, or any of them, really, you don’t think they’re dumb enough to throw their money away like that.
“We meet again,” he says with a sick grin that makes the scar below his eye stretch and contort.
You don’t respond, taking one last survey of the seven blades on your body, but you’re not dumb enough to touch them, lest he see where they are and try to take them himself, like he did earlier this year.
He’d wrapped his fingers around the wooden hilt of the blade that Liam had given you before you left for Basgiath, intent on putting it through your heart, and you’d seen red.
“You should have taken his eye out.”
“I gave him that scar as a warning,” you reply evenly. “It’s up to him if he’s going to heed it or not.”
You’re at it as soon as Emeterrio says go, taking turns lunging at each other and blocking attacks.
You’re evenly matched, despite the size he has on you. He may be stronger, more intimidating, but you’re faster, and you know what you’re doing. You know where to hit and when, your strikes much more precise than his.
Still, Liam’s heart races.
It was one thing watching you mess around with Bodhi in the courtyard, but it’s another thing entirely seeing you fight as if your life depends on it -- and it does. There’s a very real possibility that one of you is going to be spending the evening in the infirmary, or the morgue, after this ends.
You fight like Xaden, like himself and Bodhi and Imogen and everyone else his brother had a hand in training, but with an edge he’s never seen from you before.
He hesitates to put a name to it, but there’s something in your eyes akin to a wild animal’s as the pair of you stalk circles around each other, planning your next attack.
“It’s not polite to play with your food,” Tuile chides.
Fine. You’ll finish this, if only so she’ll shut up and leave you alone.
The other cadet has the same idea.
You charge at the same time as he hurls a dagger in your direction, and you hit the ground at the last second to avoid being skewered. You start to press up to your feet, but he stomps a boot into your back, pain ripping down your spine. You swallow a scream, digging your nails into the sticky foam beneath you.
The mental wall separating you from Tuile crumbles, that familiar white-hot anger flowing through you. “Do something.”
You unsheath a dagger, reaching up and swiping it across his calf, and he hisses in pain, releasing you and taking a stumbling step back.
It’s easy enough for you to knock him off balance, landing three consecutive blows to his ribs and a swift kick to his stomach that sends him to the floor.
You’re tired of this already. It’s lost its novelty, and you really need to sit down -- there’s black spots clouding your vision, and the pain in your back has gotten impossibly worse.
“Do I have to kill you in front of the kids, or do you yield?”
“I yield,” he rasps, still clutching his leg.
You lean down, wiping each side of the blade on his shirt before you sheath it.
“Sloppy, but satisfactory,” Tuile comments — that’s high praise from her. Maybe she’ll give you the evening off from her snide remarks.
You slot yourself between Liam and Bodhi, leaning against the wall as casually as you can; every movement has pain spreading across your lower back and shooting down your spine.
You try to focus on rebuilding the wall she’d knocked down, brick by brick, taking deep breaths and forcing the anger out of your body.
Liam reaches for you, looking worried.
You speak under your breath, not moving your lips. “Not here. Not in front of everyone.”
He pulls back without protest, understanding why you don’t want him helping you where the rest of the quadrant can see you, don’t want them to see the look of concern on his face and his hand on your arm and identify him as your weakness.
You may very well be the most hated person in the quadrant, being marked, bonded to one of Navarre’s nastiest dragons, and unafraid to draw blood in challenges. There are several cadets in this room who wouldn’t hesitate to go after Liam if they thought it would hurt you -- and it would.
You don’t care what they do to you, what pain they inflict or what scars they leave on your body, but if anyone so much as touches Liam, they’ll lose the use of their hands.
You breathe through the pain and keep your eyes on the fights unfolding in front of you; making note of who favors what side of their body, who gets sloppy after more than a minute, who yields because they don’t have the stomach to take things further.
Most of the cadets think this is the one class you don’t have to study for, but they’d be wrong -- there’s a reason you always come out on top, and this is it.
The class ends without Liam’s name being called, which is a relief, even though you don’t doubt his skill on the mat — it’s off the mat that you’re worried about.
Almost everyone heads straight to dinner, but Liam hangs back, getting your attention with a barely-there touch to your elbow. You look over at him, and he nods in the other direction, toward the dorms.
Of course he’s going to insist on checking your injuries himself, as he always did in the years you trained with him and Xaden. He doesn’t seem to think anything has changed between you in the year you’ve been away.
Sooner or later, he’ll realize he’s wrong.
You wait for nearly everyone to be out of the gym before you leave, leading him up to the second floor in silence and unlocking your door with a wave of your hand, gesturing him inside -- thankfully there’s nobody in the hallway to see you.
You haven’t been alone with him in a full year. A year and two weeks, if you want to be precise. The day you’d said goodbye, and nothing else.
You busy yourself with digging through your desk drawer to find the nearly-empty tin of healing balm, handing it to him before you turn away, gritting your teeth as you pull the shirt up over your head.
If you weren’t pouring every ounce of energy you have left into keeping yourself upright, you might have it in you to be embarrassed about the amount of skin you’re exposing to him, the history of your first year at Basgiath on full display. But it’s Liam. Liam isn’t going to judge you, isn’t going to pry; he’ll just keep giving you that soft, concerned look -- which is somehow almost worse.
There’s a moment of quiet as he takes it in; the dark blue, nearly-black silhouette of Tuile that spans your shoulder blades and continues down your back, disappearing into the layers of thick linen wrapped over your chest, the full extent of your rebellion relic, winding down your arm to your wrist…
Then he sees it, the nasty bruise starting to form on your back, below the hem of your bindings. The other cadet had hit you square in the spine, a blow that could very well have been paralyzing had it been delivered at a slightly different angle with slightly more force. That’s probably what he’d intended.
Liam isn’t particularly religious -- none of you are, which was a major reason why your parents had wanted to secede from Navarre -- but he still sends up a silent thank you to the powers that be that you’re okay, standing in front of him mostly unharmed.
You grit your teeth, keeping your eyes shut and gripping the shirt tightly as Liam’s hand rubs over your back, working in the healing balm.
There’s something about the feeling of his skin on yours that is more uncomfortable than the aching bruise or any of the other injuries you’d sustained in that fight.
You can handle the brush of your hands, a touch through layers of clothing and armor, eye contact and whispered words and smiles — all things that are acceptable behavior between friends — but the tenderness of this whole thing is overwhelming; being alone with Liam in your room, his bookbag on the floor, standing behind you rubbing a hand over your back, the other on your waist to hold you steady because you’re fucking trembling.
Maybe you are a little embarrassed after all.
The skin feels warm and tingly, a sign that whatever healing herbs within the sticky paste are working, soothing the aching muscle. Your entire body feels warm. It’s unbearably hot in this room, but Liam doesn’t seem to mind, still dressed in his flight jacket and full uniform.
He moves his attention from your back to your side, murmuring a soft apology when you startle at the feeling of his hand smoothing over your ribs.
