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bluejutdae · 1 month

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• best friend Stray Kids saving you (or being saved by you) from a bad date | Jisung x you

genre: friends to lovers, romance

warnings: none

The guy is boring, misogynistic and keeps talking about his job like it’s the best thing in the world. He’s a banker, for fuck’s sake. How exciting can it be?

What did Hannie mean with “play along”? You smile thinking about your best friend. You have been friends for years now, and you’re convinced he’s your soulmate. Maybe he feels the same, but he’s unyielding in his idea of needing to be alone, to only focus on his career and not let romance distract him. You love him, but who are you to try to convince him he’s wrong? So you keep your feelings in line and don’t let them overflow.

“Oh, my love, please forgive me! I know I made a mistake but take me back!” A loud voice interrupts the umpteenth story about bankers. Jisung is in the restaurant now, hands clasping over his heart and his big boba eyes on you. “I can’t lose you, you’re the best thing in my life.”

Oh, so this is what he meant by “play along”?

“Sung”, you start. In a very dramatic manner, he interrupts you, a finger on your lips and unshed tears in his eyes.

“No, don’t talk. Hear me for a moment, I have to ask you this, even if it’s the last thing I get to say to you”.

You repress the instinct to roll your eyes. To your right you can hear a confused “what the fuck is happening?”. Jisung’s voice is loud again, tho, and he’s suddenly on his knee, looking up at you with a teary smile. “My love, would you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?” He has a ring in his hand. Where the fuck did he find a ring? Does he go around with an engagement ring in his pockets? Well, this is your best friend. And he’s fucking crazy.

You almost throw the napkin on the plate and get on your knees in front of Jisung. “Yes, yes, of course!” The smile on your lips is one of amusement, but for everyone is the smile of a newly engaged girl.

A round of applause fills the room and soon there’s a chanting of ‘kiss, kiss, kiss’.

The thing is: Han didn’t think this through. Did he stop at a street vendor's stall to buy the prettiest (fake) ring for this? Yes. Did he plan this whole farce in his head to have fun? Also yes. Did he put his fingers in his eyes so he would tear up? Sadly, yes. Did he stop for a second thinking about the fact that newly engaged couples kiss? No.

Jisung looks at you with comically large eyes and his mouth slightly agape and you take pity on him. Suppressing your laughter, you cradle his face into your hand and kiss him. It’s just a simple peck: your lips on his soft, pretty lips; your hand covers the most of the kiss from the guy you had a date with, but it’s the least of your worries now.

It’s just a simple kiss, chaste and functional to the farce, but it’s something you’ve dreamt for a while. The minutes following are a blur in your mind: you left your share of money on the table, apologized quickly to your date and grabbed your coat, leaving the restaurant hand in hand with Jisung.

You’re running on the empty sidewalk, still holding hands, laughing loudly when it starts to snow. It’s so intense and so beautiful, you both go quiet and stop. You love the snow falling: it’s so peaceful and beautiful, the snowflakes dancing in the hair, light and frozen. Seen from the outside, you’re just another couple holding hands in the streets, looking at the snow falling. For a moment alone, you let yourself daydream.

You let yourself imagine it’s real, that you’re a couple holding hands and walking home where you’ll get cozy on the couch, under a blanket, to watch the snow from the window. You’ll kiss again, you’ll make love, you’ll live your lives together and you’ll love each other forever. God, you’re so dumb. Why are you hurting yourself like this, now? It was just a fake kiss.

“So… we kissed.” Han says in a low voice. You can sense he’s looking at you, but you’re not ready yet to look at him and break the calm bubble you created around yourself.

“It wasn’t a real kiss.” It can’t be. Otherwise you kissed your best friend, who you’re in love with, and if it’s true then you can already see the floodgates crack under the pressure.

“It was for me.” The air is cold and it’s freezing your nose, but the shock of his words makes you forget all that.

“Uh- what?”

“The kiss. It was real for me. I know it wasn’t a big kiss but it was real. And I’ve thought about kissing you millions of times but this time it wasn’t a dream and it was real and I don’t think I can go back to when we hadn’t kiss and I don’t wanna ruin our friendship but now I know how your lips feel on mine and-“ he stops and takes a deep breath, looking down at his shoes.

“I’m sorry. I- I don’t really know what to say.”

“Do you really think it wasn't a real kiss? Does it… does it really mean nothing to you?” He asks, and you’re not sure why but you can feel your heart aching. Why does it feel like you’re rejecting him? He’s the one who doesn’t want a relationship, he’s the one who banned love from his life. And you tell him so.

“You said there was no place for anything that wasn’t work in your life.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

He turns completely towards you and you can barely see the redness on his round cheeks, but it’s there. “Before you kissed me and suddenly I realized how stupid I’ve been all this time. I know you’re the perfect girl for me, but I was too convinced I couldn’t handle a relationship. But why do I have to deprive myself of something I know would be good?”

“Don’t do that, Hannie. Don’t say this if you’re gonna change your mind later. You’ve repeated the same thing for years, and now suddenly you want more?” You can endure the idea of just being friends even if you’re in love with him, but you won’t let yourself get too hurt. And you’ll get hurt if he wants something now that he’ll change his mind about later.

“I’ve always wanted more. But I didn’t realize exactly how much I was giving up!”

“Tomorrow, you’ll change your mind.”

“I won’t.” Jisung lounges and grabs your hand. When did you let go of each other’s hand?

“You say that now, but tomorrow or in a week, you’ll be tired and stressed over work and you’ll decide you don’t want another commitment…” You feel like an asshole, but you’re just trying to protect yourself from an even worse heartbreak. His face shifts, and you remember that it’s your best friend the one you’re talking to, that no matter what he’ll always love and protect you from harm.

“Do you trust me?” You nod, fingers squeezing his.

“Then trust me I won’t change my mind. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” You bite the inside of your cheek, considering his words.

“I want more. I want to be able to kiss you everyday, I want to be able to call you my girlfriend. I want to be by your side on the days I’m stressed and on those I’m happy. I want to be by your side anytime you’ll let me.”

“Promise me you won’t regret it.” How can you say no to him? You’re scared he’ll break your heart, but it’s true he never broke a promise.

“I won’t regret it.” Again, it’s you who kisses him. This kiss is nothing like the previous: it’s hot and his lips are immediately moving under yours. You can feel his breath on your lips and it’s a heady feeling and you want more and more and more.

You want to know what he tastes like and how his tongue feels on yours, so you’re quick to prod at his lips, demanding entrance and licking into his mouth. The sounds Jisung makes are the best sounds you’ve ever heard, and all your worries dissipate.

Kissing your best friend under the snow wasn’t how you expected the night to go, but you’re not gonna complain…

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #bluejutdae #skz #jisung x you #jisung x reader #jisung fluff #jisung fanfic #jisung texts

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talaok · 9 months

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Our own

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Summary: After spending the day with Tommy and Maria, you can’t help but notice how great Joel is with their baby, and a thought sparks your mind.

Listen I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I proofread this ok? I'm an honest woman. You may forgive me or not, either way, I'm going to sleep. Bye loves

The sun was high in the sky, birds were chirping, a soft breeze was flowing through your hair... and Tommy was taking his goddamn time opening the goddamn door.

"I told you you should have gone to the bathroom when we left" Joel chuckled by your side

"Now's really not the time Jo-"

Your next words got stuck in your throat as the sound of the lock opening caught your attention.

"Hey guys, I'm sorry the bab-"

"don't worry" you immediately stopped him, feeling your bladder about to burst "Could I use your bathroom?"

He did a poor job of concealing his surprise.

"Uh-Yea sure, it's right up there on the-"

You flew past him, only half minding where his finger was pointing.

"left" he mumbled, an amused smile creeping on his lips as he let his gaze travel to his brother

Joel shrugged, a similar grin tugging at his own lips "I told her to go before we went out"

__ __ __

You walked out of the bathroom feeling like a brand new woman, ready to face whatever life threw at you, which in this case... was following the sound of laughter coming from the backyard.

What appeared on the other side of the window, was a perfect portrait of a happy family.

Tommy and Maria's smiles were brighter than any star in the sky as they watched Eithan, their baby boy, cradled in Joel's arms, looking almost comically small next to his biceps.

And Joel... Joel had a look on his face you had never quite seen. It wasn't just joy, or adoration... there was something in his eyes, in the way his mouth twitched as the baby's small hands reached for his nose, as he caressed his cheek and willed his hands to act as if he were touching porcelain.

You could not put a finger on what it was, but you couldn't either understand what was happening to you.

A warmth had taken over your chest, cheeks... your entire body. And something was fluttering in your belly, it wasn't butterflies no, it was more like- like bunnies, countless little bunnies hopping in your stomach and twisting and turning your insides.

It was perhaps the first time in your life your body had understood something before you could.

A wave brought you back to reality, to life, to the portrait before your eyes.

It was Maria, Maria was waving at you to come out with them, so, of course, you did, begging your legs not to give up on you as the same strange sensation threatened your every step.

"hey" You managed "Sorry for before"

"don't even bother, I'm used to it by now" Tommy huffed out a laugh, nudging Maria by his side

She rolled her eyes dramatically, her mouth betraying her as its edges turned up.

"Ignore him," she said, "please sit, I've been dying to talk to another human being without having to use a baby voice"

You snorted, taking your place next to Joel at the round wooden table.

"That bad huh?"

"God you have no idea..."

Maria went on to talk, about Eithan about... something, but your attention had moved elsewhere by the time she was done with the first sentence.

You watched Joel softly rocking the baby, the smile on his face, the glint in his eyes, and you couldn't help but think

God, how I wish it was our own

__ __ __

"Are you ok darlin'?"

Joel's voice startled you enough to make you gasp.

You had been in your own head for so long that you hadn't even realized you had walked all the way home.

"yeah, why?"

"you've just been real quiet, 's all"

he shrugged, closing the front door behind him.

"I'm fine- Everything's fine," you said a bit too quickly, walking to the kitchen while purposely avoiding his eyes

The footsteps behind you told you he hadn't taken the hint, and was following you.

"what's going on?"

You reached for a glass and filled it up to the brim only to realize you weren't even a little bit thirsty.

"nothing" you mumbled, setting the glass on the counter and finally meeting his scrutinizing gaze "It's nothing" you shook your head

"sweetheart..." he walked until he stood in front of you "Whatever it is you can tell me, y'know?"

Your mouth opened and closed but no sound had come out.

"I just-" you bit your bottom lip "it's nothing, really, it's stupid"

A soft smirk rose from his lips "Now that I don't believe, nothing stupid has ever come out of that petty mouth" One of his rough fingers went to trace your cupid bow "C'mon now, darlin' what is it?"

"I-" you tried, before retracing immidately "You have to promise not to laugh, or freak out... or do anything that isn't reacting calmly"

He couldn't help the frown creasing his forehead "I promise" he swore nonetheless.

"Ok" you took a small breath.

This wasn't gonna be easy, not with his past, not with everything he had to endure, not with him.

"I-I watched you today with Eithan, and-well-I-" You shut your eyes, unable to take more of his big brown eyes boring into yours

"What, sugar?"

"Well, it- it made me think"

Something flashed behind his eyes

"About what?"

You swallowed the sand in your mouth "About how great of a dad you'd be" you murmured "to our own child"

Now was his turn to be at a loss for words.

He looked at you, so many thoughts, memories, and fears swirling in his mind that he could have fainted, if it wasn't of course, for you, for the expression on your face, for the hope and anxiety painting your every perfect inch.

It was a mess, his brain was a mess, everything was a mess, and yet he'd never felt more sure.

he should have been scared, terrified even, but all he could feel was joy.

"I know it's crazy" you spoke "With what's going on and everything... and I know we already have Ellie in a way... and I know it must be difficult because of what happened to Sarah, and it's completely ok if you don't want to, I understand, really, so please don't feel pressured to-"

"sweetheart"

one word was all it took for him to stop your rambling.

You looked up at him, catching your reflection in the hazel pool of his eyes.

"yes?"

"There is nothing more I'd love in this world than to have a baby with you"

"a-are you sure, b-because as I sai-"

He chuckled, his forehead falling to yours and his hands holding your face.

"darlin'" he paused, a smile on his lips "believe me, I don't think I've ever been more sure of anything in my life"

A breath got caught in your throat as fireworks went off somewhere in your brain.

"Yeah?" was all you could master

"yeah" he laughed, his lips meeting yours in a mess of tears, teeths and laughters "We're gonna have a baby"

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x fem reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #tlou #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x fem!reader #Pedro Pascal characters

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killishin · 1 month

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JEALOUS

pairing : damian x reader

warning : some jealousy

category : fluff

author's note : okay my exams are over ( for now ) and im writing after like a year so if there's any mistakes , forgive me. Also first time writing damian , or any dc chara so sorry if there's anything wrong. enjoy :)

parties , gathering were never your place and neither his. the league had decided to have a gathering of all heroes and as much as you would rather be in your room sleeping , there's free food here.

that's the reason you tell everyone.

