#a while ago I saw a post that combined these two into one

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Show me where it hurts (part 1)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel's acting weird, and you make it your mission to find out exactly what's going on.

warnings: no warnings for this chap, pg-13, swearing and canon level violence. smut next chapter xoxo

a/n: this is a combination of 2 asks and this post I saw on here a while ago: flirty/ snarky fem reader, Miguel during a ""rut"" (I don't know if it counts as a rut really, but its to do with his animal instincts/DNA) and Lyla playing matchmaker.  I had so much fun writing this, enjoy :D

(i wrote this pre seeing spiderverse 2, so i think characterisation is a little off, esp for Lyla, apologies! I'll fix it in my upcoming fics)

edit: I use the term "bichita" which I have been informed can be read not as I intended in Spanish. I'm not a native speaker so I want to apologise in advance. I'm doing more research for my future fics and leaving this up as a testament to my stupidity. Spanish speakers, feel free to correct me / clown my ass in the comments. My bad guys :(

wc: 3.6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You think Miguel is avoiding you. 

One of your closest friends, giving you the runaround for months, it seems. Calling the two of you close friends is a little extreme, sure. You've only known O'Hara for two years, and been in love with him for slightly less than that, thank you very much. And yes, he refuses to call you by anything but your last name. And the last time you saw him he wouldn't so much as look at you, but that was besides the point. 

"..the point," You tell Lyla, in between exasperated bites of cereal, "... is that aren't elite forces of spiderpeople supposed to, you know, have some spiderpeople kick ass once in a while? And where exactly is our fearless leader? I haven't seen O'Hara's scary ass in weeks, and I'm starting to miss it."

She gives you a look, one that says this isn't what I'm programmed for , but you pointedly ignore it. 

"His ass, by the way." You clarify. "I very specifically miss his ass. Remind me to get his routine. I know girls that would kill for…"

"How the fuck did you get in here?" A voice croaks. You turn behind you and see Miguel, not in his suit, but wrapped up in a blanket like he's just woken up. And he looks rough, like a train ran him over on the way here: puffy eyes, splotchy skin, tension kneaded into his brow. 

"Wow." Your spoon drops into the milk. "You look like shit.." 

He furrows his brow even deeper, if that was possible. " Mierda. You shouldn't be here." 

"This isn't quite the welcome party I was expecting, man. I'm the only one to actually turn up to one of your meetings, and this is what I get?" 

"I thought I told Lyla to cancel," He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Cancel? Since when do you miss a chance to talk about rules and protocol?" 

"I don't have time for this-" 

"-and I'm not leaving without a proper explanation. Is everything okay?" 

"It's actually way worse now you're here." He deadpans. 

"Haha ." You turn to Lyla. "You drop everything to travel halfway across the multiverse and this asshole won't even say thanks." 

"Thanks, but this asshole needs you to leave. Now." 

This is the most he's spoken to you in forever, and you hate that you like it. You just want his attention, however it comes. If that means dragging this out so maybe he acknowledges you, touches you, looks at you - then so be it. Squinting, you get closer to him. You scan his face for anything to latch onto. You put a hand on his shoulder, still searching. 

"You sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if-" 

"Si, si." He grits his teeth, looking away. "M'just fine. I'll explain…. later."

"...because I'm your right hand man?" You grin, poking at his brow. "Stop frowning so much Miguel, you're gonna ruin that pretty face of yours."

He flushes, nervous, and swats you away. "-what? N-No. You're not my right hand man and I like my face just the way it is. Now, leave. "

Making your way to the door, you tap your nose teasingly. "You know where to find me!" 

When the door closes with a click, you make your way down the corridor, and stop in your tracks when you hear it. It's muffled, but with the strain of your supersenses you can make out Miguel's voice just beyond the wall. 

"I just…. don't want her to see me like this… Lyla, it's not happening… I can't tell her…." Tell her what, exactly? 

Resolutely, you make up your mind. Miguel O'Hara's got a secret. And before you leave for home, you're gonna do everything in your God given power to wear him down and find out. 

~~~

Despite his insistence otherwise, you liked to think of yourself as O'Hara's right hand man - and most of the other spiderpeople thought so too. You were one of the very first he recruited, after crash landing onto your earth like a spiderman-shaped meteor; the two of you were inseparable. Miguel was stubborn and headstrong and thought he was right all the time. Infuriatingly, he was, but that didn't stop you from telling him to get his head out of his own ass when his ego grew too big. 

He was different around you, you think. Softer, sometimes. Harsher, other times. He told you what you needed to hear whether you wanted to or not; the result of mutual respect and agonising persistence. Slowly, you had chipped away his hard exterior; the one he built because he thought he needed to push people away. In that regard, you were similar, but this need manifested in you like a weed - an awful, awful compulsion to joke and laugh at your own expense, to keep others at an arm's length. You had spent your whole life picking and pruning away at yourself, looking for perfection. Even after all this, multiverse-hopping and fighting alongside people who were the closest things you had to friends , it wasn't enough. There was still something missing. 

Ironically, Miguel had told you something similar the one of the last times you had spoken. You had fucked up a mission, well and truly. In the aftermath, all you can remember is coming back to base, limping on Jessica's arm. 

"She's hurt!" She cries out. Lyla materialises and leads you both to the med bay, inspecting any visible wounds. There's a deep laceration, sticky with blood, at the base of your stomach. You shift onto the bed and hiss with pain. 

Miguel is quick to follow, face twisted with confusion, pain, sadness. Even in your haze, you feel the tension radiating off of him as he drags over a cart of supplies. 

"What happened?" He strains. 

"I don't even… it happened so fast. We got ambushed, and all of a sudden I'm on the ground. I wasn't thinking straight and… " She sobs. "...she jumped in front of me. God, she saved my life-" 

"-wasn't your fault, Jess." You croak, trying to sit up. "And I'm fine. Just need to walk it off…"

"Sit, bichita," His nickname makes you frown, despite yourself, and you settle back down. "Lyla, what's the damage?"

Your vision goes spotty, and Lyla's voice barely registers. All you can feel is searing pain in your side, but Miguel is warm, oh so warm. You clutch his arms, and force him to look you in the eye. 

"M'ready, Miguel." He nods weakly, but you don't think he understands. "I mean it . I can lead, j-just need another chance and I won't let you down… Jess, tell him that I can-" 

"It's okay. I believe you. You just need to relax for me, hmm?" He clutches at your hand, tight, and it's like you're the only two people in the world. "You did good. I promise."

Faintly, you nod. You feel a pinch at your arm, and Jessica's there, with an empty vial of something in her hands. The pain washes over you, and you fight to keep your eyes open. In those last few moments of light, you swear you feel a shaky kiss pressed to your temple. 

"Sleep, mi bichito amoroso. Sleep."

When you come to, you're still in the medbay, moonlight streaming through. Well, artificial moonlight. Time worked a little differently here, something Miguel explained to you a while ago - God knows what about dilation and quantum interference. It makes you smile now, remembering his frustration as he tried to explain to no avail. You were the only spiderman this side of the multiverse without a degree in quantum tech, you had said with a lopsided smile. 

You move to sit, and pain shoots up your side. Groaning, you push through it, determined to get out of this bed and find the others. As if on cue, Miguel walks in, almost leaping towards you. 

"You should… mierda ! You should be resting in bed."

You pout as you stumble into his chest. He hooks an arm around you and leads you back. You clamber in, sighing. "M'fine, O'Hara."

"Your guts were halfway out of your body less than 24 hours ago. So stay put, or you might give me another heart attack."

You scoff, incredulous. "You were worried?" 

He shrugs. " 'Course I was."

"Why? You know I'm practically indestructible." You give him a shit eating grin, and poke the frown appearing at his brow. He doesn't bat you away like he usually does. 

"Famous last words, bichita." He sighs. You can't speak a lick of Spanish, but you know he only calls you that word when you've frustrated him to his limit. So you take it as a win, for now. 

He drops into the chair next to you. "How are you feeling?" 

"Just peachy, dollface." You wink, and he doesn't so much as groan. 

"I'm being serious. You went through something pretty traumatic…"

"You want me to tell you it hurts, so, so bad, daddy? " You pout and flutter your eyelashes mockingly. Miguel shifts in his seat, unable to make eye contact. 

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, O'Hara? I feel fine. And in a couple of days, I'll feel even better, and I'll be up and about. I can finish what we started and-" 

"-no, absolutely not." He frowns. "A couple of days? I'm sending you home-" 

"You can't do that! On whose fucking authority?"

"On the authority of you almost fucking died ! Keeping you safe is our priority right now-" 

"God, is this my punishment? This is a low blow, O'Hara. You know how hard I've worked for this: months of surveillance and intel a-and I did everything by the book, just like you told me to." You croak. "I fucked up . I know that, and I feel terrible. Give me a chance to make things right; that's all I'm asking. I can do it, I know it. "

He looks at you for a moment, something heavy in his expression. His face contorted, he strips you down to the bone with just his gaze. His voice is so quiet, you almost miss it. 

"....you're still trying to prove yourself, aren't you?"

Honestly, it catches you off guard. You don't even know what the fuck that means, let alone why he said it.

"I don't… I d-don't…?" 

"They all love you. Respect you. More than me I think, sometimes." He chuckles at that. "You're good at what you do. The best . What else are you trying to prove? What else do you need ?" 

Your throat goes dry. You couldn't speak if you wanted to. 

"I'm not punishing you. You made a mistake, but you don't need to be crucified for it. I just want to keep you safe. I can't… we can't lose you."

"Miguel-"

"-this isn't a discussion. And I'm not trying to argue, although I know how much you like to argue." He inches closer, cupping your face gently. You try to move away, blinking back tears. But his hands are steady and he strokes your jaw with so much tenderness you think you hear your heart break. He's pretty, so pretty. You don't deserve him, you think. "There'll be time to fight, bichita. Rest. That's your mission right now."

"C-can't sleep." You breathe. "It hurts." 

Miguel pauses, head tilted like he's thinking. He taps your shoulder. "Scoot over."

You do as he says, and he slips into the bed with you. It's a tight fit, but he manages, placing you on his chest with an arm gently around your shoulders. You bury your face in his hoodie, sniffling and hoping he doesn't notice you choking back sobs. Absentmindedly, he settles into a rhythm, gentle breathing and playing with your hair, soothing you softly. He pretends he can't hear the tears. 

"M'gonna stay here until you're asleep. For as long as you need."

You nod, unable to speak for fear of breaking down. 

~~~

The days after felt like a blur. You woke up to Miguel gone, and an ache in your heart. Jess visits as much as she can, and Ben calls you a couple times, to see if you're okay. Peter B brings Mayday, and she clambers all over your bed, bringing some life into the room. Miguel doesn't visit per se - you hear whispers of him, Lyla visiting in his stead for comprehensive status updates. Once, you wake up in the night to see him on the adjacent chair, head lolling in deep sleep. He looks peaceful, calm - one of the first times you haven't seen his brow furrowed with worry. Of course, he's gone by the morning. 

The very last time you saw him, he opened the portal home. It was weird, after everything, but if Miguel felt the same you wouldn't know. Talking at a thousand miles a minute, he alternates between assuring you they'll be fine without you and situation reports from spider people all across the multiverse. Things you'd missed whilst bedbound, asking for advice before you left. He trusted your judgement and the thought warmed your heart, almost making you forget that he completely brushed past the previous nights before. 

You still remember the last thing he had said to you, which would've been weeks ago, now. 

"...and if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me directly. Not Jess, not Ben, and certainly not Peter B. Call me, and I'll answer, I promise. You need help, you need advice, you just need someone to talk to, then-"

"-I call you. I get it, O'Hara. Will do." He opens the portal, watching as you walk towards it. He can't take his eyes off of you, even though you can't see him. At the last moment you turn, and run towards him. You almost knock him over with a hug. Burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, he hugs you back, ever careful of your injury. Separating, your smile almost knocks him over again. Weakly, he smiles back as you head through the portal, back home. 

You're left with that feeling, of his arms around your body - warm, so warm - as you putter about by the switchboard. After careful deliberation (you were really, really bored ) you'd taken to manage the Multi Modal Multiversal Switchboard - as aptly named by Miguel. Everyone else called it the Big Red Phone of course, but he had insisted on calling it by its proper name . Every. Time. 

The thought makes you chuckle as you call up Peter B. His icon flashes on the screen in front of you. With a click, he picks up the call, his face materialising holographically in front you. A little hand reaches up and tugs at his ear. 

"Ow… ouch … Dad's on the phone, honey."

"Aww! How's my favourite Parker doing?" 

"Not bad, actually! MJ just made us probably the best burger this side of New York-"

"-sorry, Peter? Me and May are trying to have a conversation." You hear her giggle in the background. Her gap toothed grin pops into frame and she babbles excitedly. "...yeah, exactly May. That's literally what I said."

"Okay, okay, that's enough." He puts the toddler down and watches her scurry away. "You're feeling better, I see."

"Yeah, back in action. Thought I'd check in."

"All good here." He squints, trying to take in your surroundings. "You're at HQ?" 

You hum.

"Could've sworn Lyla cancelled…"

"Yeah, didn't get the memo. But I think something's wrong with O'Hara."

He gives you a weird look. "Uhhh, what makes you think that?" 

"He won't even look at me. Was it something I said? Something I did?" Your eyes narrow. "...what do you know, Peter?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" He scoffs, a little too quickly, clutching his chest like you've offended him. He's stared down some of the scariest villains around, but the look you give him is truly chilling. "Just… uhhh. You didn't hear this from me." 

"Naturally…"

"We tracked 'em down, the guys that ambushed you and Jessica."

"The Sinister Six? From Earth-215?"

"Yeah, but by the time we got there, it was just Kraven and some of his goons. Miguel got there first, and…." He gulps. "He was pissed. Trashed the whole place looking for the rest of 'em. Beat Kraven half to death and we had to pull him off."

"Shit."

"Yeah, it was pretty rough. Never seen him like that before. And just generally? He'd been weirdly quiet, a little grumpy, more aggressive on missions. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"Hmmm. Thanks, Pete."

"No problem, sweetheart. And if the big guy asks… "

"...this didn't come from you, I know." Weakly, you smile. "Say hi to my favourite Parkers, for me." 

" 'Course I will. We should celebrate, if you're back officially. Mine and MJ's is always open."

"Good to know. I'll see you around."

He waves goodbye, and the hologram clicks off. Sighing, you try to piece together what you've just heard. 

Miguel: acting weird. Well, you knew that already. Aggressive was new. And Lyla? She had canceled, but not for you, for some reason. An honest mistake, perhaps. But Lyla doesn't make mistakes… 

You stew for a couple of hours, puttering about the switchboard, twiddling your thumbs. Something's wrong, and for some reason you're afraid to see him. To have him look straight through you, again, when you ask to do the same. Show me where it hurts. Tell me how to make it better.  

On the way there, you chew your lip in anticipation. In the corridor, you're outside the door to his place, hand hovering above the door. To knock, to call. In the harsh fluorescent light, you hesitate. 

"Lyla?" Nervously, you sink down onto the floor. It's hard to explain, but you don't expect her to actually come; to materialise in front of you. 

"How can I assist you?" She says with a ding. 

"Uhh… hi. Just wanted to talk." You pause, clicking your tongue. "Can you be honest with me?" 

"I can only be honest with you. It is not in my programming to lie, unless specified by my owner."

"Sure. Cool. It's about him, actually. Is Miguel okay?" 

She tilts her head, as if processing your request. "Okay is a subjective term. Is Mr O'Hara alive? Yes. Is Mr O'Hara physically well? Yes. By those terms, he is okay ."

Too vague for your own liking. "I guess I meant more… his emotional state. To the best of your knowledge… in your opinion , Lyla: is Miguel okay?" 

"...I believe Mr O'Hara is experiencing some emotional turmoil."

You frown. "Oh. Do you know why?" 

"Mr O'Hara has instructed me not to disclose that information with you."

"Fair enough. But you don't have to tell me… I could just ask questions?" 

She nods. "There is nothing in my programming that prevents me from answering some questions within certain parameters." 

"Did I do something? Not just today but… last time I was here. Did I say something to hurt or upset him? Is that why he's acting weird?"

"No." She says blankly. "And yes. I suppose it is… complicated." She gestures around that word. 

"I'm a little confused, Lyla."

She sits next to you, on the cool tile. Not that she could feel it, but it feels more intimate - like two friends talking. The extent of Lyla's consciousness, you weren't sure of. Was she alive? To you, she might as well be. Could she think, feel, emote? Maybe, maybe not. You weren't smart enough to understand the nuances of her programming. But you were human enough to see it in her - something glittering beyond the surface. 

It could be projection, but you swear her voice is softer. "He has a name for you. When he speaks about you, and to you. I have it logged in my memory database. Do you know what that is?" You shake your head. 

Lyla opens up her palm and projects videos and images - little Miguel's popping up in her palm, tinny and gruff voices ringing through the hallway. They say your name, shout your name, whisper it. Some say other things in Spanish. Curse words had always been your assumption, and he had given you no reason to think otherwise. Now, having it played back to you, you hear a tenderness in his voice you would've missed. Words and phrases that come up again and again…

"Bichita." She repeats. "Bichito del amor. Mi bichito amoroso. "

You shake your head, still confounded. "...I don't speak Spanish, Lyla." 

"Little bug. Sweetheart. Lovebug. My little lovebug." She clears her throat. "I believe they are terms of endearment."

Steadfast, she directs you towards her palm. Another small Miguel appears, and you think it's him from this morning. 

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in, Lyla?" 

"I did not let her in. She let herself in using the code you previously gave her, Mr O'Hara."

"Yeah, for emergencies. Fuck. Mi bichita, too smart for her own good."

"...If you are in distress, I believe she would understand, Mr O'Hara."

"I just think it's too much. I don't want her to see me like this." 

"According to Alchemax files, previous subjects showing this kind of aggression benefitted from-"

"Lyla, it's not happening, no chance. I can't tell her."

The figure blinks out of her palm. "Mr O'Hara has forbid me from telling you about certain things."

"...but not from showing me." Your eyes meet hers. You give her a watery smile. "Thank you." 

With a hint of a smile, she nods and is gone from the corridor. You are left alone, with nothing but your thoughts of little lovebugs rattling around in your brain.

_

_

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#miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #across the spiderverse #kat_writes😼 #this gif is fucking crazy btw

[astolfofo]

…I had a thought about the halovians(specifically sunday) and want to know peoples opinions. do u think he has nesting instincts? :3 thank u for listening to my ted talk.

hi (i did say i was gonna answer this 2 weeks ago unfortunately I forgot i'm so sorry.) But anyways, thank you for your ask, and 100% he does.

tw: non-con, forced pregnancy, dark content. truly the unedited sleep deprived trying to write.

Okay i finished writing this i know you didn't ask for acutal writing but i went ahead and did it anyways because why not hope u don't mind

also excuse the fact that thus was posted at 4am and I was half falling asleep already while writing this.

There were three days in your life that you could have called the worst.

The first one was the day when Sunday took your life away from you, and claimed you to be his "wife". The second was when first time he chose to be intimate. The third was when you got pregnant as a result.

Nothing had ever stuck to you like the day after that. You felt like washing the sheets until your hands would bleed. You wanted to submerge yourself in bleach until every fiber of your body burned, shriveled up, and died.

You wanted to forget that it happened. That the events in the previous night ever happened at all.

But the soreness between your legs was a constant reminder. And even though the pain went away after a few days, it was replaced by something much worse. Something you feared.

You saw the signs from the second you got them. Your body felt heavy. You were constantly tired. You had lost interest in eating. It was obvious what was going on.

And for a few days, you tried to hide it. The longer Sunday didn't know, the better it was for you. That way, you could slowly while away your last few moments in peace before everything was taken from you in entirety.

After a few weeks, you couldn't hide it anymore. You remember staring at the double line on the pregnancy test.

You almost instantly broke down into tears. It wasn't anything that you hadn't already know n, but maybe part of you still just believed you were ill, that maybe there was another reason why you had missed your period that month. That the pain you kept experiencing was just from some kind of illness.

The last thing you could keep away from Sunday was taken away from you that day. The sense of freedom you could've had.

To Sunday, you suppose this was the final step he needed to take to bind you to him. Another way to control you. Another way to keep you in his arms, and make sure you wouldn't let go.

And if you didn't want to get murdered by the press, if you didn't want to further sabotage both your own and Sunday's public image, you knew to take it.

You had no choice but to take it. You were no more than an insect trapped under his thumb.

-

out of the two of you, there was only one person that was particularly enthusiastic about having a child.

It certainly wasn't you.

Ever since you had first found out about the pregnancy, you had felt empty. As if someone directly sucked the soul out of your body.

You weren't yourself anymore. You hadn't been for a long time.

Sunday didn't seem too bothered by it though.

You weren't sure if it was just his own parental instincts, or whether he could tell that it was almost time for you go into labour. Maybe it was a combination of both. You didn't care. You couldn't care less.

All you knew was that his presence was suffocating. Overbearing. Invasive, even.

You couldn't do anything by yourself. Sunday felt the need to assist you with everything you did. Even basic tasks such as grabbing an object, he insisted that he would get for you.

But what set you off the most, was his intense urge to keep the house in order. You had never seen him having such intense urges to organize a room even when just the slightest thing was out of order. He couldn't stand seeing the slightest speck of dust, he couldn't stand seeing the furniture just an inch out of place.

It drove you to madness.

If you had even slightly misplaced something Sunday you would notice Sunday getting slightly agitated.

From the moment he came home, to the moment he would fall asleep, he spent every waking second making sure the house was perfectly in order, before obsessing over you. At some point you just wanted to wave him off. Lock yourself in the bathroom and sleep for a long period of time, until you had no concept of reality anymore.

You didn't have it in you to keep going. week after week, month after month, Sunday's final goal had always to perfect you into an obedient wife that would do as they were told. And no matter how you tried to fight it... you were always forced back into obedience.

There's two cold fingers touching your chin, and lifting your face up, until you're forced to meet a pair of eyes.

They're bright. Everytime you see them, you can't help but try to look away. They were as bright as the sun, and just like the sun, you felt as if you were going to be blinded jfyou looked at them for too long. You guess it could've also been a sentiment to the power he held over you too.

"Dear, did you hear a word I just said?"

It's an obvious answer. But, you know better by now just to answer the question. You slightly shake your head, which supposedly satisfied him enough, to let go of the fi gers holding your head up.

He sighs, you're not sure in annoyance or in disappointment.

"If you keep acting like this, I'm going to need to resort to drastic measures..."

You look at him one more time. You remember how when you first saw him, you thought of him to be beautiful. To be almost ethereal.

You regret falling into that hypnosis. You regret looking at him at all.

Look at where it got you.

#yandere sunday x reader #yandere sunday #sunday x reader #sunday smut #yandere hsr #yandere x reader #hsr smut #hsr x reader #sorry if i butchered your ask its like. late rn. 💀

[icallhimjoey]

So, have you ever thought about this: Joey agreed to casually have sex with you but finds himself not being able to be casual about it at all so he starts trying to make a connection but you’re running away from these conversations?

(Having an intense måneskin-phase, can’t get over Baby said) ✨

- @nadixm

the way this request lit something on FIRE inside of me was a little unexpected, but thank you so much for sending it in! wasnt able to stop thinking about it after receiving it, so, <3 (girlies, this is obviously going to be 18+ so proceed with caution, and minors: fuck off) Wordcount: 3.9K

---

More Than This

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

You were pretending you didn’t catch that.

But you’d seen him look.

Had felt his eyes on you.

That soft, half-lidded adoring type of shit, which was usually just this sappy post-orgasmic bliss Joe would swim in for a little bit.

Nothing more than biology. Hormones surging around the system and shit. That was all.

Joe would hook an arm somewhere and hold you in place until you gained the strength to let your combined sweat work in your favour, to let you slip free from him. Head for a shower if you were at your own flat – and hope Joe would let himself out whilst you were in there – or straight back into your clothes you’d have to pick up from the floor when you were at Joe’s.

You were in bed with him now, at his flat. You’d started by his front door about forty minutes ago – didn’t need more than a sultry look into each other’s eyes for you to be on him.

Joe hadn’t even greeted you, just stood in his own doorway and waited on the threshold for you to pop out of the lift. And then he didn’t step aside when you approached him.

Gave you no other choice but to launch yourself at him, did he?

Would only let you in if you were attached to him by the mouth and full torso, already ripping clothes from yourself or from him. Only then would he let you inside, turning the both of you around and into his flat for fear of you leaving clothing items out in the communal hallway.

It was like that with Joe.

You liked it like that with Joe.

Not much talk.

All sex.

Maybe a, “Is this new?” if you wore a top he’d never seen before, or a, “Blue, I like blue,” if he saw you’d changed your nails. Superficial shit. Things he’d see and could say something about to feign normal people chat. You never participated. Didn’t react to what he said. Would just yank the belt from his jeans which always either hurt you or hurt Joe.

And then it would get kissed better.

One time you bruised yourself because the belt whipped back at you, right in the face, and it had one of those metal pieces at the end that really fucking hurt. Joe had kissed you better for a long time then. All your escapades blended together, they had started to a short little while back, but you remembered that one time vividly because it was a real stand out. The way you’d gone from shooting pain in the face, pain that left your cheekbone legit bruised in blues and purples surrounding a bright yellow swollen bit of skin, to the pleasure of being cared for and being cared for was different.

Good different.

If you were feeling particularly needy, you’d refer to it still. Would ask Joe to kiss a random part of you better. You’d just point somewhere and go, “Am I red here? Skin’s not broken, is it?” because asking if something was bruised felt too on the nose.

Like Joe didn’t know what you were doing.

Not that it mattered.

Joe would kiss you anywhere for however long you wanted. And if he’d move away, and your throat made a desperate little noise, he’d just be back on you.

Anyway.

It was never anything too adventurous with Joe, but it was always good. It was good that you knew what to expect. Meant you weren’t scared of suggestions that would make you go, ugh, okay, this was fun whilst it lasted, but big nope.

Like, feet shit. Listen, no offence, but if Joe was going to suggest for you to step onto some pudding barefoot, this would be over real fast.

But it had never been like that.