You take a breath, letting him work more of the balm into the spot where the other cadet’s fist had landed.
He finally pulls back, letting his hand linger on your waist until he’s convinced you won’t fall over. “Anything else hurting?” he asks gently.
“My head,” you admit to the wall. “But that never goes away.”
You pull the shirt back on as quickly as you can, done feeling exposed, and fight to maintain an unaffected expression as you turn back to face him.
He looks at you for a few seconds before it dawns on him -- the persistent headache, the flatness of your skin and your constantly racing heart, the way you’re bracing yourself with a hand on the desk, how tired you look and feel… “Spark, when was the last time you had water? Or anything to drink at all?”
Liam has always been too observant for his own good.
You take a moment to think about it, another definite indicator that something is wrong. “Yesterday,” you answer quietly. “At dinner.”
His eyes widen almost imperceptibly. It’s been a full twenty-four hours -- you’re supposed to be at dinner right now. It’s a miracle that you hadn’t passed out on the mat this afternoon.
He doesn’t scold you, doesn’t tell you how bad that is; he just squeezes your hand gently, taking the water bottle out of his bag and uncapping it. He can see you hesitating, knows something is wrong -- it takes a lot to rattle you, but you’re looking at the thing like it’s going to bite you.
“Three sips?” he asks softly.
That seems doable.
You take the bottle from him, holding it for a moment, feeling the weight of the metal and the energy flowing through the water inside it. It’s clean, calm, not murky and angry like the river water that Carr had made you practice with last year, but that doesn’t matter; in your hands, it’s the most dangerous substance on the planet.
And as fate would have it, it’s necessary for your survival.
You’re just grateful Tuile is off doing gods-know-what and not making her usual smug commentary -- she’d left after you’d won that challenge match, but she’ll be back soon enough.
You raise it to your lips and drink, wanting to get it over with. The water is cool and crisp, breathing life back into your mouth and soothing your throat as you swallow, your body singing in relief as you give it what it’s been deprived of for months now.
You take a moment to breathe, comforted by the air that continues to flow into your lungs and back out. Liam is standing in front of you. You’re okay. Two more. You can do this.
You bring it back up for another sip. You hadn’t realized how much you needed this, how much better it would make you feel. You take the next one in quick succession — that’s three. You’re done.
You hate to admit it, but you feel better already.
Liam is still watching you with that soft, worried expression, though it’s less severe now than it had been earlier. You can see the gears turning, knowing he’s wondering why this was such a big deal for you; but there’s no judgment there, just genuine concern for your well-being.
You decide to tell him the truth, or part of it.
“I almost drowned when I channeled for the first time,” you say quietly, gazing back down at the half-empty bottle. “It was fucking terrifying. I couldn’t shower alone for a week. I needed one of the girls to come into the bathroom with me and face the wall, just talking to me the whole time. Then we realized Bo can counter signets. He’s been helping me control it, but…”
So that’s what Xaden had meant when he said that Bodhi was helping you deal with things. He wonders if there’s anything else his brother hadn’t told him, anything you aren’t telling him, but he won’t demand an answer from you -- he knows how difficult it must have been for you to tell him what you did, and he won’t push you further.
He takes the bottle back and caps it, gathering you into his arms silently, the way he’d wanted to back in the gym. He’s careful not to put any pressure on the injury, keeping his hands well above the bruise -- one between your shoulder blades and one on your ribs, on the side that you hadn’t been hit.
You rest your head on his shoulder, speaking in a whisper. “Thank you, Li.”
His lips brush over your hairline, where the ache is the worst. “Of course, sweet girl.”
You don’t want to let go of him yet, but you’ve already been holding each other longer than is appropriate for friends -- and that’s all you are, for the time being.
He finally pulls away, and you could nearly cry at the loss of contact.
“I need a minute,” you manage. “You should head down.”
You’re reminded again of why you love him so much as he nods in understanding, shouldering his bag and giving you a soft smile before he heads out your door.
All good things must come to an end.
“Sweet? He must not know you at all.”
“He knows me better than you ever will,” you snap back.
At least she waited for him to leave, for you to be done with the water, or you would have some serious explaining to do.
You build up the wall again before she replies, and though it isn’t strong enough to block her out completely, she doesn’t push against it or knock it down -- she must not feel like getting into a pissing match with you right now.
Good. You don’t either.
You notice he left the bottle on your desk. You manage another three sips before you finally head down to dinner, where you slide into the open seat beside Liam, silently pushing the empty bottle toward him.
“I’m proud of you,” he whispers, not wanting to draw any attention from the group around you, who are all immersed in hearty conversation.
You haven’t heard those words from anyone in a long time. They mean more to you than he could ever imagine.
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The First Time, Every Time: E.B.E.
Rated X / 2105 words / Tagging @today-in-fic / Posted on AO3
He makes it to the front doors of her apartment building before he turns back, the photograph that she just insisted is a fake clutched tightly in one hand. He’s irritated and angry, in part because she’s always pushing back on him, and in part because she might be right. He does tend to overlook contradictory evidence when he’s hot on a lead like this. He does want to believe Deep Throat badly enough that it’s possible he’s not thinking clearly.
She said she trusted him. More than that, she said he’s the only person she trusts. But her trust isn’t given blindly, and he can’t decide if that’s something he resents or appreciates. He just doesn’t know what to think.
When she answers the door, his anger immediately wanes. Her eyebrows are all pushed together and she’s scanning his face for clues as to why he’s back already, and he’s still not used to someone looking at him like this all the time. Like they care.
“Is something wrong?” she asks, opening the door wider and stepping aside.
Mulder walks into her foyer and turns to face her. Truthfully, he has no idea why he came back. The conversation just felt unfinished somehow.
“Why is it so hard for you to believe? Even after the bugged pen?” he asks, more frustrated than anything.
Scully closes the door and sighs, then props her hands on her hips and levels him with an icy stare. How she manages to be intimidating at five foot nothing and with that pretty face is an X-File in itself.
“I’m a scientist, Mulder. I don’t believe anything without irrefutable evidence. A bugged pen is not evidence that your picture isn’t a fake,” she says sternly, with a nod to the envelope in his hand.
Mulder huffs and shakes his head, though he can’t disagree with her.
“I just wish you could be a little more open minded,” he says, and Scully presses her lips into a tight line.
“Your skeptical partner,” she says under her breath, and he feels a little flash of embarrassment at the memory of Langly’s comment. He may have vented to them a bit shortly after Scully started working with him, but he could also tell during their brief introduction that the Gunmen liked her. A lot. “You know what, Mulder, I wish that you could be a little more open minded,” she says sassily.
Mulder scoffs.
“To what, exactly?” he asks, tossing the envelope onto her kitchen table and taking one step towards her. She lifts her chin defiantly, and he has the overwhelming urge to kiss her, which catches him off guard.
“To the possibility that you’re being manipulated,” she tells him, her eyes locked on his. “To the possibility that you’re wrong.”