If you were being honest , you still weren't gonna come but a certain recent argument with Damian , your oh so understanding boyfriend , had you in a mood of mischief. You wanted to do something to annoy him , as childish as it sounds for someone who has the status of hero , you just had to.

Initially both of you had decided not to go but then just today morning you told him you were going. you laugh when you remember the disbelief that was on his face.

" Fine. Go. " was all he said back then and you thought that would be it. He would be sulking away in his own solitude.

But he came , with that same brooding face which for a moment melted away when he met your eyes , when he saw you looking absolutely gorgeous , but it was quickly replaced by a scowl when he saw you smirking.

You knew how much he hated crowds so having him go through one was utmost peak revenge.

( he has a huge soft spot for you but he wasn't gonna concede so easily. )

He saw you the whole night talking away , laughing with your friends and the strangers that approached you. He saw how everyone hung onto every word you said and get lost in the spark in your eyes , just like he did.

" Trouble in paradise?" Jon said and smirked when Damian ignored him. Jon saw how he was glaring daggers on the people talking to you.

It was simply comical to him how big of a hold you have on Damian. So he decided to just tease. just a little.

" Oh boy did you see the way the guy laughed?? He's totally trying on her. Is it just me or is he inching towards her?? Man you gotta do something or he'll take awa-"

And that was enough to set off Damian as put down his glass on the bar and went striding off to where you were , leaving Jon smirking wide.

You were enjoying your conversation with the new people you met , but you can't lie it was getting tiring now. Your social battery was running out and maybe right now all you need is a quiet corner and him. Just the bliss of his presence.

And thankfully, you were rescued.

Damian came right in the middle of the conversation, put his hand on your lower back gently before looking at everyone else with his usual glare, although you swear you could see the anger in his eyes.

" I apologise but we need to be somewhere. " He said and started directing you away from the crowd but he stopped in between and glanced back at the guy who was hitting on you.

" Back off , 's all I'll say." His voice held a warning that only an idiot would miss and your eyes slightly widened at his outburst.

But when your eyes met with Jon who was reeling from the scenario , you joined the dots.

( OH JACKPOT )

Damian directed you in a quiet corner outside , away from prying eyes and voices. He let go of you and looked off in a distance , his brows furrowed and his upset eyes looking anywhere else but you.

maybe this was too much.

You realised in your childishness you may have actually upset your man.

You gently pulled him by his arm and made him look at you. It was like a little angry puppy looking at you and you could just die from the cuteness aggression.

" Are you mad at me?" you asked with a small smile. He scoffed and looked away again.

" No why would i be?"

" Cause you were jealous."

" I was not. "

" I never took you for the jealous type you know."

" I said i was not jealous."

You laughed and gently held his face in your hands. aww now he really looks like a puppy.

" I'm sorry if i upset you. It wasn't my intention to make you jealous."

" But it was your intention to come to the party."

" That. "

You laughed guiltily and wrapped your arms around his neck.

" Okay yeah obviously that was my intention. But you weren't talking to me at all during missions , and it just made me a bit.... annoyed. So i had to do something to make you talk." you justified, knowing you could have just maturely had a conversation with him about the argument in private.

" ....And annoy you."

you looked down in guilt but then you heard him laughing heartily. You looked up in surprise. The sight not only rare , but it melts you away. It was the most cutest thing ever , the way his face lit up , the way his lips stay in a beautiful smile.

He took a hold of your chin and pulled you close.

" If you wanted attention, "

He kissed your lips slow , his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands went from your chin to your hips , pulling you even more close. You could sense the hint of sass coming as he teased you by gently nibbling on your lower lip. He pulled away , looking at your lips , then your eyes and that shit eating grin on his face.

" You could have just asked. "

reblogs and likes are appreciated :)

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #damian wayne x y/n #dc x you #dc x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x you

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celaenaeiln · 7 months

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so my friend, at 12 am, called me just to say that dick grayson is the only one in his family that bruce truly views as an equal and then hung up. what. what do i do.

well, call them back and tell 'em they're right 😂😂😂

I started cackling so hard I began wheezinggg oh my god that's hilarious!!!

But maybe for a more reasonable time to talk about this concept after you wake/have woken up from your dick grayson cameo dreams, I'll drop some comic panels

Dick is privy to all of Bruce because of the way Bruce treats him like an equal

He lets Dick in on secrets that he doesn't tell any of the others

I've made a post before on how Clark views Dick as his equal just as Bruce views Dick as his equal.

I'm going to drop the Bruce segment here:

When Bruce was gone the only person he entrusted any information to was Dick. He left a personalized - voice activated - message for Dick and only him that lists his worries, faults, and regrets.

"The girl, Cassandra Cain... I told her to give this file to you should I fall tonight."

"She's my greatest sin, Dick. My deepest regret. Stay alive, and please. Try to forgive me--"

He lists his insecurities to Dick as friend, as an equal.

Of everyone Bruce left behind, the only person Bruce left a message for was Dick. He relies on him unconditionally to take over because Bruce doesn't seem him as a kid like he does with the other - don't get me wrong, he still values and knows just how brilliant the rest of his children are - but he sees Dick as an equal in terms of intelligence, abilities, and leadership. Actually -

Bruce puts Dick on a pedestal.

He views Dick as the golden standard of everything he's working toward.

The reason I think Bruce is so harsh on Dick in regards to training is he doesn't see him as a kid that needs protection, he seems him equal to himself.

Time and time again he sends Dick on solo missions because of the faith he has in Dick's abilities and intelligence

In another comic there's an Arkham breakout and Bruce just. He just sends sends Dick on a solo mission to contain the entirety of Arkham and the villains inside by himself.

And Dick does. Effortlessly.

The fight for Spyral

"I know the other heroes. I know them all. I'd have them do it, but they can't. They'd fight, but eventually they'd give up, they'd give in."

We all know that Bruce despises himself when he fails at something. He thinks he's the best in the world and struggles to cope with the idea that he failed. As such, Bruce views Dick as an extension of himself. Unlike with the kids where he acknowledges their differences and treats them like children, Dick and Bruce are so intertwined that Bruce considers Dick as the "good part" of himself while Bruce is the "bad part".

He gets the angriest at Dick during times where Dick disagrees with him because he believes that Dick should understood what he's going through and what he believes in. For his part, Dick is always on Bruce's side and acts like Bruce's leash. He'll let Bruce do anything he wants as long as it's within the limits of acceptable behavior. Once Batman crosses those limits, Dick fights with him to bring him back.

As such, Bruce doesn't differentiate himself with Dick. He is the best and as a result so is Dick. Except in his mind Dick is better than him in every way possible and he took the steps to ensure it through training.

One of the reasons people in the comics call Dick the Golden Child is because he's the living embodiment of everything Bruce strived to create. It's not because he follows his orders religiously or anything. No, Dick just gives Bruce a longer leash than most.

In the Spyral fight I think he hits Dick because he is in part frustrated with himself. Imagine seeing someone you have unconditional faith in because you know they're capable of the very same things as you and can even surpass you fall to a threat. Doesn't that mean you would've fallen too? Is their failure just as much yours if you see yourself as a god? But how can a god-like being fall?

Their relationship is complicated because while Bruce sees Dick as his own person, he also sees him as the reflection of his success.

That's why Bruce is harsher on Dick than the rest of the kids. That's why Bruce makes Dick his right hand man. That's why Bruce shares his sorrows, fears, and vulnerabilities to Dick.

The way they interact, they view each other as father and son but with all the roles and responsibilities as partners.

Dick's compartmentalization and the way he mothers Bruce and Bruce allows it? He doesn't let anyone do that. I feel like on some level he subconsciously expects Dick to take care of him. As someone he can turn to with his worst and darkest sides and still be loved and appreciated and told everything will be alright. It's not a burden he places on the rest of his kids. Which is why Dick's relationship with Bruce straddles the line between son and guardian with him playing both roles and Bruce reacting/ forcing him to react that way.

Also

"Robin fuctions as support."

"Robin wasn't your idea, Bruce! It was mine! I sat in your cave and I watched you and I learned-- and when you needed my help I was there!"

"I'm not your employee, I'm not your son. I'm your partner."

One thing that differentiates Dick's robin from the other robins is that while the other Robins were worried about meeting Bruce's expectation, Dick was more worried about Bruce not seeing him as an equal. He ran away from home because he was mad that Bruce was becoming more controlling and not at all like how they used to be - partners.

There's a reason Dick is the only one Bruce views as his equal. It's because the experiences they've shared have woven them so tightly together that Bruce considers Dick his better half and pillar of strength. If he falls back, he can rely on Dick to take over. Emotionally and physically.

Still laughing at your friend lol. Wild

#dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne #batman #thanks for the ask!#cl anon asks

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dilemmaontwolegs · 8 months

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If you need ideas for the Temptation snapshots, I've got one. It's Scotty's wedding, Daniel's Kitten is a bridesmaid. She looks stunning in a curves complimenting dress. Daniel can't take his eyes off of her but she doesn't have time for him. She's running around, helping everybody with everything till Daniel decides he can't wait anymore and drags her to the bedroom for a quickie only after that they realise that they've fucked in the newlyweds bed

Temptation Snapshot || DR3 {6}

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut WC: 1.4K F1 Masterlist Story: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven Snapshots: One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six

The Bachelor’s Party/Hen Night Vegas baby! That was the caption to the clip of Daniel arriving in Las Vegas for Scotty’s bachelor party - the two Australians 100 percent ready to unleash hell on Sin City with their close-knit group of friends. At just over 2000 kilometres away, you were boarding a private boat with Chloe in Vancouver as her hen night began far more sedately. While the next 24 hours with the bridal party was all about pampering and enjoying the beautiful views out on the water, the groomsmen were making promises to each other that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

Come morning light everyone would start making their way to Venice where the big event was going down - for better or for worse. You had a feeling the boys would certainly be feeling worse.

You were utterly relaxed after a massage and a soak in the hot tub on the top deck with the girls, the stars glittering in the night sky. Chloe’s friends were an endless stream of gossip and it was hard to keep up with their exciting lives until your phone started to vibrate on your sunbed.

“Excuse me,” you apologised as you stepped out of the warm water and saw a facetime call coming in from Danny. “Hey, I thought you would be too busy to call?”

“You should come here, kitten,” he slurred as the camera moved erratically and you heard Scotty’s laugh in the background. “Look,” he tried to pan the video around and you guessed he was somewhere on the strip from all the bright lights. “White Chapel! We could get married right now.”

You tilted your head so you could properly see what he was showing you. “You want me to come to Las Vegas and get married at a White Chapel?” you laughed with a shake of your head. “You know my dad would never forgive you if he didn’t get to give me away.”

“I just want you all to myself, as Mrs Ricciardo,” he whined as the camera turned back to his face and a chorus of whipping sounds erupted from the guys around him. “Fuck off! You’re whipped too.”

“So you admit you’re whipped,” Scotty shouted happily and the call was dropped as they started a little scuffle, more like brothers than friends.

“You have that man wrapped around your finger,” Chloe teased when you slipped back into the steaming water.

“Look who's talking,” you said with a wink and grabbed your drink, raising it up to clink it with hers. “You mastered the art first.”

“I suppose I did,” she giggled before toasting with the circle. “To our boys, and their peak golden retriever energy.”

The Wedding Day “Behave,” you warned Daniel when he tried to corner you in the hotel’s corridor. “I’m a woman on a mission so keep your hands to yourself.”

“You know I can’t help it when my kitten gets all bossy,” he chuckled as he pinned you to the wall with his body. “No one will notice if we slip away for a few minutes.”

“Chloe would, since I’m meant to be getting her shoes.”

Reaching into his breast pocket he pulled out a tiny book similar to what you would get when you bought a raffle. Licking the pad of his thumb he started to flick through the pages before humming and ripping a tab out. “Here,” he said as he tucked it into your cleavage. “That is contractually binding too, I might add.”

You fished the paper out and opened it to see it was a comical voucher for a quickie in the nearest room. “I’m sure my lawyer would agree with you,” you joked as you straightened his lapels. “Where did you even get this?”

“I may or may not have stolen it from Scotty’s presents, but I thought it would have been a waste to go to them. I know him and it would end up in the bin before they even went on their honeymoon. So?” His eyes darted to the door beside you and he wiggled his eyebrows. “You look ridiculously sexy in that dress, kitten, and it is doing all sorts of crazy things to me.”

“Well I would hate to get in trouble with the law, since this is contractually binding…”

His smile grew and he tested the door only to growl when it didn’t open, but the next one was left unlocked. “Better make it quick, baby, I have no idea who this room belongs to.”

The spike of adrenaline made you rush to lift your dress and Daniel’s belt snapped open as he shoved his trouser halfway down his tattooed thighs before pulling you onto his lap at the edge of the bed. Your bodies joined with a harmonious moan and you relished the full feeling when you hadn’t been prepared for him, something that rarely happened.

“Fuck, you feel so good, kitten,” he moaned, his hand reaching for your hair before you grabbed it.

“This took two hours, don’t mess it up.”

“Okay, okay,” he obeyed, settling his hands on your hips and using his strength to guide you up and down his cock. You didn’t have the same issue with his hair, the short curls still left untamed, so you dragged your fingers through them as you bounced on his lap.