Would never be like that.

You knew who to text for predictable sex that always happened on a soft surface. Where the rough person in the room was you, and you were by no means hard-handed. You’d maybe take Joe’s jaw into your hands a little rough every once in a while, because it’d make his pink lips look even more plush. Would occasionally leave teeth marks near his collar bone or around his thumb. But, that was about the extent of it.  

Joe knew his lane. Could still surprise you within that lane from time to time, but you liked that Joe would never pretend to accidentally leave a ball gag out. No, oops how did that get here? sort of dumb shit.

No.

You’d lay eyes on each other and then get to a bed or a sofa as quickly as you could. Limbs tangled. Always kissing. Sharing breaths.

Joe loved kissing. Used it as foreplay but could do it for long without letting it go further until you’d grow restless, which always made Joe grin into the press of his lips against yours. Those were things you’d come to classify as one of the softer moments.

You didn’t mind a bit of emotion.

But kissing you until you were absolutely hungry for more, and then smiling where you could feel it? Almost too soft of a moment.

Those moments were tricky and were best kept to a minimum.  

The looking at you after was one of those softer moments too. You were on your back and catching your breath as you stared up at the ceiling, and Joe was just sort of... staring at you. Slowly studying your face from the side, letting his eyes dance over your profile like he’d never seen it before.

Joe looked and looked and looked until you turned your head and he quickly looked away. Pretended he hadn’t been looking. Like peripheral vision wasn’t a thing.

“I don’t like it when you do that,”

Blunt.

But it was sort of nice to just say what you were thinking without being afraid of hurting feelings.

There were no feelings.

Nothing to hurt around here.

“What?”

Joe turned his head back and looked again. Less deep this time though. Not so hormonal.

“Look at you? After what we’ve just done I can’t look at you?”

He knew you’d seen. Was about to say he shouldn’t be blamed because it was sort of your fault. Had you seen yourself? Did you know what you looked like to others? To men? To him, after what you’d just done to each other and with each other?

He didn’t think you knew. Well, maybe you knew, but you’d never understand.

“No, you can look,” you lied, because you really did not like it. Made you feel all sorts of uncomfortable.

“But the looking away when I catch you does my head in. Look at me like you mean it or keep your eyes closed.”

It earned a huff of laughter from Joe who now rolled over onto his side to watch without restriction. No hiding what he was doing. You could only bear a couple of seconds of it before you sat up, stomach muscles working hard at pulling you upright, earning a groan that escaped your constricted throat.

“No, come on,” Joe’s hand was quick, moved from his side to grab at one of your arms. “I won’t look, all right?” he tried, like that would change everything and make you lay back down again.

You’d already scooped your bra up from the floor.

“I’ve got an early day tomorrow,” you said over your shoulder as you sorted the straps before covering your chest back up.

Joe let himself fall back as he let an annoyed sound escape him when you reached for your underwear next. If it had been any more guttural, you’d maybe have taken it seriously.

“You’ve always got an early day tomorrow,” he complained.

“Yea, well, some of us have office hours they need to abide by, can’t just go gallivant whenever we’d like, have to request time off and– it’s a whole ordeal,” you spoke like your life was burdened by the structure of a steady job and a permanent contract.

It wasn’t.

But, you know. You couldn’t go out and stay out late on random Tuesdays like Joe could.

Not that you wanted to go out with Joe on random Tuesdays.

You wanted Joe in between some sheets for an hour on random Tuesdays. And, any other time when you were up for it, really. When you wanted soft touches and face-to-face sex where Joe forced eye-contact.

No.

Joe never forced anything.

But Joe would go, “hey,” real soft, would repeat it until you actually heard it, and it would make you look at him. Then he’d hold your gaze. Was very intense sometimes, especially if you were close and he held eye-contact right as he fucked you through it.

If that was one of the softer moments was still up for debate. Maybe occasionally it was. Kind of depended on your mood, though.

“You got any plans for the weekend then?” Joe’d given up on trying to keep you there for now, and instead focussed on when the next time would be.

You shrugged. “Not really.”

Your sister’s boyfriend had a birthday barbecue that you’d attend, and you needed to find a good cobbler to fix a shoe you’d broken in a mad dash for a tube replacement bus the other day but – no real plans. You vaguely recalled other plans for the Friday night, but nothing was set in stone. There was still plenty of time for a little limb-tangling with Joe.

“Are you around?” you asked, pulling your top over your head, and standing up before turning to see Joe working his arms as he tried to place the covers back in the correct position from where he laid.

“Should be,”

“All right,” you nodded and found your jeans.

“All right,” Joe copied your tone of voice and the nod. You frowned at how corny that was.

“I’m stealing a drink from your fridge,” you said, stepping into said jeans and already making your way out of the bedroom.

“Squash is on the side,” Joe lazily gestured, having learnt by now you never just drank a bottle of water normally like a sane person. Then quickly and more pressingly Joe followed up with, “And I don’t want to find mouthfuls of my leftovers missing!”

You grinned to yourself out of his sight.

You were absolutely going to stick a fork into whatever tubs he had in there. You deserved it after swallowing Joe the way you had moments ago, and he knew it too.

“Focus on the important things, Joe,” you called back from the kitchen, going for a fork. “Like condoms. You’ve barely got any left.”

Fork in hand, you went for the fridge. Found a bottle of water in the door that you were going to put some squash into in a second.

And then, when your eyes looked towards the shelves, your breath hitched in your throat.

This idiot.

What an... all right. Nope. You weren’t going to do this. This wasn’t who you and Joe were and you weren’t going to play along with this.

You see, Joe was a Tupperware man – would always cook too much and then dump whatever he had left over into Tupperware that would fill up his fridge until he could go a full week just eating what he’d already cooked up days ago. It was a side effect of living alone and not knowing fucking portion sizes. Especially for pasta.

Almost every leftover Joe ever had in his fridge was pasta.

Made sense.

You also couldn’t measure spaghetti for the life of you.

What annoyed you about it most was how Joe seemed sort of messy, like any guy was messy, but the inside of his fridge was organised to the point where you thought he had health inspection checking up on him. It was all dated with sharpies – the leftovers. Like he was a professional chef that couldn’t get away with opening something up and just giving it a good whiff to decide whether that was still okay to eat or not.

Annoying.

But, what really got you, is that amongst the four or five tubs of dinner sat one smaller one. One with a little post-it note stuck to it with your name on.

This idiot made his fridge look like the one at your office.

One with Tupperware that had a name stuck to it.

A little preportioned bit of leftovers just for you inside Joe’s fridge, so you wouldn’t have to go digging into any of the other containers.

You took the note, looked at it up close and then flung it onto the counter. You ignored it. Went for a larger tub and opened that, ever the rebel. Let your fork run through it, messed it all up real nice and then took a big bite, grimacing at how cold it was.

Was still good though. Nice.

You closed the tub. Opened another.

Did the same thing – grimaced more because cold but also, it was really annoying how fucking good it still was. Joe either followed killer mommy food blogs, or just... knew shit about cooking. Was a whole ass natural in the kitchen when it came to herbs and spices and things.

Whatever.

You placed the tub back and purposefully left the lid off. Left that on the counter. Smirked at yourself when you closed the fridge and caught a last glance of your fork still inside there.

“Hey,” Joe stepped into his living room, in boxers and a T-shirt now.

You quickly swallowed and got busy with the squash.

“I’ve got um, I’m seeing my friend, he’s got a gig on Friday, it’s at a small venue near Brick Lane,” Joe talked in a casual tone of voice, made his way over to the fridge and opened it to remove the fork.

You feigned innocence. Ignored the whole thing as Joe reached around you to grab the lid you’d left out.

“Sounds cool,” you said, taking a sip to check you liked how sweet you’d made your drink. “Have fun.”

You knew he meant, come with me.

You knew this was his casual way of suggesting you could also maybe hang out together outside of the activities at your flat and his.

But he wasn’t using the actual words, so it was stupidly easy to pretend you had no idea what Joe was trying to do.

“Yea,” Joe spoke around a deep inhale, placing the lid back onto the Tupperware and then gave you a polite tight-lipped smile as he closed the fridge again. “Thanks.”

The way you wanted to squish Joe’s face to wipe that stupid smile off before messing that whole fridge up made your fingers itch a little.

When Joe moved to place the fork into the dishwasher, you decided that was your cue to leave. Man was cleaning up after you and couldn’t even leave the fork in the sink for a second like a normal person.

“Maybe see you after?”

It was a careful question, but one he knew he probably would get a yes to.

“Yea, maybe,” you said nonchalantly, slinging arms into your jacket. “Text me.”

You expertly left everything up in the air. You might have the time for him on Friday, you might not. You weren’t going to go see an amateur band with him though, that was for sure. That wasn’t what this was.

You’d been clear with each other from the start.

Hadn’t used the actual words, but, you were both adults and it was understood that this was what it was going to be. It was never anything else than what it had been tonight and good.

That was good.

You’d met Joe at a party you were only at because it was in your building and your neighbour had invited the whole flat just so no one would complain about the noise. A nice gesture, but never meant as an actual invitation. But it was the flat above yours, and you’d tried to go to sleep, but there were people out on the balcony and they had music going, so there was dancing and feet stomping and – it was all just, loud. You’d thought, all right fuck it, I could go for a few drinks, plan being you’d fall asleep much faster with a bit of drink in the system.

Joe was there.

You’d rocked up in an oversized T-shirt, bicycle shorts and socks in slides. Hair messy with the evidence of the stirring you’d done in your bed.

Joe’d taken one look and knew exactly what was going on. He guessed, but, he’d been right. He was looking at someone from inside the building. There just because they’d technically received an invitation, even if it was only so that they wouldn’t complain about the noise.

“Drink?”

“Yes please,”

For the first fifteen minutes of the two of you talking, you thought Joe was your neighbour. He was the one who’d let you in and who’d walked you into the kitchen.

Yet he wasn’t the neighbour.

Joe sort of knew someone who knew someone who knew your neighbour, vaguely. The person who lived in the flat above you was also a girl, something you weren’t aware of. Her name was Charlie, so you couldn’t really blame yourself for assuming the invitation had come from a guy.

Joe also gave you a drink that was so fucking gross, you immediately went, “What the fuck is this? Petrol?” and he’d gone, “You don’t like it?” before saying he’d try again, do a better job for your next one. You immediately felt bad, seeing as he’d mixed the drink, and had thrown the whole glass back to prove that the drink was fine.

Getting it down was a big task though, and your whole face contorted as you worked at swallowing every single last drop down. Made you shiver and made Joe laugh as he said, “No, no, no, don’t drink it if you don’t like it,” but it was all in your mouth already and fuck, that tasted like it was just pure vodka.

Which you then learned is exactly what that was.

“Dry martini with a twist,”

“What’s the twist? That’s it’s just a big glass of vodka?”

“I mean... yes, it’s exactly that, with a twist.” Joe said dryly and tapped the piece of lemon rind in his own glass. “Bit of lemon.”.

You had nearly burst into laughter. Nearly, because this man was a stranger, and you did come over to get a slight buzz going, so that just happened to work out exactly how you planned it.

“Are there any... I don’t know, regular beers? No twists?” and you’d craned your neck to see behind Joe, to look into the kitchen, which, you knew where the kitchen was because the floorplan was obviously the same to your flat.

Joe’d taken you over to the fridge.

Gave you a no twist beer.

And then later, you’d taken Joe over to your bedroom.

Had no twist sex.

It was so obvious you were looking for the weakest excuse to get Joe over to your place. You were both sort of scraping the barrel, didn’t want to just say it, because you had more dignity than that.

So you’d thrown out your fishing rod and hoped Joe would bite when you looked into the living room of your upstairs neighbour and said, “I like where she placed her sofa, that wouldn’t work in my flat,”

Joe bit immediately.

“Nah, ‘course it would, let’s go try.”

You’d not even gotten close to your sofa that night. Straight from the front door into your bedroom and then straight back towards the front door a short 60 minutes later.

And then it had been like that.

You’d text to check availability and then would either go, “omw” or “come here” and neither of you were ever too proud to pretend you didn’t want it. It was either a, “can’t im busy” or “ive got some time” and it worked fine like that.

It helped neither of you had flatmates you needed to explain shit too.

Except, if you had, you would’ve figured out Joe was somebody a lot sooner.

Oh well.

Joe was nobody in his flat, and even less of a somebody over in yours. You kept him in your phone as first name Joe last name No Twist and refused to change it to Quinn. He wasn’t any better than all the other guys whose last names were all Hinge, or the closest tube station to where they lived.

“Here,” Joe said, just before you were about to leave. You looked back and saw he was holding out the little container of leftovers.

You frowned at it.

“Take it, but heat it up in a pan with a little olive oil, don’t eat it when it’s still cold and stiff from the fridge,”

You kept frowning but held a hand out to take it from him anyway. This felt a bit like refusing to take a tenner from you grandmother because you didn’t need a tenner, but, it was still a tenner, you know?

“I’ll probably hate it,” you lied, stuffing the Tupperware into your bag.

“And you can tell me all about it on Friday,”

Stupid little smirk.

Okay, so sure, you were going to see Joe on Friday after this gig he had to go to. And you’d tell him about how much you hated his leftovers.

Also, if Joe was thinking he was going to get this little container back, he was wrong.

That was yours now.

With squash in hand, you said goodbye and made your way out by yourself. Didn’t need or want Joe to walk you out – Joe knew. Understood. Stayed in his kitchen, but did call, “Text me when you get home,” after you because he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he didn’t know you’d gotten home safe.

“Yea, yea,” you dismissed him, loudly said, “Condoms!” to remind him and gave yourself a quick once over in the mirror by the door before you left. Closed the door behind you a little more rested and satisfied than you had been when you’d walked through it a little while earlier.

Whilst making your way out of the building, you whipped your phone out and found the right text thread.

“can’t do friday, something came up, soz”

And then went over to your calendar where you removed “james hinge” and replaced it with “joe no twist”

James could wait.

James never made you pasta.

Joe did.

Joe would make sure you orgasmed – like, he’d keep going until he could feel the evidence of it himself, would make sure the question “did you come” was unnecessary, and would make sure there was squash on the side and now, Joe had made you pasta.

Yea, you were going to see Joe again on Friday.

You made the mental note to keep his staring to a minimum though. Would have to make him come and then immediately force him out of bed to clean the sheets, or whatever.

Less of the soft shit.

You were going to tell him his pasta was fucking disgusting.

Telling Joe you loved the food he made before climbing on top of him was too soft of a moment. Those moments were tricky. Best kept to a minimum.  

---

The Taglisted

@05secondsofsexgods, @a-time-for-wolvess, @adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @choke-me-eddie, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddie-joe-munson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frogers, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @luvrsbian, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @ohmeg, @paola-carter, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thefemininemystiquee, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

(taglist currently full, sorry)

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #rpf #18+ #more than this

[sku11s1asher]

hi! i loved what you wrote for my request 😭 it was so cute, i didn't really specify it bc i forgot but yeah u did it amazing <33

and yeah u can totally make a part 2! actually i was thinking about it bc i can imagine a meeting between furina and the natlan archon while neuvi and reader are just giving glances to eachother 😭 reader looking like a total meanace but in his mind like "damn he's handsome" almost burning his cheeks and the seat lmao

neuvillette x m! reader (part 1)

note: ngl i feel like i do good at posting then smth with school pops up and i don’t post for like a month.. sorry y’all. also please tell me im not the only one who’s been on and off sick for the past month, rn i have a runny nose and a sore throat AGAIN. i just got over that like, barely 2 weeks ago.

tw: y/n is a bit of a weirdo with his thoughts since he doesn’t understand anything w/ love, internal homophobia (not really but kinda?), y/n is all over the place

After centuries of fighting, killing, and not showing emotions to anyone, all that can end because of a guy with beautiful long hair. The more y/n thinks about it, the more embarrassed he gets. He’s known for being a fearless and intimidating warrior, just for that whole facade to disappear just over a man out of all things.

This whole scenario came into place because his nation archon just had to have a meeting with Fontaine's archon, Furina, at least y/n thinks that’s her name. The meeting consisted of figuring out how to make the justice system within Natlan better and a way to make transportation easier between the two nations. y/n didn’t pay attention to the little details, he was only there to ‘protect’ his archon and make sure things went smoothly.

However, he didn’t realize that the other archon would be bringing a guest with her until a day before the meeting. It did tick y/n off a little bit that he would get notified so late but does it really matter? All y/n is doing is protecting and making sure everything doesn’t go south.

Well, it did go a bit south, as soon as Furina's guest arrived, y/n's mouth went dry. That man did things to him that he didn’t even know could happen. Maybe it was the long hair on the other man that made y/n feel warm inside, it definitely couldn’t have been the slight scent he had. No, definitely not.

Okay, y/n takes that back, he feels like he’s getting intoxicated by the proximity of the other male. It wasn’t hard to figure out that the guest, was a dragon, all it took was a quick look and a secret deep breath to figure it out. He had it figured out, his body wasn’t used to being by another dragon, and he hadn’t seen one in what, centuries? This feeling would go away in maybe 20 minutes, hopefully.

20 minutes later and y/n feels like he’s going to light the whole place on fire. His whole body feels like it’s melting, and to no one’s surprise, it’s all due to the long-haired man in front of him. The stranger might genuinely be the hottest person y/n has ever seen in his entire life. That long hair makes y/n want to run his fingers through it, maybe brush it, but that might be a bit too much to think about.

Once y/n saw the man look at him, he quickly looked away, how embarrassing.. he got caught staring hardcore. He took a deep breath before listening back into the conversation, “Ah, yes, I suppose it would do both nations good to do something like that. Maybe combining a bit of power.” the lovey talk of archons, always talking about power; like it’s the only thing that matters to them.

Power is important though, y/n is in the position he’s in right now because of how powerful he is. In complete honesty, he’s probably too powerful for his own good, only knowing how to use it to protect his nation from people deemed as enemies; even if they aren’t in the public eye. Power rules everything at the end of the day, nothing can function without power.

The more he listens into the conversation, the more he realizes he was glad he was never born as an archon; he’s been around one most of his life and it’s always been boring. Listening in did provide small details though, like the mysterious man’s name.

While y/n was somewhat able to keep his focus off of the other dragon in the room, he managed to not burn anything. But, he had a feeling his archon caught on as they gave him a questionable look; it was a very subtle one that only he could catch onto but it was obvious they knew something. Nothing is going on though, right? The man can’t help it if he gets a bit flustered whenever he remembers Neuvillette is near him.

Gosh, y/n probably looks like a blushed teenager who just confessed to his crush. Well, he at least thought he did. To everyone else though, he looked like he was on guard and was going to fight anyone who even took a step too close to his and the Natlan archon's bubble. y/ns hand accidentally gazed at the chair near him, which caused the leather to burn where his touch was. Good thing no one was looking, right?

y/n couldn’t wait any longer for this meeting to be over, his brain was thinking too many things while he was focusing on every single move everyone else did. It would be overwhelming for anyone who wasn’t trained and as skilled as he was, but that tiny overwhelming feeling didn’t compare to how fast his heart was beating. y/n hoped the other male couldn’t pick up how he was feeling, thankfully Fontaine's archon seemed to be happy with the deal she and the other archon came up with.

In Neuvillette's mind, he could tell that the fire dragon was on edge. He could also tell how much the dragon was staring at him, it was a little nerve-racking. Once Neuvillette caught a glance at the chair that was touched, it made him a bit surprised but he didn’t show it. Maybe he would talk to the other male after the meeting, for work-related things of course!

#genshin impact x male reader #neuvillette x male reader #gay #male reader #mlm #oneshot #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x reader #reader is in love #request #fluff #first meeting #midshot #x male reader #genshin x male reader #neuvillette

[ashensgrotto]

Why, greetings my dear anon! I’m happy that you enjoyed the ‘Poor Unfortunate Souls’ to read it that many times - and I apologized that I haven’t been able to get started on the Scarbia segment yet (between that and Raison D’être plus work & other stories… and GloMas, I really need to get my priorities straight seriously -_-). However, I do intend on working on it as soon as I can so I can get it out sometime this month or in December - I mean, I think that would be the most logical since that one takes place during holiday break, right?

Now, for your request - I hope head cannons are alright for the time being. I’ll try to come back to them and do short stories for each of them that follows the same concept design as “Am I Feeling Love?” - which is the first installment of the Yandere!Azul series. I'm also going to divide this into two parts - about halfway through I realized I hadn't posted anything in a while and thus, I want to make it up to all of you for not writing or posting anything for some time.

Part 1 (Here) will feature Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, and Jamil Viper

Part 2 (Here) will feature Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, and Malleus Draconia

***

Vil Schoenheit

Vil is a combination yandere - he is both a studdle stalker type, but also a projection type. Of course, in his youth, he was an up-and-coming movie star… famous for the villainous roles he played. This caused a lot of grief in his childhood, not to mention some of the trauma he had endured from other children who believed everything they saw on the big screen - thinking it was real, even though it was just special effects and players playing their roles on the stage. And, even though Jack Howl became the closest thing he had to a friend, there was nothing that he could do to shake the fear of wanting to be ‘the good guy’, the ‘hero’... to be the most beautiful of all.

As a junior in Night Raven, Vil and the rest of Pompfiore were just as shocked as the rest of the school when you appeared. At first, Vil was not interested in what you may have to offer - but ever faithful Rook was the one to point out certain features you had; soft cheeks, a creamy complexion, eyes wide and filled with wonder - not to mention a figure that would’ve had some acting agencies dying for; you almost reminded him the the princess the fairest queen had raised years ago. Vil was reluctant, but stepped forward and offered the headmage a place for you to stay in Pomfiore until you could return home. 

It was at this point that Vil realized that you were more than what you appeared. Whatever he asked of you, you did it - to nearly perfection. Scrub the ballroom flooring? It shone brighter than diamonds when you were done. Wipe down the windows? Clear as crystals. Tend to the gardens around the dormitory? Neat and tidy without a single flower or bush out of line. This, of course, caused Vil to backpeddle a little bit - if anyone from outside the dorm found out about how well you followed instructions (specifically a certain lion or scheming octopus), there would be trouble. Hence, Vil decided to try and keep you close, luring you in like the villain he was always meant to play.

He learned quickly that your home in your world was… chaotic. You often traveled back and forth between two families, plus your grandparents. If you had a choice in the matter - you would’ve stayed with your father and your stepmother full time as your mother and her on-again-off-again boyfriend often mistreated you. You were in charge of the cooking, cleaning, and caring for the home while under your mother’s care and were often trapped in her home more times out of the year. Vil had remembered about Niege LeBlance’s situation when the two stars were children - he could sympathize with your situation - and decided to take you under his wing. Vigorous training began shortly thereafter, and you soon found yourself secured under Vil’s thumb. You, along with Epel, were put through beauty regimens regularly, vocal and annunciation lessons followed classes and chores, and fashion and gossip columns replaced your books at night; and if either of you tried to escape or slip out of something, ever faithful Rook brought you straight back to Vil - a disapproving scowl on his face, arms crossed over his chest, and heeled foot tapping, looking very much like a disapproving mother.

With the arrival of spring and the fast approaching date of the Cultural Fair, Vil’s energy became more focused on the SDC - working long hours into the night perfecting the team for the competition. You did try to help sooth much of the stress that had fallen on the headwarden and offered your assistance in any way you could, Grim acting as your assistant under the watchful eye of Rook. It was also here that things slowly began to take a turn for the worst - after the mention of Neige LeBlance, Vil had begun turning to his phone more often, asking it every day who was the most beautiful of all. Mira always answered… Neige LeBlance.

The last straw was when you and Rook attempted to stop him from poisoning Neige, the vice warden ordering Neige to run and evacuate the premises. The other members of the team rushing in at the sound of Rook’s shouting. Vil couldn’t forgive himself for what he had attempted to do… he was as ugly as the poison that he created. If only he was the fairest… if only Neige LeBlance hadn’t walked into his life again… if only you could understand what it meant to be… the fairest one of all…

Idia Shroud

Idia would also be a combination type yandere - possessive and clingy on a short list, with subtle stalker on the longer list. Not that anyone can blame him of course - his childhood was spent in it’s entirety on the Island of Woe, the next Shroud in line to take up the mantle as the Watchman of the Underworld. He, and his little brother Ortho, were the only children that lived in the facility, spending their days playing video games, reading manga and comic books, as well as creating original characters of their own. However, tragedy struck when the two boys snuck out of their room during a routine lockdown and one of the phantoms possessed the younger brother - Idia’s grief and self-blame pushed him away from others, even after he was able to reunite with his brother… in a technological sense.

Years later, during his junior year at NRC, Idia was surprised when Ortho volunteered to bring you into Ignihyde - as many other students were. When Idia demanded an explanation - Ortho explained the scan he did on you indicated that you had a lot of the same qualities as many of Ignihyde's students. What a drag - but what's done is done, and Idia found himself, not only in charge of a dorm, but an unexpected guest as well.

For the first few months, Idia holed himself up in his room - trying to avoid an encounter with the ‘normie’ of the dorm; the magicless guest of Ignihyde. Ortho attempted over and over again to get him to come out and meet the new member, telling him all about how interested you were in manga comics, fantasy RPGs, and the like - but Idia always refused… until one night during a routine midnight snack run, he ran into you. You were smaller than he expected you to be, the dorm’s heavy leather jacket baggy over your form - also swapping the typical heavy denim jeans and boots for leggings and slippers. Idia was even more surprised when you offered him a large roll of chocolate chip cookies you had picked up from the school store, a smile on your face, “Hello, I’m (y/n). You must be Idia, right?”

And following that first encounter, Idia slowly began to warm up to you. He was drawn to your sassiness and imagination, especially when the two of you talked about video games - Idia even went as far as to introduce you to his online friend, Muscle Red - the gamer excited about having another runner in the mix for events. 

However, what no one knew was that Idia slowly began to worm his way into your online presence. He hacked into your computer that Ortho had provided for you and watched when you were online, who you interacted with, and what you talked about. At first, Idia reasoned it was a way to get to know you - the best way to find out the internal workings of someone was to figure out about the mask you wore, right? But even so, the real pusher was when he was spying on a chatroom you were a part of and one member began insulting you - saying that you weren’t really a gamer, that you didn’t know anything about online gaming, or anime, and that you were a fake… a ‘normie’. If Idia had been standing next to you, you would have seen his typical calm blue hair turn red hot - hotter than the flames of Tartarus. No one was going to get away with calling his friend a ‘normie’ - magicless or not.