“What if I’m not wrong?” he asks, moving even closer, craning his neck down to bring his nose inches from hers.
Scully blinks rapidly, unmoving aside from the labored rise and fall of her chest. It’s something he’s noticed about her, a tell that she’s emotionally activated even when all other signs indicate calm. He watches for it now, listens for it on the phone. Her breathy, “Mulder, it’s me,” tells him everything he needs to know.
“If you’re so confident it’s real, why won’t you have it analyzed?” she asks, practically panting.
Mulder slips his hand into the space between their bodies, and she startles when his knuckles brush against her chest just beneath her clavicle. He fingers the gold chain around her neck, fishing the tiny cross that hangs from it out from beneath the hem of her shirt, though his eyes never leave her face.
“I have faith in my source,” he says, his voice low, and she draws in a shuddering breath.
“A faith too fragile to be questioned is hardly faith at all,” she retorts.
He has two concurrent realizations, with the backs of his fingers resting against the satiny skin of her breastbone and his face so close to hers that he can smell the wine on her breath: she is the most maddeningly stubborn person he has ever met, and he finds her immovable nature wildly arousing.
He tells himself that he absolutely cannot kiss her at the exact same moment he realizes that he already is, and he pulls away sharply, terrified. Her eyes are wide and her lips slightly parted, and she looks just as likely to slap him as she is to kiss him back.
“Sorry,” he stammers, taking one step away from her. “I don’t know why I did that.”
His head is hung in embarrassment, so he doesn’t see her moving closer. He feels the painful press of her fingernails digging into the back of his neck, and when he looks up her mouth immediately covers his. She’s teetering on her tiptoes, anchoring herself to him with an arm slung across his shoulders, so he stoops down a bit to compensate for their mismatched statures. Her hands move to his face and her kisses grow hungrier, soon accompanied by little whimpers that make his head spin.
“Scully,” he tries to say, but she swallows the sound of her own name and shakes her head with a muffled “Uh-uh.”
What does that mean? Is he supposed to stop her? Should he let it happen?
Her fingers brush over the fly of his slacks and he jumps, grabbing her hand to still it and pulling his head back, just out of reach.
“What are you doing?” he asks breathlessly, very aware that she just made full contact with his very hard dick.
She just stares at him for half a second, her expression unreadable.
“I don’t know,” she says, looking mildly shocked. “Should I stop?” she asks, flashing her eyes to his groin.
Mulder’s jaw tenses. He knows what the right answer is, but he can’t bring himself to say it.
“I don’t know,” he parrots back to her.
A beat passes wherein they look at each other, his hand still wound around her wrist. He knows she won’t keep going unless she’s absolutely sure he wants this. He can feel his heart beating in his cock, and in his periphery he can see the generous tent it’s creating at the front of his slacks. Scully’s tongue slides across her bottom lip and his cock jumps, making up his mind for him.
“No,” he says suddenly, tugging her closer by the arm and sending the front of her body colliding with his.
After that initial hesitation, things move exceptionally quickly. She pushes his suit jacket off his shoulders and then strips off his belt so aggressively that the leather snaps loudly, setting off gooseflesh all over his arms. He manages to get her top off before she slips her hand under his boxers, and he struggles with the clasp on her bra as she drags her fingernails over the papery skin of his scrotum. They’re still standing beside her kitchen table, and all the lights are on. He truly has no idea what will happen next.
Cool air slides over his legs when she pushes both his slacks and his boxers off his hips and they puddle on the floor around his feet. The sound of his heart pounding in his ears is so loud that it drowns out any rational thought. The only one that makes it through is sex . Sex and Scully , two words that he has carefully compartmentalized but are suddenly forcing their way into the very same box as she strokes him firmly with one hand and pops the buttons on his shirt with the other. Meanwhile, he’s got two handfuls of her perky little tits and is working up the nerve to divest her of her pants.
It doesn’t feel even a little bit real. Not when he takes her by the shoulders and guides her back to the table, not when his palms run down the length of her naked thighs as he removes her panties, not when he hoists her up and sets her bare ass down right on top of the manila envelope that brought him here in the first place.
“You’re sure?” he asks, though the fact that she’s got her hand wrapped around his shaft and is guiding him into her wet heat makes the question somewhat rhetorical.
Sex. Scully. Sex. Scully.
She takes him in with a gasp, and his knees wobble when she immediately quivers around him.
“ Shhhhiiiiit ,” he hisses under his breath.
He isn’t prepared for this. It’s been a few days since he jerked off, and under normal circumstances he’d spend as much time as necessary to make sure she got off before he even entertained the idea of coming himself. But it’s Scully, and she’s naked, and her little tits are perfect, and her cunt feels like heaven, and he’s so jacked up on all this E.B.E. shit that he’s operating on a hair trigger as it is.
Baseball. Parking tickets. Budget meetings. Airport security. He imagines something banal with each thrust, trying not to notice the slick sounds of just how wet she is.
It’s not working. Her hips jump up off the table as she slams herself into him, holding steady with one hand on the back of his neck and the other planted on the tabletop. They hold their faces close together, not quite kissing but not giving enough distance that they might meet eyes and realize how stupid this is. Mulder closes his eyes to block out the visual input of her tight pink nipples bouncing on every thrust and holds on for dear life, determined not to make this both a mistake and a disappointment.
“Oh god,” Scully shouts just before she clamps down on him.
Stars burst behind his eyes and he quickly goes from on the edge to careening over it, coming so hard he can barely stay standing. Scully throbs powerfully around him, moaning beautifully in his ear while her cunt strokes every last drop of cum out of him. By the time they’re both finished, she’s on her back and he’s draped over her, listening to her heart slow and wondering what the hell will happen now.
“There’s a roll of paper towels on the counter there,” Scully says, pointing just over his shoulder.
Mulder slowly stands and pulls out of her, and they both politely avert their eyes while he grabs the roll of towels and rips one off before handing it to her. After pulling his pants back up, he quickly retrieves her clothes from the various places they landed and turns his back while she dresses. The manila envelope is now sporting a wet spot in the shape of a wide “V,” which he carefully wipes away. Only then does it occur to him that they didn’t use a condom.
“I’m on birth control,” Scully says, as though reading his thoughts. He turns and looks at her just as she’s tucking her shirt back into her slacks, offering her an awkward smile that she returns.
“That’s reassuring,” he says.
He taps the edge of the damp envelope against his palm, trying to think of something to say that won’t come across as flip or crude.
“I’m sorry,” Scully begins, giving him only quick glances. “That was very unprofessional.”
Mulder laughs, and she looks at him sharply with a mildly bemused expression.
“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “Pretty sure it was a mutually unprofessional indiscretion. Takes two to tango, as they say.”
Scully smiles bashfully. “Right,” she says with a nod.
“We got a bit carried away. Happens,” he offers, and he sees her relax.
“Shouldn’t happen again, though,” she says, and he detects a hint of a questioning inflection.
