#this scenario has plagued my brain for a YEAR | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hier--soir · 8 months

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a lover's pinch | one

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. warnings/tags: au, age gap [20 something years diff], alcohol consumption, irrational sexual tension, smut, sex in a public place w/ a stranger [and i'm talking depraved/zero time wasted/known you for thirty minutes type strangers], oral [f receiving], protected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, a spot of degradation + misogynistic language, a split second of soft!joel, you get the picture word count: 5.9k series masterlist | main masterlist a/n: my friends.... oh boy, oh boy. this series is a complete au, self-indulgent, fantasy land idea that has plagued me for weeks. horny academic brain rot to the highest degree. hope some of you enjoy it with me x

Friday.

You sit with three almost strangers.

Listen to them talk about their summers and their families and their degrees as you twirl a straw around your half-empty glass, disrupting the melting ice as you try to wrap your head around what a master’s in environmental engineering might entail. One of them, the only man at the table, takes great pleasure in explaining it to you all for the second time. You take mental notes and hope he’s not expecting you to remember words like sparging and leachate.

They do ask you about your undergrad, and your internship, nodding and smiling curiously. They don’t ask what type of job you plan on getting after your postgrad, which is a welcome relief. The bombardment of questions from immediate and extended family is enough.

Cousins wondering aloud, saying you study Greek mythology, right?

Or your grandfather, before he died, berating you ad nauseam at family events about what’re you gonna do, kid? Be a historian? There’s no money in being a historian. Now, being a lawyer, that’s where the money is.

And you’d respond no, not quite Greek mythology, and no, I don’t plan on being a historian, as you gorge yourself on red wine and triscuits and wait for Christmas to end.

Thankfully you aren’t expected to rehash these scenarios with your almost strangers, who routinely ask a few well-mannered questions and then go back to talking about themselves.

After a week of living with them, in a new house, and a new city, you’re becoming used to their company. The way the four of you commune lazily in the kitchen most mornings, swathed in the light streaming through a window above the sink, making idle small talk as you wait for coffee to brew. How Pete and Trin study opposite each other at the dining table, while Nora prefers to spread her limbs across the couch, laptop balanced precariously on her stomach. She’s doing her master’s in education, which she describes as an expensive way to get a pay rise. She’s kind, with wild curly hair and dark humour, and is easily your favourite of your new roommates.

It was her idea to go out that night. One last hurrah, she’d called it. Before we enter the final circle of academic hell next week. And between four overworked, already burnt-out, twenty-something students, it hadn’t taken much convincing before you were sharing three bottles of wine and hightailing it to the bar with the highest Yelp rating.

The late August air is dry; a faint warmth that follows you into a quaint bar in downtown Biddeford. The space is small and crowded with patrons, with dim overhead lighting that casts a soft glow across the booth you’re crammed into. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your shirt sticks to your back uncomfortably. The others seem unbothered by the heat, nursing sweaty glasses and discussing how different Maine is from where they all grew up. You involve yourself here and there, offering up stories about your family and friends from back home, and suddenly an hour has passed, and then another, and you’re pleasantly tipsy, body humming as alcohol spreads its way through your veins, and your latest drink is practically empty, spare a few melting ice cubes.

“I need another drink,” you tell Nora, who nods absently before turning her attention back to the others.

You wander toward the bar, fumbling for your phone as you go. Fall in between two leather cushioned stools and rest your elbows atop the sleek wooden counter. Check your bank account and mentally traverse the list of reasons for returning to student-life when you see the number staring back at you. I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, your internal monologue runs, although you could admit how sweet a solicitor’s pay check would feel right now.

It’s a low, Southern drawl that pulls you from your reverie.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Deep. With a rough, lilting quality that piques your interest and has your eyes drifting upward from your phone screen.

You notice his body first; a tall frame with thick arms, thick shoulders, thick neck. A navy-blue t-shirt that stretches thin around his biceps, hugging the tan skin there. And then you look higher, and—oh.

Your heart stutters a beat out of time as you take in his face. Loose brown curls that are just long enough to hang across his forehead. Dark, almond-shaped brown eyes. So dark they almost appear black on the first glance. The strong nose and dark hair across his jaw, dappled with streaks of grey. A moustache resting atop a set of dark pink lips. Gone are thoughts of academia, of bank accounts, of your almost strangers. All replaced in an instant by wanton, pulsating desire.

Something like surprise cuts across his face, but it disappears just as quickly. In a far recess of your brain, you register that he must be at least twenty years older than you. You wilfully ignore the thought, perfectly content to continue admiring him.

A dark eyebrow ticks upward then, and you realise you haven’t responded.

“No,” you rush, flashing him a quick smile. “All yours.”

He gives you a pleased nod, a hint of a smirk passing over his lips as he sits down. He looks vaguely uncomfortable perched on the tall chair, all six-foot-something of him cramped onto such a small cushion. You cast a single glance back towards the booth, and then slip onto the stool beside him.

Silence descends between you for a moment. A song by The Eagles plays faintly, but you can’t figure which one - too distracted to make out the lyrics. You take a careful sip of the melted ice at the bottom of your glass, taste the last remnants of tequila in it, and watch him out of the corner of your eye.

“’m Joel,” that accent rings again, sending a volt of warmth through your chest.

You tell him your name, fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt. If he notices the tension in your posture, he doesn’t let on. “You a Southern man, Joel?” The name feels warm on your tongue. Soft and silken like honey.

“S’it that obvious?” he grins crookedly, pink lips tearing back to reveal a straight white smile.

“An accent like that is hard to ignore,” you smirk. “It’s not a bad thing.”

‘Thought it would fade a little since I moved here,” he explains. “Y'can take the man outta Texas, but… you know.”

You hum, eyes alight as you watch him speak. His mouth is beautiful, lips parting around prolonged vowels.

“You here alone?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “With friends.”

“Let me guess,” Joel tilts his body, glancing around the bar. His shirt shifts with the movement, hem raising to reveal the slightest hint of a soft, tanned stomach. He points somewhere over your shoulder. You shut your mouth, careful not to gawp. “Them.”

You turn, a soft laugh of surprise bubbling up through your chest when you spy the bachelorette party set up across the bar. Women dressed in gaudy shades of pink. One of them with a sash—reading Jenny’s Big Day—across her chest, a short veil pinned to her head, and an empty champagne glass clutched in her fist. One of them teary-eyed, gripping the bride’s arm and yelling something in her ear, sloshing champagne onto herself all the while.

“You got me,” you turn back to him with a grin. Hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t be caught dead missing Jennifer’s last night as a free woman.”

The corners of his eyes crease, entire face blossoming into a smile now. He has a dimple on his right cheek.

“Knew you were a good girl,” he nods. Says the words in a matter-of-fact tone. Something twists in your stomach, and your palms dampen. You wet your lips quickly and don’t back down from his gaze, allowing the corner of your mouth to kick up a little.

“And you?”

His eyebrows raise in a silent question.

“Who’re you here with?” you clarify.

“Just you, darlin’,” he says, left eye dropping in a quick wink.

It's easy with him, you find, and the two of you sit there for a while; exchanging small talk about Maine, the hot weather, the music at the bar, slipping in flirtatious comments that are about as subtle as a neon sign, until he finally spies the empty glass in your hand.

“What are you drinkin’?” he asks.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you say, hoping it doesn’t come across too eager. He seems pleased though. There’s something provocative to his gaze, a teasing warmth that raises the temperature of your skin wherever he looks. But whatever it is, it’s gone by the time he reaches across the bar for the bound beverage list.

He peers at the menu, squinting ever-so-slightly to see through the dim lighting of the bar. The skin beside his eyes is soft and creased with age, crow’s feet that hint at years of laughter and smiles. You wonder again how old he is. How much older than you.

“Forget your glasses?” you tease, testing the waters.

Joel’s eyes flash up to yours. The muscle in his jaw ticks.

“Watch it,” he says. There’s a playful note in his voice, but it rings deeper somehow—a hint of a warning.

Your thighs squeeze together on the stool, warm sweaty skin peeling off the tacky leather as you move. His eyes dart to the bare skin of your legs, and then back to the menu.

He orders you both a whiskey, and a moment later the bartender is sliding a crystal tumbler in front of you. A finger of amber liquid with a single grandiose sphere of ice resting in it. Fancy.

“Cheers,” he holds his glass out. You knock yours against it gently before taking a short sip, fighting a grimace as it burns down your throat.

He watches your face closely, tries to gage your reaction. You take another sip, holding strong in your efforts to show him that you can handle it. Whatever he wants to give to you, you can handle.

“So what brings you here?” he asks. You notice how large the glass feels in your palm, and how small it appears in his. Long, thick fingers wrap around the object, dwarfing it. He takes a sip, and you watch him swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you want to graze your teeth across it.

“To the bar or to Maine?”

“Either.”

“Well, I just moved into town last week, from the West Coast. It’s actually my first week back in the US; I was travelling before the big move.”

“Busy girl,” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. You blink. “Travellin’?”

“I was in Greece,” you explain, sip your whiskey and definitely don’t grimace at the harsh taste. “For a month or so.”

“A month in Greece?” His eyebrows raise and he does a low, impressed whistle that has your stare zeroing in on his mouth.

“Ever been?” you ask faintly.

“No,” his reply is swift. “Never had much interest.”

And you’re nodding absentmindedly, but you can’t seem to drag your stare away from his mouth as he speaks. The trance is only broken when he raises his glass for another sip, and you shake yourself out of it, eyes shifting to stare into his brown orbs once more. They’re darker than you remembered, gaze loaded as he looks back at you. The tension was palpable when you first sat together, but now it feels impossible to ignore; an electric tangle of wire between the two of you that just keeps getting shorter and shorter. And you think, fuck it, if you’re about to descend into the final circle of academic hell, why not have a little fun?

“Can I tell you something, Joel?”

You say it softly, make your voice as sultry as possible. He watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes sparkling with intrigue. And then his mouth tilts into a sort of knowing smirk, and he’s nodding.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” you confess.

He hums, smirk broadening.

Sets his glass down on the bar top with a soft clink, and then lowers his hand to the bare skin of your knee. You gasp at the contact, nerves fraught. The callouses on his fingers scrape against your skin in slow, rhythmic circles, goosebumps raising in their wake. His fingers are long, and as he tenses them over you, squeezing your knee once, you see the way deep blue veins flex beneath the skin, hot blood pumping through him. Your stomach turns molten.

“Is that all?” he asks, a taunting lilt to his voice.

Your mouth is dry, eyes wide as you sense the proposition in his words. The hint of something darker—something greedy—in his gaze.

“No,” you say definitively. “That’s not all.”

A sharp tut escapes his mouth, fingertips dragging higher on your leg as he shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”

“Don’t look a day over forty,” you hazard a guess, resting your shoe onto the rung of his stool, using the leverage to drag yours closer. Both your legs are between his now, thighs bracketing thighs. The denim of his jeans scrapes against your outer thighs, and you shiver. His hand pauses, fingertips just shy of the hem of your skirt.

Joel wets his lips. “Guess again, sweetheart.”

A low heat licks at the base of your spine, spreading its way through your veins until you feel like you could combust at any given moment. Fuck it.

“Don’t care,” you mutter, and drape your hand over his. You trace your nails over his skin, feel how the bones shift underneath it, how warm he is. He still doesn’t move, face pensive as he regards you. You arch an eyebrow. “You approached me, you know.”

His lips purse tightly. Another squeeze to your thigh, fingers moving again. “I know.”

Driven by boldness, by arcane desire, by animalistic instinct, you lean forward on your barstool and rest your hands atop the thick expanse of his thighs. Hear his breath kick as your nose traces the side of his square jaw, lips settling at the shell of his ear. Right at the soft, sloping crest of his neck. And you whisper those same words again, quiet enough that no one in the world can hear it but him, can I tell you something?

Your movement drove his hand higher on your thigh, the heavy weight of it now settled beneath your skirt, fingertips skimming the indent where your leg meets your hip, toying at the soft fabric of your underwear there. Painfully close to where you want him.

“Yes,” his deep voice rumbles.

Ever so slowly, your tongue slides out of your mouth to trail against his earlobe. Joel’s thighs tense beneath your palms, and you roll the balls of your thumbs against the muscles there.

“I want to kiss you,” you murmur. “So I’m going to. And then I want you to fuck me, just like I know you want to.” Your teeth graze his lobe, and you bite it once, gently, before rearing your face back to peer at him. “Hmm?”

The muscle in his jaw jumps, shifting beneath the skin, and instead of responding verbally he cups your face with a rough hand. Cool drops of condensation from the glass have stuck to his fingers, and the liquid smears across your skin as he cradles your jaw and draws your mouth to his.

Soft lips envelop yours, the coarse hairs of his moustache tickling your face as he steals the breath from your lungs. And when you lick into his mouth you can taste peppermint on his teeth, and then that oh so familiar whiskey tang across his tongue. You don’t mind the taste so much when it’s on his lips.

You nuzzle closer, dig your fingertips firmer into his thighs and grin when a deep groan falls from his mouth into yours. Wet heat pools between your thighs, liquid fire that stokes at your insides, begging for more more more of him. And, as if he can read your mind, Joel is dragging his mouth away, teeth grazing against your swollen bottom lip as he departs.

“Bathroom,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Now.”

Shock and excitement lace your blood, the proposition of something so dirty, so lewd, making your heart race. With your pulse a dull, thrashing roar in your ears, you allow Joel to help you down from your stool. Your legs feel unsteady now that you’re back on solid ground. Gripping your hand, dwarfing it in his, Joel tugs you away from the bar top and towards an obscured hallway. You amble past the bachelorette party, down the dark hall and then he’s pressing a dark hand against the ambulant bathroom door and dragging you inside, sliding the lock shut behind you.

Joel’s on you in a second, arms bracketing you against the door as his wet mouth slips over yours. His hands are so big, all wide palms and long fingers splaying across the entirety of your back, tucking you against his solid chest. He bunches your shirt in his hand, twisting the material between his fingers as he pushes into your mouth. Tongue hot and wet, gliding against your teeth, your tongue, tasting you, devouring you. there’s nothing polite about it. No more wariness, no more hesitation, no more eyes that could see the two of you at the bar. He’s insatiable, touching you everywhere he possibly can, and even then it doesn’t seem like enough for him.

“Fuck, I want you,” you say against his mouth. He makes a low sound in response, and one of his palms lower to grab a handful of your ass, dragging your hips against his. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining in the confines of his jeans. Your hand presses into the crevice between your bodies to palm him through the material, grinning into the kiss when he groans. His lips trail a slick path across your cheek, past your jaw.

“Gonna let me fuck you here?” his hot breath fans across your neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat there.

“Yeah,” you say. “Fuck—yes.”

He steps back, dragging you with him, and then he’s turning you around so that you’re facing the mirror. Your hips dig into the sink, and he’s holding you there, forcing you to stare at your reflection as he bites and licks and sucks down your neck with reckless abandon, leaving marks in his wake. There’s a low, steady throbbing at the apex of your thighs, and you can feel how your underwear clings to your skin, damp and ruined. You whimper, tilt your chin up to give him access to more skin. He grinds against your ass in response, and then he’s crouching down on the ground behind you.

Fast hands push your skirt up over your hips and then flare across your ass, massaging the flesh there. You feel a nip of teeth against the sensitive skin there and flinch into the porcelain. He makes quick work of dragging your underwear down to dangle precariously at your knees. And then long fingers are spreading you apart, revealing you to him. You tilt your hips back so he can see more. Moan at the sensation of cool air rushing to meet your dripping core.

You think you can hear him speaking, but can’t be sure over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the low music playing in the bar. And then it doesn’t matter anymore, because you can feel his hot tongue glide through your folds, parting you like the sea. He buries his face in you, nose nudging against your asshole as his tongue swipes at your clit, moaning roughly as he absorbs the taste of you. You’re gasping, hooded eyes staring back at you in the mirror, and this time you can definitely hear him saying you’re so fuckin’ wet. The flat of his tongue smears from your clit to your entrance, and then he’s sinking it inside you. You reach behind your back and card your fingers through his hair, gripping the salt and pepper curls between your fingers and holding him against you. Joel doesn’t complain, groaning as you tug on his locks in encouragement, in fucking desperation.

Your thighs tremble where they bracket his head, threatening to squeeze around him at any moment if it weren’t for his vice grip keeping your spread apart. A choked sob of a moan claws its way out of your throat and then he’s standing again, chest against your back as you hear the clink of his belt coming undone, and he’s saying, I know, I know, you need it so bad, don’t you?

Your hand skirts around the firm sink and slips between your thighs, fingertips ghosting over your throbbing clit. The sound of foil crinkling echoes around the room, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh as he rolls the condom down his length. You peek over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, eyes widening as you take in the sheer size of his length. It’s long, with a prominent vein running from base to tip. It pulses, raging beneath the skin, practically daring you to drop down and run your tongue along the length of it. And you would if you thought he’d let you.

“Shit,” you breathe, skin tingling with a fresh wave of nerves and anticipation.