In the months that followed, Idia began to slowly attach himself to you - spending more time in your presence than ever before. Then, when he was summoned back to the Island of Woe to test the students that had overblotted, he brought you along with him, keeping you close as each test was conducted, examined, and recorded. The look on your face and the questions you asked him, yes, brought him joy.. But also made him worry - what did you think of him now that you knew what he was doomed to become? Would you eventually end up like Ortho because of his mistakes? Idia didn’t want to think about that… but even so, to be free of his responsibilities… to not have to be the caretaker of the Phantoms any longer… to reset the world… maybe then, you would be safe…

Malleus Draconia

Malleus follows the same combination style - he’s definitely the obsessive, the stalker, and possessive style. Living in Briar Valley, it’s no secret that as the next in line it is his duty to help provide an heir that will take over for him when the time comes. As his mother and father had loved each other before him, Malleus often wished for the same kind of companionship that they had - however it is hard with Lilia away caring for a young human and Sebek, hence the only thing Malleus has is the comfort of his dreams. He dreams a lot, images of a fair young human traveling through the forests of Briar Valley playing in his mind - Malleus far too fearful to approach.

Many years later - during his junior year at NRC - Lilia informs him of a strange individual that has arrived - a magicless guest that is to be taking residence within the Ramshakle dorm that was on the school campus. Of course, Lilia had known about Malleus’ tendency to spend quiet nights in the dorm, listening to the sounds of the old building creek, the windows rattling against the wind… the silence and stillness of the place. Even so, Malleus does continue to travel to the dorm at night, walking around the premises like a dragon guarding his hoard. One night, however, he encounters you - the child of man with no magic abilities whatsoever - and is surprised by how easily you talk to him, without any fear in your eyes, even more so when you nickname him ‘Tsunotarou’. It slowly becomes a habit for him, heading to the Ramshakle dorm each night daily to spend time with you and talk to you - the first friend he has outside of the protection of Silver and Sebek. 

Malleus often sends Lilia to keep an eye on you, much to the chagrin of Sebek - the elder warming up to you and sharing everything he finds interesting with you with his charge - how you love visiting the other dorms, spending time with Ace, Deuce, and Grim, the struggles you encounter… never mind each of the overblot incidents that cause destruction and harm. Malleus then uses the reports to gain your trust, always lending out a hand to help when needed and offering comfort when there was none to be had. You slowly became his secret treasure - something he wanted to hide away, to protect endlessly until the end of your days.

But still… to a fae, a hundred years can pass in the blink of an eye… a thousand years was just the same way… And when the revelation of Lilia’s powers slowly depleting became noticeable, Malleus became lost for words. He was losing the closest thing he had to a father… and you were close to finding a way back to your world. He couldn’t allow that - he couldn’t lose anyone that was close to him.

When the others attempted to stop him - Malleus easily overpowered them. After all, he is one of the top five mages of the world - his power as a Draconia was more than enough to defeat an army, let alone students in a magic school. With ‘Fae of Maleficence’ casted, darkness covered the school - pulling everyone into slumber and keeping them as they were indefinitely. Everyone could be the protagonist of their own story… everyone could be happy… to live in their current state… and he would never be alone again…

#annonymous asks #ask #tw yandere #tw: yandere #yandere x reader #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #jamil viper #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere leona kingscholar #yandere jamil viper #yandere vil schoenheit #yandere idia shroud #yandere malleus draconia #yandere headcanons #headcanon #twst #twst wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader

[getvalentined]

FF7 Fandom PSA

This is not a callout post, this is a warning about a genuinely dangerous abuser who uses fandom spaces to acquire victims.

Apparently my abusive ex is ingratiating himself into fandom spaces again, so if you're in the FF7 fandom please keep an eye out for someone calling himself Pix or Pixeled.

The details of what he did to me specifically are available in a post from almost exactly two years ago, readable here. Other people have shared their own stories, but I don't have the energy to dig up all of them. Trigger warnings for gaslighting, emotional abuse, violent threats, forced isolation, manipulation, and more that I'm definitely missing.

Known usernames:

Instagram: midgardsomrnights, pixeledartsy, okgoosefus, pixeledpalace

AO3: pixeled, pixeledxxx

tiktok: pixrexpen, gaywrathlet

FFXIV: sarielperedhil (on Brynhildr)

ko-fi: pixrexpalace

Other: pix pendragon, pixeled pendragon, pixrexpendragon

Some of these are current, most of them are not; he's no longer active here or on Twitter that I'm aware of, so I'm not referring to his usernames there, but he uses some combination of parts from these for his usernames everywhere so they followed the same theme.

This is not "fandom drama," this is a sincere warning to anyone in his orbit to be careful and be safe. Please love yourself more than he wants you to.

With that in mind, there are more personal details under the cut, discussing the fallout of going public with his abuse and more of his behavior; no screenshots on these because it's years in the past, not all of the related accounts and spaces still exist, and back when I was first gathering evidence I had to stop before it lapsed into the territory of emotional self-harm.

Same trigger warnings as above, plus racism, (implied) sexual exploitation, sexual manipulation, and discussion of Body Dysmorphic Disorder.

I want to be very clear that I was not the first person to go through this, I was just the first to go public afterward. I have lost relationships with people I thought were friends by doing so, and actually been referred to as abusive in response to my initial thread on Twitter letting people know what he'd done. I've had people who used his treatment of me as an excuse to join in with hurting me go on to co-opt my abuse to make themselves look like victims, claiming that we were best friends until he drove us apart—or worse, to use him as a complete stand-in for their own behavior, implying or outright stating that he forced them to isolate me from friends and fandom activities and treat me like shit, all while these people have me blocked on every possible platform where I could reconnect with them.

Pix was the Bad Guy of early 2022 on FF7 Twitter, and while he deserved the title, not everything everyone said about him was true. Not everything everyone said about me was true, either, but people tend to take anything connected to fandom as "drama," even when it involves literal abuse.

One thing I never told anyone except my closest friends is that Pix drove me to the verge of suicide multiple times. He put up videos insulting me to be "funny" and got friends laughing along, when I asked him to stop teasing me all the time he exploded and said that he was allowed to express himself however he wanted and if I had a problem then I should break up with him so he could finally kill himself guilt-free, he told me that he wasn't going to placate me anymore by saying "I love you," he told me in public spaces to shut up because I didn't know anything. He used racist slurs against Asian people behind my back and told everyone who called him on it that I'd told him it was all right, leading to a continuing belief among some circles that I have some deep internalized racism toward my own fucking ethnicity.

He told me that his mother saw me as a whore and a homewrecker, because I'd seduced him away from his boyfriend of eight years—in spite of the fact that I told him outright I did not want a romantic relationship with him because he was already in one, and I wouldn't be party to cheating. When I went public with what he did, he claimed that I pressured him into a romantic relationship, neglecting to mention that he'd been pushing for one almost since we met and that I'd shot him down because he was already with someone else. He said that I'd forced him to break up with his boyfriend, and seemed to be implying that I'd somehow sexually exploited him because I'm a cisgender lesbian and he identified as an aro/ace trans man at the time we broke up. When we got together, he identified as a bisexual nonbinary person.

To be completely honest, though, his orientation and gender identity doesn't even fucking matter with regards to the implication that I exploited him because we never had any form of sexual contact—unless you want to count RP, which I don't, and if I did I would be calling him a cheater because I was not his only RP partner.

To be completely clear, we were in a long distance relationship, thousands of miles apart, and we had no sexual contact. We never sexted, we never had phone sex, we never even exchanged dirty pictures. Our relationship had no sexual element whatsoever. He eventually told me in no uncertain terms that if/when we got married, he wasn't going to sleep with me because he didn't have a sex drive anymore due to trauma, and that since I loved him so much I'd have to be happy with that.

He would remind me of this when my Body Dysmorphic Disorder began to relapse constantly from the amount of stress he had me under, because my experience with the condition is rooted on my lack of physical femininity and leads me to see myself as completely sexually repulsive. When I was triggered and trying to untie the knot in my chest that made me want to throw up at the thought of my own body, he would remind me that I didn't have to worry about being too ugly for sex with him, because he was never going to fuck me anyway. That it didn't matter if I was disgusting, because he found all bodies disgusting, so really I was lucky to have him. He didn't even care that I was disabled and that my arms and legs are too long, that my joints slip out of place all the time, that the way I have to move sometimes to keep from hurting makes me look "weird and stupid." I was so lucky to have him, because even though he was very aware of all those things, he didn't actually care. He wasn't going to fuck me anyway.

The last Christmas card he sent me literally had the words "You deserve a high-five!" printed on the front, and on the reverse he'd written something along the lines of "okay but you know I'd be sure to miss and slap you in the face, sorry not sorry."

He made my life hell in every possible way, and people said it was drama because we met through fandom—and that I deserved it, honestly, since I was so fucked up and he was such a good person for even caring about me in the first place. I deserved it, people said, since I turned around and stabbed him in the back after he'd done so much for me for the years we were together. It was just fandom drama, they said, and I was just thriving off the social capital it allegedly earned me.

And now he's back and making new friends, but it's fine because this all happened years ago, and everyone with a brain should be able to see that it's just fandom drama. But it's not. It never was. Don't let him convince you otherwise.

#PSA #personal #abuse tw #should I tag this with the fandom? #should I put it on the block? #it's dangerous #for me #but I think it's worth it #to keep others safe #final fantasy 7 #FF7 #final fantasy vii #FFVII #rufus shinra #tsengru #rutseng #the [redacted] files

[magicalmanhattanproject]

okay so like the really fascinating thing about qbbh, and i know this is gonna be surprising to people who are just getting introduced to him by the qsmp, is this is possibly the least skeppy obsessed iteration of bad we've ever seen.

i saw a post a while ago that pointed out that he was perfectly happy to be a murder muffin and then he adopted dapper and got a moral compass and like that hasn't really left my brain because that's kinda how bad works, right? combine that with bad choosing Blood for his ordem room and like. like.

so bad is immortal, right? he's 11,000 years old, right? everyone he's ever loved has died, and a lot of them by his own hand, right? bad has two categories for people: people who will die and skeppy. bad gets attached to people. bad doesn't like losing people. so bad does what he has to do to keep the one person he actually can keep, even if it means destroying an entire world to do it

bad has always had a moral compass and it has always pointed directly at skeppy

and skeppy isn't here.

which like, that's not the end of the world at first. they're not attached at the hip. skeppy is a sleepy lil muffinhead. they can go for a while without seeing each other. sure, he missed the train, and the boat, and the plane, but he'll be here soon!

no the thing that makes things really interesting is dapper. because bad really likes dapper. bad, in fact, loves dapper. and dapper is a dragon egg and dragon eggs can live a long time.

which means that in the absence of a skeppy, bad does what bad does best: he points his moral compass straight at dapper and everything else proceeds from there.

bad demonstrated during the election arc that he was willing to give up on bringing skeppy to the island to win the presidency and the means to keep dapper safe. but that doesn't mean that bad is obsessed with dapper instead of skeppy. bad is never going to not be obsessed with skeppy.

but now he's got two options. he's being drawn in two directions. those directions could even contradict. and that's gonna make things very very complicated for a muffinhead who likes to makes things very very simple.

#sorrelposting #qsmp #badboyhalo

[moonlight-prose]

HURT

➝ 01. THE CURSE OF THE FOLD

a/n: apocalyptic stories are probably one of my favorite genres to write, because angst is my bread and butter. so here i am writing the angsiest fucking story ever. i've plotted it entirely and worked on it while waiting for the show to drop to finally post this. so hopefully you enjoy. (this takes place about ten years before the last of us.)

summary: you were alone; watched everyone you love die or you killed them yourself. and you thought it would remain that way forever...till him.

word count: 6k+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: not sexually explicit but still 18+ (READ AT YOUR OWN RISK BUT BE AWARE), gore, violence, tw blood, angst, death, assault, one bed trope, gratuitous prose about the apocalypse setting, probably ooc writing for joel, more angst. please let me know if i missed anything.

next chapter | series masterlist

You were going to die. That was no longer a concept that you found to be impossible in your early stages of life. No, you knew you would die sooner rather than later. You knew that survival was a thing to strive for and death had become something to welcome. When the world turns to shit, leaving humanity on their own to fight against monsters, death didn’t seem so scary in the long run.

It became peaceful—an end that you found to be the better option. You’d rather die by the hands of humans or your own than become one of those things. Turning wasn’t the way you’d go. It was brutal and horrific; left more heartache behind than the desired numbing sensation you hoped came with death. No, you refused to become something that was no longer deemed a human, but was now viewed as a monster. 

This was a promise you made to yourself ten years ago and even now as you stared down the barrel of a gun, you knew you made the right choice. Death would be swift—an end to your life that you found satisfaction in—rather than something you feared every fucking day.

You’d stopped on your journey in an attempt to find a safe situation for the night. One that wouldn’t leave you running in the morning; for a brief moment you figured this town would do the trick. You could hide out until the sun came up and finally find a few peaceful hours of sleep. There was no one around for miles (at least you assumed as much) and what few infected were around you could handle yourself. You weren’t the best with a gun, but you could protect yourself when your life was on the line.

If only you had kept going, then maybe you wouldn’t be in this fucked situation.

The scent of gunpowder burned in the air, the potent bitterness of blood mixed with it—creating a lethal combination. You ran out of bullets two dead bodies ago—reaching for the fallen weapon by your side when three more men came out of the darkness. Their faces were covered by dirty worn-in bandanas with only their eyes showing, illuminated by the dim lights of the moon, but it was in their eyes that you saw the truth. They were hollow. Just like the other three men who thought they could come after you. Their souls disappeared a long time ago, only to leave the remnant of a human shell that was forced to do things in order to survive.

This particular sight wasn't unusual to you in the slightest.

You’d seen the best of people become tainted, broken. After all, you were one of them. The consequences of this fucking virus reached you as well; tearing the life you built up to pieces. Leaving you to watch the ashes of what came before float in the air. 

You were the veteran of a war without end. A survivor of the life that only wished to see you gone and buried. The longer you looked at them—the man you figured to be the leader stepping forward—the more you understood why humans did what they did.

They were an idiotic group of people that let things fester; that would watch the world burn ten times over before helping those around them.

He gripped your hair, yanking it until your hoarse scream of pain echoed in the night air. The barrel of the gun was shoved beneath your chin, his dark eyes watching in glee as you struggled. He loved to feel the rush of power, watching as people grew helpless to his actions. You understood that just from looking at him. Yet another pathetic man that believed he could take what he wanted from someone traveling alone. So you stopped fighting. You froze in his hold, fixing him with a smile so sweet he could have sworn it was made of sugar cane.

“You’re afraid to die,” you said softly, wincing when his hold tightened.

“Shut the fuck up,” he spit, his voice was deep yet ingrained with the hesitation of a man who didn’t like that you touched so close to the truth.

You knew this game. A sick and twisted version of a power play in order to believe that they held the upper hand in this situation. When in fact that remained far from the truth. Though you held no weapon, no more chances of survival—you had something they didn't. You didn't fear what came next. It was a better deal than this shit one right here.

Your heart slowed to a steady beat; the welcoming hope re-entering your heart with each baited breath you took. When would he finally pull the trigger? When would you finally have peace? When would the pain—the torture—finally cease? You hoped the lingering questions all came with the same answer. Soon.

"Go ahead," you prompted, going so far as to tilt your chin in his direction—feeling the press of the gun's barrel dig deeper into your skin.

His finger hovered over the trigger, before—much to your dismay—he pulled it away. "You're feisty." You heard the jeering laughter of his friends in the background. "How about we just bring you with us?"

Your stomach dropped. A new unlocked fear sending a chill down your spine. There was always something worse than being turned into a monster, always something far more horrific than not dying by your own hands. It was being trapped in a cage with no lock and no key to get you out.

Fighting against his hold, you tried to grab the gun on the ground, but he yanked you back—the disgusting scent of his breath washing over your face. "Looks like I found what you're afraid of."

"Fuck you,” you spit in his face, struggling against his hold. You refused to be taken, to be treated like an animal put up for slaughter.

He merely laughed, his hold on you tightening with each twist of your body. Dropping your weight, you waited for him to jeer at his friends before slamming the heel of your boot into his foot. As expected, his arms fell away from your body, a howl of pain splintering through the night air. It was enough for you though. He may look tough, but he didn’t seem to be able to handle pain so easily. Yanking yourself free, you felt a cold chill wash over your body as the adrenaline spiked in your body—telling you to keep going. To fight until you were finally free.

Three against one wasn’t entirely in your favor, but you held one thing close to your heart—a belief that would keep you going till your last breath. If there was nothing else to fight for—no one else—then you would fight for yourself. For the past you that used to be desperate for a life, for meaning and purpose. Those two words didn’t mean jackshit anymore in this fucked up world, but to you it meant everything.

Grabbing the metal pipe that looked like it was torn off of a plumbing system, you put what little skill you had in your swing. Really it extended to one softball game in highschool, where you ended up with a ball to the face and a measly participation trophy. You barely had time to even swing the bat before chaos ensued. But it was enough for you.

Lining up your hit you swung.

The pipe hit with a sickening crack against his face, a splatter of red falling to the floor as he fell to one knee. You were pretty sure that you loosened a tooth in his rotten mouth and had half a mind to tear the rest out with your bare hands. His buddies began to advance, their makeshift weapons being pulled from their sides as they spit curses your way. The words of your father echoed in your mind as you took another swing, hitting against one’s side, jamming your elbow into his throat when he curled in on himself.

If you find yourself in a fight, you never let them take you out first.

“Piece of shit,” you snarled, your already bloody and raw fist slamming against the side of his face.

“Grab her arms dumbass!”

Ducking under their outstretched arms, you fumbled with the small screwdriver you found on a trek through one of the houses. With a huffed out breath, you jabbed it into the third guy's armpit, grinning at his cries of agony. He fell to his knees, trying very carefully to take it out without killing himself. Giving you enough to run outside.

The cold air was sharp in your lungs, the anxiety of the situation now rushing through your veins and causing your heart to beat erratically. But you were free.

“You fucking bitch!” The main man roared, his boots thumping harshly against the cracked cement.

Sprinting, you tried to keep a quick pace down the empty street, but the fear of running into anything overlapped the fear of dealing with an already injured man. So, like an idiot you stopped. He was limping, a gash stretching across his cheek and turning his pale skin red. A feral anger flashed in his eyes like an animal hunting its prey; coming in for the final kill. You knew he could practically taste your blood on his tongue.

Your chest heaved, the breath leaving you faster than you could keep it in your lungs, but you wouldn’t go quietly. That was a death you would not accept. No, he’d take you down fighting until you eventually dragged him down to hell right alongside you. If you couldn’t survive, you’d leave behind something to remember. Your hands curled into fists, teeth baring as you watched him approach slowly. The energy in your body was beginning to wane, exhaustion seeping in, but you kept your stance.

Forever choosing to be stubborn.

You never expected the loud bang of a shotgun to go off behind you. The man fell back, his head hitting the sidewalk with another crack—turning the asphalt a darker shade of black. Fear shot down your spine, the realization that you couldn’t fight against someone with a gun while you stood with nothing. You remained still, frozen and watching in horror as the man who nearly ended your life was wiped from this planet entirely. In a way you were relieved, but the knowledge that someone else was walking up to you quickly dampened that feeling instantly.

“You okay?”

The man’s voice was deep, gruff, with a southern drawl you’d heard once before in college. You couldn’t respond—your heart still lodged in your throat. If you were in the right state of mind, you’d say your body was going into shock. His boots stopped a foot away from you, calling your attention as he stood, the shotgun still gripped tightly in his hands. 

For a brief moment you allowed your eyes to trail up his figure. Taking in the dirty brown leather jacket that looked like it’d seen better days, jeans with a sewn up hole in the knee, and a black t-shirt. You barely skimmed his face, drinking in his slightly graying dark hair and scruff before he was asking you another question.

“Did he hurt you?” His eyes were focused on the blood that stained your once clean shirt.

“It’s not mine,” you said softly, the panic now wearing off—relinquishing its hold over your body.

He nodded, his brown eyes fixing back on yours. “Are there more?”

“Not anymore,” you replied, staring at the house in the distance.

Oblivious to the slight hint of surprise in his eyes, you felt him step closer. To which you responded by stepping back, keeping the distance as much as possible. You didn’t need to fight another man tonight, who’s weapons far outweighed your own fighting capability. But then he raised his hands as if in surrender. He held his ground, waiting for you to come back to the present, before trying once more to take a small step in your direction.

This time…you let him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

How could you be so sure that his words were the truth? There was a small voice in the back of your head that told you to keep running. Run until you had no choice but to stop. Till you were finally safe from the dangers of this world. Yet you knew that danger was everywhere, plaguing the very ground you walked on and this man…had just saved your life.

Rarely did you find people who wished to help you. Who were simply there as a stroke of luck in your seemingly endless string of awful situations. Once you used to run with people, be a part of a group that watched your back as intently as you watched theirs. But pain and grief seemed to follow you like a ghost. Haunting every turn you made on this never ending journey.

Voicing your thoughts, you fought back against the urge to flee. “You just shot a man and you’re telling me you won’t hurt me?”

“A man who was trying to kill you.”

He had you there.

“What’s your name?” you asked, quickly glancing in the distance—wary that something would come from the darkness.

“Joel.”

You met his brown eyes again. “Why are you here?”

He shrugged, turning away from your scrutinizing gaze. You made his skin itch with just that single look, but he could recognize the underlying fear that flared every now and then in your eyes. A look he once wore when all this shit started. Joel didn’t get scared very often anymore, having seen his fair share of horrors. But seeing you stand there helpless, yet ready to die fighting tooth and nail, made his heart lurch in a way it hadn’t in sometime.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He hiked his bag up higher on his shoulder, catching the way the fading sunlight began to dip below the houses. Casting the both of you in darkness. “Why were you running?”

Scoffing, you crossed your arms against your chest. “Usually when people try to kill me I run.”

Thankfully he didn’t question what was the motive behind their intentions. Already understanding most of it. Once again he glanced at the sky, knowing that if you didn’t find shelter soon you’d be knee deep in shit. He didn’t want that to be how either of you ended. So, he turned away from you, gesturing for you to follow him. If you were smart you’d do it without question, but Joel had a feeling you were stubborn down to your core.

“Where are you going?” you called out, confirming his suspicions with only a few words.

He nearly chuckled. “Finding shelter for the night.”

Catching up, you fell into step beside him. “You won’t kill me right?”

That time he chuckled; the sound striking you in your heart unexpectedly. “You sure are untrustworthy aren’t you?”

“Yeah well…” You fiddled with the strap on your nearly torn backpack. “I haven’t trusted anyone in a while.”

Neither had he.

He didn’t say it outloud though. Joel already knew what came upon those that dared to open themselves up in the midst of anguish. He’d been on the receiving end of that pain and chose to close himself off to it. It would help him more in the long run, than letting the feeling dig its way into his heart. Gnawing away at his insides like a meal.

What he was doing now…keeping you close when in fact you may very well kill him, wasn’t like him. He had half a mind to keep going—leave you here to fend for yourself. But then his eyes met yours, and there was that look. That pain he knew too well. Back when he thought he was going to die without a way to save himself.

He saw himself in you and maybe that’s why he allowed you to traipse along beside him.

You didn’t take kindly to people very often. Preferring to go it alone after what happened with the people you once knew, and this was no different. Staying with him for one night before parting ways would mean nothing to you in the long run. Just another stranger you passed by in the hopes of finding somewhere safe to land. You hoped that this town would be it; that you wouldn’t have to go anywhere for a long time. But the blood on your shirt continued to prove you wrong.

“There’s a two story house about a block away with a fence going around the property.”

He nodded, changing directions and heading towards the old brown building that had seen better days. The windows were broken, the front yard overgrown with weeds, and you weren’t sure if the door worked. It would have to do for the night. You couldn’t risk staying out in the open. Not when those men had found you so easily as they were passing through.

The scent of pine filled your nose as you stepped towards the black gate covered in dead vines. A large tree stood in the center of the yard—beautiful amidst the destruction caused by the world falling to pieces. You wondered what it used to look like—who lived here—before you pushed open the gate. The loud creak echoing in the night air, sent chills down your spine. Perhaps the ghosts of the owners still resided here. Wandering the halls of their former home in the hopes of finding some serenity in the chaos.

Or perhaps…they were infected.

That thought alone nearly made you back away from the property, but Joel walked right in. He seemed to hold no qualms about the building or its past. To him it was just a place to stay until he had to move right along to the next one. He held no permanency in this world—not anymore—and it had been a long time since he hoped for some.

Staying somewhere permanent always ended in death. Or at least that’s what he believed.

“You never answered my question,” you said, following him slowly up the path and to the front porch that was caved in at one spot.

The door opened with a similar haunting creak, similar to the gate; filling your senses with a musty scent of old furniture and molding wood. He crossed the threshold without another word, his hand still gripping the shotgun’s strap on his shoulder. If you were smart, you’d part ways with him right here. You would find a different house to stay in for the night before leaving this place behind when the sun rose. Yet the lingering feeling from earlier still remained in your chest.

If he wanted to kill you, he wouldn’t have saved you.

“Looks old,” you noted, staring at the furniture in what once was a put together living room. Now the couches were torn up, most likely by animals, and the floorboards had water damage to them.

A ripped painting hung above the mantle on the fireplace, small pieces of the original owners coming through strokes of a brush. You caught a glimpse of a girl with red hair and blue eyes. A woman with the exact same features on the other side. A tear went through the middle, severing the young boy and man. Turning the painting into something else entirely.

The sound of his footsteps bounced off the wooden walls as he came downstairs again. Catching you staring at the painting with an intensity in your eyes that he’d never seen before. For a moment he left you alone. Gave you this time to linger in the space of what once was—what would never be again. He used to be torn up about things like this, but eventually he learned that the past would never change, and the future was nothing but a continuous fight for survival.