“Right,” he agrees. “Well, I better get going,” he says as he moves towards the door. “Need to see a man about having a photograph analyzed.”
Scully’s expression of surprise quickly gives way to amusement.
“So that’s all it took to convince you, then,” she observes, clearly mildly embarrassed by her own joke.
“I am but a man,” he teases back, delighted by her genuine smile. “We’re um…we’re good?” he asks.
She meets his eye and nods. “Yup,” she says, seeming confident that they can move past this, if not still a bit chagrined that it happened in the first place.
“See you in the morning,” he says as she opens the door to let him out. He takes one step beyond the threshold, but then turns back and leans down to bring his lips to her ear. “I think it’s remotely plausible that somebody thinks you’re hot,” he whispers, then presses a kiss to her cheek before he turns and leaves.
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a fragile line - chapter 30
read on ao3! (139k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist
Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC
Series tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.
Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.
Word count: 3.6k
Chapter 30:
Juliet's POV:
“Joel.”
His name caught in her throat like a burning hot coal.
He stared down at her, his chest moving quickly as he struggled to catch his breath. A layer of sweat shone on his head, illuminated by the singular light hanging in the corner of the stables.
His eyes scanned her face. They were open wide, allowing Juliet to see the confusion and desperate fear burning around his pupils.
“I have to leave,” she croaked out and forced her head to turn away from him as she bent to grab her bag.
Juliet hadn’t moved an inch before Joel’s hand gripped her forearm, demanding her attention. Her head swung back to him.
“Explain, now,” he commanded breathlessly, visibly holding his rage back.
Juliet swallowed and shook her head. Her eyes didn’t leave his face.
All Juliet could hear in her mind was the memory of her father’s bitter cold words, smashing her entire life into sharp, foreign shapes.
She didn’t know who she was anymore.
How could she explain that to him?
Her brain was screaming at her to push past Joel, to get on her horse, to find where she came from, to find out who she truly was.
But Joel’s grip on her was strong, stronger even than the hand holding her in place.
Juliet wet her lips, then she lay her shattered heart at Joel’s feet:
“He wasn’t my father,” she whispered.
Joel’s hand tightened as the line between his eyebrows deepened.
“What?”
“I remembered,” Juliet murmured, then cleared her throat and shifted her gaze to lock on Joel’s forehead so she didn’t have to watch his reaction.
“I remembered what he told me that night… before you found me.”
Joel flinched and Juliet felt his fingers flex against her forearm as his jaw tightened.
“He wasn’t my real father. Elijah -” Juliet’s breath caught as the foreign name left her lips. She had never referred to him by his first name; it tasted like ash in her mouth.
“Elijah killed my parents, Joel, my real parents,” she whispered, not daring to say the words too loud, lest they become too real in her mind. “He told me right before he died.”
Joel stayed silent. The tightening of his hand on her arm was the only assurance that he had heard her.
“I have to go back -”
“No.”
Juliet gasped as Joel’s other hand gripped her other arm, now locking her fully in his grip.
“Joel, stop,” Juliet argued as she struggled against him.
Joel shook his head as his eyes darkened even further in the low lighting.
“Not a chance,” he ground out as his hands moved from Juliet’s arms to her waist and, with a deep groan, he lifted her up over his shoulder.
He started moving almost immediately, striding out of the stables as Juliet’s fists began to pound against his back.
“Let me go!” Juliet grunted. She was panicking now as her anxiety grew into a fierce flame in her chest.
She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t pretend that she didn’t know.
Juliet wanted closure, she craved it. She couldn’t close that chapter of her life now that her memory had wedged the door open. Juliet couldn’t push out the horror that seeped through the crack and pretend that she was healing, she had to confront it, she had to face it.
She had to go back.
Saying that to Joel, when he had fought and killed to save her from that place… Juliet almost choked on her guilt.
But the knowledge that she wasn’t her father’s daughter, that maybe she wasn’t destined to end up like him, and that there might have been people who actually loved her… that desperate need to find out more was stronger than her guilt.
Juliet’s world was upside down as she swung over Joel’s back.
Through blurry eyes she watched the grass he walked on descend into stones then into the concrete lining Jackson’s mainstreet as her fists slowed and her cries quietened.
Joel wasn’t letting go.
But neither was Juliet.
When his weakened stride finally stopped, Juliet recognised the dark wood of his front door and she squeezed her eyes shut as she remembered her knuckles striking off of it all those months ago.
“I’m gonna put you down and we’re gonna go inside and talk,” Joel instructed, and Juliet could feel the rumble of his voice against her chest.
A small gust of wind blew against her face, drying the tears which had gathered under her eyes. Juliet waited for her feet to hit the ground.
“You hear me?” he said louder, startling Juliet.
She should feel angry that Joel stopped her and that, once again, he had taken away her choice. But Juliet’s rage was a tall candle in a frosted window; its flame burned quietly, but it couldn’t go anywhere.
She was tired and she was restless. Her anger was second to the wild, desperate need within her to run, to listen to the voice that called her home.
It was difficult to remember that only hours ago she was at the dance, watching her friends twirl under the Christmas lights. It was still the same night, the sky hadn’t begun to lighten and yet everything had changed. She had changed.
If only she had gone to bed, and not walked down those basement stairs. Juliet would have still be hopeful. Hopeful that she might become a whole person again, hopeful that her and Joel might be able to mend the cracks between them.
In her basement, Juliet came face to face with the rotten mess of her soul once again. But this time, she could see a way to cut it out, to rid herself of it forever. She couldn’t give up that chance.
“Yes,” Juliet agreed, her voice was numb and lifeless.
Slowly, Joel’s hands brought her back down until her boots hit the wooden porch.
She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. Juliet knew that she would either see that same numbness reflected back into Joel’s eyes or worse, an echo of the hurt she felt.
Joel reached around her and turned the handle on the door, pushing it open into the dark house. Juliet sucked in a breath when he drew near but forced herself to turn and step through the doorway.
She stood in the hall as Joel turned on the lights, moving slowly as he switched on the lamps in the living room.
When he was done, the air turned expectant, like the house had awaited her return.
Juliet looked up, searching for Joel and found him standing by the coffee table. He stood tall, his typical iron stance was in full effect. Juliet would have thought it was a usual night in Jackson for him, if it weren’t for his trembling hands curling into fists against his jeans.
The sight made something inside Juliet seize up. She wanted to rush to him and close her fingers around his. To get on her knees in front of him and beg for his forgiveness, beg for his permission to leave him, to leave this sanctuary.
Juliet knew that she didn’t need his permission.
But god did she crave his forgiveness.
Her footsteps were quiet and careful as she moved into the living room and sunk into the leather couch. Joel followed her movements like a hunter with a rifle.
Then he took his shot:
“I shouldn’t have hit him,” Joel said, rubbing his fingers over his jaw.
Juliet’s eyebrows scrunched as her heart rate slowed. Joel’s hand dropped suddenly and he shifted his stance, then met her eyes again.