“It’s alright,” his voice is a low rasp, filling your ears like molasses, and his hand is rising to push stray hairs out of your face. “So fuckin’ wet f’me, I know you can take it, honey. You gonna show me how good you take co—”

He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing as he spots your fingers shifting between your thighs.

“So impatient,” he smacks your hand away with a grunt. “Silly little slut, can’t wait just a minute for me?”

A broken moan falls from your lips, shameful heat soaring through your chest. You shouldn’t love the way that word sounds falling from his lips, shouldn’t be so turned on by it, but you can feel how the ache in your core intensifies, and so you push your hips back against him.

“’m sorry,” you whine pitifully.

“You want it that bad?” Joel asks. His lips brush your earlobe as he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, gliding it through your slick once, twice, before notching himself at your entrance.

“I want it,” you gasp. “Wanted it from the second I saw you, Joel, please, pleas—”

Joel curses under his breath and loops a hand around your front, pushing the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your left breast. He slips his palm underneath the cup of your bra, long fingers pinching at the peaked bud of your nipple. Your skin burns under the attention, and you push your chest further into his hold.

“Shit,” he grunts, beginning to press himself inside. “I wanna fuckin’—wreck you, sweetheart.”

“Whatever you want,” you’re pleading, arching your back for him. Your fingers tighten around porcelain, bracing yourself. “Give it to me.”

You hear a muted, dark chuckle before Joel says, “Whatever I want, huh?”

And then he’s pressing inside you with a single, harsh thrust. His thighs come flush with yours and you gasp, face twisting at the sharp sting. The weight of him inside you is heavy, and you squirm at the intrusion, shifting on your feet. He allows you a moment—just a moment—to adjust to him, before he’s moving.

Joel finds a pace he likes and sets it. Heavy, unrelenting, expert rolls of his hips that have his tip brushing against the opening of your cervix with every shift forward. The air fills with harsh sounds of skin smacking against skin, and stilted moans and spilling from your lips as your hipbones collide rhythmically with the sink.

“Christ,” he spits, hand leaving your breast to grip your jaw. He forces your face forward, pace never slowing. “Fuckin’ look at you.”

You do as your told, gazing at yourself in the mirror. And you look wrecked. Hair a wild halo around your head, makeup smudged around your eyes and mouth, lips swollen and shiny with spit.

“Bein’ so—fuckin’—good,” he punctuates the words with his thrusts. His thumb digs into your cheek, and you can see him grinning in the mirror, lips peeled back to reveal that fucking perfect smile. “Dirty little thing, lettin’ a stranger fuck you like this.”

You mewl in response, stomach tensing as his cock grazes a particularly sensitive spot within you. Joel notices and seizes your waist, one hand holding you in place and the other falling to rub your clit while he pistons into you from behind.

“Shit,” you cry, eyes pinching shut as the intense medley of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm you. Your orgasm claws its way up your chest.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” he’s panting. “Can you feel you squeezin’ me, sweetheart. Go on, give it t’me, show me how wet that pretty pussy gets when you come.”

“Oh, fuck, oh—oh god, Joel.”

Your lungs feel empty, chest on fire as you rake in rapid breaths. Your entire body is constricting, muscles in your stomach drawn tight as you press firmer against the sink, thighs shaking with every impact of his hips against the plush of your ass. The pressure makes your head spin. And then something in the base of your spine snaps, and you’re falling apart in his grasp. Joel curses behind you, but the sound is faint, almost inaudible over the ringing in your ears. Your vision goes white, body shifting forward as he fucks you through the high.

And even as you begin to come down, muscles going lax and body slumping against the sink, Joel is relentless. He uses you; gripping your hips to keep them tilted at the perfect angle, and just fucking wrecks you, exactly like he said he wanted to. A stream of profanities fill the air as his movements become disjointed, and you know he’s close. Can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, desperate for release. You tilt your face to the side and stare at him over your shoulder. Those dark eyes meet yours and his face crumbles, hand reaching to grip your shoulder and hold you down as he nears the precipice. You rut your ass back against him and he almost shouts.

“Fuck,” he growls. “That’s it, that’s it..”

And then he’s coming, cock jerking inside you in sporadic movements, and you’re wishing he hadn’t worn a condom so you could feel the heat of him spread inside your cunt. It’s intense, the yearning you feel to have him dripping out of you once he’s gone. But you settle for watching his face through bleary eyes, admiring the way his lips part and chin tilts towards the ceiling, eyes pinching closed as his body convulses against you.

For an all too brief moment, Joel doesn’t move. He slumps against your back, forehead resting in the gap between your shoulder blades, and just breathes. Haggard, drawn out exhales that send whisps of your hair flying forward into your face but you don’t care, too blissed out and relaxed underneath his weight to say anything. And then he’s straightening, and you gasp in unison as he grips your waist and slips out of you. There’s a determined ache between your thighs, pussy clenching around his absence, missing the weight of him already.

You sag onto the cold surface. Your mind is a blur, senses dulled from the intensity of your orgasm. The music in the bar has increased, and you imagine that your roommates must be wondering where you are, but can’t bring yourself to care all that much. You can hear him throw the condom into the trash, then there’s a low rustling as he drags his boxers and jeans back up his legs. Body trembling, you close your eyes and wait. Wait to hear the door open and close as he steps out, and leaves you in the bathroom alone, as you know he inevitably will.

But instead, you feel those hands, almost familiar now, grazing your back. They drag your panties back up and smooth your rumpled skirt down over your ass.

“Hey,” a soothing voice murmurs. “You good?”

You peer at him over your shoulder, uncontained surprise no doubt evident in your face. Joel’s expression is soft; cautious. He grips your shoulder and pulls you up, straightening your body. Drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping away the lipstick smudged there. His touches are so gentle, so tender, in comparison to a few moments ago. It almost gives you whiplash, and yet you find yourself melting under his gaze, because fuck, he’s handsome.

“I’m good,” you breathe, and he bares his teeth in a smile, cupping your jaw.

“Sweet girl,” Joel says. His head shakes once, slowly, eyes darting across your features, as if trying to memorise them. “I’m gonna remember this.”

You heart is in your throat all over again.

Your fingers fumble to adjust your top, smoothing it out as you smile, humming, “Yeah… yeah, I think I will too.”

A heady silence swells between you. His thumb brushes along your lower lip again, eyes watching the way your swollen mouth yields to his touch. The tip of your tongue slides out and glides over the tip of his digit, just for a second.

“Probably got your friends all worried,” Joel says then, hand dropping to his side. “Must be wonderin’ where you got to.”

You swallow down the disappointment you feel. It burns its way down your throat and into your stomach, not unlike the whiskey had. I don’t care, you want to say. Take me home with you. But you nod and agree. Glance in the mirror and rake numb fingers through bird’s nest hair, trying to tame your wild appearance. You swear you feel his hand graze the hem of your skirt one last time, playing with the soft material while he stares at you in the mirror.

The bubble pops as he unlocks the door, outside sounds rushing in through the gap, infiltrating the space that once smelt like sex and lust and now just feels like any other room. Joel doesn’t kiss you again. Doesn’t touch you. He steps into the hall, and you follow him out. And when he trails toward one side of the bar, with a final lingering glance at you over his shoulder, you begrudgingly head in the opposite direction to the booth, where your almost strangers await you with curious eyes and pinched brows.

Tuesday.

You feel hungover on the day of your first lecture.

A dull ache blossoms behind your left eye, a persistent reminder of how little sleep you had the night before. Your fingers wrap tightly around a tall styrofoam cup, and you take slow mouthfuls of the black coffee inside, attempting to savour the liquid gold, and letting the caffeine act as a saving grace for as long as possible.

You were normally so much better than this, too. Years had passed since your undergrad, and in the past you’d prided yourself on being punctual and prepared. But apparently one of the professors for this semester had it out for you, because when the required weekly prep work for your 9 o’clock Tuesday morning lecture was released the day prior, you were stunned to find that it included an entire fucking book.

After spending a dutiful two hours going over the weekly notes and required journal articles, you’d found yourself glaring at three sentences, written casually at the bottom of the professor’s notes.

Also, read Hesiod’s ‘Theogony’. It will do you well to have these ideas and themes fresh as you undertake the first weeks of this class. See you tomorrow.

Cue you staying up until two am reading fucking Theogony, and walking to your first lecture with a near-permanent yawn sprawled across your face.

As you approach history commons, a guy wearing a bottle green shirt that reads UNIVERSITY OF NEW ENGLAND in garish gold lettering shakes a pamphlet in your direction. It has a picture of a girl in a tiny athletic uniform on the front, preparing to spike a volleyball. You avoid eye contact and sidestep him quickly, continuing into the building.

The theatre room is easy enough to find.

Thirty odd chairs line the space on an incline, all facing toward a desk at the front of the room. A projector hangs from the ceiling, displaying the beginning of a slide show on a white wall. The slide is a muted beige colour, with stark black lettering that spells out: The Language and Literature of the Odyssey and the Aeneid.

Your professor stands with his back to the room, shuffling through a myriad of notebooks and loose-leaf pages splayed across the desk. Standard.

You traipse your way up the stairs, buoyed along by the steady stream of other students shuffling into the room, and take a seat a few rows from the front. Not too far back that you seem disinterested, and not so close that your professor will notice you falling asleep on the first day.

You open your notes on your laptop and then slump back into your chair, slurping down the final morsels of coffee in your cup before discarding it to the floor by your feet. And then the room quietens as a final group of students file in, heavy door swinging closed behind them, and you allow your eyes to rest upon the man at the foot of the space.

He’s tall. It’s impossible not to notice that first. Tall and broad. A thin white dress shirt stretches across the arch of his back, fighting to pull free from where it’s tucked neatly into the waist of his brown pants. From where you’re seated, you can see a dark head of hair shaking side to side every few moments, the man muttering inaudibly as he peers down at his notes.

You glance down at your laptop again. Watch your cursor blink against the white screen. And then you hear it.

“Alright folks,” an all too familiar voice drawls. “Let’s get down to it.”

You stiffen in your chair. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, palms going damp as a memory flits through your brain. One of your own voice.

An accent like that is hard to ignore.

You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, every word overpowered by the sudden roar of your own heartbeat in your ears.

Slowly—so fucking slowly—you peel your eyes away from your laptop and glance upward.

And there he is, in all his glory. Pearly white smile. Strong jaw. Dark eyes.

Joel… your professor.

Fuck.

thank you for reading!! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #ALP

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onlyjaeyun · 7 months

Text

𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 – 𝟑𝟔

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐗: 𝐝𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐮 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

⤲ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⤲ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐀𝐔, 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐀𝐔, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

⤲ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟕.𝟓𝐤 (not proofread!!!)

⤲ 𝐜𝐰: 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞; 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭: 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐟.𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐦!𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝟑𝟑𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐡𝟎𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

"What's wrong, Babe? You've been grumpy all morning", Jungwon's concern filled voice barely makes its way through your loud thoughts and with a soft sigh you finally lock your phone and look up at him.

"Are you – Wait, are you crying?"

And as soon as his question hits you, hot tears start streaming down your cheeks, leaving a burning trail on your skin which seems to double the knot in your throat in its size and all of a sudden you find yourself struggling to breathe yet again.

You never realised how much you've been holding them back but after not hearing from your boyfriend in several hours, you're definitely not surprised.

Heeseung has never left your messages unopened for longer than hour, even when he was heads deep in paper work, which is probably why his sudden lack of communication lays so heavy on your chest.

Too many anxious thoughts, worries and doubts have been plaguing your mind for the past few hours and it feels like your lungs are about to collapse from how hard you've been trying to take proper breaths. You know your attachment to him isn't healthy, yet you're aware it's the suddenness of his behavior which has you this stressed.

You'd never question his loyalty or doubt his words, but every time you reread your messages from the previous night you simply can't help but wonder if something you had said or texted had flipped a switched in him, resulting in this painful distance.

"Hey, look at me", Jungwon's stern tone suddenly pulls you out of this dark hole you've been burying yourself in for who knows how long and with big, teary eyes you look at him and subconsciously start imitating the way he's deeply inhaling and exhaling.

Only a few minutes into the breathing exercise do you realise what he's doing and when your lungs finally start filling with oxygen again, you trust yourself enough to speak.

"Seungie hasn't texted me back all morning", you whisper, for some reason a little ashamed and embarrassed for your intense reaction, only for Wonie's expression to soften as he pulls you into his strong arms and places a soft kiss on your forehead.

"It's his first day off in a week, babe", your best friend begins calmly, "he's probably still asleep."

You nod and try your best to believe his words, but for some reason your gut feeling denies those thoughts with too much conviction, resulting in yet another sob to fall from your lips.

"Do you want me to call one of the boys and see if everything's okay?" His suggestion leaves you in actual shock. Not in a million years would you have thought of this and now, on top of shame and embarrassment, you simply feel stupid for reacting the way you did.

"Hold on, I'll get my phone from the bathroom and give Yunie a call", Jungwon smiles at you and casually wipes the tears from your cheeks, his comforting touch easing the tension in your body and with a grateful nod, yet no words, you watch him make his way into the hallway.

With a soft sigh you try to collect yourself, not even wanting to know what you currently look like because you can actually feel the mental exhaustion make its way to your outward appearance.

You hate the way your brain works. Always opting for the worst case scenarios instead of going easy on yourself and if your boyfriend wasn't Lee Heeseung, you're pretty sure you wouldn't have had these suspicions. With him it's either fearing for his physical well-being or assuming he's actually grown tired of you after not even a month.

All of a sudden you find yourself questioning yourself, him, the past few weeks, every single word you two have exchanged, yet nothing seems enough to calm the storm in your head.

The knock on your hotel room door manages to distract you from those mean thoughts and once you hear Jungwon's voice from the bathroom, you take another deep breath and finally get up. For a moment you wonder who it could be, only to shake your head in annoyance at yourself for your thought process, knowing there's just another staff member on the other side of the door trying to do their job.

However, when you swing the door open, there's a face way too familiar to your tired eyes and with furrowed brows you look at the tall business major in front of you, trying your best to understand what's actually happening.

Maybe you've actually gone insane and your brain is imagining things. Things such as Lee Heeseung, the boyfriend you haven't heard from in hours, standing right in front of you with a bouqet of flowers, coffee and the biggest smile on his handsome face.

"Do you want me to leave again?"

His voice sends jolts of excitement through your exhausted body and as soon as you fully realise it's actually him, you slap your hand over your mouth and stare at him like you just saw a ghost.

"Hee...Seung?"

The heaviness on your chest finally vanishes, oxygen filling every bit of your lungs and none of those worries, doubts or dark thoughts are anywhere to be found in your head, leaving you completely free from all pain as you look at the love of your life through your teary gaze.

"Hey, princess."

Heeseung feels a little hesitant because for some reason he can't read your body language as well as usual; the exhaustion from his flight and all those feelings about your possible reactions finally getting the best of him and the longer you stand there doing absolutely nothing, he can't help but think his biggest fears of your rejection have actually come true.

You did say you wished he was there but maybe you only said it to make him feel less lonely or because that's what one would say to their partner. Maybe you wanted to spend some quality time with your best friend without your boyfriend, despite the fact the two of you can't even leave your apartment because it's too risky.

But before Heeseung's chest can tighten even further, you throw your arms around his neck and finally pull him into the hug he's been dreaming about for the past four days.

Jungwon's quick to take the flowers and coffee from his cousin and as soon as Heeseung's strong arms sling around your waist, a soft sob falls past your lips at the comforting feeling of home embracing you.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You chuckle and pull away just enough to look at him, quickly taking in the gentle blush painting the apples of his cheeks as well as the tip of his nose in the sweetest shade of pink.

"God, I love it when you swear like that", Heeseung whispers and allows his hands to find home on your hips, gently kneading the soft flesh in his palms as he tries his best to stay calm.

"Wonie told me to come here and spend New Year's Eve with you", your boyfriend begins and pushes a few strands of hair out of your face, his rings cold against the warm skin of your face, "so I told the Sunghoon Wonie gifted it to me as a belated christmas present and he believed it."

"He knows how broke Jungwon is", you say, confused about how your brother has been way less suspicious than you're used to, something you can't quite understand since he's one of the most attentive people you know.

"Baby, he's so in love with his girlfriend, I'm honestly glad he still knows his name", Heeseung chuckles and places a soft kiss on your forehead, "they even prolonged their couple's trip for two more days and when I asked him why, he said he can't get enough of her. A little cheesy if you asked me."

For some reason your brain doesn't bother processing what your boyfriend has just told you about your brother, the only thing in the center of your attention being the way his lips have never looked as pretty and kissable as they do in this particular moment.

"Eyes on me, princess", his soft demand lets you know how obvious you were being and with a soft gasp you pull your bottom lip between your teeth and meet his dark gaze, something you've missed way too much these past few days.

"Good girl."

"Stop that", you quickly bury your face in the crook of his neck, tightening your grip on his puffer jacket as you try to calm yourself down, the sudden waves of arousal easily overwhelming your sensitive body.

"Don't be such a baby, pretty girl", Heeseung chuckles and takes your face into his big hand, moving the two of you into your hotelroom before he closes the door behind himself and gently pushes you against the wall, pressing his whole body into yours until not even a thin piece of paper would fit between the two of you.