“You look tired,” you commented before you lost all ability to think, noticing the dark bags under his brown eyes. “Did you conquer Vegas or did Vegas conquer you?”

A smirk played on his lips and he shook his head. “Sorry, kitten, the boys all made a promise. Scouts honour.”

Your head tilted to the side as you stopped riding him. “Is that how it is now?”

“Don’t stop, baby,” he begged as you started to climb off his lap. “Wait, wait, okay.”

“What happened in Vegas, Daniel?” you asked, neither pulling away nor lowering yourself back down him.

“Nothing like you’re thinking,” he muttered.

“Daniel…”

“I may have gotten a little bit shitfaced,” he admitted and you lifted an eyebrow that made him crumble. His head dropped into your cleavage as he confessed, “I was totally off my tit drunk and so was Scotty, and we may have crashed out on the same bed.”

You slipped back down his cock until you were saddled on his lap again. “That’s not bad, why were you trying to hide it?”

“Those assholes took photos of us cuddling and crying together because we missed out girls now can you please move before I start crying again.”

It was a quick jumble of words barely more than a whisper but you caught them, just, and they caught you off guard. In a split second your head was thrown back with a laugh and you cradled him to your chest.

“Fuck me, keep laughing, kitten,” Daniel moaned. “So fucking tight when you do that.”

It drove Daniel wild and he started bucking his hips as you rode him, hitting deeper with each change in the angle until your eyes screwed shut and your heart hammered. You wanted to kiss him like your life depended on it but the makeup hadn’t been set long enough and you weren’t willing to risk smearing the masterpiece.

“I’m gonna cum, daddy,” you whimpered as heat flushed your skin and you pushed through the ache in your legs from the position. Your orgasm ripped through you like a bolt of lightning.

“Fuck, oh fuck, fuuuuck,” Daniel groaned as your cunt gripped his dick like a vice and he filled you with the thick ropes of his cum. “Shit, kitten, you’re gonna kill me with that pretty pussy of yours,” he commented as you climbed off and rearranged your dress into place.

“I think you just need more self-control,” you teased as you looked around the room and froze. There on the table was the white Jimmy Choo box you had been sent to find, next to a plate of delicate handmade chocolates and a neatly written card dedicated to the newlyweds. “Oh shit.”

Daniel looked up from his belt he had rebuckled and saw you grab the shoes from the box, his eyes taking in everything as he came to the same conclusion. “Oh shit,” he laughed, biting his knuckle as the sound grew. He looked back at the bed and quickly swiped a hand across the blankets to smooth out the indents of his ass. “That bed is getting some action today.”

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#daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 smut #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction

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lo-vearchive · 10 months

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Forgive Me (Pt. 2)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x female reader

Summary: After reconciling in your bedroom, Miguel disappears on you for a week. Giving up on any hopes of romance, your friends plan a night out for you to cheer up. Too bad your boss makes an appearance and catches you with an attractive stranger on a stormy night. Read Part One: here

Word Count: 4463 words

Content: Miguel being a rude bastard, Miguel asking for forgiveness (again), arguments, possessiveness, alcohol consumption, tobacco consumption, 18+ (minors DNI), no p in v but things get spicy at the end, female fingering, finger sucking, misogyny, insecurity, swearing, hurt and comfort, office sex (no p in v), questionable Spanish

Note: ANGST! Got carried away once again. Lowkey not proofread. I love angst and Miguel being vulnerable. If you are into angst, you will enjoy this. Feel free to correct my Spanish and ask for any other cw to be added. Thank you for the 1K+ notes on Pt. 1. Have fun, horndogs ;)

It has been seven days since you last saw Miguel O’Hara.

After spending a full 48 hours by your side, he had gone back to work. You decided to join him at Alchemax the next day but found his office empty. At first, you thought he was occupied with Spider-Man business, so you kept yourself busy with answering his overflowing email box. Slowly the sun set behind the skyline of Nueva York and the messages ran out, leaving behind a feeling of uneasiness in your stomach.

You [sent Friday, 6 pm]: Hey, are you coming to work today?

You [sent Friday, 10 pm]: I’m going home for the night. Call me when you are home. I miss you :)

You [sent Saturday, 5 am]: Are you okay?

You [sent Saturday, 1 pm]: I’m getting really worried. Where are you?

You [sent Saturday, 5 pm]: I emailed you in case you lost your phone. Call me asap.

You [sent Sunday, 7 pm]: I’ll see you at work tomorrow.

You [sent Monday, 9 am]: Lyla said you’re okay but won’t tell me what’s going on. Says I don’t have clearance. Please call me.

You [sent Monday 10 am]: Are you actually ignoring me?

You [sent Tuesday, 1 am]: My best friend you’re an asshole and I should never let you near my pussy ever again.

You [sent Tuesday 1:23 am] Are you ghosting me? You know we work together, right?

You [sent Tuesday, 3:30 am]: I hate you Miguel O’Hara.

Friday rolled around and your best friend had enough of your drunk late-night facetime calls. She gathered a group of your high school girlfriends and decided a night out in the town would be the perfect remedy. “Fuck him, babe,” Katy states, sliding a shot glass across the table. “You should report him to HR for being an ass.”

You laughed and tipped the glass into your mouth. The tequila burnt its way down your throat. “I’m just going to find a new job. I can’t be dealing with this shit right now.”

Your friend Soo let out a burp. “Did you let him hit it?”

You shake your head. “No,” you cough. “We came close to it, like above the pants stuff— do you think that’s why he’s ignoring me? Because I didn’t put out right away?”

“Bitch,” Katy chides, slapping the tabletop, “be fucking for real. You look like a busty, hot secretary from some comic book. He should be lucky you let him touch your tits!”

Your friends nodded along in agreement. Katy grabs the sides of your chair and spins it around, facing you to the restaurant bar. “You see that guy there?” she points at a man with messy blond hair in an open-collar white shirt. “He’s been eyeing you all night. Go talk to him right now.”

The tequila must have heightened your bravery as you found yourself walking across the dimly lit restaurant and to the wall. Stealing a glance at him from the corner of your eye, you ask the bartender for, “a rum and coke please.”

“You can add her drink to my tab,” the man says just like you hoped he would. “I hope you don’t mind. I saw your friends fussing over you earlier and you looked like you needed a drink.”

“Is it that obvious?” You ask, letting out a laugh. “You’re right, I do need a little pick-me-upper tonight.”

“My name is John,” he says.

You introduced yourself and slide in the empty seat next to him. “So, what’s going on with you?” he questions, sipping his beer.

You carefully lift your drink from the bar top and circled the rim with your index finger. “I’m not sure if I wanna’ trauma dump on a stranger.”

“Sometimes talking to strangers helps.”

You contemplate his words and sigh. Your friends would kick you if you said the name Miguel O’Hara again in their general vicinity. You chose to divulge a little to the mystery man. “Things got a bit complicated with someone I really cared about. Everything was going well and then he disappeared suddenly, and I don’t know why.”

John listens to you carefully, nodding to himself. “You know what I do when I’m confused?”

“What?”

“I take a smoke break to chill out,” he answers, standing up. “Care to join me?”

You downed the contents of your glass and follow him out a door that open to a back alley behind the restaurant. Rain pours down heavily, and you both huddle under a dingy metal shed. The cold air bites your arms sharply as John lights the end of his cigarette and brings it to his mouth. “It can be frustrating when you’re left without answers but a girl like you has nothing to worry about.”

You smile at his words. You take the cigarette off his hand and take a drag. The smoke fills your lungs, making your head spin a little. The light-headedness reminds you of how you felt last time when Miguel was in your arms. Airy, free, and light. No matter what you do, all your thoughts lead back to him. You shake away the memories and pass the cigarette back to John.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” a stern voice asks.

A man melts out of the shadows in the alley and into the light shining from a streetlamp above. You recognize him. “Miguel?”

He doesn’t look at you and keeps his eyes focused on John. “Who is he?” he asks with a deep frown.

“Listen, I’m off work right now,” you clear your throat, sticking your nose up in the air. “I don’t have to explain—”

“Look, man,” John interrupts, “no need to get all worked about this. We are just talking.”

Miguel lets out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, right,” he spits and gets in his face. “You could have done that at the bar. Why the fuck are you out here alone with her? What were you planning on doing?”

“Mr. O’Hara!” you exclaim, stepping in between them. “You are out of line!”

He raises his eyebrows at your formality but keeps his attention on John over your shoulder. “Buddy,” John says, wrapping an arm around your waist and moving you to the side. “She is allowed to talk to whoever she wants. I suggest you leave us alone now.”

The touch doesn’t go unnoticed by Miguel. His nostrils flare and his eyes turned red with anger. He steps closer to John until he is looming over the poor man. You often forget how big your boss is compared to everyone around him. The scene looks almost comical with how John tries to puff out his chest. “Te calmas o te calmo,” (Calm yourself, or I’ll calm you down) Miguel snarls.

Whatever John sees in his face is enough to make him reconsider. He holds his hands up in surrender and backs away slowly. Stopping in front of you he pushes the half-burnt cigarette into your hand and whispers, “If this is the guy you were talking about, then maybe it’s a good thing he disappears. I’ll be inside if you still want to talk.”

He walks away from the alley and into the restaurant, leaving you with Miguel alone in the alley. You watch in silence as his body trembles, and you can’t tell if it’s from anger or the rain hammering away at his back.

He breaks the silence. “So, you’re letting strangers into our private business?”

You snort loudly. “You don’t get to speak to me like that,” you tell him, taking another drag. “Especially after disappearing on me. You can’t just strut back into my life and tell me who I can confide in.”

“I was tending to some urgent matters,” he says, brushing his wet hair away from his forehead. “So I took the time to handle them. I can’t be around you every second of the day acting as your lap dog.”

The heat from the cigarette burns your skin. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you raise your voice, throwing your hands in the air. “You’re acting like I want you on a leash! I just wanted to know you were okay.”

“Clearly I’m okay,” he replies, rolling his eyes.

Your lips tug into a deep scowl at his tone. “Did you ever stop to consider how your actions affected me? How lost and confused I felt waiting by the phone every day?”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Miguel matches your tone. “You know I am a busy man, and that I have responsibilities. But you’d rather live in some fantasy land where I’m just some monster out to hurt you! You can’t begin to understand the weight I carry on my shoulders.”

Anger surges through your body. “How am I supposed to understand when you don’t tell me anything? Hell, your AI knows more about you than I do. It’s like you only care about missions or work and nothing else—”

“Sometimes in life, personal matters have to take a backseat,” he cuts you off, harshly. “Not everyone can put on a short skirt and high heels, waltz into work, type a few memos and then call it a night.”

“You misogynist fuck!” You scream back at him, resisting the urge to slap him silly. “I hate you!”

“I hate you too!” he yells back in your face with bloodshot eyes.

You spin on your heels and begin walking towards the main road. Rage begins to bubble inside you and reaches your throat. You turn around just as you reach the sidewalk and call out, “You know what? It doesn’t matter if you disappear again because I have hated you since the moment I met you. I hated you when everyone at work warned me about you. I hated you all those times you dismissed me like an afterthought. And I hated you when you came to my room that night begging for a second chance. So, I don’t care if you hate me, or think I’m useless or unimportant cause have hated you longer and harder and for better fucking reasons!”

You take another drag from the cigarette and then crush it underneath your pretty high heels. You make a right at the end of the alley and begin walking up the street. Warm tears spill down your face as you shiver in the rain. Katy was right, he was an asshole. An asshole that made you feel dumb for having a normal job or human emotions. But maybe you were just an idiot for falling in love with a man who didn’t respect you. Love wasn’t supposed to be this hard, but here you were feeling small and crying at the side of the road.

The sound of screeching tires brings you out of your self-pity. A sleek black car pulls up on the other side of the road and the passenger window rolls down. Miguel’s face emerges from behind the glass. “Ven aquí!” (come here) he calls out.

You ignore him and keep walking ahead. You have no idea where you are going, but you would rather eat rocks than speak to him.

From the corner of your eyes, you see Miguel make a sharp left, almost hitting oncoming traffic and pulling up beside you. “Get in the car!”

Your feet don’t stop moving so he slowly inches his car to match your speed. “Estoy harto. (I’m sick of this) Let’s talk!”

Honks and yells filled the night as people grew frustrated with his speed. “Stop,” you hiss, bending down to the window. “You are embarrassing me!”

“Get in the car then,” he says, with a clenched jaw. “You’re gonna’ catch a cold in the rain.”

“Stop pretending like you care,” you snarl, kicking the side of his car.

“A-YO LADY!” a man yells out of his yellow cab. “Get in the damn car! Your boyfriend is holding up traffic!”

A pleased smirk spread across Miguel’s face at the man’s remarks. You let out a frustrated grunt and yanked the door open, slipping into the passenger seat. “Put your seatbelt on,” he says, picking up speed.

You begrudgingly obey but wished that his car would get rear-ended so hard that his fat head would go through the windshield. “You look like you want me dead, babe,” he commented with a nervous laugh.