Eventually he cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him. “There’s a bedroom upstairs still in pretty good shape.”

You nodded, moving away towards the stairs. “What are the chances of this house still having running water?”

“Slim.”

Something about that response made you smile. You couldn’t put your finger on why, but you took it for what it was.

The bedroom still looked relatively normal, despite the torn comforter and water stained ceilings. The musty smell still remained—the copper scent from blood on your shirt not helping. You wondered if you’d get lucky and find clothes in the closet. Or at least a shirt that could act as a replacement. You made sure to make a mental note to check for that later.

“You can uh—you can take the bed.”

Once again your lips twisted up into somewhat of a grin. “Thank you,” you replied softly, glancing his way briefly.

You’d remember him for his kindness. 

That was evident in your mind as you moved towards the bathroom. In all your years of surviving, you’d never taken so quickly to a person. For some unknown reason it felt like you’d known each other for some time—already acting like you’d been on the same journey together. When in fact he would leave tomorrow (as would you) and you’d be lucky if you came across each other again.

Maybe in another life, you mused.

Sure enough, no water came from the sink. You sighed, dropping your head forward as an ache began to spread through your forehead. What you wouldn’t give for an aspirin right about now. Shit, what you wouldn’t give for a stiff drink and a good night’s sleep. They were luxuries you hadn’t partaken in since the world was normal. When you were younger and life still had a bright hue of color about it.

You sighed, scrubbing a hand down your face before exiting back to the bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his bag on the ground by his feet and shotgun across his lap. The single sight made you think about a sculpture you’d seen in a class you’d taken before the world fell apart. Of a man sitting in the hand of god, his body curling in on itself—the weight of the world crushing him down.

Even now in the horror that became this world, life imitated art.

“Any water?” he asked, breaking your focus.

“Huh?” You glanced at the sink behind you. “Oh…no it’s dry.”

He nodded. “I’ll take the blanket.”

Standing, he winced slightly before gathering what remained of the blanket at the bottom of the bed. Just the sight caused your heart to twist. You damned yourself, wishing that you could be like everyone else. Able to watch someone else suffer on the sidelines while you protected yourself. Except you couldn’t. Not when you were taught your entire life to care for those in need; to share what you could with others.

“You already said you weren’t going to kill me,” you began, saying it with a slight smile. “So I don’t see why you should take the floor.”

For a brief moment his whole body stiffened, causing you to wonder if you’d stepped over a line. A boundary that he didn’t want to cross with strangers he just met.

“Why?” he asked, turning to face you with an unreadable expression on his face.

You shrugged. “The bed’s too big for me.”

It was partially true. The mattress looked like it would swallow you whole if you let it, but you knew the truth. And something told you he knew as well. He saved your life—this was the least you could do in return. A thank you without actually saying the words. An act of kindness that left a lingering warmth in his chest he hadn’t felt since before the outbreak.

He hesitated, staring at the soft plush bed that would no doubt give his back some relief for the night. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you said without a semblance of doubt in your voice.

Trusting someone this much may wind up to be a mistake on your part, but you pushed that thought aside for the moment. He would most likely be gone before you woke up. Or at least that’s what you told yourself. Sitting on the opposite side of the bed, you allowed your fingers to dig into what remained of the sheets. They were yellowed with age, stained by time, but still soft enough to nearly startle you.

You felt the bed dip on the other side when he sat down.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

He sighed, the sound deep and ragged. “Not someone to give up easily are you?”

Once again your lips curved into a slight grin. “Nope.”

“I’m heading to Boston. Happened to be passing through on my way here.”

A sensation akin to fear streaked down your spine so quickly, you barely had any time to react. The name sent chills through your whole body. Boston. A city you hadn’t heard about since you left it. You could remember the day vividly; could practically taste the difference in the air as you exited your dorm room. You hadn’t known it then, but your entire world would shift in only a few hours.

You were barely nineteen at the time of the outbreak. Still a kid starting your second year of college with nothing ahead of you but time. Until the campus fell into chaos. You could still remember the screams; the agony of people losing the ones they cared about, to something worse than death.

“You know…” The memories still replayed in your mind on an endless loop. Like a movie with no end. “I went to school in Boston.”

That small detail seemed to catch his attention, because he angled his body slightly to see you better. “You did?”

You nodded, doing your best to breathe evenly in order to stave off the anxiety filling your body. “I was majoring in art history. I wanted to work in a museum one day.”

“Yeah?” He watched you turn slowly, the tension in your muscles dropping slightly the more you told him. “Which one?”

“The Met was my dream job before…”

He sighed, expression shifting to one of understanding. There were plans he had for himself, goals for his life for his family, but now that he could see the bleakness of what his future held, he’d given up the simple act of dreaming. What was there to dream about anyways? But he could see it in you. The hope that remained just beneath the surface of your sorrowful gaze. You were too young when it happened, too young to lose your life that quickly.

“I’ve been there.”

The grief faded slightly, a light returning to your face. “Really?”

He nodded, shifting until he was sitting with his leg extended on the mattress, back pressed to the headboard. “Back when I was in high school, we took a trip up there.”

Mimicking him, you felt the relief in your spine as you finally moved to a comfortable position. “What did you think?”

“Well I’m no expert in art, but I liked it.”

If you weren’t careful you would wind up falling asleep in the middle of speaking. But you fought against the exhaustion that seeped into your bones. Adamant on remaining awake, just to talk to him for a bit longer. His brown eyes watched you settle into a laying down position, your hands clasped together against your stomach. The blood on your shirt had dried to a deep brown color—until you could hardly tell it was there anymore.

“No one has to be an expert in art to appreciate its beauty,” you said softly, staring at the light brown stain in the ceiling that formed rings. It reminded you of what the inside of trees looked like. “I think all you have to do is see it and that’s enough.”

Joel settled in beside you, his back practically screaming in joy at having such a plush bed beneath him.

“Take the portrait downstairs,” you continued, unaware that he had turned his head to watch you. “Anyone can tell it used to be a well painted piece of art, but now it’s torn, severing the image of the family entirely. I think it’s poetic.”

He hummed, catching your attention and causing you to turn your head until your nose practically brushed his. “Poetic huh?”

“It reminds me of my past,” you whispered, taking in the soft lines that were beginning to form on his face. “Tells you a lot about what might have happened here.”

Joel didn’t respond, letting your words settle in his mind. Oblivious to the way they sunk into his heart as well, breaking down a small minuscule piece of the walls he’d placed there. The sound of the crickets outside rang through the open windows, filling the silent spaces between the two of you. He wondered what came before this for you—what would come after this.

“Do you have a place to go after this?” he asked, seeing your eyes grow heavy.

You shook your head. “I haven’t had a place to go in a long time.”

A part of your mind wanted to tell him that you did in fact have somewhere to go, but you couldn’t get the words out. You found that you liked his company; that you didn’t mind who he was as a person. Even though you knew nothing but his name and his path. Except to you…that was enough.

“I hear there’s a quarantine zone down in Boston.” He couldn’t get the question out, letting its implication hang in the air between you in the hopes that you’d understand. Thankfully, you did.

The breath caught in your lungs as you considered it. Returning to the place where it all began for you. The place where your future was meant to start. Just like the painting, you found it poetic in the most gruesome way. But something sour built in your chest. A feeling that told you to stay here; that if you left you’d find your way to even more destruction.

You chose to ignore it in the end.

“Okay,” you breathed, attempting a half-hearted sleepy smile before your eyes fell shut against your own will.

When you woke up, you’d deal with what this meant and how it would work, but you refused to let sleep elude you this time. Whether or not he fell asleep slipped past your mind—your body giving up after hours of strain. The ache would begin in the morning; pain you were familiar with and even welcomed. However for that moment, you were free of it; of the grief that was burrowed so deep in your heart you were afraid it’d never leave.

Unbound from the horrors that awaited you in the early hours of dawn.

You heard the birds first, chirping in the pine tree as they let the rest of the world know that the early morning hours of the day had finally arrived. You felt his arm around your waist, second. Sometime in the night you’d gone from lying side by side, barely touching shoulders, to him pressed firmly against your back. His breath hit the back of your neck, warm and accompanied with the odd snore here and there. It sent shivers down your spine.

Though you both wore several layers of clothing to stay warm during the night, you could still feel the heat of his palm seeping into your stomach. He was still asleep and while you might have agreed to go with him last night, you knew that it was better to leave and go it alone. After all, that’s what you’d been doing.

Holding your breath so as not to make any more noise, you began to shift away from him. Unfortunately for you, his grip on you was a bit too tight for you to remove. You didn’t want to disturb him. What with everything that happened last night. The fear was still a bitter taste on your tongue—reminding you that you could have died last night. That you had him to thank for why you were here in the first place.

Suddenly leaving didn’t sound like the better option anymore.

“You move a lot,” he grumbled. Your heart stopped in your chest for a brief moment.

“I–I’m sorry.” The words caught in your throat when he shifted, something pressing briefly to your lower back before he turned away. He grunted when he sat up, the sound shooting right through you. “We better get a move on.”

He still wanted you to go.

Sitting, you felt the fear begin to dissipate somewhat. “Oh…right,” you said, choosing to do what he did. Ignore that what you felt against your back was in fact what you thought.

The choice might prove better in the long run as you two traveled together. You’d been there before and in the end, it got messier than you wanted. Staying simple—alone but together—would be the easiest option. It would save you from dealing with another loss if something were to happen to him, and you hoped he felt the exact same way. Torment, heartache, they were all things you carried with you at the end of the day. A side effect of the fucking sickness that plagued the earth.

A disease that could never be reversed.

“Do you know how to get to Boston from here?” you asked, reaching for your bag.

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” he replied, stopping in front of you, a black piece of clothing in his hands. “Here.”

You must have looked confused, taking what you figured out to be a shirt. A man’s shirt if you looked close enough. “Where did you find this?”

 “Went digging through the drawers in the other room.” He turned away, heading out the door before you could give him a real response.

Except you couldn’t find the right words to actually say to him. He was a man of few words. You could tell that right off the bat. Yet his actions seemed to speak volumes, telling you all the things you imagined he’d say. Or maybe…you were on the precipice of losing your mind due to constant stress and pressure. You remember watching movies about the apocalypse and insanity always played a part—the end usually resulting in death.

You figured believing the latter was far better than assuming something about a man you just met last night. While he said he wasn’t here to kill you, the uncertainty in your veins still stuck to the instinct that told you trust had to be earned.

Heading downstairs, you found him in the exact position you were in yesterday. Standing in the middle of the living room, staring at the portrait. He met your gaze when you entered, the shotgun back where it was yesterday, bag still in place.

“Ready?” he asked, watching you adjust your bag and fix your jacket in place. The black t-shirt now underneath it. You left the ruined one in the sink.

“Ready,” you confirmed, following him outside and into the sunlight.

You wondered if there would be others after you and him inside the house; if people were looking for a safe place to stay for the night. Would they see the painting and think of its origin like you had? Or would this just be another place. A hollow building with no life anymore—a corpse that stood against the destruction around it. You smiled bitterly at that thought, knowing that if you were a building…you would be that. A walking ghost amidst nature’s final painting.

Joel walked beside you, his stroll measured and assured. He knew where he was going with each step—unafraid of what he’d find in the distance. So, you fell into step with him, your eyes focused on the horizon as you both walked along the empty street. Leaving the house behind.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller #joel miller fic #the last of us #the last of us fic #my writing

[extra-v1rgin]

This fic is,,, weird. But I enjoyed writing it. I still feel slightly embarrassed posting it however lol

Root idea inspired by phantasmiafxndom

Cw for mentions of child abuse *cough cough* Shinjuro

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

Demons, in their current form, were not just disgusting to Kyojuro but also pathetic in a way that made his heart burn with anger. Decades ago it had been perfectly fine to kill them. The creatures were a scar upon humanity and extermination was agreed upon by nearly everyone.

Now people treated them like a nuisance at worst, some even tended to coddle them. Protests grew daily, demanding the demons be treated more humanely. Humanely? For creatures that used to eat humans, still did in some cases. It was a fate kinder than they deserved.

Despite Kyojuro’s distaste most people didn’t share his feelings on the matter. Perhaps the most upsetting was the fact that Senjuro had complete adoration for demons. He tried his best to tolerate his brothers ideas, but couldn’t often hide his disturbance.

It only got worse when a few of Senjuro’s schoolmates got demons of their own. They had become a new fad, and the ultimate status symbol. Why have a dog or cat when instead you could find a demon who you could dress up with hair to brush.

Even his own brother cooed over the creatures. One or two of his classmates (alongside a few of Kyojuro’s own students) sported such popular pets and enjoyed showing them off. During lunch students would gather around pictures to oo and ah over whatever unique features the particular example had.

And while Rengoku worked a humble job as a teacher, their father still had plenty of money to spare even after retirement, something his younger brother was well aware of. It was no surprise when Senjuro too started to beg for a pet. The man was less secretive of his distaste inside his own home. He wasn’t harsh or cruel with the boy, simply firm. Senjuro had asked for pets before. This obsession would fade much like rest.

—-

Six months later Kyojuro gave in. Senjuro had earned some sort of reward. The elder brother didn’t like to leave the home often, not for elongated periods of time. Shinjuro mostly kept to himself now but it wasn’t impossible for their father to lash out. These incidents were few and far between. The only connection between them was that they occurred when Kyojuro wasn’t in the home.

But he had a job to do. Volunteering for an overnight field trip had perhaps been a mistake on his own part. In the past Senjuro had been able to find appropriate accommodations for the night or two his brother was gone. This time it was simply a combination of all the wrong things coming together.

He shouldn’t have believed his younger brother’s insistences that everything would be ok. Uzui or Sanemi would loathe watching the children but he could’ve forced one of the other men to take his place. That didn’t change the fact that he was the one who left on the trip. Everything on his end went rather smoothly. The children were rowdy, but didn’t cause any major problems. After constantly checking in and several reassurances from Senjuro he pushed his worries to the back of his mind.

They rushed forward again when Kyojuro arrived home. Even upon his return his brother greeted him with a smile and warm hug. It would’ve been a nice welcome under most circumstances. Senjuro wore a high collar, creeping above his neck. It wasn’t entirely inappropriate for the weather but wasn’t part of his typical ensemble.

Rengoku went to pull at the turtleneck. Though the boy nervously tried to avoid the attempts it wasn’t as if he could run away.

“It’s fine aniue,” he mumbled. Kyojuro saw a purple spot forming. It wasn’t too large, not the largest Senjuro or himself had ever recieved, but still there nonetheless. Softly he brushed the area with his thumb. His younger brother let out a little puff of air despite his attempts to hold in any reaction.

Finally allowed to pull away he backs up. Already his eyes are clouding with tears. Kyojuro waits for a moment, gently reaching his hand out so it barely hovers above the boy’s shoulder. When Senjuro leans into the touch he’s quickly smothered in an overbearing hug. He doesn’t quite sob, but tears soak into the elder brother’s shirt.

Even though Senjuro is mature (which sometimes makes Rengoku guilty in a way, because he shouldn’t have to be so mature) he’s still fourteen. Beyond that he’ll always be the younger of the two. Kyojuro had gotten used to sharing a bed and taking care of a sick brother and buying birthday gifts the moment their mother died, when Senjuro had barely started school. It feels natural to pick him up and settle on one of the softer couches. He’s small enough to still be able to curl up in Rengoku’s lap.

The two are happy to sit there for awhile. Senjuro was never much of a talker so the man doesn’t push him for now. Tears roll down his cheeks, which Rengoku swears still carry a bit of baby fat.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have left. I’ll be more careful next time. You didn’t-“

“It’s not your fault aniue. F-father just- he got mad because I dropped a plate and it’s fine. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.” More water wells up in the corner of his eyes. After sucking in a shuddering breath he tries again. “But I’m glad you’re home.”

“Ok.” Kyojuro’s eyes soften. “You did a good job though.” He shouldn’t have had to, but Senjuro’s been forced to grow quickly. “We’ll do something for you though. Whaddya want? We can get dessert or go to that fancy ramen place or whatever else.”

Senjuro sniffles again. “You’ll be mad at me.”

“Of course I won’t, you can choose anything.”

“Ok.”

—-

A demon was not was Kyojuro had in mind. He had lightly protested at first but after Senjuro relented with a horribly sad look the man ended up being the one to insist. He bit back the opposing words on his tongue and tried to be supportive.

It was obvious the boy had been thinking about this for quite some time. He already had a list of several local rescues and even pulled an older futon into one of the many spare rooms they had.

Rengoku had trouble keeping a solid smile on his face, but even when it slipped his brother didn’t notice.

So they (well mostly Senjuro, who finally insists on going one day after school) arrive at a vaguely creepy facility, white walls with rows of cages on either side. The cashier is a young woman who drags her voice out too much, weirdly high in an attempt to appear more friendly. Her lax appearance was strange with the rest of the sterile environment.

Senjuro was free to pick one of his own out. Kyojuro found all of them equally repulsive, and had no preference for which one ended up in their home. The only thing he wanted was for his brother to change his mind and let them leave empty handed. He felt bad for thinking such bitter thoughts considering what had propelled their visit. Everytime he tried to improve his attitude Rengoku would catch sight of meat sitting in feeding bowls or little signs declaring the temperament of a specific pet.

Senjuro was firm in his choices however and they ended up with something vaguely human, though that wasn’t very remarkable. It (They, Senjuro kept on insisting, like it was an actual being) had greyish skin and sunken eyes. With a few random spikes and other inhuman qualities it was pretty typical in terms of demons. It wasn’t the most repulsive one there, plenty had more appalling traits like multiple eyes or huge fists perfect for clawing people.

The chatty saleswoman cooed as she opened up the cage and beckoned you forward. “Good choice! This one’s quiet, but the most well-behaved cutie you’ve ever seen.” As you drag yourself out of the cage and rise to your full height Rengoku grimaces. You don’t look particularly threatening, smaller than him with blank eyes and greasy hair. ‘Cute’ is not the word that comes to mind.

Hesitantly taking the new leash clipped to your collar Senjuro tugs you forward. You move along with the motions, following quick enough that the lead never draws taut. One of your feet drags slightly each time you take a step.

“Hi.” The boy is so quiet as he whispers it. He seems a little shy, reverent maybe? Holding eye contact for only a moment or two he looks away and back towards his brother. “I want this one aniue.” The shyness holds as he

at Kyojuro.

The man bites his tongue for a minute and tries to think of an appropriate response. “And you’re sure?” He tries to keep the judgement out of his voice.

It’s detected anyways. Senjuro’s brow furrows slightly. His brother is never truly angry, but annoyed seems like a just reaction. “Yes! I promise.” The words rush out quickly in a way that leaves no room for argument.

“Awesome! And just so you know each adoption comes with some basic care items, a bit of meat, feeding bowls, um I think there’s a booklet included.” The saleswoman bounces around the counter and roots in the drawers underneath. “Is this your first one? Honestly I thought about adopting in the past but after spending all my time here I’ve gotten my fill of demons.”

Senjuro nods along politely to each sentence. Rengoku merely stares out the window and waits until she asks for a card. When she finally finishes her spiel he slaps the card down. Demons can be low-maintenance (in actuality that means negligent owners who can’t quite get in trouble with how resilient demons are) but when properly taken care of they can be rather expensive. The cost of meat alone, synthetic human or the animal kind, can scare many away. Money here isn’t the problem.

Kyojuro has to carry all the accessories back to the car. His brother opted to chose about a dozen different types of collars and bowls and whatever else in his excitement. Trailing behind slightly he still holds your leash in hand. Every few steps he’ll nervously look back as if to make sure you’re still following. You don’t react to any of these glances, don’t react to anything at all other than stopping when he does and moving forward when prompted.

Once you’re brought to the car Kyojuro directs you towards the back, where several plastic covers have been put over the seats. Senjuro has to lean over to buckle you, jolting each time his skin brushes against yours. Pulling away he hovers for a moment before his brother directs him towards the front seat.

—-

Their house is nice. You’re led to a mostly bare room which is dubbed as yours. The older Rengoku dumps the toys in the corner and is quick to leave afterwards. You can still smell him sharply though, lingering just beyond the doorway.

The younger one parades you around the room to show off the space. Currently there is a futon in the corner with a shelf pressed against the opposite wall. Senjuro promises to get you more to furnish the space but it makes no difference to you.

“I’ll see if there’s a salon or something like that. They can bathe you and help with your nails.”

They’re claws, pointed and sharp but also splintering from lack of care. With no other way to respond you give a dull nod.

“I didn’t really think about clothes, but I do have an oversized shirt for you. It’s more like a dress really.” While explaining he plucks the piece from the bottom of your new belongings. “Aniue might have some old clothes that fit you, just until I go shopping.”

At that your mouth drops into a sharper frown. His brother smells like anger and hatred and something too harsh for your nose. It’s not as if you’re not used to being disliked. Demons generally don’t get along with one another and being put in a shelter usually meant whatever previous owner you had wasn’t great. His distaste though was sharp on your tongue as the smell wafted through the air. It wasn’t like casual neglect or dehumanization— there wasn’t even subtle joy taken in the sight of your current state, he didn’t want you there at all.

Put off by the thought of the man you turn away and crawl underneath your futon. It’s warm against your chilled skin. Peeking your head out from the thick sheets you watch as he spreads the rest of the accessories around the space. The whole time he talks softly, not to you specifically, but fills the space with sound. He’s quiet and doesn’t say things pointlessly which keeps your annoyance from rising.

By the time he finishes you’re already half asleep. You’ve spent the last few months sitting in a cage most of the day, even just moving from one home to another has worn you out. Nerves alone keep your eyes open, at least while he’s in the room. The moment he leaves however your willpower thins.

—-

Days pass slowly. Senjuro feed’s you before he heads to school, at which point you’re mostly left alone. Kyojuro occasionally passes the room, but never pauses. A few times when it’s absolutely silent you’ll poke your head out of your room. You don’t ever end up passing the threshold of it though. Nobody’s invited you outside of the space and you don’t fancy getting punished for such a small journey.

Mostly you nap or pace around your room. There’s not much in terms of entertainment but it’s not a horrible existence. Senjuro is only gone for a few hours. When he gets home the boy will do homework in your room. It becomes so much of a habit that an extra desk gets shoved into the space. While he works you rest at his feet or watch him through your blankets.

Your routine rarely shifts, which is nice in its own way. Change is more often bad than good, but the humans seem to have their own ideas about what you need.

This afternoon when Senjuro enters his brother follows. When you sense Rengoku approaching however you try to scramble backwards. Senjuro’s arms stick out in front of him as he tries to calm you. You’re not very happy but you soften slightly anyways.

Now that you’re paying attention his words make real sense. “I want you and aniue to get along. He’s not mean so you can’t be either.” His brother stands in the doorway, looking threatening still.

“Please aniue, you have to be nice.” Senjuro looks up at the man. “Can’t you just pet them once? I don’t like it when you ignore each other.”

Rengoku approaches you carefully. In an attempt to please his brother the man wasn’t quite as brash as usual. But his feelings were still clear on his face, and the smell of his anger flows through the air. You’re tempted to back up even more, hiding flat beneath the chair.

In turn his expression only grows more displeased.

After a few minutes of him standing angrily in the middle of the room Senjuro observes the threatening aura easily and was quick to intervene. “Aniue! You have to be more gentle.” He runs to your side. Though the boy wasn’t particularly strong you allowed him to pull you into his lap. His soft hands run over your hair in soothing motions. “See, you have to be nice if you want them to trust you.” While he continued to cradle you an eye opened to peek at the elder brother. He looked even more upset than before, which brought a sly smile to your face.

With your sharp nose you could smell how hard Kyojuro had bit his tongue. The faintest smell of blood drifted in the air while saliva pooled in your mouth. Turning your smug face away you attempted to burrow further into the carpet and soft fabric. You roll around in the gentle feeling of his hands and the sweet smell of his clothes. He must’ve been cooking earlier, something sweet like sugar or baking mix is smeared over the front of his clothes.

Though you’ve hidden your face Kyojuro’s presence is still clear. When he settles beside you all your muscles pull tight. His hands graze over you twice while you lie as still as possible.

“Alright, is that good?” The man is already standing up.

Senjuro doesn’t seem satisfied at all, with your performance alongside his brother’s, but nods anyways. It seems the mood has gone sour, the way he leaves soon after. He tries not to make it feel like a punishment but a bit of guilt gnaws at your bones.

—-

The next day Senjuro is back to his usual routine although the air still feels a bit too quiet. Worry keeps you alert to his movements. A few times he opens his mouth without speaking. On the third or fourth try he finally manages to get a few words out.

“I’m having aniue take you to get all washed up and everything tomorrow. You have to be good otherwise he won’t want to do this for me again.” His sternness is in full force, and surprisingly authentic. Blinking up at him you give a curt nod, waiting for the petting to resume.

It does soon enough and you’re happy to settle back down.

—-

The spa- salon or whatever they call themselves is surprisingly pleasant. You’re shy at first. There’s lots of people there, other demons too. Some are carefully restrained, muzzles and harnesses and even one fashioned in a straight jacket.

You wish Senjuro had taken you. The boy would’ve coaxed you inside gently and explained everything along the way. Rengoku drags you towards the receptionist and clips your collar to one of the tethers there. As soon as you’re checked in and given a pickup time he leaves you there. You’re not shaking— that would be cowardly —but there’s a nerve running through your body.

The woman who takes you is nice. She has pretty pink hair with a friendly face, but ultimately is unfamiliar in a way that makes you resistant. When you don’t move with her she trues to guide you with a hand. It’s so warm again your skin. Senjuro’s touches are always light and the woman isn’t rough but it’s rougher than he is.

The hiss isn’t purposeful, not even threatening. It works to describe your discomfort. She tries soothing voices to guide you towards one of the chairs, but you stay rooted to the spot.

“Five steps ok? Why don’t you move with me and we can sit down.” When she nudges your legs you finally take one step. The woman guides you slowly until you settle down on one of the recliners. You’re still stiff, but in a position where they can start to take care of you.

Lots of different people do lots of different things. A man trims your talons and applies a thick shiny coat over them. He offers color but you staunchly shake your head.