"I mean, you're my baby", he suddenly adds and now he's the one to hide his face in the warm crook of your neck, inhaling your scent he's been craving way too much for his own mental stability, "but we both know you can take a little bit of teasing, don't you?"

"No", you quickly whisper and pull off his beanie to grab a fistful of his dark hair to find the very much needed hold to stop yourself from falling to your knees.

"Fuck, I've missed you so much."

His voice is deep and raspy and you can feel his hard cock pressing against your lower tummy, leaving you lightheaded and on the verge of just ignoring your best friend's presence.

"But we gotta wait until later tonight", Heeseung suddenly says and pulls away, yet again taking your face into his cold hands, "I don't want to traumatize Jungwon, he'd never have us hear the end of it."

"Thank you very much", your best friend suddenly yells from the other room and you both burst into soft chuckles before Heeseung pulls you into a soft, yet hungry kiss, gently grazing your tongue with his and pulling it between his lips and suck on the hot muscle just enough to elicit a tiny whimper from your throat.

"I love you so much, my pretty girl", Seung's words are genuine and soft, happen to be the reason why the last bits of heaviness on your chest as well as your mind finally disappear and after days of being apart from each other, you feel a wave of relief wash over you.

"I love you, too", you whisper and caress his cheeks, "so fucking much."

As the two cousins catch up, you get enough time to get changed and ready for your day out, since you had arranged a lunch date with your best friend's roommates and neither one of you has had anything to eat yet.

You can't help the big smile remaining on your face as you're applying the last few touch ups on yourself, the thought of spending time with your boyfriend without having to worry about anyone seeing or recognizing the two of you giving you way too much hope, which you decide not to question for your own sanity's sake.

By the time you join the boys in the main part of your hotel room, Seung is quick to reach for your hand and guide you to stand in between his spread legs, his dark eyes hungrily roaming your body and taking in the way your cute little outfit is hugging every single curve of your body in just the right way.

"Take your hands off of her ass right now or I'm gonna throw the fuck up", Jungwon's sudden aggression has you burst into laughter yet again and after a gentle kiss, you all make your way down to the lobby, Heeseung never once letting go of your hand until you step out into the cold december air to open the foor to his rental car.

The lunch passes by rather quickly, the boys being just as surprised to see Jungwon's infamous cousin with his arm thrown over your shoulder, only for both of them to give you a big thumbs up when they realise the situation.

After spending a good five hours with your best friend and his roommates, you decide to part ways for the rest of the night, Jungwon not hesitating to push a condom into your purse as he talks about not being ready for uncle duties just yet.

At first you're both a little lost about what to do, neither one of you ever having been to Daegu before and even if you've spent the past four days here, you can barely remember all the places your best friend had shown to you.

After visiting a few famous food spots and tourist attractions which happened to be in close proximity, you both decide to bask in the fresh air by going on a walk at park close to your hotel. It doesn't take long for Seungie to spot the basketball court at the end of the street, a bunch of guys your age yelling each others' names back and forth all while doing the same with a basketball.

"Do you wanna play a few rounds with them, my love?", you ask your boyfriend calmly, loving the way he's still holding onto your hand in the pocket of his puffer jacket, his big bambi eyes finding yours and you're pretty sure this is the first time in years you've seen him as carefree and relaxed as this.

Not having to hide or be careful has given the both of you a fake sense of security you're growing way too attached to, considering it'll be a whole new story as soon as you go back to Seoul, but for now you allow yourself to enjoy every minute of it.

"But what about you, Baby?" He asks carefully and you hate how much his voice effects you. There's absolutely no reason for him to get to you the way he does, way too intense and way too deep.

"You know I love watching my captain play", you reply with a big smile, "I'll cheer you on from the sidelines."

"You're the best girlfriend ever", Heeseung chuckles and gives you a quick kiss on the forehead, "but promise me you'll tell me once it gets too cold, yeah?"

After making your pinky promise, you both approach the group of guys, all of them turning out to be students at Jungwon's university, one of them even recognizing you from your best friend's instagram stories and as soon as Heeseung tells them about his position on his own team, they basically fight about who gets to play with him.

You get comfortable on the bench right next to their things, shooting your boyfriend a big smile and a wave whenever his gaze falls on you to make sure you're not freezing to death.

Every now and then you take a few pictures of Heeseung in his element, yet most of the time you're mesmerized and fascinated by the way he plays with such precision, making sure to stay true to his title with ease.

About an hour into the first round, the boys decide to take a much needed break, where Heeseung gets into a conversation with the oldest of them, who just so happens to be a fellow captain and ace, while you casually scroll on instagram and reply to your girls' texts as well as sending Ning a quick message to ask her about her roadtrip with your brother.

You don't pay much attention to the young students around you, all of them just chatting or resting, laughter erupting every now and then, only for your brain to filter everything out but a particular duo's conversation.

At first you're confused, only to realise they're talking about you; a wave of discomfort washing over you as soon as the realisation hits.

You try your best not to listen to them, however – much to your dismay – the two boys aren't really quiet or subtle about their current conversation topic.

"Do you think they're together?" One of them says, his eyes roaming your side profile shamelessly, meanwhile the other one has already stepped back far enough to look you straight in the face.

"Nah, bro", his friend replies casually, "he would have claimed her if she was his. Who wouldn't with a girl this fine."

You let out a shaky sigh, your eyes remaining focused on your boyfriend who's still attentively listening to the fellow captain in front of him. For some reason you want to get up and either give them a piece of your mind, escape the situation completely or go up to Heeseung and do what he apparently was supposed to do.

Seung has never believed in anything such as seventh sense, always used to shrug it off when people told him about it. Yet, ever since you came back into his life, he had actually started doubting his initial mindset, mostly because of the way his heart starts racing and his brain basically screams at him to check up on you, as if he could subconsciously sense your discomfort, sadness or anything that's not absolute happiness.

And as this weird feeling slowly finds its way into his gut, he catches himself losing focus on his current conversation, politely nodding and agreeing with the guy in front of him, all while desperately trying to catch a glimpse of you through his peripheral vision.

As soon as one of the boys calls out for their captain, Heeseung takes the opportunity and quickly excuses himself, only for several jolts of anger rushing through his veins when he's met with those two guys blocking you from his sight. Heeseung doesn't have to see you to know you're uncomfortable and no matter how much he tries to calm himself down, he simply can't help but firmly push one of them just far away enough from you to be on eye level with them.

"Is there a fucking problem, boys?" His voice is strained and from the way his hands are balled into fists, you can tell just how tense he is, quickly jumping onto your feet, yet not getting the chance to say anything to calm your boyfriend down.

"Hm, not quite", the taller one of them replies casually yet again, "pretty girl's just a little stubborn. All we did was ask for her instagram."

"Are you too stupid to understand a simple 'no'? Back the fuck off", Heeseung presses through gritted teeth and you can't help but feel anxious as all the possible outcomes of this situation fill your head.

"Woah, we got a bodyguard on our hands", the one with the shaved head chuckles and rolls his eyes, neither one of those two guys aware what they're actually dealing with and all of a sudden you think of all the times Heeseung turned out to be the one to end a fight his boys had started.

"Not a bodyguard but her boyfriend", Seung states proudly, his head held up high as he eyes the boys' reaction and you genuinely hate the way something cramps up in your lower tummy in response to his words.

"Oh, no", the tall one says in faux mockery, "now we're so scared! Please, don't hurt us!"

"I really don't have the nerve to deal with children like you", Heeseung grunts and takes his jacket from your arms, making sure to keep you firmly hidden behind his tall frame and you take a deep breath as you try to tell yourself your boyfriend has it all under control.

"Tell your captain I said thank you for the game. Now fuck off or I'll rearrange those teeth." Heeseung seems way too calm and collected for someone who's as mad as he is and you know he's doing it to provoke them.

"You and this pretty girl aren't going anywhere", the one with the shaved head suddenly spits and reaches for Seung's collar, only for him to grab his wrist and twist his arm behind his back, quickly knocking his head against the pole of the basketball hoop with a loud bang.

The suddenness of it all takes you by surprise and you couldn't have held your audible gasp back even if you had tried to.

Heeseung calmly leans down as he places his chin on the boy's shoulder, whispering another threat into his ear, yet loud enough for you to hear.

"Don't make me bring your mother into this. I don't like repeating myself so this is the last time I'm telling you and big boy right there to fuck. Off. Got it?"

You carefully watch the way the tall one goes to help his friend, who's currently trying his best to keep up his tough exterior, only for his face to contort in agony from the pain in his bloody nose.

Not a single word is being exchanged between the two of you, Heeseung firmly holding onto your hand as he tries to calm himself down but you can tell how angry he is at himself for not acting on his gut feeling a little earlier. His habit of putting the whole blame on himself breaking your heart, bringing back the memories from all the times he used to punish himself for simple human behavior and mistakes.

However, you don't push him. After knowing him for a while, you know how to read his body language just as well as he does yours and as the two of you enter the elevator to your hotel room, you can tell how tense and agitated he is.

There's no point in talking to him in this particular moment but you'd be dammed if you didn't try your best to distract him from those mean thoughts once it's really just the two of you.

As soon as the two of you walk through the door into your hotelroom, you attentively watch your boyfriend slowly get rid of his clothes, revealing his strong body to your hungry eyes within just a few minutes and for a moment you actually forget about his current emotional state.

"I'm gonna hop in the shower really quick", he announces and approaches the bathroom, avoiding your gaze carefully and you know it's because he's feeling ashamed for things his own mind had come up with.

"Do I not get a kiss?" You smile and look up at him after taking off your own jacket, your whole body welcoming the warmth of your cozy room after a whole day of coldness.

"Of course, angel girl", he finally sighs and takes a whole of two steps before he comes to stand in front of you, dressed in nothing but his black oversized shirt and boxershorts, "anything for my princess."

Heeseung takes his time to look at you, his heart craving the sight of your pretty eyes, the ones he'd dream of every night for the past decade, hoping that one day the adoration and love would belong to him and him only. And as his gaze roams your face attentively, he realises his dream had become reality, yet those dark thoughts in his brain still refused to let him indulge in the warmth and comfort of your gaze.

So, after a quick but firm kiss on your lips, he places another one on your forehead before he turns around and makes his way back to the bathroom.

This time you can't help but let out a soft sigh of defeat, trying your best to come up with ways to have him loosen up, only for your eyes to land on the hot tub on the balcony your boyfriend had insisted was a necessity when he booked your hotelroom for you.

You weren't planning on using it when you were all alone since the thought of being in a hot tub by yourself felt a little weird, yet now that your boyfriend is actually here with you, you're determined to make the best of it.

With a big smile you quickly go to turn it on, knowing it'll be just hot enough by the time Heeseung is done with his shower and hopefully this will help him get rid of all those doubtful thoughts in his head.

Once you've also gotten rid of all your clothes, you opt for the silk robe you had brought along because you knew your best friend would show up at the earliest hours of the dsy and you definitely wouldn't have felt like changing into proper clothes just yet.

You patiently wait for your boyfriend, anticipation and excitement rushing through your body at the thought of what might happen tonight depending if he'll actually be in the mood or not.

Heeseung usually never takes long showers, but tonight, of all days, he feels like the hot water splashing against his skin is the only thing to calm his anger. He's very much aware of his sudden shift in mood has you on the edge, yet no matter how hard he tries, he simply can't calm himself down. The whole scenario of those little boys cornering and making you uncomfortable never once leaving his head and for a moment he's actually afraid he might spiral back into this dark hole he had barely made it out of after you had left for Daegu a few days ago.

Seung doesn't even realise just how much time passes until the soft knock on the bathroom door finally pulls him back into reality.

"Are you okay?"

Your gentle voice is just loud enough for it to make its way through the loud stream of the shower head, as well as Heeseung's thoughts and with a soft sigh, he finally decides to turn the water off and accept his defeat of the night.

Being with you is going to distract him, he can just go back to these demons once you've fallen asleep. Heeseung won't let them take away some of his precious time with you, which is why he doesn't waste another minute and before you can lift your hand to knock again, he swings the door open and doesn't even realise what the sight of him in nothing but a towel does to your poor heart.

"Oh", you whisper and press your thighs together, averting your gaze to the floor to calm your racing heart and that's when Heeseung remembers what you do to him, because all of a sudden nothing but you and your sweet reactions matter.

"Eyes up here, pretty girl", he calmly says, his own gaze roaming your pretty body with nothing but hunger and want oozing from those brown orbs and with a harsh gulp you lift your head.

"Good girl."

"S-Stop", you whimper and bury your face in his wet chest, loving the way his hot skin feels against your own, "do you wanna go watch the stars in the hot tub?"

Your question surprises him, but in the best way possible.

With a soft chuckle Heeseung wraps his arms around your shoulders and guides the two of you back into the main part of your hotel room.

"I didn't bring my swimwear", he then states and looks at you with raised brows, knowing exactly what you've got on that pretty mind of yours, yet still waiting for you to say it out loud.

"Me neither", you finally say and look at him with glossy eyes, "we're far up enough to uhm – not be seen by others. Do you think we could just get in naked?"

"Of course, princess", Heeseung quickly responds and reaches for your hand, pulling you towards the balcony behind him before he pushes the door to the side and quickly closes it again.

It doesn't take either of you longer than a minute to be overwhelmed by the cold december air and before your brain can let the shame and embarrassment take over, you find yourself comfortably nestled in the hot water, right next to your boyfriend.

"What a shame it's so cold", Heeseung sighs and gets comfortable on one of the little benches inside the tub, "but it's okay, I'll just eat your cute pussy when we're back inside."

Those words send hot jolts of arousal down your spine and before you can think of anything else, you straddle his lap and crash your lips against his in a hungry kiss.

Heeseung can't stop the deep grunt from bubbling up his throat, the noise quickly swallowed by your hungry mouth as you pull his tongue between your lips and start sucking the way you know he loves it.

Neither one of you points out his hard cock firmly pressing against your lower tummy, both too caught up with savoring each other's taste as much as possible.

Your kisses grow hungrier, needier, more desperate by the minute and with every swipe of his tongue inside of your mouth, you push your hips harder against his, grinding your needy gunt against his rock hard length and shamelessly whimpering against his plump lips.

"Fuck, I've missed you, Baby", Heeseung whispers as his lips find their way down your jawline to your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses on your hot skin.

His hands are nervously roaming your body, kneading and groping every bit of soft flesh he can grasp and by the time they finally find their way to your sensitive breasts, you can't help but throw your head back with a loud moan.

"Now, now, princess", he chuckles and takes one of your perked nipples into his hot mouth, sucking gently while his other hand gently kneads the soft flesh of your tits, giving you just enough stimulation to leave you completely lightheaded.

"Not too loud yeah? Wouldn't want anyone to hear those sweet noises", he grunts and bites down just hard enough to send shivers down your body, "they're mine. Everything about you belongs to me, princess. And you know I hate sharing."

"All yours", you moan right into his ear, loving the way his cock twitches underneath you as soon as your words reach him, "only yours."

"That's my good girl." Heeseung groans at the way you're grinding against his sensitive cock, his hand quickly sneaking between the two of you and underneath the water, every bit of self control slowly leaving his body and just as he pushes two of his long fingers into your tight cunt, the realisation hits him.

"I don't have a condom here", he growls and throws his head back in annoyance, yet his words don't seem to be important enough to fight their way through the thick cloud of arousal clouding your brain.

"I don't care", you whisper and slowly ride his fingers, the penetration as eell as the feeling of his palm firmly pressed against your sensitive clit leaving you conpletely breathless.

"No, Baby", he suddenly whispers and grabs your face with his free hand, knowing you have to look at him to understand the severity of the situation.

"If I fuck you raw I won't ever want to go back and my pull out game is basically non-existent with you", he wanrs and ppukls his fingers out of your cunt, almost giving into your protesting whimpers yet too aware of the danger your little game comes with.

"But Seungie–", "Don't beg me, princess. One day I'm going to fill you up with my cum until you can't take it anymore but we're both not ready for a mini-me, please don't tempt me."

For some reason his words have wamrth blossoming in your chest, the thought of Lee Heeseung being the father to your children a daydream you've always kept way too close to your heart and the longer you look at him, the more you want to actually dismiss his warnings and just beg for it.

But he's right. One day you'll get what you're asking for right now but not tonight.

With a soft sigh you nod and pull away, Heeseung not watsing another second as he jumps out of the tub just to return with a few condoms in his hand a few seconds later.

"Get up here, princess", he demands softly and you look at him with raised brows, not quite understanding his request.

"I need to eat that pretty cunt right now, it's been way too long and I wanna cum with your taste on my tongue", he grunts and gulps harshly, his whole face flushed and big bambi eyes basically wide open.

"Please, Baby", your usually so calm and collected boyfriend begs softly, something you should have grown used to by now since you've noticed how needy and desperate he seems to get whenever it's about burying his head between your legs.

"I promise I'll make it quick", this time you can't stop the soft whimper to fall from your lips in response to his little whine, "not gonna make you cum. I just want a taste, please."

And who on their right mind would ever deny him a request so sweet?

The fact Heeseung eats pussy for his own pleasure is probably one of the most important reasons as to why you can't ever say no to him, watching the way he loses himself in the way you taste never once failing to push you over the edge.