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, adjusting the belt over your soaking dress. “Where are we going?”

“Back to Alchemax,” he points at the GPS screen. “The freeway flooded, and it will be a while until it clears up. I have a spare set of clothes I keep in the office for overnighters. You can change while we wait for the storm to blow over.”

“I don’t want your charity,” you grumble, crossing my hand over my chest.

“I know,” he says. “I just want to take care of you.”

You disliked how your stomach felt at his words. “I left my bag behind at the restaurant.”

“I picked it up, it’s in the back seat.”

“I didn’t pay my tab.”

“It’s taken care of. Your friends know you’re fine, too. Just relax.”

Miguel leans over to turn your seat warmer on and warmth spreads across your chest and down your limbs. He drives in silence with only the soft white noise of radio static playing in the background. Occasionally you tear your gaze away from the furiously working windshield wipers and steal glances at his face. The headlights from other cars make the slopes of his cheek and the plumpness of his lips visible even on a stormy night. His warm complexion has turned pale, and you ponder if it was because of your interaction earlier.

You both pull up into the Alchemax parking lot and get out of the car. The security team must be watching through the cameras, wondering why one of their lead engineers was coming into work late at night with his drenched secretary. You quickly follow him into the elevator and up to the floor with his office. He opens the office door, and you slide inside into the dark space.

“Lyla,” he calls out and the room illuminates on command. “Lights.”

Miguel walks up to a storage cupboard and retrieves a towel in one hand and fresh clothes in the other. He passes them to you, and you quietly enter the adjacent washroom to change. You peel your damp dress off your skin and shiver as the chilly air hits you all over. Rubbing the towel quickly over your cold skin, you slip into an oversized t-shirt and shorts. It takes two knots of the drawstring, but you manage to keep the waistband tied around your naval.

You find Miguel waiting for you outside. He had changed into a shirt that hugged his slender waist and pants that hung dangerously low under his taut stomach. He pulls the towel out of your hand and drapes it over your head. His hands gently rub the threads against your wet hair in soft, circular motions. You lean into his touch involuntarily. “I can do it myself,” you complain but made no move to reach for the fabric.

“I know,” he replies. “I want to do it for you.”

“Please don’t.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re doing that thing again,” you said, “and it’s messing with my head.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you start acting kind after being mean,” you explain in a small voice. “I don’t like it. It’s confusing”

He tugs the towel back so you can look into each other’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” he speaks, gently. “I just lost my shit when I saw you with him.”

“You cut off all contact when all I wanted was to know if you were okay,” your voice shakes as you stare at your feet. “You left me all alone, what was I supposed to do? Wait for you to change your mind?”

“I know I messed up, baby. I was wrong” he sighs, inching down his forehead to meet yours. “I should have communicated with you, but sometimes on missions, things get complicated. I don’t always like the things I have to do, and recently I’m having a difficult time making peace with it. It’s like the harder I try to do the right thing, the more damage I do. So sometimes, it’s just better to be alone rather than pretend I’m okay around other people.”

His words hurt your heart. You knew that his missions take a toll on him. In the past whenever you tried to inquire about its contents he wouldn’t answer. You wouldn’t push, afraid that he’d pull away, but it seems that he was pulling away regardless.

“When you’re gone,” you clear your throat, trying to speak through your narrowing trachea, “I worry that you might be laying dead in some universe, and I’d be none the wiser. I know that being Spider-Man is a sacrifice, but I don’t care about the world. I only care about you. So, when you treat me this way, it’s like I can’t breathe.”

He cups your face and places a soft kiss right on your cheekbone “Forgive me.”

“You say that a lot,” you remind him with a frown.

“I know,” he nods, “and I still mean it. I’m just an idiot who doesn’t know how to find the balance in life. I love that you care about me, and I want you to continue caring about me.”

“I don’t know, Mr. O’Hara,” you said. “I can’t ignore the way you speak to me at times. It feels as if you think we’re not equals. I am not some idiot. I am not beneath you just because I work under you.”

He groaned at the sound of his last name. Every time you called him that, it made the space between feel bigger. “I have seen a million universes, nena, (babe) and you are not beneath me in any of them,” he curls a damp strand behind your ear, “Unless we are in bed, then you’re definitely under me.”

“Miguel!” you chide, punching him in the stomach. “No es broma! (It’s not a joke) I’m being serious!”

He lets out an oof and backs away. His fangs poke out from underneath his curled lips and in that moment, he looks as carefree. He wraps his large hands around your arms and holds your attention. “I know broken trust isn’t easily mendable, but I’m going to try my hardest. I won’t leave you out in the dark or make you feel small. I’ll think twice before I open my stupid mouth. I’ll even ask Lyla to give you full access to my missions. Wh-when you see what I have to do- what I must do, please don’t hate me.”

“Miggy,” you pout, reaching for his face. “I was really, really angry when I said those things to you. I can never hate you. My heart won’t let me.”

His toothy grin appears again, and Miguel draws you into him. His smooth lips find yours and he cranes your head back to find the angle that leaves you breathless. You run the pads of your thumb gently across the slopes of his cheeks. It never ceased to surprise you that his skin was so soft under his stubble. Without breaking your kiss, your shuffle back and walk him to his desk chair. You smile into his lips as he shakes his head when you move him back and down to sit. His hands wrap around your wrists. “D-don’t leave,” he cries out.

You shake your head and take a seat on his lap with your legs dangling off the side. Miguel’s hands find your jaw and he turns your mouth to his. You wrap your fingers in his hair and tug him closer. You let out a content hum as his fangs softly dig into your lips, breaking the skin. The taste of metal fills your mouth, and you pull away to look at him. He sits in your embrace, with red-stained lips and is just as breathless. “Sorry,” he sheepishly says. “I usually have them under control. It’s just you’re in my office and in my clothes. It’s making my head spin a little.”

You laugh at his words and gently pull his hair back. Pressing a wet kiss to his exposed throat you ask, “Miggy, how come we haven’t had sex yet?”

“Honestly?” he lets out a choked moan.

“Honestly,” you hum, licking his jaw.

His hands suddenly grab you by the elbows and spin you around on his lap, so his chest is facing your back. His warm breath hits the nape of your neck. A shiver runs down your spine. “I haven’t fucked you yet because once I’m inside you,” he whispers into your ear, “I’ll never want to be anywhere else. I wouldn’t want to eat, sleep, work, or be Spider-Man. I think I’ll just want to stay buried in you all the time.”

“Miguel,” you moan, clutching your thighs together.

“Tsk-tsk,” he clicks his tongue. “Don’t hide from me.”

His large hand slips between your thighs and pushes your legs apart. He turns the chair around until you’re both facing his work desk. “Up,” he commands, slapping the side of your thighs.

You gingerly obey and place your bare feet on the edge of his desk. His hands slip under your shirt, and he fumbles with the knot. Impatient with the knots, he uses a sharp claw to cut through the drawstring. Your breath hitches as he pushes the loose shorts down your legs and off your feet. He wraps his fingers behind your knees and draws your legs apart. He puts his chin over your shoulder and bunches your shirt up to get a good look at your pink underwear. “Baby,” he coos. “You gotta’ let me have this once we are done. A little souvenir for when I’m away.”

Your stomach tightens at his suggestion. You glance at him and then the office door,. “Someone will see us,” you nervously gulp.

“You let me worry about that,” he says and presses a kiss to the side of your forehead, “and just relax. I’m not gonna’ let anyone else see my girl spread out like this.”

He runs his knuckles down your bare stomach and across the clothed cunt. Electricity shoots up your body and you almost curl up in his arms. Miguel’s fingertips find a quickly dampening spot on the fabric. “Huh,” he huffs. “Is this me or rainwater?”

You cry, arching into his touch.

“I guess it’s just me,” he grins against your shoulder.

He slides your underwear off your legs and tosses it on the table. It lands on a pile of paperwork you had put aside from him earlier in the week. Miguel stops breathing at the sight of your glistening, swollen pussy. A loud moan escapes your throat as his fingers part your folds and glide back and forth. You were sure that the security guards patrolling this floor would have heard you down the hallway. You almost miss his question over the sensations of pleasure spreading through your body.

“Do you want my finger inside you?”

You nod against his cheek and reach behind to clutch a fistful of his hair to brace for impact. He lowers his down until his thick, middle digit is nudging your opening. You must have been soaking his thighs with how easily his digit sinks inside. You bit your lip harshly to contain the sounds threatening to escape your mouth. It’s your turn to hold your breath when Miguel’s other hand begins to stroke your clit. Once, twice, thrice.

When he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “You clench around my finger every time I flick your clit.”

Not that you needed proof, but Miguel does it again and you shake with pleasure. “See?” he gasps, and captures your lips in a sloppy kiss.

He he pulls back to hold your eyes and you breathe his shaky breaths in. You close your eyes and imagine how it would look to hold his hard cock in your hands while he played with your pussy. He tears you away from your fantasy by hooking his fingers inside on an angle. You almost arch completely off his lap. He moves his free hand away from your clit and presses you back into him. His hard bulge pressed into your ass.

“Here?” Miguel moans and licks your lips. “Tell me where? Right here? Ah, here.”

His fingers find that spot again and he massages his fingers against it. You nod furiously and my hands move to claw forearms. He softly bites your shoulder in retaliation and his free hand resumes working against your clit, picking up rhythm. “Can I put another finger inside?” he asks, breathing hard. “I promise it will feel good.”

“Oh-kay,” you gasp, rocking your hips on his hand.

His index finger slithers into your pussy, and you forget how to speak. You begin to twist and turn in his lap. He pulls away from your clit to press down hard against your stomach so he can keep you in place. You slide your ass over his crotch with every movement of his fingers.

“Mig-Mig-Mig,” you pant, moving your hips to his set rhythm.

“Good? I bet that feels so good.”

“Gah—”

He presses soft kisses onto your cheek as you sink into his arms. You begin to tighten further around him. You realize that this is exactly how you always want to be—full of Miguel’s fingers, touch, and love. His tongue slips into your mouth as his fingers begin curling into you faster. Your moans and groans echo through the office. His left hand leaves your stomach and reaches for your clit again. It takes seven swipes, one for each day he left you alone, for you to seize around his finger. His mouth never leaves yours as he drinks all of your pleasurable cries.

Slowly, the current leaves your body and you’re able to take in your surround. Your cheeks burn with realization. Miguel had just fingered you open on his desk at your workplace. The very same desk you set up for him every morning. Your fingers slide up to his hair and you hide your face in the crook of his neck. “Don’t be shy now,” he chuckles, “One day I’ll fuck you all over this office, nena.”

You shriek and lightly slap his arm. Miguel gently slides his fingers out of your cunt, eliciting a soft groan, and brings his to his mouth.

He hums with eyes closed at the taste. “You taste so good,” he mumbles around his fingers.

“Ugh,” Lyla gags at a distance. “Be glad I activated noise cancellation.”

A/N: Thoughts?

780 notes · View notes

phantology · 1 month

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pet names

— the pet name that the ghouls call you most often. [swiss, dewdrop, phantom, rain, aether, mountain]

a/n: this is my first time writing for ghost, so apologies for the short length. just wanted to get a feel for it before i started writing longer things :)

DEWDROP ━━━

you could hear the half-walk, half-run of your favorite ghoul before you heard his voice. his gate told you he was happy about something, whatever it was.

your theory was confirmed a few beats later as he walked into the room, guitar in tow.

“i take it practice went well?” you smiled.

“tiring, but it went well.” dewdrop set his guitar down, then made a beeline for you. “although, you know that i missed you, doll.”

PHANTOM ━━━

the word that slips off of phantom’s tongue is… foreign, to say the least. it almost felt heavy. he seemingly said it without realizing it, tagging it on to the end of his sentence as though it was your name. whatever he had said to you doesn’t even register.

“what did you say?” you finally ask.

“i asked what you were up to?” he responds, sounding a little confused.

“no, what did you call me?”

he seems to think about it. after a few brief moments, he finally looks back up at you. “i called you… i guess a translation would be something like ‘my darling?’”

AETHER ━━━

“good morning, darling.” aether’s voice was starkly chipper to how you felt. it was a little too early in the morning for you taste, but sleep evaded you.

despite the tiredness still clouding your mind, you smiled at the ghoul. you plopped yourself down beside him and laid against him, allowing him to maneuver the both of you so that his arm fell across your shoulders. as he began to rub small circles into your skin, sleep finally found you.

RAIN ━━━

it was quiet. not that you minded it, just that most days spent around the ghouls were the very opposite of quiet.

“hey, sweetheart?” the familiar, calming voice of rain caught your attention. you looked from the reading you were engrossed in to the ghoul who offered you a small smile.

“hey,” you responded. “where is everyone else?”

he shrugged absently. “out. doing something or the other. i figured we could do something? stay in, if you want, or we could go find something to do. whatever you wanted.”

SWISS ━━━

“baby..” swiss dragged out the name, purposefully making his voice whiny to get your attention.

you looked up at him. you didn’t say anything, but the look on your face communicated what you meant. in all honesty, you’d forgotten what you were feigning being upset about, but swiss’ attempts at earning your forgiveness were becoming comical.