Another person trims your hair. She carefully moves it away from your face and takes off a minimal amount. You can’t really see much of a difference, too distracted by all the little ends that have scattered across your face. The woman dusts them off with a fluffy brush that makes you sneeze. Everyone nearby coos after and you feel like more of a lapdog than a demon.

Someone else leads you over to a private bathroom, where you’re promptly scrubbed down. They use lots of bubbles and scented oils that edge on being too much for your senses. The after-effect is nice though, a calm lavender scent that’s much more pleasant than dirt and raw meat (even if the latter was tastier). You’re thrown into an oversized sweatshirt with matching pants, soft fleece lining the inside.

It all goes rather quickly. There’s dozens of new scents and people that cloud your brain. It’s hard to absorb the reality of everything until you’re allowed to actually rest. A side room lets you find a quiet place to curl up and rest.

Even though you’ve done just the barest amount of stumbling around there’s a weight to your bones that drags you down. You can’t remember if you were always like this or if it’s a side effect of being caged for so long. Either way you feel like a poor imitation of what a demon should be. A poodle compared to a wolf.

Part of you doesn’t really care. It’s not like you’ll ever be expected to kill or even hunt. This is the result from years of domestication.

You leave all the wondering for another day. Your mind is just a tired as your body and it’s no surprise when your eyes slip closed.

—-

Kyojuro drags you back into the car after a harsh awakening. You’re still half asleep but stumble out once he has a hand on your leash.

Slumping over in the back seat you drift back in and out of sleep. Everytime the man hits the breaks you jerk forward and wake back up.

But by the time you get home you’ve been knocked out fully. Your head dips downwards only to lose ok up an indeterminate amount of time later.

For a few minutes you wait awkwardly in the car. It’s hard to tell how much time has passed, but in reality it probably hasn’t been too long. Senjuro would’ve come out to wake you if he was home.

You decide nobody else would be inclined to fetch you. Crawling out of the backseat you dart towards the door leading inside.

Unsure of where exactly your room is you’re forced to rely on scent. You’ve never been outside of your room in length, and can’t recall the layout of most of the home.

Currently your strategy is to point your head in one direction and sniff. It seems to be doing a relatively good job of leading you in the right direction, or at least the smell isn’t getting any weaker.

Though much of the house is rather boring, plain walls with nice furniture that doesn’t really tell you anything, you do take note of whatever is a little interesting. There’s fresh flowers in one of the vases along the hallway. They must’ve been cut just a day or two ago. As you pass the kitchen you notice four seats at the dinner table, with room for more if needed. You haven’t heard any guests in the weeks you’ve been here, so it’s an odd sight.

Kyojuro seems to be absent at the moment, making your movements much more relaxed. You don’t drag your feet or wander aimlessly but you’re happy to poke your head in certain places were it doesn’t belong.

One room in particular captures your attention. Most of the home smells the same, with the brother’s scents flowing and ebbing depending on the space. In a darker hallway however there’s the sharp scent of alcohol. Underneath it you can sense another human within, a damp smell like overripe fruit. At first it makes you pause (the only sound is heavy breathing inside the room) and then scurry away from it.

You find your room soon after, happy to dive into your sheets. Pulling off the oversized clothes you’re happier to take in more familiar fragrances.

—-

When Senjuro gets home he showers you with compliments. Fingers sweep through your soft locks.

However he seems determined at ruining your peace. “Wasn’t Aniue great for taking you?” He tries to hide his pointed tone.

You give a non-committal shrug.

The boy huffs but doesn’t leave you like he did last time.

“They were booked too far ahead on Saturdays but next time I’ll plan for that so we can go together.”

Letting out a pleased trill you flop onto the ground.

The boy moves backwards. “Let’s get some food yea?” He waits for you to follow.

Never having been invited out of your room (Kyojuro taking you out earlier was less of an invite and more of a demand) you move hesitantly. Within the home there’s no leash attached to your collar. It’s nice most of the time but you could use it as proper direction for where he wants you to go. Every few steps you end up stopping because you’re so hesitant. You’re just grateful that Senjuro doesn’t mind how slow you make the journey.

The open air of the kitchen makes you nervous. There’s so many places to look that it makes you dizzy.

Senjuro opens the refrigerator. At the bottom there’s stacks of meat, all different kinds. Technically it makes sense. It’s not as if someone is purchasing your food everyday. The steaks and patties you get eat night have to appear from somewhere.

With it all in front of you however saliva fills your mouth.

“You can pick out your dinner this time. I thought that could be fun!��� He pulls your arm towards the icy cooler.

Moving slowly you just point to the top of the pile. You’d eat the whole thing if you could, but given the choice to pick one there’s not much difference to you.

Senjuro looks a bit disappointed so you instead take more action. Moving the packages around pointlessly you choose another from somewhere in the middle. The letters outlining it explain nothing to you, but there’s juice and blood flowing around the free spaces. Mostly you’re just excited to run back to your room and sink your teeth into the fat and sinew. It leaves saliva pooling in your mouth.

With slightly shaky hands you hand it over to Senjuro. Even though you know it’ll end up back in your hold your instincts scream at you to keep it. The tips of your fingernails burn as you try to keep your claws in control.

With dilated eyes focused on the meat you don’t notice the smell of alcohol wafting into the room. The younger boy does, and he tries to take your hand and guide you away. As you’re unworried you drag your feet along the way. Ignoring his urgings you’re caught off guard when a hand hooks into the back of your shirt.

Turning around you think it’s Kyojuro who’s grabbed you. They look almost identical but a bit of extra height and some light stubble indicate him as someone else. You may be dumb but you’re not stupid and it’s easy to guess that this is the pairs father. You hadn’t considered the full image of their family, only caring to note those you interacted with.

His anger is different than Kyojuro’s. Is less pointed, engulfing the whole room rather than poking your skin alone. It smells rotten.

“Who brought this damned thing into my house?” Shinjuro’s question doesn’t require an answer, it’s already obvious. You try to turn tail and race into your room once he releases you, but you’ve been turned around and there’s no clear line to the exit. Senjuro reaches out to his father, trying to calm him.

“Aniue said it was ok so I just thought-“

“Kyojuro’s not your father is he?”

“N-no but-“

“Stop letting him act like he runs the fucking household. If he wants to be in charge he can get his own place.” Along with his cruel words his hands twist into fists. As an arm raises Senjuro shakes in anticipation.

You dart forward, nearly knocking the boy over. A strong fist collides with your forehead. You’ve been hit before, but you can’t remember a time a human had been able to hurt you this much.

Knocked off balance you’re happy enough to crouch to the ground. As the room comes back into focus another hand comes towards you. Lifted up harshly you’re face to face with the man. You’re hissing and spitting as you resist Shinjuro’s grip. Lying down and drinking had brought down the man’s physique, but shadows of muscle still remained. He clutches your hair in one hand. The minute you raise your claws he captures your wrists in the other. You try to gnash your teeth and aim yourself at his skin, but you can’t get near him. The best you could do now was lash out with your legs.

Twisting like a serpent you tried to loosen his grip. Senjuro was crying as he pulled on your clothing, trying his best to free you in his own way.

You’re only dropped when a door at the front of the house softly opens and shuts. The noise is barely perceptible to human ears, but Shinjuro still senses it. The moment he pushes you to the ground the man is quick to disappear back into his room.

Senjuro dashes to your side. At the moment you curl into yourself. The bruises around your wrists are already fading but your muscles are stiff when you move.

The boy clutches onto your body like you might be dying. Currently you’re not inclined to brush away his tears though you wish they’d stop.

“What happened here?” For once Kyojuro’s voice isn’t obnoxiously chipper or filled with disgust. There’s a genuine tone that you’ve never heard before. You still don’t bother to glance his way, trying to find comfort on the hard ground.

“F-father he um, he was being mean again and when he tried to grab me they got into a fight.” His voice is still thick with emotion as he crouches over you.

“Oh.” Kyojuro’s surprised. It’s silent for a quick second. “Well are you ok?”

“Aniue! I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” His arms grab your torso and try to lift you. With shaky arms you attempt to help him. There’s no reason you should be in such a weak state, perhaps after being pampered for a bit you’ve lost touch with what it’s like to be beast.

When the eldest is quick to scoop you up you’re at least well enough to let a quiet growl leap out from the back of your throat. You don’t move however. It’d be awful to get dumped on floor again and Kyojuro’s body is very warm against your side.

That doesn’t change the fact that the minute he sets you down into your room you run for your sheets. Hiding beneath them you try to peek without being caught. The worry is worthless because Rengoku has already disappeared and Senjuro is in his place.

He hand feeds you chunks of fancy meat, you think it’s cow, and pets your hair while you try not to fall asleep. The boy is whispering all kinds of praises that melt into one another but the culmination of all of them buzzes under your skin. Senjuro is often quick to praise but you’ve never felt as if it’s been truly earned.

—-

The next day Kyojuro approaches your room (willingly) again. Senjuro is already is his typical spot while you hide in the corner.

You’re surprised, but not enough to move. Glancing up with tired eyes you watch him go towards his brother.

“How come you took them out of the room?”

“I- Aniue! I said I was sorry.”

“I know, I’m not mad or anything ok? You just gotta tell me what’s going on.”

You stick your head out of your bed to listen. Kyojuro gives you a curious glance before looking away.

“Um, Muichiro-kun said it’s good to involve demons with their feedings. It cultivates bonding. He said he saw it in an article online.”

The elder brother sighs deeply. “It shouldn’t have to be this way but I need you to ask me before you do things like this ok? I’m just looking out for you.”

“I’m sorry aniue.”

“Don’t be. I don’t- you shouldn’t have to be sorry. I’ll have a talk with father.”

“It won’t do anything,” he mumbles under his breath. Perhaps Senjuro is feeling especially bitter today.

Kyojuro frowns but can’t muster a response. His eyes sweep over the room before the man turns around to leave.

—-

It’s another day where Senjuro is gone but the eldest is still home. You can’t keep track of the days or form any sort of schedule, you just know this happens on occasion.

You creep out of your room early in the morning. Though you can rely on scent to lead you it’s not as good as simply knowing the space. Every few turns you convince yourself you’re passing something relatively familiar.

After minutes of wandering you pass the room that contains Rengoku. The door is open so you step inside, then back out, and then back in. You’re not sure how to grab his attention.

Turning around you leave, only to re-enter. This time you let your foot collide with the door. The small tapping noise grabs his attention. You try to resist the instinct to hide. For now you just slouch more and hold your arms to your chest.

“What do you want?” Kyojuro speaks normally for once. You could imagine him asking anyone the question.

Peeling back your lips you try to get your vocal chords to form the proper noises. Instead of words you push out a low grumble that leads into a whine. You try the action several times to imitate something he could understand.

Moving closer you attempt the noise once more. His face holds a confusing mix of emotions, still a bit of disgust hidden within the layers.

Bowing your head and rolling your shoulders you hope that body language could bridge the gap in his understanding.

“Are you saying sorry?” At the question you look up and nod eagerly. Your face can’t form a proper friendly smile, but the result is hopefully close enough. It’s silly but a sense of accomplishment washes over you.

The man smiles back (his is warm and honest, painted with a touch of surprise). “Oh, well, thank you I suppose.”

A beat of silence. You wouldn’t be able to respond with anything other than more primal calls.

“And you do a good job of taking care of Senjuro. I’m glad someone is here for him when I’m gone.”

Ignoring the underlying bitterness (jealousy? blame?) you nod once more. As your head bows a sneaky hand rises to pet it. Kyojuro only taps your hair once or twice beneath turning and returning to his work.

Pleased you make sure there’s nothing remaining before running back to your room.

#kny #demon slayer #rengoku #kimetsu no yaiba #rengoku x reader #rengoku kyojuro #senjuro #rengoku senjuro #demon!reader #demon pet au #pet au #pet demon au #Shinjiro rengoku

[theearthwassoup]

4 and 5 from angst 3 from fluff wanda x reader angst with happy ending maybe reader thinks wanda is cheating on her because she’s distant and hiding things but really wanda is just planning to propose

yellow rose, diamond ring

a/n: hi! Thank you so much for this request!! Angst, angst, angst, i could read/write it all day lol, also so sorry for the late post

word count: 1.7k

warning(s): miscommunication | mentions of cheating | insecurity | happy ending

4: “don’t lie to me” 5: “am i not important to you anymore” 3: “i can’t imagine a world in which i don’t adore you”

You were getting tired of this, tired of the pain, the distance. Leaning against the counter, you stared aimlessly at the smooth marble, a hint of your reflection staring back at you. Wanda left about an hour ago for some work meeting but by the way she smiled at her phone and walked out the door with a wistful look in her eye, you knew she wasn’t going to work. She had been acting like this for a while now, taking forever to answer your texts, not answering your calls, running late for your dates. Combined, her actions sent a sinking feeling into your gut and you bit on your knuckle to keep your sobs at bay.

Maybe you had done something wrong? Was there something you said that pushed her into the comfort of another’s arms?

You realized she had forgotten that tonight was movie night, a somewhat sacred tradition of your relationship. The bowl of cold popcorn sat next to you on the island, taunting you. You debated knocking it on the floor but instead decided to pick it up and eat a few popcorn pieces. You made your way over to the couch, where the end tables were covered in sweet snacks and soda cans that would fuel the two of you through your marathon. Collapsing on the couch, you curled into your blanket and continued to shove popcorn in your face. You turned on the TV and started watching old reruns of the original Star Trek. It was far from the marathon of Sandra Bullock rom-coms you had planned but it lifted your spirits a bit. You were starting to actually get invested in the plot when you heard your door open. Wanda was smiling at her phone, biting her lip as she did when she was excited. It made you feel suddenly freezing and you tightened your blanket around you. Wanda looked up, her happy expression fading away into one of confusion when she saw the TV on. Making her way to the couch, she looked at you, scrunching her eyebrows.

“You started without me?”

Her voice almost sounded hurt but you brushed it off. scoffing, you refused to look at her, merely raising the volume of the show. Wanda raised one eyebrow at your actions, even more confusion taking over her. After a few minutes of Wanda staring at you and you pointedly making the effort to not look at her, Wanda came to stand in front of the TV, turning it off with a flick of her fingers. You were about to protest when she looked at you sternly.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” Her voice was soft, worried, but it did little to comfort you. You knew that this was the start of the conversation you dreaded to have. When she tells you of her lover, the person she’s been leaving you for.

“I should be asking you that.”

You couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of your mouth, making Wanda do a slight double take.

“Wha-”

“Where were you tonight, Wanda?”

You noted the slight panic that alit in your girlfriend’s eyes and it took everything in you to not release the tears gathering in your eyes,

“I told you, baby, I was at a meeting?”

She answered like she was asking a question, fiddling with her hands, a nervous habit of hers. You stood up, blanket dropping to the floor as you glared at her.

“Don’t lie to me.” You seethed out, traitorous tears falling down your cheeks. Wanda gasped, taking a step forward, hands reached out to comfort you. But you stepped away, shaking your head.

Wanda’s heart rate increased, panic and confusion gripping her heart. She didn’t know what was going on, why you were acting like this, why you were looking at her with such pain in your eyes. All she wanted to do was gather you in her arms and hug you so tightly that whatever was antagonizing you would disappear from your mind. But you weren’t letting her near you, keeping your distance in a way that sent fear shooting through Wanda’s heart.

This wasn’t how she wanted the night to go, this isn’t what she planned.

“I-I can’t take anymore of this Wanda,” you choked out, more and more tears streaming down your cheeks and staining your sweater, “You’ve been so distant, hiding things from me, lying about where you’ve been going. It’s been three weeks of this Wanda, three weeks of me wondering what I did wrong.”

Wanda’s eyes widened and she replayed her actions in her mind, grimacing at what she found. She had been distancing herself, unbeknownst to her conscious thoughts, putting you through what she imagined was emotional hell. Wanda opened her mouth to speak but you continued.

"Wondering why you've decided I wasn't enough, Wanda. Who-who did you meet that took all your attention? You were late to movie night, Wanda! We never miss movie night. It's-it's like you forgot all about me," you spoke through your sobs, wrapping your arms around yourself as a protective shield. Wanda tried to intervene, desperate to explain herself, to salvage what little of her perfect night was left, but then you whispered the words that completely shattered her.

"Am I not important to you anymore?"

Wanda powered forward, wrapping her arms around you as your head fell against her shoulder, tears painting her own shirt. One hand cradled your head as she grasped you tightly with the other.

"Y/N, oh my love, you could never not be important to me."

You continued to cry, confusion and weeks of emotional hell swirling like a storm in your mind. You pulled back from her shoulder but made no move to leave Wanda's arms, a motion she took with a flicker of hope. Swallowing, you asked the question at the forefront of your mind.

"Is there someone else?"

Your voice was broken and hoarse, scraping against Wanda's heart as it broke into pieces. Part of her felt angry you could ever believe she would stray to another but another part of her mind screamed at her, how could she not? look at how you've been treating her these past weeks!

Wanda sighed, cupping your face in her hands before maneuvering you to sit on the couch as she knelt in front of you, hands tangled in yours.

You were frozen with anxiety and fear, your heart beating loud and fast, your eyes wide as she rose her head to look at you. While you were expecting guilt and apologies, all you saw was an endless ocean of love, with an unspoken apology shining in her eyes.

"Y/N, there's no one and will be no one else. You're the one for me and I fear I messed up what was supposed to be a hopefully core memory tonight."

She took a deep breath, pausing as she continued to look at you. You realized she was asking you if she could explain. Shakily, you nodded, a thousand thoughts in your mind but doubt was no longer one of them. The pain of being cheated on was still present but it was conquered by the truth you saw in Wanda's eyes and heard in her voice. Wanda smiled, equally nervous, before continuing.

"The reason I've been distant, lying about where I've been, hiding things from you is because I didn't want to ruin it but," she laughed without humor, angry at herself, "It seems I already have."

You squeezed Wanda's hands, making her look at you after she had stared at your joined hands, self-deprecation clear in her eyes. You looked at her, confused but no longer crying.

"Ruined what?"

Your soft voice made Wanda spill a few tears down her cheeks. She unclasped one hand and gestured around at your living room, the TV, the popcorn, the snacks.

"You love our movie nights, you always put so much effort into planning which movies to watch, which snacks and drinks fit the 'aesthetic' of the movie. I thought that tonight would be a perfect time than ever, considering your choice of movies," Wanda took a breath before reaching into her pocket to pull out a small black box. You gasped, your heart now beating fast for a completely different reason.

"During 'The Proposal' I was going to well," she waved the box a little in the air, "propose. And then hopefully spend the rest of the night watching movies with my fiancée, I even had a little speech-"

"Ask me."

You interrupted Wanda, whose eyes shot up to meet yours, widening. You smiled, lifting your chin in false bravado to cover up the rapid jittery feeling flooding your body.

"How would you know if you ruined anything if you don't ask me, Maximoff?"

Wanda's mouth opened and closed and you giggled at the resemblance of your girlfriend to a fish. After concluding you weren't joking, Wanda settled herself on one knee, opening the box and taking a deep breath. You gasped at the ring, the band and stone straight out of your fantasies.

"Y/N, love of my life, these past years have been the best of my life and I am eternally grateful to have met you. I can't imagine a world in which I don't adore you. I would love to call you my wife, so-"

"Yes!"

You blurted out before slapping a hand over your mouth, laughing at yourself.

"Sorry, sorry, continue!"

Wanda smiled at your happy expression, glad to be rid of the horrid tears she had caused.

"Will you marry me?"

You shot forward, wrapping your arms around her neck, causing Wanda to tumble to the ground, barely missing the ottoman. You nodded as Wanda pressed kisses into your hair. You sat up, straddling Wanda's legs as you plucked the ring from the box and slipped in onto your ring finger.

"I guess.."

You spoke faux nonchalantly, laughing as Wanda raised her hands to tickle your sides.

"You guess? Gee, thanks for the enthusiasm!"

You laughed, swatting her hands away. Wanda laughed too before sitting up so you were in her lap, pressing a sweet kiss against your lips.

"We still need to talk about what I did."

She whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You nodded in agreement.

"We will. But for now, let's enjoy being engaged by watching Sandra Bullock movies."

Wanda laughed at that, picking you up to drop you on the couch. As you cuddled against your fiancée and listened to the opening music of While You Were Sleeping, you felt the tense atmosphere of the past three weeks melt away and your future with Wanda shone bright ahead.

a/n: I hope this was good! thank you for reading!!

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximov #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #the scarlet witch #the scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff fluff

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

Chapter 11

Note: Bass Player chapter 11! Chapter 10 here! song mentioned in the fic: Tumult by Stone Sour.

Warnings: angst/fluff. brief mention of (attempted) suicide, alcohol abuse and self inflicted pain.

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x you (f)

summary: The intimate video Sihtric had shared caused trouble.

wordcount: 5k

Masterlist

'You know I hate this shit!'

The TV performance of Seven Kings was almost a week ago now, and Sihtric was home again. You still couldn't get over how insanely hot your boyfriend had looked during that performance, and you found yourself saving one photo after the other when you scrolled through your socials. You kept seeing screenshots and gifs of the moment the camera zoomed in on him playing the bass just as he looked into the camera, smiled and blew a kiss, which you knew was meant for you, but had thousands of fans lose their mind over it.

You and Gisela had watched the performance together, as per usual, and even your friend couldn't deny how good Sihtric looked. He always played the bass so nonchalantly, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. And he looked so effortlessly good, playing his neon green bass with his black and pink painted nails, all while wearing black leather pants and leather boots. His slutty black fishnet top showed of his nipple piercings, and the Hello Kitty choker you had gifted him was around his neck, which he had combined with some soft pink coloured Hello Kitty shades, which you had never seen before and he apparently scored somewhere at the airport along with a Hello Kitty travel pillow. And just when you thought your boy couldn't get any hotter, or cuter for that matter, you saw that he had placed the Hello Kitty plushie you had given him on his bass amplifier, in the background.

To your pleasure Sihtric had texted you numerous sexy selfies before and after the performance. And while he was sleeping next to you now, you decided you wanted to share one of the selfies on your insta story, and tag him so he could post it on his story if he wanted to, with your name attached to it. And that's when you noticed Sihtric's instagram account was gone. It didn't take long before Sihtric woke up too and you told him about his missing page, which turned out to be a result of posting that clip of you two in the bedroom about a week ago.

'So you didn't mind that I posted that?' Sihtric asked after he had filed a complaint to retrieve his page.

'I didn't really mind it that much, but maybe next time you can share something that's a little less… intimate?' you said, 'I'm not mad about it, but the whole reason I agreed to make that video was because it was meant for just you and me, you know?'

Sihtric understood your point and agreed he had been a little impulsive by sharing that video, but he had no regrets. Not even now that he was banned from instagram for the time being. It had stirred up some tension in the band though, you found out. 

Uhtred was used to being the one most "popular member", but after Sihtric had shared that video, he had surpassed Uhtred's follower count. And the lead singer's ego was hurt because of it. Uhtred probably enjoyed the fact that the bass player's account was gone, which meant he was the member with the most followers again now. It was ridiculous, but fame does that to people, you thought.

Another impulsive thing your boyfriend had done while he was in America, was getting a tattoo for you, just because he missed you. Before you fell asleep, after making that video together, you had left him a handwritten note in an envelope on his suitcase so he'd find it in the morning, and you had marked the envelope with a red lipstick kiss. Sihtric had kept the envelope close during his travels, and then decided he wanted to get your lips tattooed on his chest, near his heart. You were shocked at the reveal once he was back home again, but you couldn't deny that you loved it at the same time. Sihtric said you had really claimed him now, even if the tattoo was a bit cheesy.

And now that the band members didn't struggle with jetlag anymore, Sihtric was often recording in the studio with the guys, while you still went to your shitty job for the last few weeks. That's right, you finally had gathered the courage to quit, you just had to work until the end of the month. Sihtric had been over the moon when you told him you accepted the contract Ragnar had offered you, and therefore you suddenly became a part of the band's crew. Never in your wildest dreams did you think something like this would happen; you now worked for your favourite band. Your boyfriend's band.

And the next thing on your schedule, after the last working day at that horrible customer service job, was to join Sihtric to a video shoot for their upcoming single, which was called Tumult.

Sihtric already warned you about the concept of the music video they were shooting, and he hated it as much as you did. For some reason the director had the idea to have each member play their part of the song separately, which made sense as each member has their own stand out moment in the song, but the director also wanted some hot women to dance around them and touch them seductively as they played their instruments. Sihtric had already made it very clear to the rest of the band, and to Ragnar, that he didn't understand why they needed half naked ladies in their videos nor why they should be touched up by them.

'This is not what that song is about,' Sihtric said, 'and this is not what our music is about.'

'Sex sells, Sihtric,' Uhtred shrugged as he checked out one of the pretty ladies as she walked by, 'you should know it,' he mumbled under his breath.

'What?' Sihtric asked, not quite sure if he heard the sneer right, but Uhtred ignored him.

Apparently Uhtred had been pushing the concept of the director, despite the rest of the band being a little unsure about it. Even Ragnar advised against it, but as Uhtred was the lead singer, it was his way or the highway. Uhtred had been bitter about the attention Sihtric received after sharing the intimate video, and figured this was a way for him to become the centre of attention again. And to get girls.

Sihtric sighed as he watched Uhtred show off while there were ladies all over him during his shoot, and then sulked towards you, off set, and told you again how he really didn't like any of this. You understood it was part of the job, but agreed the whole concept made no sense. You were glad Sihtric asked you to stay during shooting, which gave you a sense of security, but it also made you very uncomfortable. 

You sat back when your boyfriend was called on set for his scenes, and you watched him play that neon green bass as he stood in front of an all white backdrop. He was shirtless, showing off his ripped body, his piercings and the tattoo of your lips on his heart. His black skinny jeans were tucked in green Doctor Martens, which matched his bass guitar, and his hair was loose and wild looking. But as hot as he looked, you couldn't help notice how uncomfortable he was. It didn't help that the director asked Sihtric to take off his leather bracelet, the matching one he had with you, which he reluctantly took it off and handed to you without meeting your eyes. He mumbled an 'I'm sorry, love,' and then returned to the mark on the floor that told him where to stand and play.