And just as usual, it doesn't take much more convincing than that, as you climb onto the edge of the tub to spread your legs and put your pussy on full display for your boyfriend's hungry eyes.

Without missing another beat, Heeseung throws your legs over his shoulders and quickly gets to work, sucking your sensitive clit into his mouth after licking his way up from your tight hole.

You can barely catch your breath from how vigorously he's eating you out, let alone realise just how cold it actually is.

However, Heeseung is too attentive to miss the way the goosebumps never once leave your body, which is why he decides to keep his meal even shorter than he had initially planned, not wanting to risk anything.

"Come into the water, angel girl", he whispers softly and pulls away, quickly taking you into his arms and making sure your whole body is in the hot embrace before he pushes your legs apart and reaches for one of the condoms.

At this point you're way too far gone to care about anything; not even the fact that your possible audience is way bigger than you would have expected and for the first time in your life you physically can't get yourself to care enough.

The thought of having Heeseung claim you in front of so many strangers actually has your cunt clenching in despair.

"I wanna ride you", you suddenly whisper, your body acting on your random thoughts before your brain has the chance to intervene and at your request Heeseung simply stops mid stroke.

His cock twitches so hard in his fist, he actually feels the condom slip from his grip and with a deep grunt he buries his face in the crook of your neck and takes a deep breath.

You've been on top before, however Seung quickly realised that this new found position, one he had always refused to get in with his previous partners, has quickly become his favorite, as well as his biggest weakness. Every time you rode him he noticed how all the stamina he had worked so hard to obtain all these years seemed to simply disappear.

Maybe it's the way you look like an actual angel when you're lowering yourself onto his thick cock, your whines getting louder with each inch, or maybe it's the way you never look anywhere but his eyes when you're taking him liie the good girl you are but either way it never fails to make him absolutely weak.

"Don't worry", you suddenly say and take his face into your palms, placing the softest kiss on his lips before guiding him to sit back onto the little bench and quickly straddling his lap again, your patience running way too thin after four whole days of feeling emptier than ever, "I don't give a fuck about how long you last. Please, Seungie, I just wanna feel you inside of me again."

And now it's Heeseung who physically can't control the moans from rolling off his tongue, his head thrown back, messy hair sticking to his damp forehead as he digs his fingers into your hips and tries his best to stay calm.

He's lost every bit of composure already and if it wasn't for the possibility of people actually hearing the two of you, he would have been the loudest he's ever been.

You attentively watch the way he slowly cocks his head to the side as you reach in between your bodies and wrap your hand around his cock, guiding him to the entrance of your cunt and slowly lowering yourself onto his lengths with a soft hiss.

You both gasp for air as soon as his tip stretches you out just enough to send tiny waves of pain through your veins, yet not enough to actually hurt you.

"Oh, fuck", Heeseung groans and tightens his grip on your hips to stop himself from thrusting the whole of his cock into the sweetness of your cunt, "I've missed this pretty pussy so much, Baby."

"M-More, Seungie", you beg softly, knowing his dirty words never fail to distract you from the slight discomfort the first few seconds of being penetrated come with.

"That's my good girl", Heeseung doesn't hesitate as he gently wraps his hand around your throat, his grip lose yet the feeling of his every day rings against your hot skin easily pushing you further into the sweet haze of your arousal, "you always take my cock so well, angel. Making me so proud."

"Oh?" You gasp and look up at him with glossy eyes, still not quite used to hearing such gentle and genuine words of affirmation and appreciation from basically anyone.

Damn your stupid family for never giving you any validation and attention in your childhood.

Neither one of you dares to avert their gaze from the other one's face, Heeseung calmly taking in the way your pretty features contort in pleasure with each inch of his cock and by the time his thick tip finally grazes the entrance to your womb, you both let out the breaths neither one of you knew you were holding.

"S-So big", you breathe and let your eyes roll into the back of your head when Heeseung's cock twitches in response to your words, "I missed you so much."

"Me, too, princess", Seung grunts and pulls you into a sloppy kiss, his hands finding home in the soft flesh of your ass as he tries to make you move, knowing he'll actually last even less if you keep clenching around him the way you do right now.

You still take your time to find a good rhythm, grinding yourself against his hips after every single movement, your hands firmly pressed against his chest and your head thrown back in pure ecstasy.

Heeseung can barely keep his eyes open, yet forces himself to because the sight of your pretty tits bouncing up and down every time you move is something he won't ever grow tired of.

To his own surprise he finds himself lasting a lot longer than expected, even despite the merciless movements of your hips and constant convulsions of your tight cunt around his cock.

"You're close, aren't you, pretty girl?"

He actually doesn't need you to answer his question, your high pitched moans of his name and your tight grip in his hair are more than enough to give away just how close you are, yet Heeseung would never miss an opportunity to hear you use such dirty words.

"Yes – fuck – yes, Seungie, so fucking close", you whimper and pick up the pace of your movements, switching between grinding your hips harder against his and slamming yourself down his length sloppily, "please, I want it so bad. Need you to make me cum, please."

Your little begs are more than enough for the young captain, one of his hands finding their way around your neck again, while the other disappears in the water to rub firm circles into your hardned clit, giving you just the last bits of stimulation you need.

"Look at me, angel girl", Heeseung presses through gritted teeth, the taste of his own orgasm coating the tip of his tongue yet holding onto the last bits of his patience with his whole strength, "I wanna see what only I can do to you. Come on, be good for me yeah?"

You hectically start nodding in response to his demand, your eyes rolling back yet again but finding his each time and as soon as Heeseung gently tightens his grip around your neck, the struggle to breathe properly finally pushes you over the edge and with a moan way too loud for your current location the coil in your lower tummy snaps.

Usually Heeseung takes it easy once you're cumming around his cock, simply because he wants to watch the way you fall apart for him, but this time there's absolutely no chance he can hold himself back any longer. Four days without the pussy of his dreams have barely been bearable and after fucking his fist to the sound of your whimpers and moans only, he willingly accepts the sweet relief rushing through his veins all the way into his toes.

With a row of loud moans of your name and another set of praising words, Heeseung finally buries his face in the crook of your neck and spills every last drop of his cum into the condom, something he's usually dreading but happens to be too tired to overthink.

"Fuck, that was good", Heeseung groans and pulls the two of you a little further under the water, the sudden lack of movement reminding you just how cold it actually is.

"Good job, champ", you reply playfully and love the way your boyfriend throws his head back before he bursts into genuine laughter, a sound so sweet and precious, you catch yourself savoring every single second of it.

Neither one of you bothers to get dressed after your joined shower, just climbing underneath the sheets and embracing each other's warmth and enjoying the feeling of finally being this close again.

You feel your lids growing heavier by the second, your face deeply buried in your boyfriend's neck as he talks to your brother on the phone, his arm firmly wrapped around your shoulders to press you even closer to his body and you can't help but smile to yourself.

"Y/N? Oh, I don't know", Heeseung suddenly says and you hate how he suddenly tenses up at your brother mentioning you to his best friend, "we're staying at the same hotel but I didn't talk to her after we got to our rooms."

You know how much your boyfriend hates lying to his best friend but for some reason you can't get yourself to actually feel guilty about it because the mere thought of your brother's reaction to the truth has your heart dropping to your stomach. For now, this is how things are going to go and you can't even lie and say you're rushing to tell your sibling about your relationship to his bestest of friends, simply because you know how much more difficult this will be for the boys than for you.

"It'll be okay, Baby", you whisper against the skin of his neck after Heeseung ends the call, weird tension lingering in the air but as soon as he reaches for your chin to look into your eyes, you feel it vanish just as fast as it had apprared a few seconds ago.

"We'll be okay, princess. It's not going to be easy but at the end of the day we'll be alright. And most importantly: I'm always going to be by your side. You're my home, my safe haven, my first and only love. You're everything I've ever wanted and I hope you know you're worth every single fight."

And just as usual, you don't doubt a single one of his words, despite the gentle pain libgering in his soft gaze, you know Heeseung's telling you nothing but the truth. His own way of letting you know not to worry about your rank in choice. Because Sunghoon might be his bestest of friends, his soul twin and the guy he'd walk over fire for, but there's nobody he'd choose over you, his everything.

← 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

(A/N: Thank you guys sm for being so patient, I really appreciate it so much. Sending everyone kisses and lots of love, I hope you guys know how much I appreciate the love and support you've been sending my way all this time. Feedback, asks, comments and reblogs are always appreciated my sweet loves!🧸💗)

TAGLIST CLOSED: @soonigiri @thvhannie @enhaz1 @kpoprhia @abrazosolorcereza @deobitifull @mixtape-racha @certifiedmoa @jungwon-xo @hoonieluv @enhamysunshines @jaehoonii @pussyslayerhd @ineedsomezzz @neocockthotology @heerinnie @onionzzzs @hee-pster @3amstarlight @xxxxrvexxxx @primroselover @mimikittysblog @iea-tsand @lhspeachie @xiaoderrrr @viagumi @smg-valeria @kells5595 @heeseunghee7 @xrvrqs @ddazed-lhs @heebrry @fakeuwus @dammit-jjk @ivyannemarie @thekinkpopstandsforkrackheads @s00buwu

#enhypen social media au #enhypen smut #heeseung smut #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung social media au #lee heeseung x reader #enhypen writers #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #heeseung smau #heeseung social media au

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kagiura-akira · 7 days

Text

my ASMR boyfriend

Rating: PG for Hirano's vocabulary

Words: 2100ish

Still a wip, so this is absolutely a placeholder title. This is likely going to be a long one-shot, so it'll be a bit before I properly post. But I wrote some stuff and wanted to share cause the kghr asmr AU has been plaguing my mind for a few days now and I had a productive write or die session this evening and I liked the sasawarano friendship interactions.

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Hirano Taiga has never been very good at thinking. Or rather, he's too good at thinking. Doesn't know how to stop. Now in his second year of high school, every possible thought plagues him late at night. What should he do about his paper due for English next week? He hasn't decided a topic yet. What is he going to write for his summer reflection homework? What would he even say? That he studied at the library all summer? It's not like he lives a particularly exciting life, despite how active his mind is.

Lying wide awake, thinking about school, life, his future, Hirano doomscrolls through his phone for probably a good hour or two before he decides he should try to get some sleep. It's just after midnight, and he has to wake up early to tutor Sasaki and Ogasawara tomorrow morning. So he lies there, tossing and turning, trying to shut off his brain, but all he can think about is everything he needs to remember to do in the morning.

Did he include everything he was supposed to in the flashcards he made for them?

Did he remember to pack his statistics notebook?

What about his summer break homework?

His mind won't shut up. Hell, he doesn't even think about the same topic for more than 30 seconds.

While he’s used to scrolling through his social media feeds endlessly, he doesn’t find anything particularly intriguing or thought provoking this time, so his mind starts to drift again. He can't concentrate on any one thing in particular, and he's not even conscious of the way he switches between apps — it’s just muscle memory. Twitter feed? Garbage. Instagram? Great for a few reels and not much more. Facebook? Nah, that’s mostly full of his relatives bickering or posting complaints about their neighbors. Without any real aim, he opens the Youtube app on his phone. Then, as he's scrolling through some random Youtube shorts, a handsome guy with brown hair and deep chocolate brown eyes to match catches his attention. He’s advertising a full length video for his channel.

"Can't sleep? Listen to this video to fall asleep instantly," the caption says, emphasis on the “instantly.” There’s a brief preview in the short, and Hirano is intrigued but hesitant. It seems kind of odd. Is this that ASMR thing he’s heard some people talk about? His classmates always referred to it like it was the most cringeworthy content in the depths of the internet, so his finger hovered over the link for a bit. Best case scenario, it’s exactly what it says it is, and Hirano falls asleep before 3 AM for the first time in weeks. Worst case scenario, it’s some weird video from a creepy dude on the internet and it doesn’t put him to sleep, but realistically, he’s not sleeping anyway, so giving it a chance seems like the right thing to do. What could possibly go wrong? Hirano doesn't know what to expect when he opens the full video, but it starts off simple enough.

"Hi, welcome back to my channel," the boy whispers into an expensive-looking microphone with a fluffy wind muff, gently cupping the side of it. "Tonight, we'll be reading the tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter," he says. He opens an old picture book with an English title and a couple of rabbits on the cover: a mother rabbit dressed in a full-length dress and apron and a little rabbit in a blue sweater and rainboots standing next to her.

‘Guess we’re reading a children’s book tonight, then,’ Hirano thinks.

When the guy opens to the first page, the text is in English, too. Hirano wasn't expecting to listen to an English bedtime story told by a Japanese Youtuber tonight, but realistically, he hadn’t expected to end up on this side of the internet at all.

“Once upon a time, there were four little rabbits, and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter...”

Hirano gets the jist of the story if he closes his eyes, but he has to focus hard on the audio for even a vague understanding. There are Japanese subtitles, though, so rather than struggle to follow, he reads along with the captions. He’s fluent enough in English thanks to the fact it’s compulsory at their school, but he’s unfamiliar enough that he only catches key verbs and nouns without the subtitles.

The guy’s voice is soft-spoken, yet still animated — a sweet and mellifluous timbre with a slightly low pitch, but not any lower than Hirano’s own voice. Half asleep, he thinks about how aptly titled the video is. This guy really knows his stuff. He’s probably one of those professional voice actors or something that does the recording for audio books. His voice is nice enough that he surely has to be.

"Peter never stopped running or looked behind him till he got home to the big fir-tree," he starts to round out the story. “He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand on the floor of the rabbit-hole and shut his eyes...”

It only takes the words “shut his eyes” for Hirano’s own to close, like he’s obeying a subtle instruction.

About thirty seconds later, he closes the story book, but the video doesn’t end there. Hirano is barely clinging to consciousness as the guy talks a little bit about the book and the four little rabbits, commenting on how naughty Peter was for not listening to his mother. While the reading of the story itself was somewhat formal in presentation (likely due to it being in English and being read by a narrator whose first language is probably Japanese), the talk afterward is incredibly candid. His voice is a little bit muffled by his mask, but he keeps his face close to the microphone, so while his voice isn't crystal clear, it’s still audible.

“The moral of the story is, ‘listen to your mother if you want blackberries and bread for dinner and don’t want to be sent to bed without food,’” he laughs softly. “I was a little scared for the rabbit, myself, since his dad had an accident in the garden. And it’s too bad he lost his little coat and shoes. They were so cute.”

He leafs through the pages of the book again to show his favorite illustrations as he talks about it, analyzes it a little bit. Maybe it’s a bit much for a story written for the sole purpose of entertaining a sickly child — there shouldn’t be too many hidden metaphors or intentional symbolism — but Hirano enjoys the rambling.

"I hope you enjoyed this story. It's one of my favorites," he says, starting to close out the video. Hirano can’t see him smile behind the mask, but his eyes are expressive enough that he can read his face well enough to know he is. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles sincerely. His voice is airy, like he’s mildly hypnotized by his own video. In the end, he’s just as relaxed as his viewers. Meanwhile, Hirano is somehow still awake, although just barely. He’s too fascinated by this boy and his voice.

"Good night," the brunette whispers over and over as the video gradually fades to black. And seconds later, Hirano's eyelids, heavy and tired, finally flutter closed. He drops his phone on the mattress next to his pillow, and just like that, he’s out like a lamp.

Probably the first time he'd slept more than five hours in a night, Hirano wakes up the next morning feeling more rested than he has for the last four years. He didn't have to walk too far to get to school, since he lives in the dorms, but he’s determined to leave early just in case, anyway. Not that Sasaki or Ogasawara would beat him there, but he has to get their notes and mini lectures ready.

If one didn't know better, they'd think Hirano was their teacher rather than a fellow classmate.

"Morning,” Hirano calls to Ogasawara as the latter pushes open the classroom door, dragging himself over to their desks near the window.

“Morning,” Ogasawara mumbles. “You're awfully chipper for 7 AM.”

“Guess I just slept well last night,” Hirano says. It’s just as Ogasawara says, though — he’s never been one for mornings, so to see him awake and not homicidal at such an early hour is a rarity.

"Sasaki’s on his way. Had to stop and take a piss since he didn’t roll out of bed till right before we got on the train," Ogasawara says with a yawn. "Thanks for doing this for us.”

Hirano laughs. "No problem. How long have I been helping you two now, anyway? I'm used to it."

“Yeah, I know, I owe you my life or something. Or at least, you can have Sasaki’s. I don’t want to think about what Eimi would say if I told her I sold my soul to you just pass my midterms.” Ogasawara shudders in response to a deeply buried traumatic thought resurfacing — a feeling that can only be understood by a fujoshi’s boyfriend.

Hirano pushes a stack of flashcards across the desk toward his friend, hoping it’ll keep him from going on about their latest fight. “Score above 80% and you can keep your soul,” he says, half-joking.

And when Ogasawara shuffles through the neatly printed and thoroughly organized deck of flashcards, he’s certain that he has, in fact, just made a deal with the devil.

“Let’s get to it, then.”