“If that’s what this is about… if i’ve scared you, if you wanna stay away from me, I get it,” Joel practically stuttered, his voice low as his hand tapped in a nervous gesture against his thigh.
“No,” Juliet breathed, shaking her head.
Joel continued as though he hadn’t heard her denial, maybe he hadn’t.
“But you don’t gotta leave Jackson,” he ground out, as though the words pained him.
“It’s not you, Joel,” she said quickly, “I have to go back. I have to know -”
Joel’s cold laugh cut her off.
His mouth was curled in that way she remembered from their time on the road, when Joel’s armour was thick and immovable.
“No, see, I just don’t believe it,” he said with a shrug as he raised his hand in front of him, emphasising his point.
Juliet straightened her spine.
“I just don’t believe that you would be stupid enough, after everything we went through to get here, everything you went through… that you’d just go back out there,” he paused, running a hand over his face, “on some fuckin’ fool’s errand.”
Juliet flinched.
She dropped her gaze to her hands and allowed her eyes to follow the trails of scars which littered her pale flesh, while she listened to the sound of Joel’s breathing.
With a shaky sigh, Juliet stood, rising from the couch as Joel shifted his stance, sweeping his gaze up and down her body.
With a trembling hand, Juliet caught the edge of her top and lifted it up until she met the edge of her bra. Then she stopped until she could meet Joel’s eyes.
His black stare was glued to the brand on her stomach.
“Remember this?” she asked quietly.
Joel’s eyes flashed to her’s. They were burning with what she knew as the cold, dark rage that simmered within him.
Juliet didn’t drop her hand, she let her father’s initials hang between them.
“When I found out he was dead, I had this strange thought that he could never hurt me anymore, that maybe I could actually be rid of him,” Juliet began, stopping to laugh humorlessly at her stupidity.
“Then I saw this,” she forced out, tilting her chin down to look at the letters burned forever on her skin. Her father’s claim on her.
“And I knew that I was a fool,” Juliet’s eyes blinked up at Joel when she noticed him straighten. “I was a fool to think that I could ever escape him.” She paused, inhaling slowly. “I realised that in the QZ when he sent me that letter, and again when he forced the poker onto my skin.”
“But the worst way I realised was when I started to kill people the same way I killed the infected. With no remorse, nothing but fear for myself, and… fear for you,” Juliet stopped suddenly, dropping her top and running a hand through her hair.
“I thought that my father’s sickness had got to me through the blood we shared,” she whispered. “That I could never escape him because, in truth, I was just like him.”
Joel hadn’t moved; just stared down at her.
“Then I went down into that fucking basement tonight,” Juliet laughed, rubbing her neck, “and it came back to me. He had told me what he’d done, but for some reason I just didn’t remember till now.”
“He’s not my father,” Juliet said in a low voice, still struggling to verbalise her knowledge. “I don’t have to be like him anymore. Maybe the brand is the only thing left of him.”
Finally, Joel moved, shaking his head so viciously Juliet couldn’t help but take a step backwards when he took a step towards her.
“You’re nothin like him,” he practically growled.
Juliet’s eyes pricked with tears and she looked away, towards the door, then back to Joel.
“Maybe,” she replied, inhaling another deep breath. “But I need proof.”
That broke Joel from his frozen state.
He moved quickly, gripping her arms like he did in the stables. Gentler, this time, like his anger had been replaced by his terror. His hands moved up her arms, unable to settle on a place to touch her but unwilling to let her go.
“I can’t stand by and watch you go on a suicide mission,” he fumed, his pupils flaring as he said the words. “Even if you make it there, and that’s an if, that town’s gonna be decimated. There’ll be nobody left.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw as he continued to stare down at her. His gaze wasn’t gentle; it felt like fire on her skin.
“They barely had any food when we were there, and I killed their fuckin’ leader,” he scoffed. “It’s winter now,” Joel continued, “raiders will have got to them by now, you know that as well as I do.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Juliet felt the weight of his words land on her shoulders.
“Danny,” she murmured, as the plan began to solidify in her mind, “Danny will know.”
“Who the fuck is Danny?” Joel demanded, tilting her chin up with his fingers until Juliet met his eyes.
She swallowed. “He owned the bar,” Juliet clarified, “Ethan said he helped you both get me out.”
Joel’s jaw shifted and his hand tightened on her arm, as though he was remembering that night in vivid detail.
“What about him?” he said slowly.
“He always said that he’d known me since I was a baby,” Juliet said lifelessly, “if anyone knows about my parents, it would be him.”
Joel removed his hand from her arm to wipe it down his face as he groaned.
“How’d you even know if he’s still alive?” he demanded, his voice hard and angry.
“I don’t,” she whispered, blinking up at him. “But I have to go, I have to try.”
He shook his head slowly.
“I can’t let you do this,” he decided.
Juliet stepped backwards, attempting to free herself from his grip, but he only tightened his hold on her.
“It’s not your choice, Joel,” she said quickly.
“I’m not gonna let you get yourself killed,” he ground out, his eyes widening.
Juliet flinched.
“Don’t treat me like a child,” she whispered, repeating the words she said to him only hours ago, before they promised each other a future neither of them had the power to determine.
“Don’t act like one,” Joel replied, standing taller.
Juliet knew him well enough now. She knew that when Joel grew mean, it meant that he was frightened.
But so was she.
Juliet pulled herself from his grip, stepping backward until her legs hit the leather couch.
Everything inside Juliet screamed to ask him to come with her. But she couldn’t. Joel had done too much for her already. She couldn’t ask this of him.
Juliet had set her mind on this journey. She couldn’t live in Jackson and pretend that she didn’t know, pretend that the memory of Elijah wasn’t eating her up inside.
Looking in his eyes, Juliet knew that Joel wasn’t going to let this go. Whether it be right or wrong, Joel would hold her down if it stopped her from putting her life in danger.
He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe, even if it hurt her.
Juliet squeezed her eyes shut when she remembered the look on his face that day outside her house, when he threw away everything they had built. Then she remembered, only hours ago, when he told her that he had done that for her, to protect her.
She could do that too.
That recklessness within Juliet was burning her alive from the inside.
“I know about your daughter, Joel,” she said, forcing herself to look him in the eye, “Maria, told me.”
“Don’t,” he cautioned.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know you’re scared to lose people, but I can do this. I can look after myself.”
“Don’t say another word,” Joel warned with a quick shake of his head, eyes locked onto her.
She shouldn’t have mentioned his daughter. She thought that if he were angry at her he might let her go, but her words seemed to have the opposite effect.
“Joel -”
His hands curled into fists against his jeans.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he said forcefully, “I’m not lettin’ you go.”
He reached up to rub his neck and for the first time all night Juliet realised how tired he looked.
“It’s late,” Joel reminded her, “let’s go to bed. We’ll talk about this in the morning.”
From his tone, Juliet knew that his words were just to appease her. There would be no conversation in the morning. His mind was made up.