MOUNTAIN ━━━

the mug made a clink noise as mountain set it on the desk. inside of it was coffee, made just the way that you always liked. mountain had a weird way of remembering little things like that: the way you made your coffee, the way you wrote certain letters, the way you organized. it was odd to you sometimes, but other times it was useful.

“hopefully the coffee helps.” mountain started. he paused for a moment before continuing. “but… you need sleep, my love. you’re sure there’s nothing i can do to help you finish your work?”

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vanessagillings · 17 days

Note

Please talk about your favorite animated movies and what makes them special to you! I'm really curious about what you enjoyed about them both in the past and now?

haha, okay you asked!

I LOVE animated movies. My theory on this is that it took me a long time to emotionally relate to most media growing up, where I felt next to nothing watching most movies and shows as a young kid, and didn't relate to books until I was quite a lot older (I read picture books until I was around 10, and then suddenly in middle school, I hopped right to adult novels like 1984 and the entire Darkover series by Marion Zimmer Bradley, ha). But even before I emotionally related to fiction, I really enjoyed watching animation. It was nice to look at, and I enjoyed watching everything move and change. I grew up in the 90's where animated movies were largely 2D, and I spent hours watching and re-watching my favorite movies just studying how the characters moved -- it's definitely a lot of where I got my understanding of human expressions from. But I also think as I got older and started to relate more to fiction, animation was easier to parse emotionally than live action. The body language is clear. The stories are direct and not as forgiving of bad human behavior (I get frustrated sometimes with the defeatism in adult media, that assumes that People Just Act Badly, and that just needs to be accepted). Facial expressions are also exaggerated and more stylized -- think of a single arched eyebrow, for example, an expression that's commonly drawn to express one particular emotion in animation/illustration but which you next to never see on a real human face. My first introduction into serious reading was also manga -- a highly visual medium -- which uses a lot of the same tactics stylistically as western animation: big, expressive faces, bold gestures and big stories. Compare manga with western comics being printed at the time and it's even more obvious to me why I didn't particularly like comics until I was given manga as an option -- and thankfully I lived close to a kinokuniya, so I could spend all my allowance on untranslated books and magazines, which is also where I learned Japanese (もうたくさん忘れてしまいましたけど).

As far as my favorite movies? THAT IS SO HARD. The first animated movie that BLEW MY MIND was The Lion King. I saw it in theaters when I was eight and I was obsessed; it was definitely one of my first special interests. I know that entire movie line by line, frame by frame, and I had the stuffed animals and the trading cards and the clothes (man, was I teased for those clothes!). My other favorite movies as a kid were The Land Before Time, American Tale, and The Secret of NIMH (I was a big Don Bluth fan!) which have left deep impressions on how to approach storytelling for children; I warn you, I go hard on emotions for kids, because I needed that as a kid, and I know I'm not alone. Some of my other favorites are anything Miyazaki but especially Howl's Moving Castle (I relate to Sophie a lot), Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs (what I watch when I'm In A Mood), Ratatouille (a huge source of echolalia for my husband and me, we often detect nuttiness, let me tell you), Wallace and Gromit and Fantastic Mr Fox, which I watch every fall as an autumnal tradition. Even as an adult who likes live action, too, I still tend to like slightly over the top directors like Wes Anderson and Guy Ritchie, or movies that are highly cinematic like Road to Perdition, which is still one of my favorite films of all time.

In my opinion, animation is a super important medium outside of it being a very beautiful one. I truly believe it helped me access and understand emotion better as a child, and as an adult, it's a massive source of inspiration in my own work 💛

(Sorry for length, but you did ask!)

#actually autistic #asks

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archerlullaby · 4 months

Text

Hello friends! It’s been a long while since I posted, but here’s a piece based off of @kikker-oma ‘s incredible whumptober art! Go check it out!

Sky is tired. So tired. Tired of walking, tired of how his lungs burn when the forest grows thick, tired of how his callouses tore after the fifth time he raised it in battle today. Tired of—

“Pick up your feet Sky. By what Wild says, we won’t make it to Necluda if we keep going at this pace.”

Warriors pats him on the back and moves ahead of him without even so much as a glance. Sky closes his eyes in agitation but sighs his annoyance away. You’re the peacemaker. The peacemaker is calm. The peacemaker smiles. You don’t get upset with your brothers, especially when they’re just trying to help. “Sky! What’d I tell you? Hurry it up!” Warriors’s voice breaks through his calming mantra and Sky grits his teeth.

“Yes! Coming!” He picks up his feet, catching up with the group with a wheeze he hides in his sleeve.

The sun grows hot, and though the surface world of Wild’s land is beautiful, it seems to have a personal vendetta against Sky’s lungs. Having spent most of his life up in the Skyloft where the airborne irritants are few, this forest full of different flowers, trees, and grasses is a far throw from what his lungs are used to. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take long until he feels that oh-so familiar band tightening around his chest. He focuses his breaths, trying to ignore the urge to cough, to yawn, to do anything to get more air in his chest so that the group doesn’t catch on.

“If you’re having trouble breathing, Sky, you should loosen your sailcloth. It likely doesn’t help being tied around your neck like that,” Warriors says, shooting him a backwards glance as if to say “I can hear you choking on the very air you breathe, dumbass.” Sky smiles thinly and tugs at the knot, loosening it slightly. Obviously that wasn’t what he meant. Warriors is just trying to help, as always, Sky chides himself.

“Right as always, Captain. Thank you.”

“Hmmm,” Warriors replies, giving Sky a quick once-over with a raised brow before turning forward again. Sky grits his teeth, hanging back away from the group to gather his thoughts and squash the buzz of annoyance that has once again invaded his headspace.

Master, I detect a rise in blood pressure and slight emotional instability. I suggest you take a break.

Fi’s voice echoes in his head and, unlike the usual calming affect her voice has, it only serves to muddle his thoughts.

“Now’s not the time, Fi,” Sky mutters.

On the contrary, master. There is a high probability of both your physical and mental health deteriorating further if you do not rest soon.

Sky merely groans inwardly and puts his focus into making one foot go in front of the other, which would be a relatively easy task had Warriors not fallen back to walk astride him.

“Sky, I think we need to work a little on proper hand care. A warrior is only as effective with a blade as his hands are capable of holding it, and I can tell that yours are hurting,” Warriors chides gently. The buzzing in Sky’s head gets louder.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks,” he replies stiffly. Warriors huffs.

“You’re not taking me seriously.”

“Now is not a good time, Wars.”

“Well, forgive me for trying to help you!” Warriors throws his hands in the air dramatically. “Listen. I’m just worried about you. I can tell you’re in pain, and I have a lot of experience with—”

Sky stops in his tracks, allowing the group to move ahead, leaving him alone with the other man. The annoyance that has been simmering all day suddenly ignites into something hotter. “Oh, and I don’t have experience?” He says, his voice low. Warriors looks at him with surprise, then rolls his eyes.

“Goddesses, Sky, don’t be ridiculous, you know that’s not what I meant. What’s with you?”

“What’s with me? What’s with you?”

Warriors opens his mouth to retort but Time’s voice rings out from ahead.

“It’s a dangerous place to fall behind!” Time says, the warning clear. Warriors gives one last look at Sky before turning on his heel and stalking back towards the group. Sky knew it was foolish to get in a fight over something so meaningless, but he was just so damn exhausted. He put a shaky hand to his chest and took a too-shallow breath. Can’t think straight. Can’t breathe right. Apparently I can't even take care of myself, according to Mr. High and Mighty, Sky thinks bitterly.

When he finally gathers himself enough to continue walking, the group is far enough ahead to where he can’t discern who is talking. Unease shoots through him and he begins to jog to catch up, but doubles over in a fit of coughing in just a few measly steps. When it finally subsides, he wipes the spittle from the edges of his mouth with one hand, his other supporting himself on his knee. With a groan of exasperation, he tries to blink away the spots in his vision

Master, behind—

“SKY!”

Sky looks up blearily to see Wild sprinting at him with a familiar glint in his eye just in time for a spear to imbed itself into the ground less than six inches from his boot. He has the right sense to throw himself to the side just as a Lizalfos’s tail sweeps the air right where his legs were a moment ago. Still recovering from his coughing fit, he wheezes as his hand reaches for the Master Sword, easily pulling the blade from the sheathe but not without throwing him off balance as he backpeddles away from the long reach of the monster’s spear. He lands on his back on the forest floor, bringing the sword up to defend himself best he could as the Lizalfos jumps on top of him.

Before it could complete its attack, a blur of royal blue body slams the creature off of him, both figures tumbling to ground with a thud. Twilight is not far behind, pulling Wild up with a single hand as the duo faces off with the creature. A hand tugs Sky up to his feet.

“Are you injured?” Time’s steady voice cuts through the air. Sky merely shakes his head, turning to help Twilight and Wild, but finds that the two have already dealt the final blow. Wild flicks his sword expertly to clean his blade, a grin on his face as Twilight glowers at him.

“Seriously? You have almost every weapon in the books and yet you still choose to tackle it?” Twilight baps Wild upside the head before chuckling. “Black-blooded too? You’re a maniac.”

Sky shoots Wild a shaky smile.

“Thanks, champ. I was in a bad way,” he says quietly. Wild merely shrugs.

“Sure thing. Also, we should keep moving. Where there’s one, there’s more,” he replies, before pointing and walking back to the path. “We’re only about an hour out. We can get to a safe part of the woods before the sun sets.”

The group follows Wild and Sky falls into line, acutely aware of how Warriors has not said a single word through the entire ordeal. The adrenaline wears off, leaving Sky feeling worse than he was before.

Just as Wild promised, they reach a clearing just as the sun touches the horizon. With a groan, Wind drops his pack and flops onto the ground.

“Ughh! My feet are falling off!” Wind exclaims, voice muffled by the grass. Sky watches as Warriors approaches the youngest and laughs, squatting beside the boy and ruffling his hair.

“Oh, come on, sailor! You could’ve asked me to carry you! Or we could have slowed it down a bit!” Warriors grins down at Wind.

Outrage. Slowed down a bit? Anger shoots through Sky as he hears Warriors continue to talk to Wind. Where was that sympathy when I couldn’t breathe? When he knew I was struggling?

Master, your heart rate has jumped to 115 beats per minute, an increase of 64.23 percent from two minutes ago. Sitting down would be a logical course of action.

“Yes. Yep. Sitting down, thanks Fi,” Sky makes out through gritted teeth. Taking off his armor and setting the Master Sword aside, he does his best to breathe. Rolling up his sleeves, he basks in the cooling air. He sits with eyes closed, face towards the darkening forest, listening to the sounds of the coming night, the crickets chirping, the frogs croaking. All is well. All is well and you are calm. You are the peacemaker…

“—Do not believe he should take watch tonight. I am not confident in his line of thinking right now,” Warriors’s voice cut through Sky’s meditation. Sky’s eyes snap open as he tunes in to what was clearly supposed to be a private conversation. Not confident?

“Can you check on him?”

“Time, I don’t think that’s a good idea. He clearly wants to be alone, and to be honest, I don’t feel like holding a conversation with him right now.”

“Warriors—”

“Don’t, Time. He’s been off all day, and there are already tensions between us. And with that stunt he pulled earlier? I already told him once to catch up. His lackadaisical actions could’ve gotten people hurt, or worse. Something has to change. I’m trying to figure out what to do with him.”

Sky heard Time say something in return, but the anger that had clouded his mind blocked it out. He rose slowly, turning towards the two with rage written across his face. Time notices him first and places a hand on Warriors’s shoulder.

“What to do with me?” He hisses, stalking towards Warriors.

“Sky—” Warriors starts, tugging out of Time’s grasp.

“What to do with me?” Sky stops nearly chest-to-chest with the other man. “What am I? A child?”

“No, Sky, that’s not—”

“Or maybe I’m one of your soldiers that you can command? Is that it, Captain?”

Warriors’s gaze darkens. “Well then, maybe, if it would help you get your head out of the clouds, perhaps it would be best to start thinking like the knight you are, Skyloftian,” he replies.

Sky was breathing hard, his wheezing starting to come back. Fi chimes from where he left her, but he ignores her warning. “You have been on my ass all day! There is no doing anything right with you is there? Because you’re always so perfect!”

“I’ve been helping you all day, because you clearly need it! Maybe you should use that head of yours to listen!”

“I don’t need your help!” Sky’s voice has risen, drawing attention from the others. Time merely stands aside with crossed arms, electing to let the two men settle their differences. “I don’t need you to tell me how fast to walk, I don’t need you to tell me how to take care of myself, I don’t need your two-sense on if I am capable of standing watch or not!”

“Is that so? Then explain to me how you got yourself trapped under the spear of a Lizalfos if not for you and your lack of ability to think for yourself?” Warriors spits.

Rage makes Sky’s mind go blank. He shoves the other man before gathering his tunic in his fist, pulling Warriors towards him, their faces mere inches apart. Sky could feel angry tears burning his eyes, and he was angry, so angry, and so, so tired.