Later that night, as Hirano’s getting ready for bed, he opens up Youtube instead of his usual timelines. Looks up and down his suggested feed for the page of the guy he listened to last night, though he would easily find it if he would just look at the history on his phone. He’s surprisingly slow for someone with grades in the top 20 of his class — not exactly technologically savvy, despite his habit of looking through social media every night right before bedtime.

He scrolls through his feed, phone propped on his chest as it illuminates his face in the dark room. Desperate to find the channel, he searches, "bedtime rabbit story english japanese guy,” which does him no favors at all. Then, as if the algorithm gods have had enough of watching him struggle, it pops up as the first suggested video when he refreshes his suggested video feed for the 30th time that night. He makes sure to note the username, kgurbskt11. He isn’t sure how to read that, but at least he can’t forget such an oddly cryptic username.

First on the agenda: subscribe to the channel and bookmark it for later. He’d hate to have to go through all of this again next time he wants to watch his videos. Completely throwing caution to the wind, he scrolls through the videos for less than a few seconds before randomly tapping on one without looking at the title or thumbnail. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for — he just wants to hear something that’ll put him to sleep.

The random video is just a simple talking one, and rather than soft spoken, he spends much of the video whispering. The sound causes a tingling sensation to form at the back of his head, which then spreads over the rest of his scalp, and then down his spine. He jumps a little from the ticklish feeling it gives him, but once he’s used to it, he starts to unwind. The guy wasn't talking about anything spectacular, to be honest. Just the time he spends with his friends. There’s a story about his summer vacation and his younger sisters, and then a story about playing suikawari* at his family's estate with all of his extended family. He’s bubbly without being overwhelmingly energetic. A nice bit of rambling that has Hirano focused, but he isn't focused so much on the content of the story, this time, as he is on this boy's eyes.

Like last time, his eyes are expressive in a thousand different ways as he cycles through several emotions while recounting his summer vacation. The deep brown irises captivate Hirano, and soon he finds he isn't even listening or comprehending the words of the video anymore. And within 30 seconds of his eyes slowly starting to flutter closed, he’s abruptly awakened when he drops his phone on his face.

“Fuck,” he curses, rubbing his nose. When he returns his attention to the video, it’s a little easier to concentrate, but now he has to spend a little more time watching this channel now that he’s been awakened so abruptly. So he watches another video, only making it about five minutes in when he fell asleep for real (without dropping his phone on his face, this time).

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*Suikawari is a traditional Japanese game that involves splitting a watermelon with a stick while blindfolded

#hirano to kagiura #kagihira #hirano taiga #kagiura akira #hirakagi #my wips #hrkg asmr au

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choctalksalot · 6 months

Note

If Jake is based on archetype of Strong Female Character then I think he should get Evil Woman arc. Let him snap and go bananas. Sburb is his stage and he is gonna became a star, and break fourth wall and if needed all the walls. I just really want Jake to go batshit. And then better but first batshit. And fight with crockertier! Jane because I think it would help them both to have a proper scream match and some stabbing or two.

admission: i have let this ask stew in my drafts for months because i had exams, and also because i needed to fully process everything in this singular paragraph because it threw a wrench in my jello sack processor

so, in short:

thank you for this ask anon holy shit i love getting asks about this stuff i am full of words about it !! that being said

I AM QUESTIONING THE CLASSIFICATION OF HIM AS STRONG FEMALE CHARACTER. I AM SO VERY QUESTIONING IT

that statement triggered a fucking. sleeper agent in my brain because i disagree so hard so so hard, oh my god i'm. okay technically it's a half disagree. sliver of agreement in there but it's for a very specific scenario that I need TIME to explain (which i now have so Buckle Up)

if you want my aabsolute shortest shorty short response to this ask it's yes, i think jake deserves to go batshit insane, i would like nothing more than to see him be a petty deranged bitch. king shit honestly!! But Not In That Way Slash Manner. okay now WORDS

so, we have the idolization/I Know What You Are he has with lara croft. we have all his big talk about being an adventurer, we have fisticuffs and guns and sparring with a bot, but, as many posts before this have pointed out in much more depth than i can attempt to surmise, jake is not that. motherfucker is a coward, avoids conflict like the plague and plays up an oblivious front to dodge responsibility (god i still can't read the jane confession scene without screaming look at that fucking LIAR)!! a defining aspect of jake's character is his continuous lack of agency throughout the comic too, which is a rabbit hole i'm not going down for the sake of my sanity and your patience [:

point is, in the words of a shitton of other people: he's a hapless bimbo archetype, or at least attempts to embody it!!!!

he wants to be a strong female character, makes an idol out of an example of them (lara), but in the end the narrative itself bends backwards to call him pathetic. point and laugh at the moron in the piss coloured underpants. something something, yet another case of lost potential

there are specific circumstances under which jake does hit as a strong female character. that's getting old i'm gonna shorten that to sfc now. big thanks to tony crazyexdirkfriend for this perspective because the one angle where i can read jake as an sfc is from an extremely meta perspective, in reference to how he's built up to be someone with a lot of importance/skill/competence, while in reality his agency is pretty much moot. it's an empty label, all his "strength" is superficial and falls away once you look any deeper than the upper epidermis. that's neat as hell!!!! i don't think that's the take you were going for, but it is an angle i enjoy and appreciate <:

that being said, even with this and any accurate read of jake really, him having an evil woman arc will have to take place in a specific set of circumstances methinks,, like mfer is probably actively performing an insanity act for Some Reason, an angry tired jake is more likely to revert to sopping wet bawling retreat anger than anything else. letting him snap and go bananas will only work if you character arc his ass enough to change a fundamental part of him!!! and a crockertier scream match is more in jane's favour for. y'know all the years of being a vent box for him. which i don't think is accessible on a count of, y'know, Literal Mind Control

i am the no.2 supporter on the Let Jake Be Batshit train (only second because i know at least four people who'd tie for first) but i don't think he'd seek out attention from beyond the 4th wall. because he can't handle the pressure of being perceived. no walls have ever needed to be broken for jake english to be a star - he's always been performing!! for the people around him, for the narrative, to be the oblivious himbo that never meant to do any wrong. the core of jake english and what drives him to extremes has always been to be liked, and to be safe. maybe those two things are the same to him. it gets suffocating, y'know? and when something gets too much, jake does what he's always done: he runs.

so yeah, no, i don't think so. do let him be a catty bitch tho!! he deserves that [:

#choc talks #homestuck #hom3stuck #homestuck meta #jake english #dear god what have i done #most of this is nigh incoherent to me but eeehhhh fuck i need to get this out #hbluh

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yuri-for-businesswomen · 4 months

Note

hi again, I’m the anon who asked if I can ramble.

first off I just want to say thank you, you are very kind to each person who’s in your inbox and you are so incredibly smart. I wish you all the best in the upcoming year.

so, I have this problem - I get infatuated my men very quickly, even if I see them just one time and don’t talk to them. I’ve been in radical feminism for over 2 years now and thankfully, this problem has become less of a headache for me now. I’m very thankful to radfem for it. but still, just when I think I’m finally free from my obsession with guys, it starts again, every half a year or so. In summer I was obsessing with this one barista, I even initiated a conversation with him and asked for his number. I was very conflicted, because with a sober head I understood, that I don’t even like him. but it as a time when my dog died, I was highly apathetic and emotional. and I just kept fantasising about him.

and this is the core of the problem for me, I just keep imagining various romantic scenarios with guys. it started when I was an early teen. and the thing is, I don’t want to think about all that. I can’t seem to stop. it feels out of my control, it exhausts and haunts me, because who am I if I can’t even control my own thoughts ?? I don’t want to be romantically involved with these guys, but my brain seems to demand me I get infatuated with them.

and I’m getting reminded of that again, because there is again this one guy. also, so I don’t forget to mention. most of the time, the guys I’m getting obsessed over are ugly. like, literally. I’m seeing it with my sober head. but when I enter this state I don’t seem to notice it. I understand it’s because it feels safer this way, “crushing” on a guy who’s uglier.

I also understand partially where’s the root of a problem hides. I had an abusive and neglectful father. plus societal expectations. plus all of these romance movies and tropes, which most girls consume from an early stage of childhood. but I also had an abusive mother. and I don’t get this sort of thing with women. (Im bisexual). around a month ago I was questioning my bisexuality very hard, since I get so little crushes on women. but then I feel hard for one. It felt so freeing. finally getting real butterflies because of a real feeling towards a woman. not I man whom I imagined in my head. the thing is, I can’t even say I’m crushing hard on men. It doesn’t seem like a crush, it seems like an obsession.

I can’t even talk about it with my friends, since it seems batshit insane. but for these couple of days I had almost non stop intrusive romantic thoughts and imaginary scenarios with this one guy. and Jesus Christ, I’ve seen him for the second time yesterday, and I felt nothing towards him. but when I got home, the thoughts resumed. so much so that I didn’t know where to put myself. I even searched up his socials and thought of various plans of getting to talk to him more. but I don’t want to!!!! what the actual hell. I really don’t know how to stop it. these thoughts really plague my mind and scares me very much.

thank you again if you read all of that. you are a wonderful person.

hello, are you me?! it has gotten a bit better with age but i still get these weird obsessions (obsessions, not crushes as you fittingly put it) and start daydreaming about them meeting my parents and us marrying (i want neither of these things?!). im bisexual too and its more with men than women, i think for similar reasons as you, neglectful parents and being raised by the tv which promotes these (hetero) romantic ideas. the daydreaming doesnt bother me that much but i hate that i have issues acting normal around those people and also focus on my looks more. does it also lead to bad decisions? because if it doesnt i wouldnt worry too much about it. daydreaming can be comfort. looking up someones socials or asking for a number is also not that bad albeit i deeply understand it starts to get to you when you cant turn it off and it feels almost compulsory (had this too, i have concocted and partly realised some weird shenanigans to get closer to my obsession). since i really relate to this i can imagine you like me have made dumb and regretful decisions because of this in the past as you already sketched out.

how old are you? because for me it has definitely gotten better with age and also with dating more. i always felt like i was „behind“ my peers when it comes to being romantically involved with people and the older i got the less worried i was. radical feminism helped a lot too to see that this doesnt make me any less valuable. sorry im talking a lot about myself here but i just relate a lot! overall i dont think the obsessions are much to worry about but with everything you have shared i would say there are probably some deeper issues you have to work through (no shade the same applies to me). have you ever been in therapy or considered going? that might be a good start. and honestly talk to your friends about it. its not that weird! i have a friend who rejoices in my obsession stories and it has helped me feel better about it.

i hope this was any help to you, youre more than welcome to drop into my inbox again or send me a direct message!

#ask

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watermeloon314 · 1 year

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So once again I am plagued with the thoughts of these two idiots-

This is a braindump and it’s full of rambling and probably incoherent soooo apologies if it doesn’t make sense (Also spoilers for WOTFI 2021 if you’re new here)

So we all know that these two are gonna be canon at some point, it’s inevitable. BUT. I had a thought.

So far our track record of relationships (romantic wise) has not been...

...Er...

...the best, to say the least. That means that honestly Smg4 and Smg3 could go a couple ways. 1. We actually get a healthy and... not tragic relationship, which could go a few ways.

Scenario A: 3′s been in love for YEARS (since *cough* Snowtrapped *cough*) but 4 only just started falling so when 4 somehow get the balls to confess 3′s just like “JESUS CHRIST FINALLY” Scenario B: 3 or 4 accidentally confesses while they’re bickering (Extra points if it’s in front of the gang) Scenario C: Mario and Meggy get in on it, basically playing matchmaker for the two

Scenario D: Mario locks 3 and 4 in a room, thinking he’ll be able to recreate the Snowtrapped situation.... and it works-

There are SO MANY more but those are the ones I can think of.

2. Well... um... y’know... we could go the route of one of them dying. ( I don’t think Luke’s gonna kill his own character, so I think we know which one’s gonna go- I’M SORRY I HATE TO SAY IT TOO)

How would he die is the question though? Cause like- we could go so many different ways. We have the typical self sacrifice (Whether that be getting in front of harm’s way or having to die to stop the enemy, or on of the hundreds of other ways) I know it’s cliché but now I see 3 dying in 4′s arms and saying something like “After all, the villain doesn’t get the cute boy...” and I just- FUCK I REALLY NEED TO WRITE THIS BUT I DON’T HAVE A GOOD PLOT AND UUUUUUGH GOD WHY DOES MY BRAIN ONLY GIVE ME SNIPPETS AND NOT THE FULL THING

3. Or maybe I’m overthinking this WAY TOO MUCH and they’re just gonna be stubborn and never get together. That’s completely possible lol- If you read all this..... I honestly commend you for sitting through my bullshit. See ya’ll aroud ig-

#smg4 #smg34 #smg43 #smg4 x smg3 #gwen speaks #gwen rambles #rambles #thanks for sitting through my bullshit lol

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sotwk · 8 months

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Hi, I've been following you for awhile now but I'm very internet-shy (if that's a thing) so I've nerver said anything, hence the anon. I wanted to commend you for your writings and headcanons, which I've been enjoying so so so much.

I've always believed that Thranduil had multiple children but I was always indecisive on the number, you helped me settle on five, and many of your characterisations fit perfectly in my own personal headcanons. Moreover even those that I do not agree with have helped me develop my own, so again thank you.

Now on the question: have you ever had so many ideas that you end up creating multiple version of your own AU or, worse, fanfictions of your fanfiction? I write a lot and I'm always expanding on my writings (but never publish, again internet-shy) and I always get so many new inspirations that I always create AUs of my AU so I never finish anything, how do you solve this problem?

Oh my friend, you being so kind is exactly the reason why I would probably never turn off Anon Asks, even though I'm quite sensitive to hate and dread the thought of eventually getting my first hate Anon. (Fingers crossed my lucky streak holds out!)

Thank you so much for reaching out to tell me all this, even though you're "internet-shy"! 🥰 I am so, so glad you enjoy my headcanons enough to let them inspire your own! That is fantastic, and I hope you are able to create tons of content for you to enjoy (and for other fans, if you ever decide to share them)!

As for your question: Hoo-boy, like most of our fellow writers, I am plagued with "too many ideas, too little brain space and even less time to write them down"! That being said, the kind of brain I have is also quite determined to keep my creative mess (somewhat) organized, so I DO fight to wrestle my SotWK AU ideas down and create structure for my fics to stand on.

Yes, I do occasionally get the urge to deviate from my own headcanons and experiment with other scenarios. I think more writers operate with unlimited AUs in their heads, actually. (From what I've read of others' works, at least.) But my personal goal is to create a single consistent, unified "SotWK AU" that encompasses not just Thranduil/Mirkwood's history, but ties into the untouched/extended stories of other canon realms/races/characters as well (including a lot of "Everyone Lives")! So I do try to stay disciplined and stick to my headcanon "facts" once I've nailed them down.

If that's something you also want to try to accomplish, here are Five Things I personally do that might be helpful:

Keep a Master Timeline. This was the first thing I did when I decided to take the SotWK concept all the way. I copy-pasted the entire Middle-earth timeline from Tolkien Gateway into a document, and started to plug in all the headcanon events from my AU into it. That's why nearly every fic I write has a specified date and year!

Keep a Glossary of Your Originals. This can be as messy a dumping ground as you want! Just try to keep all your notes about every single character, place, object, or term you create in one document/file folder so you can easily track and reference them.

Indulge "rogue AUs" in fic "shorts" or drabbles. I accept requests for Reader inserts and this area is where I allow myself to "go wild" with my "out of bounds" ideas. Here, I will allow myself to write stuff like Modern AUs, or have Thranduil be with someone other than my OC Elvenqueen, or have my Thranduilion princes love whomsoever they want, changing the love interest up each time! It doesn't matter, since these stories are all considered "outside" of the SotWK canon, and don't affect the overall "official" story arc. (Note: I haven't actually posted/completed any of these yet, but I have multiple WIPs of such stories.)

Chop Long Stories Up into Smaller Bits. I have a terrible inability to stay focused on a single story/project (don't we all), and for this reason, I avoid long, multi-chapter fics whenever I can. Instead, I will (or plan to) write individual key events as stand-alone one-shots and later group them into collections. This is how I plan on tackling Thranduil and Maereth's 2,000-year long courtship, for example. It reduces the stress of doing things in a linear fashion, or updating with "new chapters".

Don't Smother Your Creativity. You can try to "rein it in", and keep things under control so you can create a cohesive saga that your readers can follow. But ultimately, run with all and whatever ideas make you happy and inspired! Believe me, I'm the one of the most stressed out (self-inflicted) writers out there, but we gotta remember the primary goal of fanfic is FUN, right? <3 Just write The Thing and don't worry about it, especially if publishing/sharing isn't your main goal anyway.

I hope some of this helps you! I can already tell you are a wonderful writer, and I wish you all the best with your fics!