‘Let’s go to bed’
Juliet almost teared up at the thought.
She nodded and watched as Joel’s shoulders practically sagged with relief.
He led her up the stairs with a gentle hand on the small of her back, not daring to let her walk behind him, lest she disappear.
They lay on his bed, cushioned by his navy sheets and soft duvet. Juliet hadn’t realised how tired she was until her head hit the pillow and the crushing weight of the day fell onto her.
She lay on her side, watching as Joel stared at the ceiling.
Juliet ached to know what went through his mind in that moment.
Just that morning, they had practically been strangers and now…
Juliet knew what she had to do. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t know; she couldn’t tuck that memory back in her mind and settle into life with Joel as though she had any idea who she was.
No, Juliet had made up her mind.
She only hoped that Joel would forgive her in the morning, when he found the space next to him empty.
…………………………..
The winter sun pushed through the gaps in Joel’s curtains, spreading its rays across the room.
Juliet rolled away from the window and swung an arm over her eyes, groaning. Then, like water had been poured over her, she sat up, suddenly reminded of where she was and what knowledge ran through her mind.
Juliet’s breathing was heavy as she whipped her head to the side. Joel wasn’t there.
Her feet hit the hardwood floor and she was up, speeding to the bedroom door as the fog of sleep still clung to the edges of her mind.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Juliet had meant to wake up at first light and sneak out without Joel realising, then head to the stables before the first patrol went out.
She should have been gone by now.
Her hand gripped the door handle and swung it open, then she was down the hall, swinging around the bannister as she raced down the stairs.
Fuck, she cursed herself. She’d missed her chance.
How could she be so stupid? To let herself sleep next to Joel, as though she’d ever be able to leave him like that?
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Juliet stopped.
Stopped so suddenly that she had to reach for the bannister to stop herself from falling forward.
To her left, in the living room, sat Joel, on the couch, his elbows on his knees, bent almost in a prayer-like position.
His head swung up when he noticed her.
“Joel?” she breathed as her eyebrows furrowed.
“I don’t like it,” he said quickly as he straightened his back then lifted himself off the couch.
Juliet’s eyes dropped down his body until she noticed the boots on his feet, wet with what looked like fresh snow.
She opened her mouth to voice her confusion but closed it just as fast when Joel drew closer.
“It’s a bad idea,” he continued, standing in front of her now.
Juliet’s stomach had dropped to her feet. What was he going to do? Block the door? Prevent her from ever leaving?
“Joel, I know this -”
“Shh,” he interrupted, raising his finger.
“You goin’ out there alone, it’s not happenin’” Joel declared, his voice had a frightening edge to it.
Juliet swallowed, then opened her mouth to protest. But Joel’s rough finger on her lips stopped her.
“If you’re determined to do this,” he said with a shake of his head, “I know I can’t stop you.”
Juliet nearly stopped breathing.
“We do this together,” Joel vowed, brushing his finger over her lips, “and when we get back… that’s it, no more puttin’ our lives on the line, no more fuckin’ suicide missions.”
Despite the terror swirling around her heart, Juliet’s lips stretched into a small smile and Joel followed the movement with his careful touch.
“Agreed,” she whispered, tilting her head down in a nod.
Joel stared at her for a moment, his eyes roaming over her features, then he dropped his hand and turned around, reaching for something on the coffee table.
It was his jacket. She’d left it at the mess hall the night before.
“Found this,” he said quietly, turning to look out the window as though he were suddenly shy.
Juliet put the jacket on immediately. It still smelled like him.
“Spoke to Tommy,” Joel revealed as he ran a hand over his face, “he’s not happy about it but he’ll let us go, said he’d spare a horse.”
“That was nice of him,” Juliet said, stunned.
Joel coughed out a laugh. “Yeah, well, it better be worth it.”
Juliet‘s guilt began to creep in again, but she didn’t let it fester. This was what she wanted, she was finally going to get the closure she craved.
Joel had turned around, heading over to the shelf in the living room where he kept some supplies.
“Thank you,” Juliet breathed, watching closely as he stopped moving and turned to face her again.
“I told ya, not lettin’ you go again,” he replied, his voice rough.
Despite everything that lay ahead of them, despite everything that raged in her mind…
Juliet smiled.
________________________________
@amyispxnk @casa-boiardi @http-paprika @shotgun-shelby @weeping-werewolf @mysaviorjoelmiller @chlojoceycom
#joel miller#joel miller x female oc#joel miller x reader#joel miller x original character#joel miller x oc#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfic#joel miller angst#ao3 fanfic#joel miller hbo#pedro pascal#tlou#joel tlou#the last of us#tlou hbo#Spotify
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There are many interpretations of the. Miguel and Gabriella and Miguel situation ans ALL OF THEM ARE GREAT but like...have my 2 cents...just hear me out...
Miguel in canon is an asshole in a major way largely because of his abusive upbringing, getting Eldest Daughtered from a young age trying to take care of his younger brother and protect him from George's violence and Conchata's...indifference/contempt? And he starts getting better once he becomes Spiderman, or at least starts thinking more about the consequences of his actions, and what the people in his life mean to him (shit still goes bad because his comics are insane)
If dad!Miguel never became Spiderman...it's honestly pretty likely he doesn't have that bit of growth and honestly, wouldn't have been a great dad. Not abusive, but I can imagine him being kind of absent and kinda emotionally neglectful, seeing how Miguels everywhere are prone to distancing themselves. Miguel also can't keep a relationship, either by breaking up or Spiderman Branded Widowing, so Gabriella wouldn't have had a consistent mother figure.
Alright, so, Gabriella, here, is being raised by a dad with so much baggage and the belief that its better to just keep her away from it (ei, keep her away from him), no real mom/mom is always changing because of Miguel's turbulent love life, maybe her uncle (depending on. Stuff) and maybe her grandma (depending heavily on Stuff). This is a fragile environment that does love her, but ultimately the adults in her life have too much shit going on themselves to effectively tend to her and her needs, especially as she becomes a tween
But our Miguel.
Our Miguel has every reason to love her wholly and unapologetically. Because he has done some very questionable things to have this child, and he treasures every goddamn second. This is a privilege he has comprised his morals for, and he isn't taking it for granted like Gabriella's actual father.
Meanwhile, Gabriella's dad fucking vanishes one night and the guy who shows up looking close enough to fool adults, he's everything she wanted from her dad. He doesn't raise his voice, doesn't get curt. He doesn't have a new girlfriend every other month. He doesn't have this tense, confused look in his eye whenever he looks at her. The guilt is still there, but it's something else. Its not her dad not knowing how to be better. She doesn't know what it is, but has suspicions.
Her papa looks at her like he's finally figured out how to feel about her, like she's finally stopped being another responsibility or chore to tend to. This one loves her even when she needs help with homework, even when she gets in trouble at school, evening when puberty hormones make her temperamental.
Gabriella doesn't know what happened to the first one, and she never finds out. She just knows that there's something...wrong, with the man she calls Papa now, but he loves her the way she always wanted...so it's fine, right?