“I’m getting real tired of you treating me like the village idiot, Captain!” Sky snarls.

Warriors’s hand wraps easily around Sky’s wrists, pressing bruises into the skin as he leans forward, his face red with anger. “You are way out of line, Chosen,” he snarls and yanks on Sky’s arm, which doesn’t budge. “You need to step back before I make you.”

Chosen? I’ll show you chosen, is Sky’s last conscious thought before he raises his lips in a snarl.

“Make me.”

M-STR…N-ED…TO…CA-M…DOWN!

Fi’s voice rings and reverberates in his head, but he chooses to ignore it as the hair on his neck and arm rise, the buzzing in his head deafening. He fails to see how Warriors’s eyes change from anger to fear, or how he tries to pry Sky’s fist from his tunic. He is aware of yelling, and then Warriors is ripped from his grip and a strong pair of arms is encompassing his chest. A sharp pop fills the air, then silence, and the next thing he knows he’s gazing up at a sky full of stars, something hard at his back. There is an odd energy in the air, and it smells of ozone. Ozone? Oh…oh no. Oh no, no, no, what have I done?

“Ow.”

A voice in his ear snaps Sky out of his panic. “Time?”

“That’s me,” Time’s voice replies.

Sky scrambles off of him and turns, his hands ghosting over the other man.

“Did…did I burn you anywhere? Does your head feel okay? Oh, I’m so, so sorry!” Sky exclaims, tears springing to his eyes. Time merely chuckles from where he lays on the ground.

“I’m fine Sky. But maybe I won’t wear my armor next time you call electricity forth from your person,” he says with a wince as he sits up.

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay.”

“No, I really—”

“Sky.” Time stands and grabs him by the shoulders. “Don’t apologize to me. Gather yourself, and when you’re ready, go to Warriors. I believe a calm conversation would do you good. As adults.” Sky nods. Time looks at him skeptically. “And I reiterate, as adults,” he says again, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, I understand,” Sky murmurs, “Thank you.” Times nods and moves away, gesturing at the others to go about their business. Warriors is nowhere to be seen.

Sky makes his way over to his space, laying out his sleeping roll, gently refusing the food Wild brings to him (until Wild shoves it in his face with an unsettling glare), and apologizes to Fi for not heeding her warning. She chimes quietly in response, never one to hold a grudge. After several hours into the night, Sky still can’t sleep despite Fi’s gentle plea to get some rest, so he stands and searches the camp for Warriors. Legend, who is on watch, glances at Sky then simply juts his chin towards the edge of the camp, towards a large stump at the woodline. Sky smiles his thanks.

Gathering his courage, Sky walks towards the stump. On the other side, he can see the top of a blond head and a familiar blue scarf. Sky pauses just before reaching the stump.

“May I…join you?” Sky asks softly. Warriors merely gestures a spot next to him on the grass. Sky settles next to him, and they sit in silence for a while until Wars breaks it.

“So. Lightning,” he says. Sky winces inwardly.

“Oh…yeah. It’s a long story,” he replies, “And not a very happy one, unfortunately,” he adds quietly. Warriors nods understandingly. Silence again.

“Warriors—”

“It’s okay Sky.”

“No—”

“I should be the one apologizing to you,” Wars finally turns and faces him, regret in his eyes. “I was insensitive. Uncaring. I knew that you were being hurt by my words and I didn’t stop.”

Sky shook his head. “I was too lost in my own emotions to see that I was losing control. I almost hurt you out of anger. I hurt Time,” he sighs, resting his head in his hands. “You’re right. Sometimes I am too undisciplined to call myself a knight.”

Warriors shoves his shoulder. “None of that. We all have our moments. Yours wouldn’t have happened had I not been such a moblin-headed idiot,” he declares. “But truly. I am so very sorry, Sky. I was on edge already from traveling in Wild’s world and I took it out on you.”

Sky nods. “Thank you. And I’m sorry as well. For almost, you know…”

“Electrocuting me?”

Sky nods again.

“Eh. I deserved it,” Warriors chuckles. A smile pulls at the edges of Sky’s mouth and they fall into a comfortable silence. Warrior’s arm falls across Sky’s shoulders and he pulls him into a hug.

“You’re still my brother. You know that?” Wars mumbles into Sky’s hair.

“And you’re mine,” Sky replies softly, melting into the embrace as tears prick at his eyes for the third time that day. “I love all of you to death,” he adds.

“Yeah, we’re pretty great, huh?” The other laughs quietly, Sky chuckling in return.

They stay like that for a long while. The night grows colder and the moon is high in the cloudless sky, the stars dancing far above the canopy of trees below. Sky feels his eyelids grow heavy, the warm embrace lulling him into sleep until Warriors nudges him to sit up.

“You should go back to your bedroll and get some real sleep. I know you’re exhausted,” he tells Sky.

“Dn wnna mve,” Sky mumbles in response.

“Huh?”

“Try to move me again and I will strike you with lightning,” He says, cracking an eye open and glaring halfheartedly at Warriors, who laughs in response.

“Alright, alright! Sleep well, Sky,” he whispers. A beat. “And for what it’s worth, I love you too. You lot are the best family I could ever ask for.”

Sky smiles, pulling the soft fabric of the scarf over his shoulder, and falling into a dreamless sleep.

#sky linked universe #warriors linked universe #angst?#angst with a happy ending #they’re brothers your honor #all of them #Sky can call forth lightning #i don’t make the rules #wars has ptsd #give him a break #fanfic #lu warriors #lu sky

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todayisafridaynight · 11 months

Note

And what about minedai lives but it is masadai cucking au??

//nodding like i understand//

#snap chats #i dont. its not you anon i cant read #i dont think i want to though.. never really liked the whole 'cuck' thing no matter how you slice it #ill try to understand tho. for you.#so mine's alive but masato- or at this point ig aoki- and daigo are together #i explored this idea before when someone sent a similar ask #i gotta get the spray bottle on yall...... stop with the cucking i dont get it #but yeah.... cant really do anything with it forgive me #daigo and aoki are petty exes in my delusions. they can suck face once in a while because i think its funny #but for the most part its just How Can I Ruin His Life #heh..... just remembered my first masadai comic....... how silly....#but yeah. where was i going with this???#idk. anyway ik aoki would seethe after hearin bout mine and daigo tho #daigos not allowed to be happy with other people !!!!! illegal #WHY IS HE THRIVING he should be in a ditch #but what can aoki do all he does atm is run bleach japan in 2007-2009 #revenge'll come later....... for now he'll seethe....#this tags are not at all related to what anon said but it's too late now #might as well set the table if we talkin masadai. just to have yall on the same insane page as me

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dana-chan-the-control-brain · 9 months

Text

I'm still saying Afton is not the Mimic

Spoilers for the Ruin DLC under the Cut. I wanted to include this in my mega post... but I know that the fandom is flooded with "the Mimic was Afton all along" theories right now actually.

There will be a lot under the cut, explaining some personal theories and the ending of the RUIN DLC so... be warned.

The Mimic, if you read the books, (but you probably haven't so I'll explain it in a few short sentences) is a character from the Tales of the Pizzaplex Books that was built by a Faz Engineer who made a robot to mimic his son to keep him company while he worked long hours while he lived in a factory. The child died in a car accident, and the Mimic kept miming his son's behavior. So in his grief, the engineer beat him to death in rage and grief. This infused rage in the machine.

So now the Mimic mimes behavior of a four year old, but it's corrupted and twisted. It will mime the action of 'scooping icecream' but will be scooping out your brains. It also has an adaptive learning AI so the violent pain it experienced, along with a four year old teaching it, it's a very dangerous thing.

It's also buried into the foundation of the Pizzaplex. And was reprogramed by some dumb lazy tech to clear the debris down there. By disassembling the robots and putting them in a pile. Which it did to all the human construction workers by disassembling them and putting them in a pile.

"This pile" I think is the Blob. Or as the game files refer to it.... "THE TANGLE."

(hard to see but take my word for it. that's him)

(cheating camera angle)

I think "The Tangle" is a infused pile of machinery, robots, and bodies that have all wound up down there.

So, we know that the blob is real. But I really think it's "The pile" that the Mimic has been stacking in the Book Epilogues. And it got out. Gregory/Mimic or Grimmick, says that something tunneled out of the building... And I believe this is 100% true. Because in Base Security Breach, we see this thing in the underground where Afton's room is.

But in RUIN.... This thing is on the top level??? HOw Did he get up here???

Easy..

He tunneled up.

So... the reason why RUIN looks like it does, and HOW it looks how it does...

Is because The Tangle got loose. And has been using the Pizzaplex as it's own series and network of tunnels like a burrowing snake or ant. Causing the entire building to fall in on itself. The Pizzaplex is it's ecosystem now. So that's why everything is falling apart how it is. He's breaking the very foundation and walls of everything.

So we do know the Blob IS real.

And let's assume that he's "the pile" that the Mimic has been building in the Tales of the Pizzaplex Epilouges. Just... sorting all the garbage, bodies, and endos into piles that he can find and stack.

So we know the Blob is real... but is Afton Burntrap real?

Forgive me I don't have the proper collectable screenshots so I'm pulling from the Wiki:

Throughout the game, you collect these real collectable comics that include all of the endings of Security Breach. And Cassie can recognize this as Gregory's art style, and has no idea when he had the time to make these or when he made them. EXCEPT Princess Quest. Which is pretty important I think. Which I think cements that Princess Quest is the definitive three star ending.

It's also worth noting that in Vanny's Room in the RUIN DLC... there is a book of "Fazbear History" by Vanny's Bed. So if Vanessa was freed and got out... we can assume she was talking to Gregory about the Fnaf lore as she knows it.

Also, it makes sense why some of these endings are a little insane now. cause it was just Gregory trying to process everything that happened to him at the Pizzaplex.

Gregory: So, I thought you had a twin sister for the longest time and-

Vanessa: Try again...

But anyway... if None of the previous endings were real.... Is Burntrap even real?

We collect this before we face the Mimic.... of Afton and the Blob. So we know The Blob/Tangle is real.... but was Afton ever real? Was Burntrap ever real? That's what we need to answer...

But if he isn't.... Why is his charging station down here in the furnace room all clouded up? ....As if it never was opened. As if he rotted inside with no more remnant to collect???

Cause here's the thing... I can accept the soft retconning of Afton. And if he was never real to begin with, and this is just Gregory's personal interpretation based on what Vanessa told them about what she was suffering through, I will take that. Or maybe Gregory saw the Mimic and interpreted it as this... I will take that as well.

However....

From what I said earlier... The Mimic... All his motivations in the game don't line up with Afton's.

He is doing exactly what he wants to do.

The Mimic is sealed in the back with Concrete... he's using Helpi and the VANNI Network to get Cassie to let him out. He just wants to get out of the basement and get Free.

Now... if Mimic is Afton the whole time...

and there is a case for it... they have almost the same idle animations as an endo, the Mimic does have Burntrap's claws on one hand. And he does have a similar pawed foot to Burntrap's design and they're practically identical height and pose.

And the Mimic is almost one-for-one linked with Hepi and the VANNI network. And I don't doubt that Vanny the person was using the VANNI network to get around the pizzaplex and become invisible to certain animatronics.

.....But...

here's a big But...

If the Mimic's goal is to kill people with his bare hands... and to get out of the concrete sealed basement, and break all the Security Nodes so he can get free???

WHY DOES THE PIZZAPLEX HAVE SO MANY MISSING PEOPLE/CHILDREN?

Why was the Human Staff all killed in the Pizzaplex?

Why are their children missing?

Why is Vanny hunting children and adults alike to kill in the first place?

This is not the Mimic's MO.

Because Vanny WAS working under influence of Glitchtrap and not the Mimic.

Because if the Mimic just wanted to get out... He would have told Vanny/Vanessa... head of Security.... To break all the Security Nodes A WHOLE LOT SOONER. Cause she literally has a VANNI Mask/suit and access to all of that.

The Mimic has no need for remnant or child killing or human killing if they aren't doing it themselves. The Mimic has always been very hands on with their kills.

But If Burntrap Afton is REAL... HE DOES have a reason for gathering this much Remenant.

He is growing in the charging station and trying to regrow his body.

And while the Mimic moves in a similar fashion to Burntrap, I think that's because he witnessed his behavior at one point and is copying it. But he never saw Afton in his prime. So he literally can't mimic the serial killer behaviors Afton is known for. Just likely his walk and how he breathes.

Because He literally can not copy Afton as a copy-cat killer, if there is NO Afton to Copy. There is no way that he could have learned who Afton was from all the way down below into the foundation. Especially with MXES keeping it hidden down there. And by "hidden" I'm sure it's hidden from Glitchtrap to even possess or check out that low.

People have to remember. The Mimic doesn't have access to illusion disc technology from the books. he can't replicate a corpse face. He's just a learning killer AI who has access to crappy mascot costumes. He can't look one-for-one like a person, even if he can sound like one.

So, there is a possibility that Burntrap Afton DID exist... He just rotted into dust once Vanny stopped collecting remnant for him.

Or there's also the possibility he was never real to begin with.