#sotwk answers #kind asks #anon asks #kind anons #writing stuff #writer things #writer problems #writing advice #writing tips

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prpfs · 11 months

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Hi! I’m looking for some 21+ MxMxM threesome roleplays, where I play two bad guys. I may be persuaded into MxMxF for the right female oc. HEAR ME OUT pls ✨✨

So I have this plot which has been nagging at my brain for a little while. I would love something set in a good few years into an apocalyptic scenario preferably mass plague or something, where the survivors have kind of all split off into different groups and my two guys come from. I was thinking one is the leader or the main bad guy of the group, and he’s fucking ruthless — bat shit crazy, will torture your oc and kill their whole camp in front of them for fun, while the other guy is a little kinder, still morally grey and quite questionable, will kill ppl mercilessly, maybe the one who kind of lures people in for his partner to torment, but he’s (hopefully) more likeable. I would love a bit of Stockholm syndrome or corruption where eventually your character begins to fall for them and gives in to their dark side or whatever.

I write on discord and my activity varies but I’m always down to chat ooc and whatnot (promise I’m not a psycho irl), obviously lots of triggering subjects so please let me know in advanced what you’re not up for (I’m a massive splatterpunk and gore fan so expect the unexpected but of course if that’s a limit for you I’ll respect that). Drop a like and I’ll get back to you!

Leave a like, and anon will get back to you!

#oc roleplay #oc rp #oc x oc x oc #m/m/m #m/m/f #dead dove #21+ rp

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meowthon · 1 year

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Hi there! Hope your day/night is going well! If asks are still open, i'd love to submit one!

I dunno if you do hc's/scenarios for specific characters, but if you do i would love to see some mammon x gn! reader hc's where reader doesn't really like him when they first arrive in Devildom, usually chiming in when someone makes fun of him and avoiding him whenever possible, but as time goes on and as they spend more and more time with him and start to see the softer, more protective sides of him, they start to warm up and eventually grow super close to him to the point they would even argue with the brothers on his behalf. Would love to see a love confession somewhere in there as well if possiblee! 🙏 Thank you :D

i’m so sorry that this took me so long! I was working really hard on it and I hope you like it!

to say you hated Mammon was an understatement. whenever he was around it made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. you never know what he could be plotting, trying to steal or what mess he’d make that you would inevitably have to clean up for him. you found him so detestable that if you were to describe him to someone you’d use the words insufferable, annoying, menacing. any word that showed how much of a scum he was, how he was nothing more then a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe.

Mammon may be a bit dumb, but he’s more aware then you would imagine. he knows how you feel. it’s obvious how you avoid him at all costs, ignoring him when he talks. still he tries his best to make sure you’re not getting into any trouble. you’ve told him hundred of times that it’s not necessary. you say that you don’t need his protection, you’ll be fine with it and he brushes it all off. it goes in one ear and out the other. Mammon will get no rest until he sees for himself that you’re safe.

everywhere you went he had to follow. personal space was a term Mammon is not familiar with apparently seeing as he is always attached to your hip. anytime you’d bring it up by telling him to leave you alone he’d say the same thing. “It’s my duty to protect ya human!” anyone with a brain would know that this is nothing more then an excuse to keep bugging you.

dealing with Mammons overbearing-ness can be a lot. its enough to send anyone over the edge. many would say it’s understandable. they all feel the same way.

when you chime in to help make fun of Mammon it’s an understatement to say it destroys him. no pain but this has ever made him feel as though his heart is bleeding from his chest. thousands of years of living and no one can hurt him quite like you do. no one else’s opinion matters like yours does.

if it’s a particularly rough day on him, it makes him silently spiral as he lays in bed with his head under the pillows. he will stay there for hours crying and thinking about ways to gain your approval. nothing will stop him from getting it.

he decided that he’d have to work as hard as possible to show you what kind of demon he really is. it may take months or even years but to him it didn’t matter because he’s not giving up.

with Mammon being more determined to prove to you he means business, you’re more determined to avoid him at all costs. eventually it’s become so much that you felt the need to hide from him in Lucifers office, the one place Mammon wouldn’t dare go and would rather avoid it like the plague.

“seriously!” you whine to Lucifer. “it’s like he’s following me even more now. at this point it feels like he’s doing it to purposely annoy me.” he exhales a deep sigh, torn on how to reply. on one hand he knows first hand how Mammon can push the limits of someone, but on the other somewhere deep inside his soul and no matter how much he’d hate to admit it he knows that Mammon does have a kind heart and deeply cares for you. this is one thing he can relate to with him. “I understand your predicament y/n. Mammon is VERY annoying.” he paused to sigh again. he took a few seconds to try and decide how to word what he wants to say. he in no way wanted to praise Mammon. just the thought makes him want to vomit but he also didn’t want to make you feel worse. “however, I did assign him to look after you. for now you’ll just have to deal with him. I apologize.” was the best he could come up with.

when you wake the next morning you have murder on your mind. who other then mammon would be banging on the door and yelling your name like a maniac. it took everything not to scream at him to shut up at the top of your lungs. thinking back on what Lucifer said you decide not to. his advice wasnt the best but Mammon is just doing what was asked of him. once you grunt a few times you finally get out of bed and head to the door. upon opening it you’re greeted with a bright eyed Mammon. “what’re ya doin getting out of bed this late? we’ll never hear the end of it if we don’t make it on time.” god he’s so annoying. did you really have to deal with this? the sound of his voice could make eardrums burst. ‘patience y/n. patience.’ you say to yourself. you take a deep breath before speaking. “let me get ready. it will only take a few minutes. i’ll be right back.” and you shut the door in his face. maybe you could have been nicer but you’re trying. the sudden slamming of the door makes Mammon jump back a bit. “oi! whatdya do that for human? i’ll have you know i’m one of the elite demon rulers okay! you got some nerve slamming the door on the great Mammon! you outta be more grateful.” hearing him call himself that always makes you laugh. “relax Mammon I have to get dressed and I cant do that with you standing there.” you say whike rushing back and forth to get your clothes and brush your hair. when you’re finally ready and open the door you try not to notice the red in his face. “so listen y/n.”

‘oh god’ you think. ‘what could he be plotting so early in the morning. he doesn’t give it a rest does he?’ he continues. “I got you something.” a gift? this was the first time you were excited to talk to Mammon. “dont think anything of it okay? I just happened to have a little left over from the casino last night and on my way home I spotted somethin I thought you might like but it ain’t no big deal okay?” he yelled so loudly it scared the crap out of you. “Mammon do you have to yell right now?” you ask. “whatever! just take it.” he didn’t say it that much quieter but you decided to ignore it since he did get you something. in his hands laid a small black box that he shoved towards you. he couldn’t even meet your eyes because he was so nervous about you liking the gift. inside was a beautiful bracelet with a golden charm. the charm has your initial engraved on it. “Mammon this is a gorgeous bracelet. I don’t know what to say. thank you. really thank you.” it warmed your heart that he went out of his way to get you such an elegant gift even though he says he only “happened to see it.”

the weekends weren’t much different. you’re woken up by his knocks at the door and then greeted by a cheesy grin. when he smiled you could tell why he’s a model, it’s a pretty smile that makes the rest of his face even more handsome but regardless you still wanted to choke him out for waking you up. on weekends he always had a plan for you guys. usually it was shopping or catching a movie but on special days he’d take you to places no one knows about, places he’d only share with you.

there was a beautiful waterfall deep in a nearby forrest that he would go to on days where he wanted to get away. he hadn’t told anyone about this spot. it was his special secret and he didn’t want anyone intruding on it, that is until you came along. the thought of taking you there consumed his mind nearly everyday and he was excited to finally be taking you there. he planned a surprise picnic for the two of you. it took a few weeks to save up for an array of food. he spent half of that time with Barbatos learning how to cook so he knew the food would be good. when the day of came he went into town to find a bouquet of flowers that reminded him of you. he texted you saying to meet him by the gardens for a date. at first you thought about declining, but a date means free food. he didn’t tell you where you were going or what you’re doing for that matter. he grabbed your hand and guided you to the spot. it was a beautiful sight. there was a blanket laid across the grass with all kinds of delicious looking snacks and desserts. the waterfall was gorgeous and the sounds of it falling added with the sun setting made it the perfect romantic ambiance. this part was very purposeful. Mammon wanted to have the picnic at sunset partly because he knew how pretty it would look but also because once it sets the stars come out and he can lay with you as you watch them together. his favorite person, good food and a beautiful night sky and no brothers around to ruin it makes for the perfect date. he was incredibly happy at this moment. “you better eat up! I didn’t spend all that time cooking up food for nothing.”

after spending a few hours in the dark Mammon noticed your yawns and tired eyes. he must have filled you up with such good food that you’re starting to doze off is what he tells himself. “if ya want… you can rest your head on me.” he tells you. you thought about it for a second before doing scooting up to him. “thank you Mammon for giving me a great night.. im sorry that I haven’t always been nice to you. you didn’t deserve that.” it shocked him to hear you say that. “where did that come from?….stupid human.” he replies. it didn’t matter if you weren’t always kind in the past what matters is that you gave him a chance to prove himself. you’re here now and that’s what means the most.

the next time he’s made fun of it strikes a cord with you. for the first time instead of agreeing or laughing with them it made you enraged to hear someone talk so lowly of Mammon. it made you jump out of your seat quickly and scare everyone in the dining hall. due to the loud sound all eyes fell on you. it was terrifying to say the least but after everything you felt you had to stand up for him. he would do the same for you, he always has. “Mammon isn’t like that guys.” you could hear most of them laugh or scoff but decided to ignore it and continue. “I know i’ve had my fair share in making fun of Mammon but i’ve realized that he really isn’t a bad person. he’s done so much for me. he’s actually really kind and caring.” they didn’t take it very well. they seemed upset and it made you unsure of what to do. it’s rare anyone would be mad at you. “Mammon isn’t perfect, but neither are any of you.”

everyone blamed Mammon saying he must of put a spell on you to make you think like this. “I didn’t do anything! maybe someone’s just finally starting to realize just how cool the great Mammon really is! or y/n is just like.. totally in love with me.” he jokes. no one found it funny. instead you can tell it made them more angry and you knew you have to stop this before it get too lively. you walked over to Mammon and grabbed his arm. “Mammon! stop it! let’s just go.”

now alone with him in his room, he feels like he can be himself again. being alone with you gives him an ease he’s never experienced before. “sit with me Mammon.” you pat the seat next to you on the couch. “those guys are so stupid! what kinda brothers are they? if I can even call them that!” he says sitting down. you turn towards him to get a good look at his face. he’s a kind of beautiful you don’t see often. sitting this close makes you realize why he’s a model. he really does have gorgeous features. you reached for his hands. “can I hold them?” you ask. he doesn’t say anything as he takes your hands in his. he did it with a sense of urgency like if he didn’t do it right then you’d pull your hands away. “Mammon i’m so sorry this happened. I know they may not see how great you are but I do. I meant what I said. I really do think you’re amazing and I enjoy spending time with you.” his smile is contagious. “well if you think that then that’s all that matters.” he says. you’re so close to him. it was making your heart race. what’s going on with you today? since when did he make you feel like this? you feel yourself inching a bit closer. you know he’s been talking but you haven’t registered a single word. you’re too distracted thinking about his lips. they’re just so pretty.. everything about him is pretty. how have you not noticed this before? “Mammon…” you interrupt. you should feel bad but don’t. the only thing on your mind is getting closer to him. “wha- why are ya looking at me like that? are you even listening to me y/n?” he’s noticed you staring at his lips and his body went limp minutes ago. you make him so weak, so passionate. “and when did you get so close to me?” he questions like he minds it. he can’t lie at all. he wants you right there. “Mammon I want to kiss you.” you’re hoping and BEGGING in your mind that he lets you. you just need the okay and he gives it to you. he’d give you anything you asked. he doesn’t care what it would cost him. if you asked it was yours. “well what are ya goin on askin for just do it!” you immediately push your lips onto his and his body goes from limp to tingling all over. his lips are soft and supple. his kiss is gentle. he could lose his composure any second, but he’s waited ages for this and he can’t ruin it. you have to be in control. he has so much adrenaline pumping through his veins he wants to tell you how he feels. he’s terrified but he needs you to know. he needs to know if this can be something so he says “y/n. I need to tell ya something.” you’re annoyed that the kiss is over you had full intentions of kissing until you were purple in the face. you shake your head to tell him to keep going. you need to catch your breath. “when we’re together it makes me really like so happy it’s like nothing else matters.” your face is painted with a smile. he may not be the most literate but he’s a sweetheart. “I feel the same way Mammon.” he takes a deep breath and continues his confession. “look okay i’m trying to say that no one’s gonna treat ya like I will! I love you y/n. I love ya so much it’s crazy.” you slam your lips onto his again and give him little pecks over and over and over. he lets out a little yelp. it shocked him for sure but he’s not complaining. “I love you too Mammon.” hearing you say that lifted all the weight off his shoulders. he couldn’t be happier.

#obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #mammon obey me #obey me x reader #mammon x reader #shall we date obey me #mammon imagine #mammon headcanon

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rotzaprachim · 1 year

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on another note on something i am SURE media analysis has been done On but which has really been digging into my brain is the whole zombie apocalypse as distinctly bush-era and onward conservative fantasy. it’s about the situation where 99% of the world dies but the Guy with a Gun lives and there being almost a sick enjoyment, sometimes, but if not that then the world weary sigh about how This is what it Takes to keep living. it’s about the literal creation of a world in which there’s some reason one HAS to have guns to survive, HAS to put up walls around every inch of their *space* to keep those Guys out. a lot has been written about lovecraft’s violent racism and imperialism in terms of how he saw the Hordes of literlaly everyone not a white anglo-saxon, but to me there’s something in the whole zombie plague of internal invasion and home invasion that really plays into the most violent aspects of anti-immigration sentiments - and of course, those guys have to be shot. there’s a lot to say too i think about the zombie genre therefor as evolution from the frontier-thesis western genre. if there is no more obvious enemy at our borders one comes from the inside.

and it’s all really interesting, and has aged in fascinating ways in terms of how i think us-based conservatism itself has shown a collection of ideologies incredibly brittle in the fact of pandemic and upheavel. (this isn’t so much about the broader structures of corporate-capitalism, obviously, which i think can be said to be both brittle and disturbingly strong in how it can feast off disaster and instability in terms of financial gain and control of power, which is... not something i can think of zombie narratives discussing much?) i’m taking more about individual people and communities. i don’t think the zombie genre is paradoxical to conservatism’s brittle nature, but rather, part of it entirely. it’s the odd fantasy- what if there was a problem we could SHOOT? we live in a world in which conservatism has refused to prepare adequately for financial crisis (many insurance measures are of course Bad for Business) and ultimately turned a completely blind eye to the very real apocalyptic nature of climate change - so much as it might be bad for Business, the climate change hoax narrative has very much been swallowed by many in the working class without systemic benefit from that business and much to loose from climatic disaster. and in recent history us conservatism turned a completely blind eye to coronavirus. what do we do with a real pandemic when there’s no one to shoot? looking back retrospectively at the last fifteen years of zombie media comes with the weird realisation that with a supposed virus on, no one is wearing a mask- and if anyone is quarantining or practicing social distancing, it’s never the good guys.

which leads to the odd feeling that the zombie apocalypse genre provides an odd catharsis, even fantasy. we live in a world facing apocalyptic times and with many global governments (not to mention corporate-capitalist structures) doing exceptionally poorly in the midst of it. the zombie apocalypse genre takes that existential fear and recognises it through the prism of conservative and settler colonial ideologies, but also through comic book and horror movie and video game logic. the end of the world may come, you can shoot the end of the world! it’s the worst case scenario written down in a Comprehensible way. i find the fantasy elements therefor entwined fascinating. the zombie virus on whole is both wildly more contagious, kill-everyone, world-endingly terrible than any virus in human history (or rather, it appeals to a sense of Absolute Extremism that... 80% of the world dies immediately or whatever rather than looking to the very real fact that a few percent of infected dying is STILL AN AWFUL LOT OF PEOPLE and the mechanics of social breakdown in the fact of pandemic throughout history are complex and horrific within those *lower* death rates) but also less contagious than most viruses because our Protagonists have to be scratched or bitten in order to be Infected - those up close knock-em-down hatchet fights that leave already scratched-up protags covered in zombie organs or blood don’t pose a real threat of infection! the end of the world virus has to be.. a lot less infectious than many real world viruses. a watered down virus.

likewise a lot of the issues of social organisation and supplies. zombie apocalypse narratives rarely venture into legitimate exploration of post apocalyptic agriculture, pharmaceuticals, energy or medicine- all those pesky aspects of human existence that highlight how interdependent and fragile our needs may be, and how complex communal structure would have to be to build anything anew- so people live off Raided items years out into the apocalypse. they drive massive cars and tankers years past the apocalypse even though most gasoline has a six month to three year shelf life, depending. they rarely need insulin or b12 injections or thyroid medication, and if a medical problem comes up can usually just take the raided drugs for it, regardless of any need for medical equipment or facilities. they can also just eat canned goods decades past their point of edibility. the fact that for a Zombie apocalypse things to WORK a lot of the day to day struggles with survival have to be glossed over fascinates me. i think it even further reflects aspects of the white male conservative working and middle american worldview, which sees itself as particularly up-by-the-bootstraps fending for ourselves TOUGH when living in a social and system that softens their lives through the exploitation of the labour of people of color and women and global us-based exploiation. who cares about who farms the food or does the cooking in an apocalypse? but to elude those questions - and also zig zag around the whole nature of the post-apocalyptic feudal societies humanity is narratively edging into being based around agriculture- requires living in a world where canned goods last ten years past when they probably would be edible. but at least you might not have to talk to your neighbors

#meta #this isn't about specific properties so much as the genre in general #a lot has been written about the western as part of the whole complex of settler ideologies and violence but like #for the 21st century i can't help but think there's something here with zombie apocalypses #rants and maybe essays? i'm thinking about the post apocalyptic chore chart #as a fun aside my friend and i were digging into a televangelist selling stuff for the apocalypse and like YEAH #my brain is tired it's late but much thoughts many #the fantasy of the end of the world in which you could.. just build a wall #also note the men's rights guys just salivating for a collapse #and the wierd wierd intake of some of these ideologies with leftists anyway

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in-my-shifting-era · 1 year

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Some Days Are Harder Then Others

Eddie Munson (Angst that ends with lots of Fluff)

Warning: talk of the death of a parent and grief. Some mature language.