Miguel, for his part, sees himself teeter towards their parents. Sees himself have the thing he wants so badly, would do anything for, and skirt the line their parents crossed, their whole lives. And then, that other man with his face dies. Maybe someone else, maybe Miguel really did kill himself.
Either way.
A child gets a parent who loves them, a parent gets a child who they can love freely.
So, it's fine, right?
#TDLR; good!actual dad! Miguel is very fun and heartbreaking but consider Gabriella's OG dad being kind of shitty at being a dad#and Gabriella deciding to compartmentalize all her feelings about her og!dad and his disappearance because. the thing wearing his face?#it loves her so genuinely and carefully. the way she always wanted. so uncomplicated and tender and like shes the world to it#so its easier to pretend its her real dad and her real dad always loved her like this. and she never has to think about it#atsv#miguel o'hara#gabriella o’hara#atsv miguel#across the spiderverse#spiderverse#IDK MAN I JUST THINK. I JUST THINK— *shot by snipers*#Gabriella man. this poor girl. she had to have known. Jeff knew it was Miles because you know when your child hugs and says they love you#a child would know if it wasnt their parent hugging and saying they love them. she knew. do you think she was scared?#this poor fucking kid. her poor dad. her poor mimic dad. the poor kid mimic dad took it all out on.#this is like. this isnt generational trauma.#Miguel literally fucking invented interdimensional trauma. whag the fcu#spiderman 2099
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Let’s talk about the Theatre Des Vampires & its potential impact!?!
First Lestat: pretty sure Lestat is a vampire here: he has the eyes, the nails & Armand is watching him. (Why would Armand watch mortal-Lestat? Unless watching Magnus and I’m sure we won’t see Magnus this season.) And that back bend has all the vibes of Lestat describing how as a vampire he can do impossibly graceful dance movements if he so chooses! (To delight and beguile, or so inhuman as to disturb!)
BUT book-Lestat does not theatre once he is a vampire. There’s only that one time that goes horribly wrong. To me, this does not look like it’s going horribly wrong!?! It looks like Lestat is still being “the greatest actor to have ever graced the stage”…??
Book-Lestat is horrified by vampire theatre. Including himself on the stage! He used to love how theatre conveyed something human & true & real. He felt it was a truly *good* think he could do. Being unable to read, human Lestat did a lot of improvised theatre (& Nicki taught him lines for some plays later on) - I’d argue improvisation being the most spontaneous & human theatre can get… so he finds it even moreso repellent how false it is as a vampire.
Compelled to go out on stage, Lestat looks out & sees a grinning skull behind every face. He feels he cannot find the natural, human meaning in words that was so instinctive to him when mortal. In the theatre, Lestat’s love as a mortal, Lestat truly feels what he has lost & will now never be. He could beguile & trick, but instead he intentionally horrifies the audience & himself - I think he does it `s he is so personally horrified and yet as theatre always was, still it must remain a place of truth for him? In the moment, there on stage, he realises his inhumanity and sees himself almost from outside himself as a horrific (though perfectly natural) monster “the mortal world seemed some desperate dream of rationality that in this lush and fetid jungle had not the slightest chance.” He sees himself like a cat or a rat or the evil vampire he is - he is a creature, but he is not human.
Until this point, other than when killing, Lestat has passed himself off easily amongst mortals as one of them. Yet, here on the stage he feels the Monster he is & cannot bear the artifice and the difference to what he once was, what he had the potential to be and what he was on the cusp of becoming. The theatre is like a reminder to him that his human life is over. This is a quality he will later be unable to bear in Nicki’s virtuoso violin skill once he becomes a vampire too. Nicki leans right in to the parody & evil manipulation of skill as opposed to mortal expression of humanity & performing with the devil’s instrument. Nicki finds a purity and truth in that & it’s the antithesis of what Lestat adored from & felt in Nicki’s mortal violin playing. Just as mad-Vampire-Nicki is the antithesis of all Lestat loved & they immediately despise each other (albeit Lestat will never truly not love too.)
Anyway, back to just-turned Lestat: at the same time, it’s Lestat’s *need* to return to the theatre that is really Nicolas’ downfall. Nicki was always fragile, and moreso when Lestat was stolen away. And of course when Armand kidnaps Nicki he is completely mad & unsaveable by then. But he had a small chance at some life... until this visitation to the theatre by Lestat, where Nicolas truly sees for his own eyes that something awful has befallen Lestat & he doesn’t understand it & nobody but him will believe it as they just want to believe Lestat the wondrous benefactor who has gifted them so much money and the theatre and charms everyone still.
This is in my opinion the point of no return for Nicki. He is a mad thing who I don’t think has any way back to sanity and life from here on. Gabrielle recognises it already even where Lestat cannot admit it to himself when she asks Lestat if he'll turn Nicki. At that time Lestat says he is appalled by the idea... but obviously he would have thought on it. Once Lestat showed his vampire self to Nicki, Nicki’s mortal life was done for. He begins drinking to extreme excess & cannot cope with life at... and this is before Armand snatches him.
Now, if the show have Lestat at the theatre for longer & actually using his skills to trick audiences for a while, will the impact this has on (presumably still mortal) Nicki be even deeper? It surely would be given the scenario…? And so will Lestat feel even more guilt o we Nicki’s eventual downfall? I can almost see it in my mind playing out now. Lestat using his vampiric skill to beguile audiences for a time, Nicki grieving increasingly mad & all the other people at the theatre merely adoring Lestat & not wishing to see anything wrong. And maybe even Nicki wanting to believe in moments that all is well? But really, Nicki growing increasingly fragile until, as in the books Armand steals him away. I just feel like something like this might be in the TV show and I feel that it could be an interesting deepening of the emotion (although it would alter Lestat in the theatre a little and the impact of the theatre to Lestat's self… but then, that was Lestat’s thoughts and horror as a new vampire. He feels very differently by the time he becomes a rock star… so…?!)
And this ties in: the recent clips suggest Claudia loves the theatre & Louis hates it. Louis always hated the callousness of the theatre, but Claudia loved it mainly as a clever way to ensnare victims. In the theatre in the book she is immediately in danger. Will this be different feelings here. This older Claudia may initially love the idea of joining the theatre! It may appeal to her nature! But oh, what awaits her…
Anyway: just some train-of-thought ponderings….
Anyone have thoughts on this?
#interview with the vampire#anne rice#lestat de lioncourt#the vampire lestat#iwtv lestat#amc interview with the vampire#amc iwtv#iwtv amc#nicolas de lenfent#lestat x nicolas#nicki de lenfent#lestat x nicki#louis de pointe du lac#claudia de pointe du lac#claudia de lioncourt#iwtv louis#IWTV nicolas
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Hmm, I'm going to put my creativity to work, a little story.
(English is not my original language so forgive any mistakes)
(In this story you are a representation of Gwen from League of Legends, you can be a man or a woman, whatever you want)
Steel doll and rag doll...