But.... Glitchtrap certainly was at one point. And Vanny was working with Glitchtrap to kill employees and children.

Not the Mimic.

Just their motivations and modus operandi don't add up if they are one in the same.

It wouldn't make sense for the Mimic to just tell Vanny to parade around in a bunny suit, kidnapping children and killing employees.

He would be telling her to disable the Security Nodes.

There is also the possibility that Vanessa sealed the Mimic in concrete after the events of Security Breach. But even then, I really don't think that she knew about it before hand until she went down to the basement to unplug Burntrap from his charging station.

Anyways... The only way I will see "Mimic is Afton" is that if Afton was using it's body. But then, it's not the Mimic anymore, it's just another Afton-clone.

And from everything from how I've seen the behavior of the Mimic in the DLC, it is operating completely divorced from Afton with it's own motivations and morals of it's own accord.

Oh, just to be clear, I'm not mad at this soft-retcon of burntrap. It's fine. Lol I actually prefer if he didn't exist.

And even if Burntrap was never real in the first place....

Then it means that Vanny was purely an agent of Glitchtrap.

Then when the Glitchtrap Virus got destroyed.... the Mimic hijacked the VANNI network and took it's place.

#fnaf #fnaf ruin dlc #fnaf ruin dlc spoilers #fnaf ruin spoilers #fnaf the mimic #fnaf mimic #fnaf burntrap #fnaf blob #fnaf the tangle #fnaf tangle #danachan's rants #fnaf glitchtrap

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 9 months

Text

Comet Donati [Chapter 7: Heart Attack]

A/N: Hello all! Only 3 chapters left!!! 🥰 Thank you so much for loving this fic and giving all my eccentric AU ideas a chance. I’m currently in Washington DC visiting one of my best friends, so if I’m a little bit tardy replying to your comments/messages then that’s why. Don’t fear!! I will check in as soon as I can, and I am still amazed by and will forever cherish your support. 💜

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (+18), drugs, alcohol, smoking, Shelby being a bigger plague than the locusts of Egypt, mental health struggles, references to violence and abuse, New Jersey, pregnancy, mini golf, lots of content for the Cregan girlies.

Selected Chapter Quote: “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927 @mariahossain @echos-muses @padfooteyes @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis @juliavilu1 @amiraisgoingthruit @lauraneedstochill @wintrr13 @r0segard3n @seabasscevans @tsujifreya

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

You type into Google as you hide in the public bathroom stall, pink tile walls and mint green porcelain, very 1950s, phantom drips of water and humming florescent lights: Can Plan B make your period late?

You scroll through the results, clutching your iPhone with both hands. Faintly, you can hear the rest of the band outside, chattering, laughing, slurping on Slush Puppies, smacking trees and rocks with their golf clubs. Yes, the consensus seems to be; Plan B can delay your period. Incidentally, so can pregnancy.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You peer down at your panties, as if you can force bloodstains to appear: sparce rosy threads of warning, dark red splotches like rust, you aren’t particular. You’ll take anything. “Fuck,” you say again, defeated. You get dressed, wash your hands, and head back out into the cloudless afternoon sunshine.

“Stargirl, it’s your turn!” Aegon shouts as you trot over to them: tenth hole, shaped like an L, featuring an intimidating loop de loop. The course is dinosaur themed; Rhaena picked it. Aegon points to Jace. “This deformed bastard wanted to skip you.”

“I told you,” Jace moans. His speech is garbled and lisping, his face comically swollen, bruised yellow-emerald-indigo and drooling blood, stitches above his left eyebrow. He just had his dental implants placed yesterday; the four teeth that he lost at Club Camelot could not be readily located for reattachment. “I can’t keep track of who’s next. I’m on like four different opiates.”

Baela frets over him. “Shh, shh, baby. Try not to talk.” There’s something about watching someone get almost-murdered that makes you want to forgive them, you suppose.

You grab your club and golf ball, dark blue, from where you left them by a tree. Rhaena gives you a covert little thumbs up and raised eyebrows. Everything good? You smile—too widely, insincere, a liar—and nod. Technically, you have yet to obtain concrete evidence to the contrary.

You take your turn, somewhat awkwardly due to the splint that still encumbers your dominant hand. You are thinking about anything but mini golf. Your ball goes halfway through the loop de loop and then comes rolling back. How many strokes? Four, five, you lose count, it doesn’t matter. Aegon is snickering, though not in a mean way, never in a mean way. Aemond is watching you. He does this constantly; you can feel his eyes—river water, otherworldly atmosphere—on you all the time, you can see him on the periphery of your vision. But when you glance at Aemond, he looks away. You’re wearing flip flops, a black NSYNC t-shirt, and bright pink shorts that Baela insists are of the very short variety. Aemond is staring a little extra hard today. Shelby alternates between glaring at him and at you.

Jace putts next. He misses the ball twice. On the third try, he hits it into a nearby pond. Golden koi fish scatter beneath the rippling sheen of the water.

“Loser,” Aegon declares mildly. “Criston, why the fuck are we in New Jersey?”

“Because you’re playing three shows at the MetLife Stadium in East Rutherford,” Criston says as he putts; his green golf ball sails through the loop de loop, bounces off a wall, and then rolls straight into the cup, a hole in one. “One Direction did it, Taylor Swift did it, and now you’re going to do it too. And if you don’t make it too unbearable for me, I’ll even take you to the beach while we’re here. Okay?”

“Okay,” Aegon agrees. He slurps on his Slush Puppie. “Oh, Aemond, I need the Netflix password.”

“You forgot it again?!” Daeron says. Jace, groaning softly, lies down on the ground in a patch of shade. Baela gets a bottle of Orajel rinse out of her purse and starts pouring it into his mouth.

“Get your own account,” Aemond snaps at Aegon. “I think you can afford it.”

“Bruh, that’s not the point! I don’t know where I left off in Grey’s Anatomy!”

They keep bickering. You stop listening. You can only hear the sounds of rustling leaves, squawking seagulls, the whistling of the warm August wind. You can only feel the weight of Aemond’s half-fascinated, half-resentful gaze on you. He wouldn’t believe me, you think. If I really am pregnant, he would never believe that it was an accident. He would never believe that I was that guilelessly, unambitiously stupid. Hell, I did it and I barely believe it.

You steal a glimpse of Aemond—black shirt and black sunglasses, white shorts, Adidas sneakers—and he turns away, pretending to pick dirt off his golf ball. Interestingly, he will talk to you about things not related to that night in Tokyo; perhaps it would be too suspicious not to, a neon sign for the rest of the band to read. But he never allows himself to be alone with you. And he never touches you, not even a grazing of hands or an absentminded bump as he passes you in aisles or hallways.

Bump, you think miserably. An inauspicious choice of words.

“We should watch Se7en,” Aegon is saying now. “Comet fam movie night.”

You mutter: “We’re not watching Se7en.”

“What’s Se7en about?” Rhaena asks.

“You wouldn’t like it.”

“What’s in the box?!” Aegon shouts dramatically—quoting the beautiful yet doomed David Mills, a name he once borrowed to schedule a Zoom meeting with you—and then cackles. It’s his turn. He clobbers his golf ball and sends it flying through the loop de loop; it pops over the barrier and disappears into a bush. Startled squirrels dart out of the leaves.

“Loser!” Jace slurs as he lies sprawled across the ground, vindicated.

“Stop spitting blood everywhere,” Aemond says. He putts next, and badly: poor depth perception. “You’re getting it on my sneakers.”

“Watch it, cyclops.” Jace points to his own stitches, bruises, surgically replaced teeth. “I let you have this one. Now we’re even. But next time I won’t be so charitable.”

“You’re not even,” Aegon tells Jace, abruptly severe. He whips off his aviator sunglasses, crouches over Jace, glaring and thunderous like a storm. Baela observes this warily. “Not even close.”

Jace is intrigued. “No?”

“No. Your face will heal.” Then Aegon pokes him in the jaw and Jace screams, tears slithering down his puffy, mottled cheeks. Cregan yanks Aegon away before Baela can scratch his eyes out. Criston repossesses Aegon’s blue raspberry Slush Puppie as punishment. Luke wins the game, five under par.

Comet’s first shows in the United States this tour start just like the last few in Asia: Jace is iced, painted with concealer, thoroughly medicated, numbed into semi-consciousness. He does lines of coke in the bathroom under Cregan’s supervision. He can’t perform without it. Criston tried to negotiate a month off for Jace, but the label’s message was clear: get him on stage, we don’t care how you do it, we don’t want to know about it, here’s a blank check, figure it out or we’ll find another manager who can. Now Criston watches Jace with his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes wounded and anxious, his shoulders slumped beneath the weight of what he believes is failure.

The story released to the press is that Jace fell down a flight of stairs but is recovering smoothly. He can barely sing; his mic is turned up, and during Jace’s verses Cregan or Luke layer their voice with his. He wobbles and flubs his way through Night 1 in East Rutherford. You spend the show staring up at the stage without seeing it. Baela and Rhaena are with you, but you aren’t really with them; you feel like if they reached out to touch you, their hands would find only translucent emptiness like a mirage. Shelby is flocked by fellow influencers that she’s invited in from New York City. Aemond is somewhere, somewhere: lurking in shadows, brooding, avoiding, musing, suffering, jotting down starlight-colored judgments in his black-paged notebook.

Per tradition, the band and their entourage coalesce in Jace’s suite after the show. Jace himself, the gracious host, promptly collapses on a couch and lies there senseless as the party spins around him like the planets of a solar system. Baela is perched dutifully beside him, holding ice packs to his jaw, wiping away drool the color of one of Aemond’s Brambles. A tattoo artist is inking a goldfinch, New Jersey’s state bird, to the top of Jace’s right foot. Criston is across the room and speaking—rather tensely, it seems—with cigar-smoking label executives. Shelby is snapping photos with her friends; they take turns posing each other out on the balcony, adjusting elbows and wrists and knees, swiping away stray flecks of mascara, rearranging hair, recommending plastic surgeons. Aegon is typing WhatsApp messages—mostly emojis, from what you can see—to Miley Cyrus. At Luke’s prompting, Aemond begins sharing his comments to the presently sentient members of Comet. He puffs on one of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes as he reads aloud. He kindly skips over any criticisms of Jace’s performance.

You can’t stand hearing Aemond’s voice; not because there’s anything wrong with it, but because there isn’t, because you can’t stop remembering what he said to you in that florescent-white bathroom at Club Camelot in Tokyo, because he uses his words on so many people who aren’t you, because sooner or later your time with Comet will be over and you’ll only ever hear him again through Spotify songs and YouTube clips from before the accident, because he will one day be a ghost who haunts you, rattling doorknobs and chilling pockets of air but never speaking. You escape to ask the bartender: “Can I get a Coke?”

“A rum and Coke?”

“No.”

“Like…white powder coke?”

“No, a Coca-Cola. With nothing else in it.”

“Okay, whatever,” the bartender says, perplexed. He fills a glass with ice and dark liquid that pops and fizzes with carbonation, then slides it across the counter to you. You meander out into the hallway where you can be alone, where you don’t have to pretend to be okay.

The carpet is gold but frayed, the walls adorned with faux marble columns and scuffs from recklessly handled suitcases. Even the hotels are worse in New Jersey. You sip your soda—nonalcoholic, huh? you think, then push it aside—and roam past suite doors and vending machines until you reach the cove of elevators. There’s a full-length mirror hanging on the wall there, gilded, gaudy. You frown at yourself, a reflection that suddenly looks a bit like a stranger. You’re wearing a short seafoam green dress, gold earrings and sandals, and an eerily vacuous expression. You turn and move your hair aside so you can peer over your shoulder at what’s been indelibly penned there since Rome: the tiny comet, the lyrics that encircle it.

I wanted to remember this band forever. To remember Aemond. You can feel your stomach drop as it grows heavy with dread. The pulsing music from Jace’s suite has followed you down the hall, Sugar by Robin Schulz and Francesco Yates. I think I might just have more than a tattoo to remember him by after all.

One of the elevators dings and opens. A man lumbers out, towering, broad, monstrous. You gape up at him: brown threadbare coat, heavy boots, unruly dark beard, grey eyes like a bleak winter sky. There is a miasma that colors the air around him with smoke and alcohol, sweat and earth.

“Hello there,” he says, politely enough. His voice is such a baritone rumble that it’s difficult to understand. He has a British accent, but not like Aegon’s, not like Aemond’s. He reminds you of someone you can’t quite place. “I’m looking for a certain young gentleman. I’m hoping you can point me in his direction.”

“Sure,” you reply, trying to disguise your shock so you don’t offend him. He could be someone important. He could be an eccentric producer or a consultant. Or a drug dealer. “Who…uh…who was it you were hoping to speak with…?”

He smiles: sharp canine teeth yellowed by nicotine, glinting eyes like silver coins. “Cregan Stark.”

“Okay,” you stammer. Drug dealer?? “Okay, okay, I’ll…uh…I’ll go get him.”