Summery: Reader is having a hard time with some personal issues and is canceling plans with Eddie and he wants to get to the bottom of why that is.

Authors Note: As someone who has experienced parent loss this is a bit self indulgent.Also my messages are open to anyone who has lost a loved one and needs someone to talk to. I may have cried writing this so be warned.

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Grief is a bitch, that’s the easiest way to put it. They say it gets easier with time but after 7 years the wound still bleeds. Losing a parent at age 11 make’s grieving complicated and isolating. The loss becomes part of who you are and that means sharing the news with new friends and even partners that come into your life.

Eddie knew about your father’s passing from when it happened in middle school. Word traveled fast after administration was told and you where absent from school for 2 weeks only returning after the funeral service. He was one of the few kids that didn’t walk on egg shells around you when you came back.

You sat alone at lunch on your first day back. Eddie invited himself and sat with you. He immediately talked your ear off about the cool new pin you were wearing on your backpack. The pin belonged to your dad. It was from some band he liked and wore on a hat. Now it was one of the few things you had to remember him by. Eddie made a day that was destined to be hard and uncomfortable a day you met your best friend.

Eddie always let you grieve freely, he encouraged it actually. He’d ask you to tell him stories of your late father and he even gave you flowers on the anniversary of his death every year for you to put on his grave. You slowly fell for the metal head in your years of friendship leading up to a relationship your senior year.

Eddie likes to claim he repeated his senior year three times just so he could graduate with you. Now that you are finally graduating Eddie has stepped up his academic efforts to have at least a solid “C” in each class to pass. You study with him most nights and actually get him to do his homework with lots of breaks for cuddles and snacks.

So when you canceled your usual celebratory ice cream date for passing your math test on Wednesday with Eddie due to a headache he wasn’t hurt just concerned. Then you told him you had to watch your neighbors kid after school Thursday he was bummed but let it slide. His final straw was when you didn’t show up to school at all on Friday. He knew something was up and he was going to find out just what it was.

He completely ditched school after first period when he learned you had never shown up to class from Gareth. All the awful scenarios plagued his brain as to what could be happening with you. Did your car break down?Where you sick? Did you wanna break up with him and where avoiding him at all costs?

His mind raced until he made it to your house and seeing your moms car in the drive way. He put his van in park and practically ran to your front door knocking a little too eagerly. Your mom opened the door quickly and smiled softly when she saw Eddie with a worried expression on his face. He gave her a polite smile before he spoke. “Hello Miss y/ln, is y/n home? She never came to school today.”

Your mom actually really liked Eddie. Even before he was officially your boyfriend she always thought he was so polite and sweet. “Hi Eddie. She did stay home. She’s been having a rough few days and I told her to take a day off. She didn’t tell you she wouldn’t be coming in? You two are joined at the hip I figured you already knew.”

Eddie frowned at the thought of you not telling him something was wrong. Your mother caught on to this and spoke again. “She tells you everything doesn’t she? I actually had to pry this one out of her myself. She’s been missing her dad a lot lately. I think the thought of graduating without him around has finally sunk in.”

Eddie’s heart felt like it had completely shattered hearing that. He gave your mom a soft smile as he rocked on his feet gently. “I think I know where to find her now. Thank you.” She sent him off with a knowing nod and smile. She watched as Eddie walked back to his van and started on his way to find you.

Hawkins cemetery was a few miles from your house. Not an easy walk so he figured you drove. He was proven right when he could see your car from the entrance of the cemetery. He parks his car just outside the gate and walks in knowing how to get to your father’s grave from visiting with you before.

You sat by the grave marked with your father’s name. Tears stain your cheeks as you pick at grass that surrounds the garnet stone. “Graduating should be exciting right? All the bull shit of high school is almost over and all I can think about is that you won’t be in the crowd watching me walk across that stage. Ready to give me flowers like you always did when I accomplished something.” You wipe another fallen tear as you bring your knees to your chest.

Eddie finally makes it to where your sat, your shaky voice now clear as he approaches you. He goes to announce his presence but stops when you softly continue your talk. “Eddie’s going to be with me though. I know you never got to meet him but I think you’d really like him Dad. He makes me really happy and he treats me like a gentleman. Just like you always told me I deserve.”

A wide smile quickly finds its way to Eddie’edds face as he hears you talk about him to your father. He knows you like to catch him up on all the things going on, good and bad. His heart sores knowing he is something good in your life. Eddie steps closer and his feet meeting the grass close to where you’re sat. “Mr y/ln, I’ll do everything I can to get her those flowers for walking across that stage. She deserves it, for getting me there too.”

You look behind you quickly recognizing Eddie’s voice immediately. Seeing him makes all the confusing emotions flood over and your eyes fill with tears. “Eds .” You’re quickly enveloped in a huge as Eddie joins you where you’re sat in the grass letting you cry into his shoulder. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your time with him.” Eddie rubs your back gently as he speaks knowing how it calms you down.

You shake your head again his shoulder and attempt to steady your shaking breathing. “You’re not interrupting. I’m sorry I disappeared lately.” Eddie pulls you back a bit, only enough to be able to wipe your fallen tears. “You don’t have to apologize for anything princess. You are aloud to feel your emotions however you see fit. Just know I’ll be here for you. Even when the ugly grief clouds cast over head.”

You give your boyfriend a small smile and a nod laying your head against his chest gently. “I’m pretty sure you heard what I said about you to him. I ment it. He would have really liked you Eddie.” You take his calloused hand into yours and play with his rings gently. Something that has always soothed you. Eddie pulls you closer to his chest. “I still aim for his approval you know. He may not be here to scare me straight into treating his daughter right but I still do everything I can to be a man he’d be happy to have stolen his daughters heart.”

You pull back gently and cup Eddie’s face with your hands and smile widely up at him. “ I don’t know how I get so lucky to find a guy like Eddie Munson but I’m not letting you go. Got it.” Before Eddie can even respond your crash your lips into his. He kisses you back instantly and pulls away after a short moment. “I’m not going anywhere princess. You’re kinda stuck with me.” Eddie tightens his grip around you gently and kisses all over your face making you giggle loudly.

Once he stops he lets you catch your breath and he smiles down at you. “I heard something about getting you flowers at graduation? Do I get a bouquet for myself as well?” You roll your eyes playfully at his comment and lay against him as you talk about graduation and make plans for what will happen that day. Your dad being involved in every step of the way.

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x reader #eddie fluff #eddie angst #eddie x y/n #eddie blurb #eddie stranger things #eddie x you

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hookaroo · 10 months

Text

Laden of the Torn (3 of 25)

AO3 link Catch up on tumblr: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Tagging @priscilla9993 @cocohook38 <3

***

The magistrate was a somber older gentleman who worked quickly through the business at hand. He listened to the case against Ahab and Killian without comment. Then, as both defendants were dragged roughly to their feet, he launched immediately into a recitation of his judgment.

“An orderly society requires laws, and those laws carry penalties for citizens who break them. You have been convicted of public dueling, and by order of their majesties Queen Snow and King David, this offense carries a fine of one thousand pounds, or seven years’ hard labor, with reasonable accommodations made for your respective physical disabilities…”

The remainder of his reproachful speech was drowned out by the helpless panic that flooded through Killian as his battered brain hatched a dozen desperate escape scenarios. An ice-cold knot settled in the pit of his stomach, entirely separate from the twisting spasms that had plagued him all afternoon. Seven years…

As if from a distance, a question was posed to Ahab, and Killian forced himself to apply half of his attention, knowing he would be addressed next.

“I am deeply remorseful for my participation in such a deplorable act,” said Ahab smoothly, displaying the appropriate contrition regardless of how he might actually be feeling. “I am prepared to pay the full sum today and give my oath that I will never again be found in violation of any of this land’s laws.”

Killian stared. One thousand pounds was an impressive sum to have on hand. Even at the height of his pirating days, it would have taken several successful raids to gather such an amount. The magistrate appeared slightly taken aback as well, but only for a moment. He nodded once and dipped his quill, saying,

“Have payment delivered to my bailiff following today’s proceedings. He will then sign for your release.”

As the magistrate made a note in his records book, Ahab replied,

“If it please your Honor, my associate is here now with the funds. We do not wish to take up any more of your time or hospitality.”

From the corner, the bailiff glanced at the magistrate, who nodded his approval. Killian watched a man appear at Ahab’s shoulder: the very same who had acted as his second that fateful day so many long months ago. Killian couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed his entrance, although he did have much more serious things to be worrying about. The bigger question was how they had known the required amount ahead of time. Unless Ahab had somehow anticipated he would be captured at this very moment and had done some research beforehand…

As the bailiff quietly counted the sum handed over by Ahab’s second, the magistrate finally turned his attention to Killian.

“Captain Jones? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Killian’s guard prodded him to stand up straighter. Arm pressed tightly to his torso, he made an attempt but couldn’t quite manage a fully upright posture. “Your Honor… I, too, offer my deepest apologies and assure you I have no intention of causing any further trouble. But please… I beg you… I am the sole provider for my young daughter. She has no one else in this world. I can’t pay the full fine right now, but if you would allow me some time…”

The magistrate’s stern countenance did not change in the slightest. “This isn’t the first time I’ve heard such excuses, Captain. The law makes no exception for irresponsible fathers. If you can provide at least one quarter of the sum by sunrise, you will be allowed to remain imprisoned here for up to one month while your friends and family gather the rest. Otherwise, there is a prison caravan arriving in the morning which will escort you to a rock quarry to serve out your sentence.”

Even if Killian could somehow contact Captain Smee so quickly, it was unlikely he would be in the vicinity with enough funds to satisfy the conditions just offered. And he wasn’t left with many other options when it came to allies…

Breathless with despair, Killian continued his plea for mercy.

“Please, your Honor, she’ll be left all alone; can’t you make any sort of concession for her sake? A reduced fine, or simply a longer time to pay it… add on any equivalent penalties you see fit. Throw me in the stocks, or order a public flogging; I’ll do anything. Just please don’t send me away from her. She needs me!”

Standing near the door, his chains being removed by the bailiff, Captain Ahab casually suggested,

“Taking his trigger finger would make it harder for a repeat offense.”

As much as the thought terrified Killian, even that would be preferable to seven years away from his quest to free Alice. He returned his tearful gaze to the man who would decide his fate, praying he would be reasonable.

Unsurprisingly, his prayers were met with a resounding negative. Even before the magistrate began to speak, Killian could see that he was unmoved.

“I am sorry that your daughter will share in your punishment. But you should have considered the consequences before you broke the law. There are orphanages and workhouses for these very situations. If you are lucky, you can reunite with her once your sentence has been served.”

Any further protest was drowned out by the ring of his gavel, and the final strike sounded like the lid of a coffin slamming into place. Killian’s frantic struggles as he was dragged from the room were cut short by a barrage of vicious blows from his two jailers, and he was only half-aware by the time they tossed him back into his cell to await the morning.

***

No number of eloquent appeals to the gods could stop the sun rising. Shoulder to the wall, Killian sat watching the cobwebs’ shading go from gunpowder to mist and trying to ignore the constant stabbing in his gut and the ache in his head. Seven years. Alice would be a young woman by then. Gods. He would hardly recognize her… if he managed to survive that long. At least he could take a guilty kind of solace in the fact that he would know where to find her afterwards. Even if the prison guards hadn’t laughed in his face when they had come to find out her location, quickly writing off her existence as an elaborate story Killian had dreamed up to lessen his sentence, they would have had just as much success getting her free to send her to some workhouse as he’d had in all these years of trying.

Another violent twisting in his belly soon had him doubled over, gasping. Forget the hard labor, this current malady had the potential to finish him off long before he even reached the quarry. Quietly cursing bread mold, scummy water, concussions, and every combination of the above, he waited for the cramping to subside. Fifty-fifty chance it would then become the nausea that had afflicted him all night. If he was expected to walk any distance that day, it was shaping up to be an extremely miserable journey indeed.

Still in the throes of the attack, Killian vaguely heard a commotion from down the hall, but could spare it no thought until, eventually, it carried over into his own cell. Even then, all he could do was listen with half an ear, both arms crossed over his midsection as he stole mini-breaths through the tension.

“Cor, the stench in ‘ere,” complained one of Killian’s visitors as the cell door screeched open.

“Nervous stomach, old man?” sneered a second voice, seemingly less affected than his companion. Killian kept his head bowed and eyes tightly shut, his only defense against a potential addition to the offending miasma.

“Come on. The sooner we gets ‘em shackled, the sooner the chain gang leaves us in peace.”

The rattle of heavy iron links drew closer, accompanied by booted feet, and Killian peeled an eye open. Before he could even begin to make sense of the scene, blurry arms thrust a spearpoint up underneath his chin in an uncomfortable warning against resistance. Killian straightened as much as he was able and showed his empty hand as appeasement, but the pressure from the weapon did not ease.

“Convicted of public dueling, eh?” growled the guard with the spear. “Is that how you lost your hand, too? Think you’re some dashing knight on a quest for glory? Well, look where it’s got you.”

The second man tossed a heavy ball and chain at his feet, sending earsplitting echoes reverberating around the cell.

“Not so tough now, are you?” he taunted. “Finally facing the consequences of your own actions?” Roughly, he grabbed Killian’s ankle and pulled his leg out straight. “It’s all an adventure until an innocent bystander is harmed.”

Killian did not resist, and he didn’t see any reason to argue, either. The man was right on both counts, though Zeus knew no consequence could be greater than the one he’d already been facing. And an innocent had been harmed, just not in the way this man was imagining.

An iron shackle closed around his ankle, snug over his trouser cuff, and Killian shut his eyes in defeat as the guard secured the lock on what would likely be his closest companion for the majority of the next decade. The thought caused his insides to clench even harder than they already were, but his grimacing attempt to double over was cut short by the spearpoint at his throat. He drew some slow breaths. If he vomited now, he would likely end up with steel through the jugular.

The second guard gave a hearty tug at Killian’s new shackle, testing its soundness, then he clambered to his feet.

“Now then, you blaggard. Enjoy a bit of rest until the caravan is ready for you. It may be your last opportunity for the foreseeable future.”

Killian did not need to open his eyes to detect the self-satisfied smirk in the comment. The pressure against his windpipe finally eased, heavy boots retreated, and the door shut with a clang. Killian curled in on himself once more, feeling the demoralizing weight tugging at his ankle. He was in no condition to travel; surely the authorities could see that? Seven years wasn’t overtly meant as a death sentence, though conceivably they might turn a blind eye to convicts being worked to death. He let out a shuddering sigh as he visualized the location of his bucket, should a panicked lunge become necessary.

He desperately needed the aforementioned rest, but would not get any. Right now, he wouldn’t bet on his ability to survive the next seven days, much less years.

#ouat fanfiction #laden of the torn #wish hook #whump #head injury #stomach cramps #ouat captain ahab #sentencing #conviction #pleading #beaten #angst #ball and chain #references to vomiting #hoplessness

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seikilos-stele · 1 year

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What’s in a Name?

I’m not sure that I ever titled one of my asks before, but after pondering this particular topic, I think that I will start incorporating titles much like we do fics.

For about a year, I had the orphaned title of a fic, A Thing of Beauty stuck in my head. It was an orphan due to the fact that the title was so suggestive for a horror fic, that I could not due it justice. The title stole the thunder of the fic that never was. (Actually, I did eventually write/publish the fic as part of a group challenge, but its best that it remain lost to time 🤣) It set me to thinking about just how important naming a fic really is, so this brings me to the master of fic namers, @seikilos-stele . More familiarly known as Drac.

Welcome back to the Askers Studio™️ Drac, it’s that time again to rummage my brain and pick yours 🤣! Last night, when we were discussing ideas for a new fic, you almost halted mid-sentence and declared that once a name was chosen for this fic, it would practically write itself (which turned out to be true) Now, over the last few months, I have had a sneak peak at the process by which you go about choosing fic names & I have also experienced the gob-smacking significance of those names at varying points in your fics.

I am going to list three of the most profoundly named fics of yours below, and I would like you to tell us at what point they were named, whether the fic induced the name or the other way around. Or anything else you would like to add. I will add that either you have a repository of Shakespeare, poems, and Latin tucked away, or you have incredible recall abilities.