Ah life, so fragile, so many lives taken by a selfish thought, human lives, would you save them if you could?
Pi, was walking around the city of Krat, facing crazy títere, seeing all the lives that were lost, in the middle of a mess with some títeres, Pi noticed something that really stood out.
A person perhaps, wandering with their head down, walking a little slowly, in their hand was a huge pair of scissors that were around 4 and a half meters long, the person was dragging those scissors with exhaustion perhaps?
Pi cuts through the puppets with ease and looks at the exhausted person, Pi takes just one step forward and notices the person falling to the ground.
Hotel Krat 22:07
That cold that haunted you seemed to disappear for a few seconds when exhaustion finally caught up with you, but you couldn't stop, why were you even wandering?
Oh yes, it was to give her soul back, but on that street with that rain your shoulders weighed so much until you fell, and there you would stay until a puppet finished you off, you would stay there with that cold, and the feeling of being alone, but that didn't last long, for a few minutes you didn't feel cold anymore, you weren't alone, not at that moment, not anymore
You open your eyes to the brightness of the lights, the bed that accommodated you was soft and cozy, you close your eyes, and some thoughts cross your mind.
{I... Am I home?, no... I was wandering, I was looking for a way to save her, but... How did I get here? Unless... It was all just a cruel nightmare... No... I'm alive, so she's still dead, so how did I get here?}
You open your eyes again feeling the small tears in them, you hold them, you wouldn't cry now, you've been alone for a while, you wouldn't cry for the memory of her, would you?
You turn your head to the right and see something that really surprises you, a boy, with dark brown hair, freckles on his face and a gentleman's outfit, a human? Not a different puppet, you could hear the gears inside his chest, he had his eyes closed, he seemed to be sleeping, sitting just on the side of the bed, but what really surprised you was that he was holding your hand, his grip as if he never wanted to let you go again, you felt that feeling of being with someone again, you didn't want to move, you didn't want to lose that feeling, not again.
Hotel krat 21:28
Pi saw you falling, and by instinct he picked you up and took you to the krat hotel, oh no you weren't human, not a normal one, were you a puppet, pi took his scissors and put them on his back while carrying you in his arms, he felt warm when he came into contact with you, he took you to geppetto, who was intrigued by you, pi left his scissors with Eugenia and placed you on the chair for geppetto to check you, you were some kind of doll that curiously had a human soul, your seams gave off ergo, it looks like the thread you were sewn into with a line made of ergo, that ergo made you part human like a real skin but inside it would be a mystery, even your scissors were made of ergo, it seems that you manipulated ergo with perfection. Pi took you to a room and placed you on the bed carefully, but he couldn't let you go completely, you were holding his hand since he put you in a chair and he didn't let go so he sat in the chair next to the bed and stayed with you, holding your hand, waiting for you to wake up, waiting to meet you, he stayed holding your hand and closed his eyes "to sleep"
Hotel krat 21:38
You sighed, feeling the seams on your left arm burst, but what? Wear perhaps? You looked at the boy again, he still had his eyes closed, sleeping maybe?, you squeeze his hand lightly and he opens his eyes, for the first time his blue eyes meet yours, oh what a feeling... Was that the famous butterflies you heard about? But why would there be butterflies in your belly? You didn't know if you could blush but if you could you definitely would, he looks at you with so much curiosity, you found yourself lost in those blue eyes like oceans, those freckles that only gave him more charm, wait! What were you thinking?! You can't have these feelings You are a doll, who needed to return her soul to her owner! Just a doll...
Hotel krat 21:38
Pi opens his eyes feeling a light squeeze on his hand, he opens his eyes and looks at you, he sees your big and cute dark blue doll eyes, your left eye had a pink x in the pupil that gave you left you with a special beauty, he looked at you curiously, and so you stared at each other for a few seconds, Pi was really curious about you, about your seams and about you.
_____
Maybe you can get to know each other better, maybe you can be more than strangers, who knows tomorrow, after all tomorrow is a hope never a promise
____
(Oh I really enjoyed writing it, I love lies of p, and I love little Pinocchio, and I loved this little story, who knows, maybe there will be a sequel, a kiss from Lucy)
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💋omfg PLEASE stop sending your dad or your boyfriend or whatever the fuck to buy your makeup. If he’s a straight man I can guaran-fucking-tee you this idiot will be pestering me over every goddamn cosmetic item on the shopping list you gave him and probably then some. Ladies if y’all need makeup just get it your damn self stop sending me your dumbass men who take up all my time bc they can’t be bothered to actually look around the makeup dept. I have shit to do and if you’re coming up to me more than three times to ask where something is, I’m getting pissed off.
Dude just now came up to me with a fucking slideshow of makeup products asking where they all are. I just looked at him like “seriously dude?” Like bro I’m not your personal fucking shopper. I’m not gonna sit there and hold your stupid fucking hand while we find these ten products. But even then, I pointed and told him exactly where each item was and he STILL couldn’t find shit. It was like that ep of SpongeBob and he’s like “the lid Patrick. The lid. The lid. The lid.” I told him one of the items was over in the corner and the dude doesn’t even go to the corner. He says “where???¿?¿” over and over again like,,, my brother in Christ,,,, do you not know what a fucking corner is? You are very clearly NOT in the corner right now like this should be a no brainer???
And the dude can see by now I’m getting annoyed by this shit and he snaps at me like “well clearly I’m not someone who uses makeup so I don’t know what I’m doing here” ok so why would you agree to go shopping for it.?Tell your lazy ass daughter/wife/gf she needs to come and get it her damn self. Save us both the fucking headache.
I also think some kind of weaponized incompetence is being employed here. Like it’s not fucking rocket science to look up at the giant, lit-up signs in each aisle that say where each brand of makeup is stocked, and then go from there to find your item. But I think these men are afraid of being perceived as “gay” or whatever tf if they’re seen shopping and taking their time in the makeup dept. so when they’re sent on these shopping trips they just skip any kind of attempt at looking for the shit themselves and instead make a bee line to me the second they walk in. And then they expect me to take their shopping list and do it all for them like no dude fuck off I have tasks to do, come back when you have a real question and not just “can you help me find these 10+ items bc I’m too lazy/too straight to do my own shopping in the makeup dept”
(Lastly I’d like to mention that some of these men even have the gall to come up to me, with their girlfriend/wife/daughter on FaceTime, asking me to color match them. Yes, you read that right. They want me to find the correct shade of foundation based on a blurry ass face on a screen. So as you can imagine, I just laugh in their fucking faces when they ask this, I just cannot believe how stupid ppl are omfg)
My first thought (being in retail 30 years) Is they don't really want the makeup but some creepy way to make conversation with the (sometimes underaged) sales people.
Or like you said they have such a fragile masculinity just being near it upsets them.
If you can get away with it, tell them you will have to charge them the "personal shopper" charge of $25 to walk them to more than three items.
-Rodney
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