As Sihtric played the bass along with the music of his band again, the hired women danced around him and the director gave one of the ladies directions as the camera rolled. She was told to get closer to him, which she happily did, and eventually you watched her hands trail down your boyfriend's shoulders. Sihtric flinched at the sudden touch and the director told everyone to stop.

'Cut! What is going on with you?' the director asked as he walked over to Sihtric, 'I don't know what the issue is here, but you gotta give me more than this.'

Sihtric didn't speak, instead he looked down at his feet and clenched his jaw.

'Enjoy it, man,' the director continued, 'there's hot girls dancing around you and one all over you, what's not to like?' the man laughed and slapped Sihtric's shoulder, 'okay, everyone back in position!'

You felt your stomach turn when you saw the empty look in Sihtric's eyes as he feigned a smile while they rolled the cameras again, and you weren't the only one who noticed how insincere it was. After about a minute you heard the director yell 'cut!' again, and he ran over to the love of your life.

'Sihtric,' the director said, annoyed, 'you have to give me more!'

Sihtric again didn't speak. Instead, he inhaled deeply and looked at you for a second, then back at the ground to hide the tears that were forming in his eyes. The director turned to the girl who was supposed to be all over your boyfriend, and gave her more directions on what to do, and Sihtric listened closely as he kept quiet.

'I- I don't want this,' Sihtric then said, but the director either didn't hear him or simply ignored him.

'It would be really great if you could kiss his chest,' the director told the girl as he pointed at Sihtric's recent ink, 'we can make it look like that tattoo is your lipstick stain. Kiss him all over to leave lipstick marks, okay?'

'No,' Sihtric tried to interrupt, 't-the tattoo is for my girl, I don't want-'

'It will look really hot, okay, buddy?' the director cut him off, 'it's all just pretending.'

'But I- I don't want this,' Sihtric said again, and was once again ignored, 'I'm not okay with-'

'Okay, every back in position!' the director yelled as he returned to his chair, 'come on, pretty boy!' he yelled at Sihtric, 'okay, three, two, one, and… action!'

You hadn't heard the conversation as you were too far away, so with your stomach in a knot you watched how the pretty dancer raked her fingers through Sihtric's hair as he played his guitar. You understood it was just acting, but that didn't mean it didn't upset you, you just tried your best to keep it together as you did not want to be that kind of girlfriend.

However, you fell apart when you saw how the girl suddenly planted her lips on Sihtric's chest, on his tattoo, and then continued to kiss him all over his chest and shoulders, leaving red lipstick stains on his skin while Sihtric looked deeply uncomfortable. You swallowed hard but your mouth had gone completely dry. Sihtric had shown you the script for the video the night before, and you were sure it nowhere said that he would be kissed in any way. Tears filled your eyes as you tried to keep a straight face, but you felt your left eye twitch and your lower lip trembled. Then, as if it couldn't get any worse, the girl listened to the director's guidance and she grabbed Sihtric's face. Before Sihtric realised what happened, she had her lips planted on his and dragged her mouth down his chin. Your heart skipped several beats as the air was punched out of your lungs, and you broke down in tears as soon as you turned on your heels and walked off set, as quietly as you could. You didn't blame Sihtric for this, as you saw how unhappy he was too, but you just couldn't watch it anymore and pretend you were okay with it.

As your vision was blurred by your tears, you never saw how Sihtric gave the girl a harsh shove right after she kissed him without his consent. She tripped in her high heels and fell on her barely covered up ass as a result of his shove, and the director yelled 'cut!' again while he ran up to her. The other band members watched the scene unfold with their jaws dropped.

'What the fuck is wrong with you?!' Sihtric shouted at the girl, while you had already left out the door, into the dressing room. 'Who the fuck do you think you are?!' he yelled, then looked at the director as he helped the girl up, 'I never agreed to that!'

'Jesus, calm down,' the director huffed.

'Don't tell me to fucking calm down!' Sihtric hissed and got up in the director's face, 'this was not in the script! I would never agree to this fucking bullshit! I don't want to be touched! Not when my fucking girl is right there-'

Sihtric's breath hitched in his throat when he saw your seat was empty, and you were nowhere to be found.

'Oh, come on,' Uhtred howled, 'we all let the girls kiss us.'

Osferth and Finan kept their mouths shut. They indeed didn't mind kissing the pretty ladies, but then they were both single and completely understood why Sihtric didn't want any of it.

'Fuck,' Sihtric gasped as he felt a sudden panic rise inside his chest when he didn't see you anywhere, 'n-no,' he mumbled to himself and raked his hand through his messy hair as a look of despair settled on his face.

You had left. You had seen him kiss another girl and now you were gone. Sihtric figured you were furious and felt cheated on, and he couldn't blame you, even if he didn't want or had expected this to happen himself. He thought you didn't just walk out of the room, but completely walked out of his life. 

Sihtric took off his bass guitar and, without thinking, threw the neon coloured instrument on the ground as he ran towards the only door in the room, desperate to find you. Everyone stared at each other, surprised and shocked at the outburst of the usually rather calm and collected bass player.

You had made yourself small in the large dressing room, which was basically just a locker room. You sat behind the first row of lockers, not deliberately hiding but also not wanting others to see how upset you were. You heard someone storm in the room, and a split second later you heard Sihtric's voice laced with panic.

'Baby?' he called as he looked around the seemingly empty room, 'no, no, no,' he whispered as he stepped through the room, 'fuck!' he then yelled, and you heard him kick against a locker.

His heavy panting filled the room, while you kept quiet. You didn't want him to see you like this, as you feared he'd think you were overreacting, so you wiped your tears and took a few deep breaths. But then, just as you wanted to get up and step around the corner, towards Sihtric, you heard the door open again. You froze when you heard Uhtred's voice, and decided to not make your presence known.

'What are you doing?' Uhtred asked Sihtric, agitated.

'What am I doing?' Sihtric snarled, 'what the fuck are we doing?!'

'What do you mean?' Uhtred scoffed.

'You know I hate this shit!' Sihtric yelled, 'why do we need girls in our music videos? Since when is our music about that? Since when do we need that? You say sex sells, and sure it does, but we don't have to sell our band anymore, do we? We are an established name already! We don't need this stupid bullshit! And now, because of it, my girl ran off and I don't know where she went!'

'Hey,' Uhtred got up in Sihtric's face, 'if you don't like this, then leave! It's part of the job!'

'Except it's not!' your boyfriend shouted, 'we were never about this! You just… you fucking sold out, man!'

'I sold out? I did?' Uhtred scoffed, 'I'm not the one who is posting half of a sex tape online. And then you have issues with this? Pick your battles, man.'

'So that's what this is about?' Sihtric huffed, 'you're just fucking jealous that not all eyes are on you anymore? You can have it, Uhtred! I don't care about the attention! That is not why I'm in a band!'

'Whatever,' Uhtred snapped, 'stay or go, Sihtric, I don't care. But you better have your mind made up when you get back on set.'

'I'm not coming back until I find my girl,' Sihtric hissed, just as Finan entered the dressing room.

'Fine,' Uhtred said, nonchalantly, 'maybe this life isn't for you anymore'

'You don't mean that,' Finan said as he got in between the two hot headed men, 'and you don't mean that either,' he looked at Sihtric.

'What? The life of whoring around?' Sihtric scoffed and ignored the Irish man, 'you're right, it's not for me anymore!'

'Oh, please,' Uhtred groaned, 'those girls are only acting!'

'Sure, like you don't plan on banging half of them after the shoot,' Sihtric grimaced.

'And what if I am?' Uhtred asked, 'maybe you should too.'

'Fuck you!' Sihtric gave Uhtred a hard shove, 'I'm not a cheater, unlike you!'

'Then go and find your woman,' Uhtred shrugged, 'find her and leave.'

'I will! If this is the direction you're taking Seven Kings in, then I'm done.'

'No!' Finan yelled, 'guys, come on!'

'Fine, then go,' Uhtred said, once again ignoring Finan.

Sihtric and Uhtred stared at each other with rage in their eyes. Then Ragnar and Osferth entered the room, all while you listened from behind the corner and trembled on your legs.

'No!' Finan said again, 'Sihtric can't leave. We need him,' he said to Uhtred, then looked at Sihtric, 'and you need us, Sihtric. You need the music and we need you. You can't just go like that.'

'No, he can go,' Uhtred shrugged again, 'he prioritises his lady over the band,' he scoffed, 'he's so afraid to end up single again, it's pathetic.'

Sihtric stared at Uhtred, his jaw clenched as he fought his tears.

'I'd rather try and fucking kill myself again than losing my woman over this stupid shit,' Sihtric spat.

'Again?' Uhtred frowned.

'Wait, what?' Finan said, 'w-what do you mean?'

Osferth and Finan exchanged concerned looks, while Uhtred kept staring at Sihtric, and Sihtric looked at Ragnar.

'I… I didn't tell them,' Ragnar confessed.

'What?' Sihtric said, 'I thought you told-'

'What?' Finan interrupted, concerned, 'told us what?!'

Sihtric swallowed hard and looked down at his feet as he tried to find the right words, but the manager was quick to take the burden upon him, as he had promised he would but never did.

'Sihtric… he, he attempted,' Ragnar stammered, 'he had plans to… to end his life a little while ago, after the first show you guys did.'

'What?' all the members gasped.

'H-how?' Osferth blurted out.

'My apartment is a long way up,' Sihtric said softly, avoiding eye contact.

This was the first time you heard how Sihtric had planned on doing it. He didn't want to tell you when he first opened up to you, when he told you how you had saved him that night. And now there it was, the whole truth. You desperately tried to hold your tears, but you sobbed like a child while you tried to stay quiet.

'Are you fucking serious?' Finan asked, 'what… I mean, I'm glad you're here, but what stopped you?'

Sihtric shook his head lightly as he continued to keep his head down, still fighting his tears.

'His… his girl did,' Ragnar said, compassionately, 'why do you think I allowed her on board with us? He needs her. And I told you guys this video was a stupid fucking idea, even if you were all single, but you,' he looked at Uhtred, 'you just kept pushing it.'

Everyone stayed quiet after the manager spilled some harsh truths in a short time. Sihtric sniffled and wiped away a tear while the other members tried to grasp all the information they just got dumped on them.

'Did you take your meds?' Ragnar asked Sihtric quietly.

'Yeah,' Sihtric said hoarsely, 'look,' he cleared his throat and sniffled again, 'I'm done here. I… I need to find… I have to find her. And I just- I- I, it's like I don't know you guys anymore,' he said and took a few steps back.

'Yeah, well,' Uhtred snapped, 'we don't know you anymore! Rockstars don't settle down!'

'They do!' Sihtric yelled, 'and maybe you should try it sometime! So you can finally understand that all this fame and money is fucking useless if you have no one by your side at the end of the day who makes you happy!'

'Whatever,' Uhtred sighed and waved his hand degradingly, 'go have a drink, Sihtric,' he sneered, 'I liked you better when you were still a drunk.'

'Fuck you!' Sihtric snarled and gave Uhtred another hard shove, 'fuck you! You know that shit almost killed me several times!'

Before the other men could blink, Uhtred and Sihtric were throwing punches at each other. Finan and Ragnar tried to break the two men up, but there was barely any stopping them. You couldn't take it anymore and stepped around the corner.

'Stop it!' you suddenly yelled as you cried, and everyone froze when they saw you.

'H-how can you say such things!?' you yelled at Uhtred, who froze up mid swing as he wanted to punch the bass player in his face, who had his own fist near the lead singer's face.

You looked at all the men before you continued.

'What kind of friend are you?' you looked back at Uhtred.

Everyone stared at you and then Sihtric dropped his fist. He let go of Uhtred, and with a soft whine he ran towards you, across the room. You wrapped your arms around him as he did the same, and then Ragnar was the one to break the silence.

'I… I think it's best if Sihtric has the rest of the day off,' he looked at you, 'he needs some time to think. Meanwhile,' he looked at the other members, 'we will continue the video shoot. We should just get this over with so we can all go back home again as soon as possible.'

You and Sihtric had gone home while the rest of the band tried to continue their video shoot, unsure about the future of the band. You sat on the roof terrace, Sihtric leaned into you as you had your arm around him and you watched him light up one cigarette after the other, taking long drags while his hands still trembled.

'You shouldn't make a choice this rash, baby,' you said softly, 'you really have to think about this.'

'I'm done, love,' Sihtric sighed, 'I'm just done with Uhtred's bullshit, and I don't want you to be hurt by the choices he makes for us.'

'Please, just think about it. I didn't walk away from the set because I was mad at you,' you reassured him, 'I didn't walk out because I want to walk out on you. Never. It just hurted to see a girl all over you like that.'

'I know, and I'm sorry,' Sihtric said, 'it made me sick too.'

'I know. I could tell you weren't happy at all, which also broke my heart,' you said, 'but this video, I understand it's… it's what people want to see these days, I guess. And I know it's not something you wanted either.'

'Do you want to see it?' Sihtric asked, 'as a fan, I mean. Even if we wouldn't know each other? Would you want to see a video like that?'

You thought about his question for a moment as you remembered what your life was like before Sihtric commented on your instagram post. Before this all started.

'Not… not really,' you admitted, 'I know a lot of fans will be bitter and jealous of those girls in the video. Honestly, things like that may not work in a band's favour. As ridiculous as it sounds, it can put fans off. I know it's the same with you and me, what you posted on your instagram riled up some people in a fun way, but I know for a fact it has cost you fans too. Some fans are dedicated to the bone and so loyal, until they realise they truly do not have a chance with you. Or any other member. Then they will just drop you like an old toy and go on to find the next best thing. I'm not saying a video like this will ruin your career, not at all, but for a lot of people… it's not what they want. I mean, as a fan myself,' you said, 'which I still am, despite everything I have with you, this video would leave me unsatisfied. Because it's so not like you guys. I'm not saying don't do it, but, yeah…'

'I know,' Sihtric mumbled, 'I know it's not like us. But lately Uhtred has been pushing to take the band in a different direction, and I don't like it.'

'What about the others? Finan and Osferth?'

'They aren't fully behind it either,' Sihtric said and lit another cigarette, 'they voiced their concern too, but Uhtred won't stray from his ideas. I've been struggling with this for a long time already, even before we met. I love my job, I love the music we make and I love the guys. But I don't love the vision anymore. I wrote a lot of music and lyrics for the band, but Uhtred dismisses every idea lately. I don't know why but… I'm just sick of it. What's the point of being in a band if I can't be myself? If I can't play the music that I like? What's the point of becoming someone that I'm not, when this sort of music is all about being yourself and to not be afraid to be honest… I'm just done. I'm done with it. Maybe I,' he paused and looked up at you, 'maybe I should just go solo and start my own band.'

You sat in silence while Sihtric finished his cigarette, your head resting on his shoulder.

'Whatever you chose to do,' you said, 'I'll be there. I'll stand by you, no matter what.'

Sihtric smiled softly and pecked your cheek.

'Thank you, my love,' he whispered, then sighed and got up, 'I'm going to take a shower now, need to get those fucking lipstick stains off me,' he grimaced.

You had changed into some comfortable clothes when Sihtric stepped out of the bathroom, shirtless while wearing black sweatpants. You looked up from your phone and felt your heart drop when you saw the broken look on your boyfriend's face.

'What's wrong?' you jumped up.

'I… I just feel so fucking disgusting,' Sihtric said as tears ran down his face, 'I'm sorry.'

You looked at his torso and saw the dark marks on his body, where the lipstick stains had been from the video shoot. Sihtric had desperately tried to wash the stains off his skin, almost compulsively, as they weren't yours and he felt violated. And as he had aggressively tried to clean off the lipstick in the shower, he had clearly bruised himself in the process, feeling he even deserved the pain because you had been hurt too.

'Honey,' you whispered as you walked up to him, 'it's… it's not your fault, don't feel like that.'

You took his hands, kissed them both, and then softly kissed one of the bruises on his shoulder.

'I'm sorry,' Sihtric whispered.

'I know,' you hushed him and kissed another bruise, 'don't worry, you're mine. Always mine.'

'Yours,' he sniffled, 'I only want to be yours.'

You looked up at him and placed your hands on his shoulders.

'Please,' Sihtric whispered and leaned back against the bathroom door, 'please,' he whined, 'I need you to- to claim me back.'

'Don't be silly, you're still mine, love,' you whispered while Sihtric tugged at your shirt and shook his head.

'No,' he breathed, 'I… please,' he begged as you wiped his tears, 'mark me, please.'

You buried your face in his neck as your tears began to fall, and Sihtric wrapped his strong arms around you.

'I love you,' you whispered.

'I love you too,' Sihtric said as he held you tight, 'only you.'

'I know,' you smiled softly and kissed his cheek.

You took his hands in yours again and led him to his couch, where you gently pushed him down and straddled his lap.

'Take me,' your sensitive yet rough looking boyfriend husked, 'please, love. I need to feel you own me… say that you own me, please,' he whispered while he held your chin, 'tell me I'm yours.'

'I own you,' you whispered and kissed his lips, 'you're mine,' you kissed him again, 'only mine. My kitten,' you murmured as you nuzzled his nose.

'Yours. Your kitten,' Sihtric growled softly.

You hummed in agreement and kissed his lips again, then kissed your way to his jaw, his ear, his neck and on to his shoulders. You kissed every bruise on his skin and more, as you slowly kissed and licked your way down his body. You took your time, claiming every inch of his body just like he needed you to do, like he had begged you to do, and he moaned softly while he sat back with his eyes closed, enjoying the way you made him feel loved and safe.

'If I have to finish that video shoot,' Sihtric whispered, 'I only want to do it with you, doll. With your hands in my hair and your lips on my body. I refuse to do it with anyone else.'

taglist: @clairacassidy @finanmoghra @uunotheangel @hb8301 @bathedinheat @neonhairspray @anaeve @bubblyabs @travelingmypassion @sylasthegrim @andakth @chompchompluke @willowbrookesblog @lady-targaryens-world @skyofficialxx @elle4404 @alexagirlie @sweetxime @solango @gemini-mama @cheyennep3107 @little-diable @jennifer0305 @drwstarkeyy @mrsarnasdelicious @verenahx @urmomsgirlfriend1 @moonchildrenandflowercrowns @foxyanon @djarinsgirl27 @sigtryggrswifey @liandav @diiickbrainn

#sihtric x reader #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #the last kingdom #sihtric #sihtric fic #the last kingdom fic #tlk #modern!sihtric

[ingravinoveritas]

Oh, boy. Well, I've had a few people show this to me today, and again, it's...yeah. A lot.

The first thing that caught my notice is that this picture seems to be from the outing Michael and AL did with Georgia and David last weekend at Lapland UK (if the matching Christmas sweaters and Michael's furry hat are any indication, at least). Why a picture from then was posted today instead of a current one, I'm not sure, but I did think that was an interesting choice.

The second thing that came to mind is something I probably don't even need to say because it seems like others are noticing it, to where I saw folks on Twitter actually commenting, "Why does he look so tired and unhappy?" It sort of boggles my mind that Anna would post a picture where this is so visibly the case, but then it's also not surprising, because it seems like yet another instance of her making sure that her hair/makeup is on point while seemingly not caring whether Michael looks good in the picture. And again, the "husky" comment would hit a lot differently if it weren't for Anna's Insta story from a month ago comparing him to a dog. As it is, it feels like another passive-aggressive jab at Michael's appearance, which as we know by now is something AL has done many times over.

But what really struck me about this picture is that she posted it shortly after Georgia posted a Christmas Eve photo of her and David. When we look at that picture--as well as the picture of Michael and David that was also taken at Lapland last weekend--the difference is stark:

All I can say is that two of these three pictures look and feel like couples...and one of them distinctly doesn't.

David's expression is so soft in the picture with Georgia, he's leaning in to her, and you can feel the connection between them and that they are a combined "unit." Michael is utterly beaming in the picture with David and leaning in to him with his whole body. Yet in the picture with Anna, it's very much a case of them standing near each other but not at all being in the same place. It also almost looks as if Michael was doing something else and she insisted on a selfie, and this was the end result. Again, if we contrast all of that to the selfie Georgia took with David, the difference truly is night and day. I don't know what that may mean (if it means anything at all), but I'm genuinely baffled at AL's decision to post that picture.

The one other intriguing piece of all this is Georgia's comment, which we can see in the screenshot above. I've had a few folks DMing me saying they think it could be an indication of some sort of poly arrangement (that "better halves" means Georgia is referring to AL as her better half, and referring to Michael as David's better half). Whether this is remotely true is something only the four of them would know, but if nothing else, I do think the wording is just ambiguous enough to make one wonder.

So yes, those are my thoughts on this new picture. Happy for folks to weigh in and share their reactions in the comments, as always, and I will keep doing my best to get through the backlog of Asks still in my inbox...

#unforgivablengk #reply post #michael sheen #welsh seduction machine #david tennant #soft scottish hipster gigolo #georgia tennant #choices #not all of them good #i'm sorry but if you care about someone you do not go out of your way to repeatedly post unflattering pictures of them #but what's the old saying: when someone shows you who they are believe them the first time #they just do not give 'couple' energy and never have #again this is not me reacting to one thing in isolation #but all of these things cumulatively #but i will leave it to my followers to make up their own minds #anna lundberg #discourse

[avastrasposts]

The Pilot and his Girl - ch. 18

Finally some good news for our sweet Frankie and his girl, stuck in this nightmare The Last of Us universe that I so cruelly created for them!

Happy Frankie Friday!

Chapter 19

Series Master List

Word count: 6.7k

Warnings have their own post.

Life in the QZ is strange. It’s like living in limbo, it feels like you’re waiting for something but you don’t know what. A return to normal life? Or for this to feel normal? But at the same time there’s an ever present knot of fear in the pit of your belly, that the infection will spread inside the walls, or that the infected will get inside. Sometimes you forget about the knot but then something happens, a loud noise, someone shouting, a gun firing in the distance, and the fear returns. Having Frankie close helps, you always feel safe with him next to you. But you both work, mandatory for all inhabitants in the QZ if you want to eat. So most of the time he’s not by your side and you bite back the fear and try to get on it with. 

The first week you try to figure out your role in this new setting, how to talk to people about everyday things while you, and everyone around you, has gone through a type of trauma you couldn’t have even imagined only a few months ago. Your new co-workers all seem to handle the situation differently, some say nothing unless they have to, others never stop talking about what life was like before the outbreak. The worst ones complain about everything, the food, the work, the accommodation, until your supervisor tells them to shut the fuck up and docks their rations cards for the day. You didn’t even know that was a thing so you keep your head down and do your job. You’ve thankfully been put on kitchen duty, your skill as a cook the one thing that was deemed useful in the QZ. You spend your days inventing new ways of combining beans and rice, the two dry goods staples that there seems to be no shortage of, into new dishes for the FEDRA soldiers, including Frankie. 

Frankie has patrols and guard duty most days. He doesn’t tell you much about what he does, saying it’s all routine. Until one evening when he comes back late and there’s blood on his uniform and a bright cut on his cheek, his hands shaking as he unbuttons the shirt. You’re standing in the doorway of the bathroom, watching him struggle with it, so you gently push his hands away and slip the buttons from their holes, your fingers staining red with blood. 

“Talk to me, Frankie,” you say in a low voice, looking up at him as he looks down at your hands. 

He shakes his head, “You don’t need to hear it, cariño,” he says but you know that’s not how it works anymore. 

“You need to talk to me, Frankie, you can’t keep all the bad stuff inside just to protect me.” You push the shirt off his shoulders and drop it in the sink, filling it up with cold water, letting the t-shirt go the same way as he pulls it over his head. 

“I see some pretty grim stuff out there, I don’t want you to know how bad it gets,” he sighs as you gently push him down on the toilet seat, taking out the first aid kit. 

“You may want to protect me, but the people in the kitchen don’t care, they talk about all the stuff they’ve seen or what they’ve heard about from other soldiers,” you say, “I hear about the grim stuff every day.” 

Frankie seems to scan your face for a minute while you clean out the cut on his cheek, when you’re done he gently takes your hand and presses his lips to your palm. 

“I had to learn how to push the grim shit to the back of my mind when I was in the military,” he says, still holding on to your hand. “I made myself indifferent to the pain and suffering I saw others go through, just so that I could get on with the mission. Indifferent to the pain and suffering I inflicted. I don’t want you to have to do the same, cariño.” 

“If I ask you to tell me about the stuff you go through, I’m doing it to help you, I’m not going to be indifferent to that, Frankie,” You slip your fingers between his and make him stand up, unbuttoning his cargo pants and pushing them down. They’ve got dark mud stains along one side and you pick them up and dump them in the laundry basket. “I want to know what you go through, because I love you and I want to help you, so you don’t have to carry it all on your own. That’s kinda part of the whole ‘wife’ thing you asked me to be.” 

You see his mouth quirk up in a small smile as you poke his chest, “Get in the shower, Morales, and tell me about your day.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Atta boy.” 

The second week of your time in the QZ sees your routine start to crystalize; get up, quick shower, breakfast with Frankie if your schedules match up, otherwise you head over to the big kitchen you work in and have breakfast there. You always stop by the service center first and scan the notice board that contains lists of people in this QZ and any updated lists of inhabitants of other QZ’s. So far none of your friend’s names have appeared on any lists. Only Benny and Hannah so far and Frankie hasn’t been able to get through to him yet, he only had a short message from Ben saying Hannaha and him were ok.

Once you’re done with breakfast you spend the rest of the day preparing and planning meals for the soldiers. The kitchen is in an old high school building, the large school kitchen ideal for preparing meals for big groups. The cafeteria now serves as a mess hall for soldiers rather than high schoolers and it’s bizarre seeing the high school banners and colors hanging on the walls over rows of men and women in army fatigues. You usually have the early shift and then you’re done by mid-afternoon, free to do what you want within the confines of the QZ. When Frankie’s shift ends around the same time he’ll meet you in the high school gym. He’s started training you, as he promised in his note for you, teaching you basic fight techniques and how to get away if someone grabs you. It’s exhausting, Frankie is not going easy on you, making you drip with sweat as he encourages you to punch his flat palms harder. Trying to break free of his grip is even harder, his weight and length makes it easy for him to just pin you down. But he makes you practice a few basic moves over and over until you are able to throw him off balance and break free most of the time. At the end of your second week in the QZ your body is aching, your knuckles are raw, but the bruise on Frankie’s jaw from is proof that you’d managed to learn something useful at least. 