1. The Ferryman

This title was very subtle It does not occur to the reader until the very end, and then it becomes shockingly obvious. Since I had to make an illustrated map of Greek mythology, it was all to apparent who/what we were talking about: Charon. So many questions plagued me about this title/end!! Did you construct a whole fic around this poignantly connected title/ending?? This ranks in my top 5 of your fics, it is by no small part due to the title-end connection.

2. Out of the Woods

Welcome to my all-time favorite fic by Drac. Now, this title sneaks up on you fairly quickly. In fact, @coruscantiscribbler and I were reading it at the same time, and I gave my very elaborate geusstimation of what I thought was going on, and it turned out to be correct. But folks, my very clinical x-section of the plot did not due justice to the beauty & passion that was the fic, itself. The title is a phrase that I use all the time at work. I didn’t have to overthink it…the scenario was dire enough to remove all doubt

3. Requiscant

And here it is: the masterpiece of the Art of Hunger franchise (I seriously think this group of fics deserve their own category in your catalogue) Requiscant in Pace. One does not have to be altogether familiar with Latin to know this one. Stroll by any grave in an Italian cemetery and one will see it on all the stones. So, this was on my mind as I read this fic. A certain anxiety was boiling over as I read chapter to chapter. Finally, I blurted out the truth as I saw it, in the comments. Nadia assured me that I was correct. This revelation is like like cold claws scratching you from the inside. I want to know the genesis of naming this fic in particular, because the title holds the key to everything about this fic. Joint decision? You? Nadia?

It has been a pure joy ruminating about this topic since last night. I cannot wait to read your long, in-depth answer.

As an aside, I would love for other fic writers to pitch in with their own experiences in naming their fics!

Welcome back, Drac.

It’s good to see you again!!

…so this brings me to the master of fic namers, @seikilos-stele . More familiarly known as Drac.

🥺💙

Last night, when we were discussing ideas for a new fic, you almost halted mid-sentence and decided that once a name was chosen for this fic, it would practically write itself (which turned out to be true).

Yes!! Actually, the fic is called “And Thou No Breath At All”, and it’s done now! You can read it here. It’s a dark parasitic horror for Legends Thrawn.

Okay, let’s see. I really wish I’d kept notes on how I came up with titles now 💀 A lot of the time, I just write a oneshot and pull the title out of my ass when it’s complete, or if I’m writing from a prompt list, I just lazily slap the prompt itself on as a title, no matter how bad it is. But keeping in mind that two of these fics are a few years old, I’ll try to answer.

For “The Ferryman”, (yes, after Charon) when I named the document I was working on, I chose this title as filler. I knew my story would involve Ascendancy-era Thrawn receiving mysterious photographs of his childhood, and that he would visit Rentor with Ar’alani, Thalias, Samakro, and Che’ri to figure out where these photographs came from and who was sending them. I knew that the photos would eventually be revealed as coming from Thrass, and that the fic would explore Thrawn’s grief for his brother.

The rest wasn’t planned yet. It’s one of those stories where everything unfolds as you’re writing it. So the title definitely informed the rest of the fic. Because the WIP had “THE FERRYMAN” written on the header in big bold letters, whenever I finished a scene and wondered, “What should I do next?” I would glance up and start brainstorming about death. That’s how I got to the worldbuilding about Rentor’s local sea otters that ferry the souls of the dead across the sea; and that’s how Ar’alani and Thrawn end up in his childhood home, examining the little carvings that Thrawn’s dead father made of his children … and now Thrawn is the only survivor. That’s also how we came to see the shroud ceremony on the ice and finally the family fishing weights that were released into the sea in memory of Thrass.

For this fic, the title definitely informed and influenced the story itself. If I’d given it a temporary name like “Thrawn visits Rentor” or “Chiss family vacation” it would be a much shorter story, though it would still have a sad Thrass-related ending. I bet it would only be about 1K, and it wouldn’t particularly stand out from my other short angst fics. But also, “The Ferryman” was only meant to be temporary! I didn’t personally like it, and I always feel like I’m cheating when someone mentions it. Like I turned in an assignment where I spelled my name wrong XD

2. Out of the Woods

I really like this fic too! I knew what this one would be called as soon as the plot-bunny popped into my head. And yeah, it definitely informed the story again. This was another long oneshot, so the whole time I was writing, I had “OUT OF THE WOODS” in the header, and that helped me form the theme: it’s not just a cute cottagecore Thrawn/Pellaeon fic where they’re retired; it’s not just a spooky horror story; it’s got to be a story of recovery and escape.

So naturally, as the story unfolds, it becomes clear that Thrawn and Pellaeon are living in a false world of some sort, and slowly you uncover clues that one or both of them is trapped in a dream … or a neuromodulator … and all the pieces come together, and you realize this is a story about trauma and accepting help when you need it. Plus, with a pithy title like this, it makes it very easy to solidify your ending early on: Thrawn and Pellaeon will eventually leave their cottage behind and go out of the woods together.

(I had “into the woods and out of the woods and home before dark” stuck in my head the whole time I was writing this)

3. Requiescat

This is my favorite AoH too! And my favorite title on this list! And the lamest story about how I picked it!

I asked Nadia to be sure, and she confirmed my memory. The story behind this one is:

Nadia: “Have you thought of a title?” Me: “I was thinking Requiescat. How does that sound?” Nadia: “Yes, good title!”

The sad thing is, I’m certain there’s more to it. I know I had a whole other title picked out initially. And I know I was reading something, and stumbled across a passage somewhere that made me think of this… but as you know there was a lot going on in my life when I was writing Requiescat, so I don’t remember the details.

(Unfortunately, this title had no bearing on the fic whatsoever. Nadia and I had already hashed out the whole plot in detail more than a year before I selected it to write because I was bored and it just felt right at the time.)

I did find this early version of the fic that might interest you. I think all of this got cut and rewritten when I sent it to Nadia. It involves a Leia who’s not tied up, and a simple cave instead of a kings’ tomb.

****

Requiescat - a prayer for the repose of the dead

There was no light.

When the Noghri pushed her inside, Leia fell to her knees. The harsh slate floor tore through her fine linen robes like they were nothing; in the darkness she could feel flecks of stone embedded in her skin, the hot sting of blood, but she couldn’t see it. Not yet.

Behind her, a slab of stone slid into place, blocking off the last pale rays of sunlight. Shadow swallowed Leia whole. Strands of sweat-damp hair clung to her cheek; her own breathing was harsh in her ears.

“Fitting, I suppose,” said a voice in the dark.

Leia turned away. She placed her scraped palms against the makeshift door and pushed with all her might. It didn’t budge; it just left her shoulders sore and her elbows clicking. Straightening up she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She forced her emotion to swell and then dissipate: outrage, betrayal, a spark of fear, all of it faded away. In the emptiness that followed, there should have been the Force.

There wasn’t.

“Rukh is unusually intelligent for a Noghri,” said the voice in the dark: calm, cultured, bored. “And of course he’s been at my side for many years now. He was positioned perfectly both to understand the usefulness of my ysalamiri and to foresee a time when they might come in handy.”

The ysalamiri. Leia shifted until her back was against the stone slab. “He didn’t tell me he took an ysalamir with him,” she said.

“Why would he?” Thrawn asked. “Who do you suppose he planned to use them against?”

His voice broke a little. Not from emotion. He was hoarse, ragged, barely audible. That was only to be expected. For the past twelve hours he’d had nothing to eat or drink. While Leia sat on the sidelines on Thrawn’s old throne, the Noghri saw to her every need, plying her with local delicacies, all their most-edible foods and pleasing beverages. And just meters away, at the same time, Thrawn’s naked body hung on the makeshift gallows, his arms and legs tied to wooden posts, the sounds of torture and rape filling Leia’s ears.

He was supposed to be buried in here, or better yet, left on Honoghr’s poisoned plains for the birds to pick at his corpse. Leia wasn’t supposed to be in this stone tomb at all.

“You’re awfully calm about this mess,” Leia spat.

Thrawn hummed from the shadows. “I’ve had twelve hours to come to terms with death,” he said neutrally. “You’ve had forty-five minutes. Give it time.”

In her mind’s eye, Leia could see the pale sun glinting off Rukh’s knife as he cut Thrawn’s gag. The rules of Honoghran execution were clear. First came public humiliation --— for someone like Thrawn, who’d poisoned Honoghr and deceived his loyal soldiers for so long, that meant rape. Twelve executioners took their turns. Next came torture. On some planets it was called death by a thousand cuts. The Noghri were a bit too bloody for that term. They used knives, teeth, claws. They tore flesh from the bone, cauterized the wounds to stop the prisoner from bleeding, paused whenever he lost consciousness to ensure he felt every blow.

They left certain areas intact. His jugular. His genitals. His eyes, nose, lips, tongue. Those were saved for last. Those would be taken only when the dirt beneath him was so soaked with blood that it had become a muddy river.

But when Rukh cut Thrawn’s gag and placed his knife blade at the root of Thrawn’s tongue, the Grand Admiral spoke.

Vader poisoned Honoghr, he said. Not me.

And the Noghri could smell the honesty in his blood.

With a low growl, Leia smacked the stone wall. On the other side, there was a scrabble of claws and a reptilian hiss. Ysalamiri. Deeper in the walls, crawling through the tunnels, there was something else: small local animals burrowing through the stone. Leia whispered a curse.

“Be calm,” Thrawn advised. Her eyes were adjusting now, and Leia could just make him out. The Noghri had laid his broken body out on a horizontal slab of stone.

“Help me push,” Leia said. “If we work together…”

In the dark, two red slits appeared. Thrawn had opened his eyes.

“Help you push?” he repeated, a smile in his voice. “Come closer.”

Leia almost didn’t obey. But what did she have to lose? She pushed to her feet and crossed the cramped tomb slowly, careful not to trip over the uneven floor. Thrawn’s eyes put off a dim glow, but it wasn’t much use to her --— not until she was so close that every breath filled her lungs with the thick reek of blood and charred flesh. Thrawn’s eyes met hers, but his head didn’t move.

“This is all I can manage,” he said. “My lips. My eyes. Nothing else.”

Leia looked down at his body. It was wrapped tight in a linen shroud now, his wounds hidden from sight, but Leia knew what lurked just beneath the stained cloth. Massive strips of muscle had been stripped from his shoulders, his legs, his torso. There was hardly anything left on his arms or chest. Beneath the scent of copper and smoke there was something else, cloying and green and artificial.

“I thought they treated you,” Leia said, her voice coming out hushed. “When they took you away.”

Thrawn’s eyelids dipped. It was the closest to a nod that he could manage. “Rukh did,” he said. “He fed me an analgesic for the pain. He washed my wounds.” He met her eyes again. “What else can he do for me?” he asked.

There was no self-pity in his voice. His tone was matter-of-fact and unbothered. But a cold shadow swooped up from Leia’s stomach and enveloped her heart at the words. She walked backwards, blind, until her back hit the door and she slid once more to the rough ground. She would die here. Thrawn would die first; he would succumb to his injuries. Then what would she do? Would she eat his body to stay alive, to buy whatever short moments she could grasp? How long would it take her to die of thirst?

Leia let out a long slow breath. She buried her face against her scraped knees and tasted blood.

“Peace,” Thrawn said, like it was an order. “You won’t be here long.”

Leia laughed to herself. “You have a rescue team coming?” she asked.

Surely he did. It wouldn’t take the Imperials long to reach Honoghr. A few days, at most. But Thrawn didn’t bother to answer the question directly; perhaps he realized that Imperial capture for her wouldn’t be much better than being entombed.

“You have a rescue team coming,” he said. “Your brother will be here before the Chimaera arrives.”

“Excellent,” Leia said sharply. “So the Noghri can strip the Force away from him and throw him in here to die as well.”

Thrawn was silent for so long that it made her feel silly. She sniffed and raised her head, peering through the dark at him. Red light cast strange shadows over his face, but he didn’t look frightened, didn’t look irritated. His features were relaxed, eyes hooded. He looked thoughtful, composed … and suddenly Leia was aware of the way her lips were twisting, the ugly pinch of her eyebrows. She smoothed her face into a politician’s mask.

“The Noghri have no quarrel with your brother,” said Thrawn softly.

Leia swallowed another dark laugh. “He’s Vader’s blood, too.”

“But he did not lie to them,” said Thrawn. His eyes shifted away. Red light bounced off the tomb’s stone walls. “To the Noghri, Vader was a god. A god is permitted to be capricious, temperamental. If he poisoned Honoghr, then that was his right, and the Noghri will rationalize that they must have deserved it.”

Leia frowned. It made a certain amount of sense to her. There were old gods on Alderaan who tortured the mortals at will, cursed them with painful disfigurements, turned them into wretched animals. But…

“But then why would they punish you?” asked Thrawn, reading her mind. “Because in Noghri tradition, the gods do not lie. You lied to them; therefore, despite your divine blood, you cannot be a god.”

Leia wrapped her arms around her knees. “You lied to them,” she murmured.

“So I did. And here I am.” A quiet huff escaped from Thrawn’s lips. Maybe it was his version of a laugh; Leia couldn’t tell. “Besides,” he said softly, “I only sat on their throne. I was never their god.”

A damp chill rustled through the tomb. Leia swallowed, her throat so dry it clicked. The seam where the slab met the wall was near her left ear, but as hard as she listened, she still couldn’t hear anything outside. She wanted to hear the scream of a Y-wing’s engines, the shouts of frightened Noghri, the hum of a lightsaber. But everything outside was still and calm.

“Are you…” she started.

Red lights blinked on and off in the dark.

“Are you in pain?” Leia asked, her voice stilted.

She listened for his breathing, but she couldn’t hear it. Too quiet.

“No,” Thrawn said finally. He sounded younger now, less sure of himself. Like the show of concern put him on the back foot. Overhead, a pebble fell from the ceiling and there was a snuffling noise as a small, unintelligent animal poked its nose through a hole in the stone.

Would the air run out before they died of thirst? No, there was a breeze coming from the very top of the tomb. No light, but at least a little air. Leia shifted in her spot and kneaded her temples. Water dripped from the damp stones overhead, with one study droplet landing close to Thrawn’s ear. He couldn’t move his head away from the puddle that formed, and Leia couldn’t bring herself to help him; her limbs were heavy, her tongue frozen.

“I have a message for you to deliver,” said Thrawn.

A laugh bubbled into Leia’s throat. She closed her lips tight against it, but still, when she spoke, she could hear it in her own voice, harsh and ugly. “Last words for a lover?” she asked.

“In a sense.”

Leia’s stomach rolled. When she blinked she saw Han’s soft smile, felt his callused hands against her skin. She could hear her children crying for her from a galaxy away and suddenly there was a sour gush of bile on her tongue. “Tell me,” she said. “I’ll memorize it.”

Red eyes bored into her through the shadows. What kind of family did Thrawn have? She didn’t think of Imperials as family men, certainly not high-ranking officers like him, but of course she’d danced with them at balls, shaken hands with their children, probed their wives for intel over tea. She imagined Thrawn with a child in his arms, and just an hour ago she would have laughed at the image, but now it made her feel sick.

“For Voss Parck on Nirauan,” Thrawn said. “Tell him you come with my approval. Ask him about the Far Outsiders.”

Him. Leia sat up a little straighter, her eyes sharpening. The tightness in her throat faded away.

“Voss Parck,” she said. “A military colleague?”

“Yes,” said Thrawn. “An old friend. And a valuable ally in the coming war. You will need his assistance, his resources, if you wish to survive.”

The coming war, he said. Slowly, Leia got to her feet. She wove toward the glowing red lights of Thrawn’s eyes like she was in a daydream, and when she reached his side, she loomed over his body, her fingers clenched tight in the folds of her robes.

“What do you mean, the coming war?” she asked, her voice low. By instinct, she called to the Force, begging it to help her read him — but it didn’t answer. In the darkness, near the shell of Thrawn’s ear, something shifted — a glint of light shining off a carapace, a cave beetle scratching at his skin. It wasn’t the only one. His hair moved gently, subtly, as insect legs picked across his scalp. “You didn’t say anything,” said Leia in a murmur, biting back her horror. She brushed the beetles from his face, tried not to think about how futile it was, how many other creatures were waiting in the dark to feast on him while he lay paralyzed. A drop of cold water plopped down from the ceiling and splattered on the stone slab right next to Thrawn’s head. Dim, dull eyes stared up at her, expressionless: not wincing from the beetles, not thanking her for chasing them away.

“There are forces in this galaxy -- outside this galaxy -- that could destroy entire systems in one sweep,” Thrawn said, his voice soft. Leia combed her fingers through his hair and then left them there, curled in Thrawn’s black, blood-matted locks. Her thumb stroked against his temple: cold skin, scraped and sore. “Forces that would destroy us, gladly,” Thrawn went on. “My people know of them. They’ve consumed everything there is to consume in their own galaxy; some years ago, they made their way across the border, into ours. I’ve seen the destruction firsthand.”

His voice fractured. His words folded in on themselves. His eyes closed, all light fading.

“Work with the Empire,” he said in the darkness. “Find Voss Parck. He has resources you’ll need. Allies. Information.”

#my asks #thrawn

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