On Monday afternoon of your third week you leave the kitchen and head for home. Frankie’s got a late shift and won’t be home until dinner time. You drop off an application for some clothes that you need at the donation center and take a new route home. You weren’t familiar with the city before the outbreak and Frankie had tasked you with learning your way around all the streets. He’d said it was a safety precaution in case something, anything, happened and you needed to move swiftly through the city. You hoped you’d never need the skill but you still took different routes home every day, wandering aimlessly, mapping the streets in your head. 

Today you come to a small square where some people have set up makeshift stalls, really just blankets on the ground, to sell anything they didn’t need. People would barter or trade for ration cards, the inofficial currency of the QZ. After a few miserable rainy days, the weather was nice again and it seemed to have brought out more people than usual, making you have to weave and dodge around the crowd as you make your way across the marketplace. You don’t notice the dark haired man crouching down by one of the blankets, talking to the owner selling an assortment of shoes. But he seems to sense you, maybe he catches a glimpse of your hair from the corner of his eyes, and he stands up, staring at your back as you weave past the last of the people. 

You hear your name called, a tentative tone to it, questioning if it’s really you and you turn, looking back at the crowd of people. At first you don’t see him, but then he steps forward, looking like he doesn’t trust his eyes. 

“Pope!” you gasp, your voice barely a whisper as you take a step towards him and it makes him spring into action. In a few quick steps he’s on you, his arms thrown around you, hugging you tight as you wind your arms around his neck, holding onto him as you feel tears start to well up in your eyes. 

“Pope, you’re alive!” you sob, your heart feels like it’s about to explode with relief and happiness, “You’re actually alive!”

“I am, and so are you, hermana, I can’t believe it,” Pope’s laughing into your ear as he hugs you tighter, “I can’t fucking believe it!” 

He pulls back, his arms still tight around your waist and looks down at your tear stained face. “Frankie?” he asks, his smile giving way to a pensive look and you beam at him through your tears, nodding. 

“He’s alive, he’s here too!” 

Pope blows out a loud sigh of relief and hugs you tight again, “Thank fucking god, I would’ve killed him otherwise.” 

“I’ve got so many questions,” you say, still buried against his shoulder, and he pulls back again, “what happened after you left the cabin?” 

Pope sighs, loosening his grip on you but his hands still holding on to your shoulders, shaking his head. “It’s a long story, so much shit went wrong.” He suddenly grips you harder, his eyes wide with fear, “Lucía? Is she with you, please, fuck, please tell me she’s with you!”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out, you don’t know how to get the words past your lips, but he sees your face and understands, without words he understands exactly. He drops his hands and steps past you, walking away from the market, and from behind you see him raise a fist to his mouth. You follow him, further away from the crowd, and when he stops you stand in front of him. He drops his fist, his eyes wide, staring towards the sky and you can see  tears collecting in his thick lashes. When he drops his gaze down to his boots tears drip down and you reach out and hug him, folding your arms around his neck, one hand on the back of his head. He doesn’t sob the way Frankie does, he trembles under you, shaking, but no sounds come from him, just his ragged breath. 

“How?” he asks eventually, lifting his head from where he’d dropped it on your shoulder. 

“We got to her house Monday afternoon, they’d been evacuated by soldiers, taken to Franklin. So we followed but…” you hesitate, the memory of the pile of dead bodies on the side of the road floats up to the forefront of your mind. Lucía’s mom with bullet holes, Lucía’s dress, Frankie’s voice when he thought she was alive, and the inhuman scream from her as she tried to attack him. The gunshot. 

“It was a nightmare, Santi,” you whisper. “They’d killed all the evacuees, they were all on the side of the road, shot.”

“I heard rumors about them executing people who weren’t infected, but even children…” 

“They were infected, or at least some of them were,” you interrupt him. “Lucía was infected, she…” you draw a shuddering breath, squeezing your eyes shut at the memory. “She was infected when we got there, we thought she was alive but then…Santi…” you look at him, dreading telling him the worst part of Frankie’s trauma. “She…Frankie had to…” you can’t bring yourself to say it, but he understands, his dark eyes reflecting your pain. 

He wraps his arms around you again and together you stand still, holding each other up as the images from that day swirl in your head again, and Pope begins to understand what kind of state Frankie will be in when he finally sees  his best friend again. 

Pope puts his arm around your shoulders as the two of you walk to your apartment, not talking much, he tells you where he’s living and skirts your question about what he’s working with. It raises a twinge of suspicion in you but you drop it. A lot of stories will need to be told to cover all the time that’s passed since you last saw Pope in your old apartment back home, and you’d rather have Frankie with you for that. He’s not home yet when you unlock the apartment door, he’s not due for another half an hour, so you point Pope to the couch and start dinner. 

“I have news about Benny and Hannah,” you say as you pull out a pot to boil rice. “They’re in the Arlington QZ, Frankie had a message from him a couple of days ago.” 

“Oh shit, really?” Pope says, sitting up straight on the couch, “are they ok?” 

“We don’t know anything except that they’re there and the soldier who told me hadn’t heard anything about Benny having a brother so we think Will isn’t with him.” 

“A soldier from the New York QZ told me recently about a guy who sounded very much like Will, but I haven’t been able to verify it. I’ve been asking around every chance I get.” 

“How would Will end up in New York though? That’s hours away even if you could drive the whole way.” You look over at Pope who just shakes his head, and shrugs. 

“I have no idea why he would be there, but that’s the only lead I have.”

A key in the front door draws your attention and Pope stands up, he’s directly in line of sight of the door and he’s grinning when the door swings open. Frankie’s got his eyes on a note in his hand as he walks through the door. 

“Cariño, they’re turning off the water tomor-” He stops dead in his tracks as he spots Pope. 

“Cada día eres más feo,”  Pope grins at Frankie’s stunned face before taking two steps and grabbing hold of his jacket, pulling him in for a bear hug. Frankie stumbles into him, hugging him back, still dazed. 

“Pope..how?” He pulls back from the hug staring at his friend, his face splitting into a grin as he claps Pope’s shoulders, “Where the fuck did you come from, pendejo?!”

“I ran into your girl on the street, she told me you guys just got here and invited me over.” Pope’s grin is as wide as Frankie’s and he’s grabbed hold of the other man’s face, looking at him like he can’t believe he’s real. 

“Fuck, you make it sound like you just dropped by for a fucking house warming,” Frankie says, pulling him in for another hug, “It’s fucking good to see you, hermano.” He lets go of Pope and, still grinning, kicks off his boots as Pope walks back to the living room. You’re leaning on the kitchen counter with a smile, looking at the two men reunite. Frankie comes over to you for a kiss before turning back to Pope. 

“Where have you been, how did you end up here?” he asks, sinking down on the couch and Pope joins him, grabbing hold of Frankie’s shoulder. You grab three glasses and a bottle of whiskey Frankie had found while on patrol, you’d been meaning to use it to trade with but this was better use. 

“Frankie,” Pope says, his voice suddenly serious as he looks at the other man, “I heard…about Lucía.” 

Frankie gives a short nod and drops his eyes, looking at his hands for a second before he grabs one of the glasses, you can see his hands start to tremble. 

“I can’t talk about it,” he says, before downing the whiskey, grasping hard at the empty glass as he looks up at you, seeking your support. 

“I get it, man, I’m…” Pope drifts off, tilting his head back and looking at the ceiling. “Fuck.” He draws a deep breath and accepts the glass of whiskey from you, you refill Frankie’s and then your own. 

“So you guys go to the cabin?” Pope asks, looking over at you. 

“Yeah, we got there early Sunday evening, we saw your note and left for Lucía’s place early Monday morning.” you say, sitting down next to Frankie on the couch. “After…” you glance over at Frankie who’s dropped his gaze back to his hands, “after we went back to the cabin. And we stayed there until a few weeks ago, hoping any of you guys would turn up but no one did. We survived on Denny’s supplies but when they ran out we had to head out and find more. Things went bad and we got attacked by looters, they took the supplies we had left and held us prisoner at their farm.” You shudder at the memory, still too fresh in your mind. “Frankie got us out, killed them, but our supplies were lost so we had no choice but to come here.” 

“I tried getting back to the cabin but I was injured,” Pope says, pulling up his shirt and showing a fresh scar on his right side. “I was on the bike, just as I was getting into Lucía’s town some fucking hillbilly took a shot at me. I crashed the bike, managed to kill the guy when he came after me, but then I lost consciousness. Next thing I know I woke up with a rifle against my chest, nearly got shot again.” Pope takes a sip of his whiskey, shaking his head at the memory. “It was a military convoy going through town collecting evacuees, probably the same one that picked up Lucía. They were killing anyone infected or injured but I told them I was Special Ops and they patched me up.” He looks over at Frankie’s who’s lifted his eyes and is looking at Pope as he tells his story. 

“Frankie, if I’d known…they told me they were taking the whole town to the QZ, so I went with them…I…” 

“It would’ve been too late,” Frankie shakes his head, “It wouldn’t have made any difference. I know how she got infected and it would’ve been too late even if you’d gotten there before the soldiers.” 

You look over at Frankie, he’d never said anything about how she got infected before and as he sees your questioning look he takes your hand. 

“It was the fucking pancakes, the box mix. FEDRA has information about the infection starting in the food supply, in cereal products like pancake mix. Her mom always used the fucking box mix even though I told her it was shit.” His shoulders sag and he takes another long sip of the whiskey. 

“Fuck…” you breath, trying to process the information. 

“I’d heard rumors about that too,” Pope says, “that’s what people are saying but FEDRA has never confirmed it.” 

“Why do you think they serve only beans and rice to the soldiers?” Frankie says, looking over at Pope, “I’ve got fucking beans and rice coming out of my ears.” 

“What happened after you got to the QZ, Pope?” you ask. 

“It wasn’t set up like it is now, they had a temporary set up, blocked off streets with barricades while they set up a fence.” Pope shoves his hand through his thick hair, his eyes suddenly very tired, “I don’t remember much, I got septicemia, I was out of it for the better part of a month, they didn't have enough antibiotics, most of the supplies got destroyed in the outbreak. The major hospital here caught fire and burnt almost clean to the ground.” He leans back against the couch and sighs, “It’s not been good in here, by the time I was back on my feet the wall had gone up, FEDRA had taken control and they control who leaves the QZ, and who comes in. You’re not allowed to leave unless you’re being transferred to another QZ.” He looks over at Frankie, still in his uniform, “And you’re working for them, Fish?” 

“Yeah, it was the only way we could get in,” Frankie says, “And it comes with benefits, but I’m starting to see some sides of FEDRA I don’t like.” 

You nod next to Frankie, you’d heard the stories too by now. The staff in the kitchen would complain loudly about the food, the work they had to do, the accommodation, but never about FEDRA so that the supervisors could hear. But at breaks, and in whispered conversations in the dry good storage, you were told about the injustices in the system FEDRA had put in place. From small things like docking rations when you turned up late to work, to things that made your skin crawl, FEDRA soldiers abusing their power by demanding services from women in the QZ, especially those who didn’t have family to protect them. One of the women in the kitchen had looked at you with envy, “You'll be protected, your guy´s one of the officers, just make sure you know where he gets any extras he comes home with.” You’d told Frankie about the conversation and his eyebrows had furrowed, a dark look in his eyes. 

“Yeah, I’ve stayed away from them,” Pope says, “I gave them a fake name when they put me in the hospital.” You raise your eyebrows in a questioning look and he chuckles, “Some habits die hard, I try to stay under cover when I can.” 

“So that’s why I haven’t seen your name on any of the lists of residents!” you exclaim, reaching over and slapping his arm, “We’ve been looking every day for you, pendejo!” 

“You teaching her the bad words now, hermano?” Pope smiles and bats your hand away. “She definitely picked that one up from you, I’m sure,” Frankie retorts with a grin and you can’t help but feel happiness bubble up inside you as you see his smile, having Pope back was a god send, especially for Frankie.

“I’m gonna plate dinner, you guys wanna keep up with the whiskey or switch to water?” 

“Water,” Frankie immediately says, “I have an early shift tomorrow.”  

Dinner stretches on late into the night, despite Frankie needing to get up early the next day. You talk about your friends, about memories from before the outbreak, all three feeling the need for a break from the grim reality you now live in. Halfway through dinner Pope notices the ring on your left hand ring finger and grins big.  “Congratulations,” he smiles and points to your hand and you grin as you look down at it. 

“Thanks, Frankie decided to be a romantic despite the world ending.” 

“Good job, Fish, told you she’d say ‘yes’.” 

“You knew?” you ask with a surprised look on your face. 

“Of course! I helped him pick the ring. Although, the one I suggested had much bigger diamonds, just so you know.” 

Frankie gives him a friendly slap on the arm, “Shut up, you know why I picked this one and not your fake looking iceberg.” 

“Why did you pick this one? I meant to ask you but I forgot with everything that happened.” You hold up your hand so that you can look at the thin gold band, three small diamonds in a row.

“Three diamonds, one for you, one for me, one for Lucía,” Frankie says, his voice low. “And room for more diamonds if we have kids together.” 

“Frankie…” you whisper, taking his hand and pulling it to your heart. He gives you a small smile and Pope slaps his back. 

“Go on, Fish, kiss her, I won’t look.” 

That makes Frankie chuckle and he pulls you onto this lap, making the old chair creak under your combined weight as he holds you close for a long kiss, tangling his fingers in your hair until Pope clears his throat and pours more whiskey, calling for a toast. 

In the end Frankie tells Pope to crash on the couch rather than walk home, the curfew is about to go into effect anyway. Frankie gives him the spare blanket as he pulls his sweater off, you disappear into the bathroom for a quick shower. 

“I’m really happy she found you, man,” Frankie says, putting his hand on Pope’s shoulder, “It’s a fucking weight off my chest seeing you in one piece.” 

Pope grabs Frankie and pulls him in for a hug, grabbing hold of the back of his neck to hold him tight. “Same, man, it’s good to see you. And I went through fucking hell leaving her at your apartment, Fish, but she wouldn’t leave you behind. And the relief when I saw her today, you have no idea. And then you too.” 

“Yeah,” Frankie mumbles, his arms tight around Pope, “she’s been my rock, she never gives up on me. Even when I’m about to give up on myself.” 

Pope pulls back, looking at his friend’s dark eyes, “Shit got dark, I almost walked away, after Lucía…” Frankie shakes his head, dropping his eyes from Pope’s steady gaze. “I knew I had to keep her safe, but then, when I got her somewhere safe, I was gonna leave, let her get on with her life without my broken ass. But she never gave up on me.” 

“If you’d walked out on her, I would’ve tracked you down and slapped your sorry ass,” Pope’s voice is gentle despite his words as he pulls Frankie’s head against his so that their foreheads are touching. “I know the shit you’ve already gone through, Frankie, before all this, and I can see the shit you’re dealing with now. But you’ve got her, and you’ve got me, and I’m not fucking giving up on you this time either.” 

Frankie gives a small nod, and Pope lets go of his neck.

“Better get some sleep, hermano, early start,” he says, picking up the blanket and shaking it out over the couch. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you in the morning, Pope,” Frankie says, giving the man’s shoulder a final squeeze before he heads into the bedroom. You join him a few minutes later after saying good night to Pope too. Curling up next to Frankie, his arms wrapping around you, you grab his cheeks between your palms, pressing a kiss to his soft lips. 

“I’m never giving up on you either, Frankie.” 

Early next morning Frankie drags himself out of bed and you follow him, getting breakfast ready for the three of you as he’s in the shower. Santi is sitting bleary eyed on the couch, rubbing the crust out of his eyes. 

“How’d you sleep? Not sure how comfortable that couch is,” you say to him as you get the coffee going. Thank god for endless coffee shops, at least there’s plenty of coffee to go around for now. 

“Between the whiskey, good food and finally knowing you guys are safe, I slept like a baby,” he yawns. “I was thinking though, we should try to get a message to Benny, see how things are in Arlington. Maybe it’s worth transferring there, team up with Benny and we could all go back to our old apartments, if they’re inside the QZ.” 

“From what I hear, it’s not too hard to get a transfer, the difficult part is actually getting to the QZ,” you say, pouring milk into Santi’s coffee and handing it to him as he comes into the kitchen. 

“You shouldn’t be using your rations on me, hermana, I’ll pay you back,” he says but accepts the coffee gratefully. You pour another mug for yourself and Frankie before you pull out the powdered eggs and tinned ham .

“Don’t be silly, Pope, you know it doesn’t work like that, we’re family, now more than ever.” 

“I’m grateful anyway, you know that.” He hooks an arm around your shoulder, giving you a squeeze, before he sits down at the small table. Frankie ambles into the kitchen, pushing his fingers through his damp hair and grabs his coffee too before pulling out a frying pan to cook the ham while you deal with the “eggs”. Before long you’re all sitting down for breakfast. 

“Pope thinks we should try to talk to Benny and see how things are in Arlington and maybe get a transfer.” You say to Frankie and he nods. 

“I was thinking the same thing, we have a good chance of getting a transfer there as it’s our hometown. The trick is actually getting there in one piece, I’m not risking your life again, cariño,” Frankie puts his hand on your leg, but Pope shakes his head. 

“I heard FEDRA does convoys with supplies between cities, you’re military, you’d get a lift with that, both you and her, no problem.”

“And you? How’d you get transport?” You ask, giving Pope a worried look, “you’re not even here under your real name.” 

“I’ve made a few connections, a couple of people owe me big favors,” he grins, “I’m sure I can get a seat on a convoy.” 

“Always making deals, always have a way, you don’t change, Pope,” Frankie says, looking at his friend who raises his coffee mug in mock salute. 

“You know it, Frankie!”

“When do you think you can arrange for a radio call with Benny?” you ask Frankie. He’s the one who has the best chance at getting a radio call approved, with his rank in FEDRA. 

“In a couple of days probably, I’ll put in the request today. I’ll try to schedule it for an afternoon that you’re not working, all three of us should be there.” Frankie looks over at Pope, “What are you doing for work? You’re not in FEDRA, but you’ve got to eat, right?” 

Pope waves his hand in a vague gesture, “A bit of this and that, I do those daily jobs they’re always looking for people to do.” 

“The stuff no one else wants to do?” you ask, raising your eyebrows, “I hear they’re really nasty jobs, burning bodies, sewage details, that kinda stuff.” 

“Better me than some poor civvie,” Pope says with a shrug, “I’ve seen much worse, I can handle it.” 

“Santi…” you say, shaking your head, “you could do a lot better than that, FEDRA will take you any day, you could patrol with Frankie.” 

“And have Fish give me orders?” Pope chuckles, giving a mock salute at Frankie, who grins. “No, no offense, Fish, but I don’t think FEDRA is the way to go for me. There's a bit more to be done on the private side.” He drains his mug and pushes back from the table, getting to his feet, “Besides, I’m staying with a woman who’s good enough to share her rations when I bring home useful stuff.” 

“What do you mean ‘bring home useful stuff’?” Frankie asks, looking up at Pope who’s got a sly grin. 

“You know, stuff ration cards don’t cover, or stuff that’s hard to find. You know me, I always had a nose for finding useful things.” 

“Pope, man, are you going outside the wall?” Frankie says, standing up and looking at his friend with knotted eyebrows. 

“Never, too risky,” Pope says immediately and you both know he’s lying through his teeth with how fast his reply is. “Anyway, I’ve got to go, gonna go see if I can pick up a job today. Let me know when the radio call with Benny comes through, ok?” 

“Yeah, sure, I’ll come find you as soon as I know,” Frankie says and Pope pulls him in for a hug.  “Mantente a salvo, hermano.” 

“Tú también.” Frankie claps Pope’s back before the younger man heads out the door. 

“He’s definitely lying about not going outside of the wall,” you say to Frankie after Pope has left. 

“Yeah, he’s a world class liar but not good enough for his friends,” Frankie shakes his head. “FEDRA puts people who got outside the wall in lock up, repeat offenders are locked up for good, transferred to a prison near San Antonio. I hope he’s fucking careful, both for his sake and for ours.” 

“I just hope he doesn’t get himself infected,” you say, “I hate that I have to worry about him too now, not just you.” 

Frankie takes your hand, taking the dirty dishes from you and putting them on the counter before pulling you into his arms. “Pope’s a big boy, he can handle himself, and he doesn’t need you worrying about him.” He leans down and puts his forehead against yours, looking at you so that all you can see are his warm, brown eyes. “Don’t worry, cariño lindo.” 

“I can’t help it, I know what you face some days, and it scares me.” 

“I’m better trained than almost everyone in FEDRA, and I’m extra careful, and do you know why?” 

You shake your head gently, Frankie’s hands coming up to cup your cheeks, running his thumbs over the soft skin. 

“Because I have you to come home too. Every decision I make when I’m out on patrol is based on you, coming home to you, that’s my priority, everything else comes second.” Frankie brushes his lips over yours, “Hermosa….” his warm breath ghosting over your skin, “Every morning I leave your warm body in our bed, and every second of every day it’s the one thing that keeps me going, knowing that I get to come home and crawl into bed next to you.” He presses his plush lips against yours and you feel yourself melt into him as you wrap your arms around his waist. 

“You’re gonna be late,” you mumble into his mouth and he tilts his head, slipping his tongue in between your lips. 

He is late that morning but only five minutes and when his C.O. asks why he says he was stopped by civilians asking for directions. And it turns out it’s lucky he’s late because everyone else has already gone down to check out their guns from weapons storage when the radio call comes in from Arlington QZ and he gets sent up to answer it. 

“Franklin QZ, Captain Morales here. Go ahead Arlington, over.” 

“Fuck me! Catfish! Is that you?!” Benny’s shocked voice comes over the radio, forgetting all radio commands. 

“Benny!” Frankie yells down the microphone. “Yeah, it’s me! So good to hear your voice, man! How are you?!” 

“I’m good, Fish! I couldn’t believe it when I heard you both made it to Franklin! I’ve been worried fucking sick about you and the rest of the guys!”

“I’ve got even better news, pal,” Frankie laughs, “Pope’s here too! Ran into him out of the blue and he’s been here the whole time, got here a few days after the outbreak.” 

“No fucking way! That’s awesome” Benny laughs down the radio channel but Frankie swallows, he knows he needs to ask about Will and he braces himself for bad news. 

“Benny, I’ve got to ask, is Will with you?” The silence that follows is telling and Frankie squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his knuckles into the eyelids. 

“No,” Benny’s voice comes back after a long pause, “I haven’t heard from him since the outbreak. I was meant to have dinner with him and Hannah that night, but then shit started popping off and when he didn’t come home Hannah and I got really worried. She stayed behind at their house, and I took the car to go look for him at the office. I tried getting to it but there were infected everywhere, and…” The line goes quiet for so long Frankie starts to think the connection’s been lost before Benny’s voice finally comes through the static. “The building was on fire, that restaurant by the entrance, something must’ve made it catch, because it was blazing. If he was still in the building…or in the street…” 

“Pope said he’d spoken to a soldier from the New York QZ who mentioned a guy who sounded like Will,” Frankie says, just to give Ben some semblance of hope. 

“I’ve asked everyone, Fish, every QZ we’re in touch with, no one has heard of William Miller.” Even through the crackling line Frankie can hear Benny’s deep sigh, “I’m not giving up but…Hannah’s grieving him, she doesn’t think he made it, and the more time that passes…” Benny’s voice drops off. 

“I’m really sorry, Ben, I really am, man, but I’ll keep asking here too, ok?” 

“Frankie, when Ingrid told me about you guys being in quarantine she said it was only you and your girl…?” 

Frankie was expecting Benny to ask but he still feels his throat close up as the memory of his daughter surges to the surface and he clenches his fists, nails digging into his palms. He shakes his head, his eyes on his hands, before he remembers the other man can’t see him. 

“She didn’t make it,” he presses out between his teeth and the tension in his voice lets Benny know, through the patchy radio line and miles that separate them, how fragile Frankie is. He’s quiet on the other end when Frankie lets go of the button, pressing it down on his end to speak but he can’t find the words, opening his mouth to say something but closing it again. Finally, after what feels like minutes he just breathes out a low Fuck over the airwaves. 

“Yeah,” Frankie’s voice comes through, low and tight, and the silence stretches between them again untill Frankie shakes his head to clear it, “Listen, Benny, I’ve got to go, what’s the message for HQ?” 

“Sorry, man, didn’t mean to keep you,” Benny says, picking up a folder at his end. “There’s a convoy coming through, ETA Monday next week. Three transfers, agreed upon supplies and ammo, all accounted for.” 

“Ok, got it, I’ll pass it on.” Frankie responds, jotting down the information on the pad next to the microphone. “Listen, we were talking about applying for a transfer over to Arlington, all three of us, what do you think?” 

“Yeah, absolutely man, put me down as a reference on the application, I’ll get it through. I don’t think Arlington is in any better state than Franklin but at least we’ll be in the same QZ.” 

“Ok, good, we’ll get that done. I’ve gotta sign off now, Benny. Fucking great hearing your voice though, man.”

“Same, Fish, really fucking same, stay safe, all of you.” 

Benny hesitates, Frankie can hear it in his voice, years of knowing Benny and he can all but see the look on the younger man’s face. “I’m really sorry about Lucía, I loved- love her.” 

“Thanks, Benny,” Frankie pushes his nails into his palms again. “I’ll talk to you soon, man, ok?” 

“Yeah, talk to you soon and see you soon, gonna be good, man.” 

Frankie signs off and leans back in his chair, taking a moment to shove the memories of Lucía into the back of his mind before he goes on duty. He hears steps in the corridor and looks up, his C.O. looking in through the door. 

“Everything ok, Morales?”

“Yes, sir, just gonna pass this message from Arlington to HQ.” 

“Good, sign out your gun when you’re done and join Johnsson in the training yard.” 

“Yes, sir”. 

He pushes up out of the chair and gets to work, forcing his mind into soldier mode for the rest of the day.

Chapter 19

A note on how Pope greets Frankie: "Cada día eres más feo" (Every day you're uglier). It's what Frankie says to Pope when they greet each other in Triple Frontier (so it felt fitting to use here), except Pedro says something along the lines of "Ca´día más feo"if I'm hearing it correctly. I had to ask the latino husband and he says it's basically just sloppy Spanish, dropping half the words and mashing the rest together. So I went with the grammatically correct version, husband approved. 😅

Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko  @javicstories @nunya7394 @welcometothepedroverse

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fluff #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #francisco morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic #triple frontier fanfiction

[pippin-katz]

Hey!

Why does Henry rebuff Alex during their first meeting? Like when Alex greets him, he walks away ignoring him.. What's the theory there?

I'm kinda new here and if this was already discussed or known, my apologies 😊

No prob! I like explaining things, even if it's obvious or everyone is like "we know already". My little neurodivergent brain gets happy when I make neat essays with GIFs and sections and whatnot lol

Post Writing Note: once again, this very simple question with a fairly simple answer turned into a fucking essay and I am so sorry lmfao, I know I said I like making them but I did not intend this to be a long one!! You have been warned!!

Foreword Regarding The Canon

I, and I assume most viewers who have also read the book, interpret the film's canon to be a combination of the film's events, and parts of the book that we didn't see, but could've happened anyway. Things like what was said in the emails, Bea's history with drug abuse, Pez' foundation, and whatnot are sort of meshed together with the film in my mind; just because the film didn't have the time to show it to us does not mean it did not happen in that version of their world. I say this cause I'm going to be discussing both the book and the film.

Also a key: Pink - internal dialogue from the book Red - Alex's dialogue in both versions Blue - Henry's dialogue in both versions

Establishing The Basics

I assume you’re referring to this moment during the greeting line:

Side note: Alex’s face at the end never fails to make me laugh 😂

While this is their first interaction in the film, it’s not their first meeting, as they explain that they met at the Melbourne Climate Conference a few years ago. In the book, they met in Rio at the Olympics when they were teenagers. The only difference this makes is that they're more mature in the film than the book, but it doesn't change much.

The beats for how their first meeting went are practically identical.

Alex approached Henry to introduce himself. Henry, who was dealing with his grief and depression after his father’s passing, was an ass.

He looks at him unkindly; in the film, Alex describes it as: “like he had head lice”, and in the book, Alex describes it as: “like I was the most offensive thing you had ever seen”. Either way, he looked at him in a way that visibly communicated a dislike or lack of respect for him.

Then he turns to Shaan and says he needs to leave, though the wording is different between book and film. In the film, he says, “I need to get out of here” -which Alex mishears as "get me out of here"- while in the book, he says, “Can you get rid of him?”.

Henry Meeting Alex

Admittedly, the line from the book is far more rude, but Henry does explain far later -after Alex storms Kensington Palace and they agree that they’re committed to being together- through an email what he was thinking during their first meeting. I see no reason for these thoughts to be any different in the film's context, as the reason for Henry's behavior is still rooted in his depression and trauma surrounding his father's death. They're also relevant to understanding Henry's behavior.

You might have seen edits or mentions of this email because it’s one of the most memorable.

Henry explains he had been dealing with his trauma by basically compartmentalizing the most impactful -mostly negative- events of his life into “rooms”. He puts those moments into “rooms” in his head, based on the layout of Buckingham Palace. He chooses which room based on how traumatic or impactful it was; two examples he mentions are losing his virginity in college, which he shoves it into “the smallest, most cramped little broom cupboard” he could find, and the night his father died, which he puts in “the biggest room, a ballroom, wide open and dark, windows drawn and covered”.

But when he saw Alex for the first time, he felt such a strong reaction that he took it “down to the gardens” and “pressed it into the leaves of a silver maple and recited it to the Waterloo Vase”. He quite memorably says, “It didn’t fit in any rooms.”

Then he describes what Alex looked like, and how he was talking to Nora and June, and how he was so animated, happy, and beautiful, and Henry was in a dark place, and felt like he couldn't experience life the same way.

Here's the most popular/remembered bit: "I thought, this is the most incredible thing I have ever seen, and I had better keep it a safe distance away from me. I thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire."

Henry basically pushed Alex away on purpose because on top of all the trauma he was experiencing, he was convinced he would ruin him, if you will, and that he didn't deserve someone like Alex.

Alex Meeting Henry

It's easy looking back with the knowledge we have now to wonder why Henry didn't just approach Alex, provide an explanation for his behavior (doesn't have to be his father, any justifiable reason would've worked), and apologize the very next time they saw each other.

But it's important to remember that this was their first ever interaction with each other. Henry was feeling a ton of different emotions, but so was Alex.

Alex is a smart, but stubborn, person. He develops very strong opinions fast, that may make sense, but sometimes fails to consider the alternatives. It's sort of like the two sides of his brain work at different speeds. He's very smart, but sometimes his emotional bias can blind him to fairly obvious things that would change his opinion.

For example, Alex sees Henry as rude, smug, entitled, and a snob, which are all inherently false notions. However, based on his one meeting with him, those aren't unfounded assumptions for him to make.

If you look at it purely from Alex's perspective, not knowing anything about Henry's depression and the depths of his struggle with grief, Henry does act and sound incredibly rude to Alex. Giving someone a nasty look when they introduce themselves to you and then immediately requesting to get out of the conversation, screams: "I don't care about your existence".

Couple that with the fact that Henry is a white, blue-eyed (in the book), blond who was born into royalty, and Alex is a working class person of color who has had to run himself into the ground to get to where he is.

That is the perfect set up for Henry's behavior to be interpreted worse than just rude. All of that information can logically add up to the assumption: Henry is an elitist, racist, asshole.

Before They Met

Alex also secretly admired Henry when he was younger. This wasn't translated to the screen, but like I mentioned, it's something I think of as happening in that universe anyway, just slightly differently.

June gets a teen magazine for her fifteenth birthday; since June isn't part of the film's canon, I can headcanon that this was Nora instead, since she's sort of a combination of the two characters for the movie. All the details don't really matter, but I know someone would be like "but that didn't happen in the movie-" and I just don't feel like explaining that to each comment I end up getting.

There's a teen magazine with a picture of Henry in it. It's a candid picture that captured his actual essence rather than the stuffy pictures Alex had seen on the news. He describes it, saying, "there was a happy, sun-bright confidence to him that couldn't be posed".

Alex definitely developed an unconscious crush on him, not realizing it until later. He would keep going back to the magazine and to the page with him on it. He would touch his hair in the picture, trying to imagine how it felt. He considered prying the stables apart and taking just that page to hide in his room.

As his parents started getting higher in the government, Henry also became his role model. He wanted to match the easy confidence he seemed to have.

But then he met him, and the fantasy he had of him was shattered by how rude Henry was.

The tabloids and news are always comparing Alex to him, which he mentions in the film to Nora in the car. He resents the fact that he's compared to Henry when he has every advantage, if you will, but he also resents that he ever wanted to be like Henry in the first place, having convinced himself now that he was a fake, boring, obnoxious prick.

Because Alex doesn't not know about Henry's dad, but its something he thought about more as a bullet point on his fact sheet rather than considering it any further.

Henry's depression is more explicitly explored in the book, since they have the time to go into all those details. He isolates himself, and has insomnia like he mentioned in the movie, but he also takes medication, and Alex makes a mention of a "tense little grimace Henry does in public" that he thought was him being aloof.

Once Henry mentions his father's passing during their conversation in the hospital closet, Alex's brain puts everything together very fast. He's not stupid, and in the book even says, "He's been aware for too long that most people don't navigate thoughts of whether they'll ever be good enough or if they're disappointing the entire world. He's never considered Henry might feel any of the same things."

Antagonizing Each Other

However, that is all information Alex doesn't have at the wedding. They don't say exactly how many times they've spoken in either version, just that they have met a few times since their first introduction.

Alex, on top of dealing with the comparisons, is convinced that Henry doesn't like him either. The quote from the books is: "The most annoying thing of all is Alex knows Henry hates him too-he must, they're naturally mutual antagonists-but he refuses to outright act like it."

He actively antagonizes him whenever they are at the same event. It's implied in the film when Henry describes him as "the world's most irritating person", but the book makes it clear that Alex is always the one to attack first, if you will.

As soon as Alex goes over to him at the wedding, we can see Henry visibly react in a way that implies he's bothered but has to pretend so they don't cause a scene. His expressions say, "oh here we go 🙄". Henry knows that Alex is going to pick a fight with him. It happens every time they run into each other.

This interaction in the book is pretty iconic and it does a great job of showing what I'm describing. Alex gets drunk and approaches Henry and while they're talking, Henry notices. He suggests Alex switch to water after he makes a lot of rude comments about him pretending to be more important than everyone and pretending to hate the attention the media gives him.

"Should I?" Alex says. He pushes aside the thought that maybe the wine is what gave him the nerve to stomp over to Henry in the first place and makes his eyes as coy and angelic as he knows how. "Am I offending you? Sorry I'm not obsessed with you like everyone else. I know that must be confusing for you."

"Do you know what?" Henry says. "I think you are."

Alex's mouth drops open, while the corner of Henry's turns smug and almost a little mean.

"Only a thought," Henry says, tone polite. "Have you ever noticed I have never once approached you and have been exhaustingly civil every time we've spoken? Yet here you are, seeking me out again." He takes a sip of his champagne. "Simply an observation."

"What? I'm not-" Alex stammers. "You're the-"

"Have a lovely evening, Alex," Henry says tersely, and turns to walk off.

It drives Alex nuts that Henry thinks he gets to have the last word, and without thinking, he reaches out and pulls Henry's shoulder back.

You know what happens from there.

Their conversation in the film is slightly different, but it carries the same beats as the book: Alex approaching Henry, he pretends to be nice while saying something rude, Henry starts retaliating against the comments, Henry tries to walk away, and Alex tries to stop him. In the book, Alex just stumbles when Henry turns back around really fast. He gets tripped up and starts falling, and just like in the movie, he grabs Henry to trying and keep himself upright. The icing on the jacket bit was added into the movie, which I have to say was a brilliant addition.

Back to their conversation, remember that Henry doesn't dislike Alex, rather he's had a crush on him since they met. But Alex has made his opinions very clear, and Henry is not a pushover. He doesn't engage him, but returns the energy he's given. When Alex is rude, he's rude back, but he doesn't start the fight.

I imagine that any attempt Henry could've made to explain or apologize for the Climate Conference/Olympics would have been squashed before he even had the chance by Alex's need to insult him. They also only ever see each other at very public events, so he can't ask why Alex doesn't like him; that's partly why he does it when they're stuck in the broom closet at the hospital.

They're completely alone and have nowhere to go, and it's probably been eating him alive every time he's thought about Alex for the last few years. Even if he doesn't like the answer, he knows that he will get an answer, so he asks.

Why Does Henry Walk Away?

This all being said, back to the moment in question:

The most common interpretation of this interaction is that Henry walks away because 1) he doesn't want to start anything, & 2) he has a raging crush on Alex, and he can't deal with it.

Now, Alex does start off playing nice here, being friendly and polite, but it's a reoccurring issue between them that even if things start off civil, Alex will end up antagonizing him.

They also both "know" that "the other hates them", so they both probably want to avoid each other.

Henry knows that Alex doesn't like him. He doesn't know why Alex doesn't like him, but he's well aware of the animosity. Therefore, he knows that Alex's politeness is a front.

He has a crush on him. He likes Alex, but he's gotten basically nothing but disdain from him since they met. That has to hurt, to have the person you like actively hate you. It also has to hurt knowing that they're pretending to be friendly.

Because Alex is pretending here. He's representing his mother, the President of the United States, at a massive foreign event. He knows better than to act up, so even if he doesn't like him, he is polite with his greeting.

After Henry brushes him off again, he's visibly pissed off, but he doesn't do anything. He avoids him. He stands off to the side, and sort wanders around alone, just drinking and feeling anxious. He has no intention of starting a conflict.

The only reason Alex approaches Henry is because he gets wasted drunk. This is the same in the book. While he was able to control himself before, once he's drunk, he just goes with his first impulses. One of those is to piss Henry the fuck off the second he sees him.

The book says, "[Henry] looks politely half-interested in that obnoxious way of his, like he has somewhere else to be. And Alex can't resist the urge to call his bluff."

This is to say that if Alex hadn't gotten as drunk as he did, he probably would've avoided Henry for the evening. Alex always seeks him out to provoke him, but like I said, he's aware of how important this event is. He does not want to start anything because it could reflect poorly on his mother. But Henry has no reason to think Alex will behave any differently than he has in the past, which he ends up being right about.

So to finally answer your question: Henry walking away was his attempt to avoid the conflict, as well as spare himself the emotional torture that would be watching the person you like be friendly with you, when you know it's fake and that they actually hate you.

Holy fuck, I could've told you that in two sentences but instead it turned into a whole fucking essay for NO REASON! Geez, just why? Why am I like this? lmfao 😭

#red white and royal blue #rwrb #rwrb movie #rwrb book #rwrb thoughts #alex claremont diaz #taylor zakhar perez #henry hanover stuart fox #henry fox mountchristen windsor #nicholas galitzine #firstprince #katz questions

[lets-try-some-writing]

I’ve been meaning to send this request for a while now, but I let my desire for a seemingly nonexistent “perfect” moment get in the way. 😛

Anyway, your take on the Autobots’ names and their meanings is still one of my favorite posts of yours. I’ve come up with one or two meanings of my own for a couple of the characters, but I’m curious about what you think the meanings of the Decepticons’ names would/should be. :)

I've been meaning to get to this forever. Sorry this took me an eternity and a half to get around to writing for! Hope you like it!

Decepticons and their Names

Just like the Autobots, the Decepticons developed alternate names to keep their true names secret while still hinting at it. They didn't bother trying to appear more human or adjust their body language in any meaningful way. They simply never saw the need to comply with human naming conventions. However this does not mean that their true names aren't known to anyone.

Soundwave knows just about every bot's true name. It was part of procedure when it came to joining high command. A Decepticon couldn't rise through the ranks if they weren't willing to give Soundwave their true designation for security reasons. And while not the most well received of moves, it did end up keeping quite a few revolts from happening with the perpetrators true name on the line.

Soundwave however is not a mech who would abuse what power he has been given. As such, while he knows the names, he does not use them against the bot whom the designation belongs to unless absolutely necessary. Still there are times when he needs to reconfirm designations and he takes great care of them.

Megatron's true designation is long, a testament to his age and a show of his wisdom. His name has changed greatly over the millennia, but core features of it always remain even through every alteration. His name when translated into human language is roughly akin to [Resilient-Spark-Defiant-Fighter-Silver-Tongued-Truth-Speaker-Seeker-of-Change-Sword-of-Vengance]. It is as shortened a version of his designation that can be managed. If his whole name was written out, it would rival Optimus's in length. When spoken aloud his name sounds like a long forgotten chant, one whispering of times long gone all while the grinding of gears echoed quietly amidst it.

Shockwave's designation is an odd one that contradicts itself over and over again due to the changes he underwent on the Council's orders. Its almost painful to look at when written simply because of how unpleasant it is in its contradictions. His true designation is so unsettling to look at that Soundwave has put it away and refuses to even so much as glance at it until it comes time to check his files. The name comes out to be something along the lines of [Kind-Spark-Empty-Vessel-Hopeful-Light-Bringer-Endless-Void-of-Knowledge]. When spoke aloud it is both lovely to hear and painful for the audio receptors. It sounds like the humming of a spark within its chassis combined with the gentle whistle of wind, but is contradicted by the dull and toneless notes of steady clicking and grinding that nearly cancel the musical qualities out entirely.

Starscream's is surprisingly lovely and holds greater meaning than one would expect. Starscream was after all, not always a traitorous glitch fond of cowardly retreats and greed. Once, long ago Starscream was a noble leader for his people, doing everything in his power to protect them only to at some point lose himself along the way. His name comes out to be [Guardian-Star-Guiding-Beacon-Swift-Lord-of-the-Skies-Radiant-Jewel]. Starscream has always taken great pride in his true designation and has never once uttered it aloud, not for anyone. Even when giving his designation to Soundwave, he merely wrote it down and did not speak at all. However based on what can be gathered, if it was to be spoken aloud it would sound a great deal like the swaying of trees, the chiming of bells, and the constant thrum of a jet engine preparing for takeoff.

Knockout's designation is odd considering his personality, but Soundwave has always assumed that it is simply a matter of the medic having changed over his lifetime. However even with that in mind, there are still bits and pieces that apply to the persona Knockout presents. His designation translates into something similar to [True-Sighted-Spinner-of-Dreams-Faceted-Child-of-Visonaries-Bright-Sparked-Healer]. Perhaps his name spoke of an age where things were different for Knockout, a time where he was more hopeful, open, and friendly. But either way, when spoken aloud his name sounds like the distant trickling of raindrops on a tin sheet, the swaying of tall grass amid a storm, and the crackling of distant thunder all soothed by the gentle patter of stones down a hill.

Breakdown's name was by comparison far clearer and easier to see where it came from. His was straightforward, a perfect representation of his character and spoke of his true pureness of spark. His designation almost made Soundwave wonder just what the warrior was doing amid the Decepticon ranks. His name spoke of someone more suited toward the Autobot's ideals of purity, that with his name translating to mean [Warrior-for-Justice-Protector-of-the-Meek-Gentle-Giant-Comforter-Guardian-of-the-Vulnerable]. Even the sound of his name sounds like it should belong to an Autobot, that with it being like that of the quiet humming of a loving parent combined with the war chant of an army preparing to fight for their homeland.

Dreadwing's designation is one that Soundwave has no real opinion on but finds somewhat fascinating due to how it speaks of his character. It is fairly straightforward much like Breadown's, but like all true designations, it is special in its own unique way, even when translated to [Stoic-Watcher-of-Shifting-Tides-Bound-Protector-of-Spark-Shards-Enduring-Warrior]. Its spoken notes are much like the beating of hammers on an anvil accompanied why the bellows of a beast in the deep. However there is a soft undertone of wind rushing past rock, creating a gentle whistling sound. Overall a fascinating mix of sounds and meanings, but not too noteworthy in Soundwave's book.

Then there is Soundwave's name, the one he has not shared with anyone, not even Megatron. His true designation is something he has kept to himself simply because... he hardly remembers it. A true designation should be something a bot always remembers, but with what Soundwave was forged to do, only bits and pieces have stuck over the millennia. It is something that pains him. He wishes he could remember it all, but as he can't he has filled in his name as best as he can using what he does recall, earning him the translated name [Silent-Keeper-of-Knowledge-Custodian-of-the-Dark-in-All-Tireless-Watcher-of-Eternity]. He has not said it aloud, but he guesses that if it was, it would sound a great deal like the near silent murmurings of mecha long dead and the gentle swaying of all sorts of structures. His name would hardly even be capable of being heard if not for the quiet din of a stone falling into water that would echo quietly should his name be said out loud.

So many names, so many meanings, and Soundwave keep them all dutifully.

#maccadam #transformers #decepticons #megatron #soundwave #knockout #dreadwing #shockwave #breakdown #starscream

[gardensgatekeeper]

Angel Straight from Hell - Part 3

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader, Danny Wagner x Reader, Jake Kiszka x Danny Wagner

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Language, fluff, slight jealousy (if you squint), degradation (kinda) dom Jake, blindfolding, restraints, fingering. Pure filth. As always, let me know if I missed anything!

If you haven't already, make sure to read Part 2!

Update: All parts of this story have been combined and posted here!

"By the way, we're having company tonight."

Your eyes immediately shot open as you turned your head to look towards him. 

Company? You had a bad feeling about this.

“Oh, uh are the guys coming over?” You asked, trying to hide the nervousness in your tone. “Yeah, something like that.” He replied. You could’ve sworn you saw a faint smirk ghost over his lips but before you could even be sure, it was gone.

Still weary of Jake’s behavior and unsure of where exactly you two stood, you decided to do whatever you could to stay in his good graces, starting by putting on his favorite lingerie set under your shorts and t-shirt when you got out of the bath. Afterwards, you headed downstairs, turning his favorite vinyl record on while you made your way into the kitchen to make his favorite recipe.

Jake must have noticed as he came up behind you, wrapping his arms around the front of your waist as his lips ghosted your ear. “What’s all this?” He hummed softly. “I just want to show you how much I love you. You mean everything to me Jake.” You replied honestly. “So you’re not just trying to butter me up as a way to make me forget what happened last night?”

There it was.

“Jake, what do you want me to say? I said I was sor-” He interrupted you before you could finish the sentence. “I’m just messing with you love. Now c’mere, I think I’d rather just skip to dessert anyways.”

His hands suddenly gripped your ass as he turned and lifted you up on the counter. You let out a little squeal of surprise as this was not quite what you were expecting. His hands roamed up your legs before pulling your shirt up until the fabric covering your breasts was exposed. The second he saw the lacy material, he immediately froze and looked up at you with eyes so dark, you could see your reflection in them. “Upstairs, on the bed. Now.” He growled. “When I get up there, you better only be in this.” He said, pulling the strap of your bra up before letting it snap back against your skin, making you gasp out.

You practically slid down from the counter and he aggressively gripped your ass again with one more demand. “And if you so much as think about touching yourself, think again.” Half-sprinting up to the bedroom, you thought about how you should be scared. How you should be so nervous about what was to come, but truthfully, you were so fucking turned on by his slightly aggressive demeanor.

Obeying his command, you stripped out of the worn t-shirt and shorts before situating yourself on the bed in a rather revealing position. Minutes passed as you waited for Jake to come upstairs, becoming more impatient as the time went on. You were starting to get antsy, the wetness in your panties starting to feel uncomfortable as it only reminded you of the pleasure you started feeling some time ago that was now a distant memory. You knew he had to be testing you, a sort of sick version of revenge. As much as you wanted to defy him, you knew you were already treading on thin ice and you didn’t need another nail in the coffin.

After what felt like hours (though was realistically no more than ten minutes), your lover finally stumbled up the stairs. He wore a pleased look on his face when he saw that you had obeyed his request. “So she can listen after all?” He smirked as he made his way over to you. “Up to the headboard darling.” He whispered in your ear. Jake then walked kneeled to the ground as he pulled a small box from underneath the bed. Your eyes widened at the realization of the box’s contents. “Do you trust me, Y/N?” You nodded profusely but that wasn’t good enough for him. “Words. I need you to say it.” He offered softly. “Yes Jake. I trust you.” Your response was met with a quiet “Good girl” and you almost moaned out right then.

You watched as Jake pulled a couple items from the box - a blindfold and a pair of handcuffs. Your legs subconsciously clamped together at the thought of what he had planned for you. That box was typically only reserved for special nights. You weren’t quite sure what was so special about this night, but you weren’t complaining.

Jake gently took your hands in his as he fixed the metal restraints on your wrists before attaching them to the headboard. He looked to you for confirmation that they weren’t too tight against your wrists before grabbing the blindfold that he had placed on the bed beside you. Without two senses, the rest of them were heightened as they were now your only means at knowing what was going on around you. You listened intently as you heard Jake move around the room.

“I’m right here, Y/N.” His reassurance was exactly what you needed as you felt his hands start to explore your exposed body. They felt a little rougher but you just chalked it up to the fact that your body was so hyper aware of his touch. His hands moved up your hips to reach behind your back, unclasping the hook that held your breasts. You then felt him grasp your flesh as he sucked on the skin, sure to leave a mark. “Fuck, Jake, don’t stop.” you moaned out.

You softly whimpered out when his movements halted until you felt his hands on your hips. He traced his fingers delicately above the waistline of your panties and you bucked your hips up in response. “Please Jake. Stop teasing.” You heard him chuckle, but it seemed a little too quiet considering how close he was to you.

He finally slipped the fabric down your legs before moving his attention back to your core. He slowly began rubbing circles on your clit, making you moan out once again. Before you knew it, he entered a finger and you clenched around it. You heard him grunt out, his voice a bit deeper than usual but nonetheless, you continued to cry out when he inserted another finger. His fingers curled inside you as you felt your orgasm quickly approaching. 

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more pleasure, you felt his mouth cling to your swollen clit and gasped out. “Fuck Jake, I’m gonna-” You screamed out. “Do it.” His tone was taunting, as if daring you to do it. Once again, his voice sounded a bit distant, but your head was too clouded by the immense pleasure being given to give it a second thought. With one more thrust of his fingers in your soaked cunt, you cried out as your orgasm overtook you.

When his fingers were removed, you whimpered out, a mix between still being sensitive and sudden empty feeling. The bed dipped as you felt him climb up towards you. You felt his fingers rest on top of your lips and you gladly opened up to taste yourself on him. “Tastes like heaven, doesn’t it angel?”

Your body froze at the sudden realization. Danny? As if he could sense your change in demeanor, he pulled his finger from your mouth and removed the blindfold from your eyes. You squinted for a moment to get used to the light change before focusing your attention on the male in front on top of you. Just as quickly, your head whipped around until you found Jake sitting in a chair in the corner of the room with the biggest smirk on his face.

“What the fuck is going on?” You practically yelled out. Jake stood up and walked over to you before responding. “Well, Daniel and I had a little chat about what happened the other night and since it seemed like you enjoyed it quite a bit, we thought, why not continue the fun? Isn’t that right Daniel?” He grinned, turning towards his friend and bandmate.

“Oh yeah. Jake had to see firsthand just how responsive his whore was to my touch. You feel like a wet dream clenched around my fingers like that. Almost came from just watching you squirm under me angel.”

Though you were in complete shock at first at the fact that they had been scheming behind your back, your mind quickly switched gears as you decided to play along with their game.

“Is that all you two got?”

✶ ✶ ✶

Taglist:

@starcatcherchords @jannysarcher @bimbokiszka

#greta #gvf #greta van fic #gvf imagine #gretavanfleet #greta van smut #gvf smut #greta van fleet fic #gvf fic #danny wagner #dannywagner #danny gvf #daniel robert wagner #danny wagner smut #danny wagner x reader #jake kiszka #jakekiszka #jake gvf #jacob thomas kiszka #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka x reader #gvf danny #gvf jake #gvf fanfiction #daniel wagner #gardensgatekeeper