You hurry down the hall and into Jace’s crowded, smokey suite, clinking glasses and flirtatious titters in dim lighting like late twilight. You return your empty drink to the bartender, then tap Cregan on the shoulder and inform him that someone out in the hallway is asking for him. He doesn’t seem surprised to hear this. Drug dealer, you think confidently. Cregan gulps his vodka shot and follows you out of the suite. He steps through the doorway. He turns towards the stranger. And then he stops dead. His eyes go wide. The blood drains from his face. And Cregan—immovable, inscrutable, unflappable Cregan—shrinks until he is a child again.

Immediately, you know you’ve made a mistake. You reach for him. “Cregan, wait—”

“My son,” the monstrous man sighs. And of course now you’ve realized exactly who the mirrorlike grey of his eyes reminded you of. “My son.”

You can’t stop him. How could you stop him? Faster than you can think, he has crossed the space between you and entombed Cregan in a stifling embrace. Cregan stands paralyzed, his eyes shifting, searching for escape. Tentatively, appeasingly, his hands slowly rise to hug the man in return.

“Criston?!” you shout. But within the suite, he cannot hear you over the music and the berating of smoke-veiled, bejeweled label executives.

“Did you forget about me, huh?” the man asks Cregan gruffly. And as he steps back he grips one of Cregan’s shoulders: not like Criston would, not like a father, like a vice, like a bear trap. He shakes Cregan once, not too hard. “You can fly your private jet all over the world but you can’t call your own father back? Huh? Huh?!” He shakes Cregan again, harder.

“Criston!” you scream. “Security! Somebody!”

Nobody can hear me. Nobody is coming.

You sprint into Jace’s suite, seize Criston by one hand, drag him out into the hall. On the blurry periphery of your vision, you can see Aemond getting up off the couch to follow you. The second he spots the monstrous man, Criston is roaring. “No no no, get away from him!” He pushes between Cregan and the giant, terrifying, wrathful. The man dwarfs him. Criston doesn’t seem to know it. “You can’t be here. We’ve been over this, you’re not allowed to be here—”

The man tries to reach around him to clutch at Cregan’s shirt. Aemond pulls you away from the scuffle. Criston hits the man in the solar plexus; he is momentarily stunned, wheezing. By the time he straightens up, Criston—louder than you, bellowing and fierce—has summoned security. They are swarming the man and escorting him back down the hallway towards the elevators. Aemond goes to Cregan. Criston looks at you. You’re quivering, penitent.

“I had no idea…he asked for Cregan…I would never have…I thought maybe he was a friend of the band…”

“He’s on our no fly list,” Criston says. His voice is tired yet patient. “But you wouldn’t know that.”

You try to apologize to Cregan, but he isn’t listening to you. He’s listening to Aemond. Aemond is speaking to him, low and calm, too quietly for you to hear. “I’m okay,” Cregan says unsteadily. “I’m fine.”

“It’s alright if you’re not,” Aemond tells him.

And you know that right now you are unnecessary, intrusive. Criston goes downstairs to figure out how Comet’s security guards in the lobby didn’t catch this and—presumably—to ensure that the invader is properly dealt with. Aemond slings an arm across Cregan’s shoulders and leads him back to the party where he is cared for, welcome, valued, safe. You hide in your own suite and try not to think about the dates on the calendar—missing blood, summer days ticking down towards zero—as you steep in a hot bath and attempt to scrub everything you’ve done wrong, today, yesterday, ever, off your skin. Then you change into an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants.

You try to sleep but of course you can’t, surrounded by a silence that only gets louder. When you hear the swipe of a keycard and the creaking of your door, you don’t know who to expect: Cregan, Criston, Rhaena, Luke, Baela, Jace, Daeron, Shelby, Aemond, ghosts. The clopping of his Crocs gives him away, neon pink to match his tank top. “I’m really not in the mood for anything resembling sex.”

Aegon replies as he kicks off his Crocs: “Did I ask, succubus?” He crawls into the bed, throws an arm casually across your waist, rests his head on your belly as your fingers thread through his chaotic blond hair, fond and tender. He burrows into you, into your softness and your warmth and your truth and your mysteries. Sometimes you feel like you’ll give until he falls into you like a trapdoor, the bones of his hands tangling around your spine, his blood vessels spilling into all of your rage-scarlet cavities, hollows of the flesh, hollows of the soul. “You’re sad.”

You stare up at the ceiling. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know what. That’s the strange thing. Usually I can tell.”

“You’ve been gone.”

He looks up at you, confused. “I’ve been right here.”

“You know what I meant.”

Aegon doesn’t argue with you, doesn’t try to defend himself, doesn’t make promises both of you know he could never keep. He only lays his head down on your belly again and pulls himself closer to you, closer, closer, melting into your melancholy, dissolving into dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I was eleven when he broke my arm. Thirteen when he cracked my skull for the first time. Then I got big enough to hurt him back.” Cregan looks out over the waves: blue currents, white froth, sunbeams like glinting blades. As Criston promised, Comet is spending an afternoon in Seaside Heights. You and Cregan are sitting on the sand together twenty yards from the others. “I grew up in a two-bedroom cabin with no electricity or running water. We had a metal wash tub outside, ate deer and squirrels and rabbits, never had clothes that fit, never saw a doctor except when what was wrong might kill us. We had a woodstove and chopped down trees to burn in the winter. I had eight siblings, six of whom are still alive. Barnett overdosed. Courtland drove his friend’s Nissan into a brick wall. I’m not sure it was accidental.”

Your words are soft like a whisper, like gentle hands. “Cregan, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not…” His voice breaks. He stops for a while, composes himself, begins again. “It’s not something I talk about. Not because I’m trying to forget it. I can’t forget it, I’ll never be able to, I understand that, believe me. There’s just nothing to be gained from talking about it. I never feel better afterwards. I always feel worse.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

“I know that. Don’t you think I know that?”

You wait, watching him. There’s something he needs to say. Down the beach a ways, Baela is doing yoga, her bare feet sure and agile in shifting sand. Rhaena, Luke, and Aemond are flying kites in the breeze: black dragons, green dragons. Shelby is, predictably, filming them from where she stands on Aemond’s good side. Aegon and Daeron are swimming so far out that you’re beginning to worry about sharks. Criston is parked under an umbrella with an unconscious Jace, reading Memoirs Of A Geisha and eating a sandwich full of something called pork roll.

“After Comet happened, I got all of them out,” Cregan continues. “My mum, my siblings. Good houses in safe neighborhoods. Security in case Dad makes an appearance. He does, every once in a while. He’s locked up, he’s free, he’s locked up again. He has nothing else to do but haunt us. I’ve been waiting for him to die since I was old enough to understand what a graveyard is.” Cregan looks at you. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“No,” you answer immediately.

“The thing is…” He holds out one large hand, palm down, like he’s resting it on a table. Then he shakes it. “Nothing ever feels stable. Nothing ever feels safe. No matter how much money I see stack up in accounts, I lie awake at night wondering what I’ll do if it disappears. So many people rely on me. I can’t stop worrying I’ll end up back in that cabin somehow. I can still hear drops of rainwater seeping in through the gaps in the roof. I can still smell burning wood.”

“The fact that you feel this way, given your history, is completely logical…even if the fear itself is not. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Cregan says. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Do you think it would help if we sat down and looked at the numbers and did some math? Because I suspect that even with a hundred dependents, you’d easily be able to float them for the rest of your lifetime just using the money you already have. And there will be royalties from Comet’s songs forever. Maybe if we can show you exactly how improbable your worst case scenario is, that fear will begin to fade a bit. Not go away, not completely, maybe not ever…but I think you’ll be able to quiet it down.”

“I’ll give it a try. If you recommend it.” Cregan lights a cigarette and takes a drag. Criston glances over and then pretends he didn’t notice. “I have a daughter,” Cregan says; and you can’t stop the shock from hitting your face like a fist. He smiles faintly, wistfully. “I know. I’ve worked very hard to make sure she is kept away from…” He gestures broadly. “All of this.” Fame. Debauchery. Tabloids. Reddit threads. “I was way too young. And her mother and I…we were never really together. It was contentious for a while, but we’ve sorted through things. I support them financially, obviously. And when I’m not on tour or in the studio, I disappear up to Lancaster for a few weeks at a time and no one is the wiser.”

You study him as wind tears in off the Atlantic Ocean, as seagulls swoop and screech overhead. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate how you’ve protected her once she can understand.”

“I don’t know how to be a father. Not a good one. But I try. I don’t just show up for movie nights and birthdays. I take her shopping for school supplies. I put her back to bed when she has nightmares. I take her to the dentist, to the park, to the library. She really likes pigs, so I adopted a few from a farm animal rescue and we learned how to raise them together.”

“You caring about being a good parent puts you ahead of a lot of people already,” you say. “Nobody in Comet knows?”

“Just Aemond. Once, years ago, her mother needed something and I was out of the country. I had to let somebody in on the secret, somebody I could trust. I chose Aemond. I chose right.” Now Cregan is amused. “He’s the one who suggested the pigs.”

“Of course he did,” you say; and you can’t help but smile. “How old is she?”

“Six and a half. Do you want to see a picture her?”

“Absolutely. If it’s alright with you.”

Cregan pulls his iPhone from his pocket, swipes around for a while, and then turns the screen so you can see. She looks like him, a lot like him, but with round cheeks and long dark lashes. And Cregan is beaming as he says: “Her name is Iris.”

“So you didn’t have to do the Maury paternity test thing.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “No. I knew from the second I saw her she was mine.”

“She’s lucky to have you.”

Cregan shrugs, pensive, evasive. “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” And he believes that you mean it; you can see it on his face. Aemond is watching you and Cregan, you notice now. He glances over, pretends he didn’t, glances again. You gesture to the crashing waves and say to Cregan: “If Aegon gets attacked by a shark, will you jump in and punch it or something please?”

Cregan chuckles. “Yeah. That’s my main job here, I think. Stopping people from dying.” And then, seriously: “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I haven’t done anything that warrants it.”

“No. Really.” Cregan reaches out, takes your uninjured hand, squeezes it briefly before releasing you. “Thank you, Stargirl.” Then he stands and walks to the water’s edge, letting the surf rush up over his ankles, for just a moment feeling nothing on his shoulders but the sunlight.

Aemond gives Shelby his kite and, as she glares bitterly, makes his way over to you. He takes off his sunglasses so he can see you better and hooks them on the waistband of his swim trunks: black, of course, his usual color. You’re actually wearing black today too, a flowing coverup over a pink swimsuit. You feel very much like hiding. When Aemond speaks, there is perhaps a hint of envy, green like leaves of poison, gleaming like snakeskin. “What were you and Cregan talking about?”

“Fatherhood.” And then you realize how it might sound.

There is a split second where Aemond looks startled; then he remembers Iris. “Right. Not so easy for people like us to navigate.”

People like us. Celebrities, boy band members, haunted men. You scramble for a nonchalant way to feel out the subject with him. “How does Louis Tomlinson handle it?”

“He’s a saint,” Aemond says. And you think: Patron saint of baby daddies? “Freddie was very, very unplanned. The mother was a nobody, a rebound. And a lot of people assumed she did it on purpose to try to keep Louis. Or to get eighteen years of a luxury lifestyle out of him. Or to just get fame in general. Personally, I believe it was all of the above.”

“Right,” you say, sweating heavily beneath your coverup.

“But none of that is the kid’s fault, and Louis is a good enough guy to realize it. So he plays nice with Freddie’s mother and they don’t go to war through tabloids anymore.”

“So, uh…” How can I put this? “You’re good with kids too. Cregan told me you had the pig idea.”

And the look that crosses Aemond’s face, the look: caustic, incredulous, night-dark, self-loathing. “Are you insane? Have you met me? I terrify kids. And I should, but not just because of the eye and the scar. What the hell do I know about being a decent father? What do I know about being a decent anything? I’d have no idea where to start. I’d fuck it up even if I tried desperately not to. I’d end up with kids like Aegon: addicts who hate themselves, people who are irrevocably lost.”

You say meekly: “I think Criston is something like a father to you. He could be a role model.”

“I’m not half as good a man as Criston is.”

Change the topic, change the topic, before Aemond gets suspicious. And there’s something else you’ve been meaning to ask him. “Aemond…after you almost murdered Jace…when we didn’t know if or how he was going to be able to perform until he healed…did anyone ask you to come back to Comet and fill in for him?”

“No,” Aemond says. And he’s thunderstruck by the thought, appalled, petrified.

“You don’t think that it might have been a good idea? That it might make sense?”

“No,” he says again instantly.

“But…in Tokyo…when Daeron made that speech at the last show…I think the crowd’s reaction was pretty powerful, don’t you? People still care about you. They love and respect you. And I think…maybe…it might help you with what you’ve experienced. To get back on stage—even just one last time—and prove to yourself that you still have what it takes. To know that if you do leave Comet, it’s your choice, not anyone else’s.”

“They love who I was,” Aemond says. “Not who I am now. And that’s easy to do. They don’t have to look at me.”

“Goddammit, there’s nothing wrong with how you look, Aemond!” you burst out. “You look fantastic. I never get tired of looking at you. I want to look at you all the fucking time. I’d hang life-sized portraits of you on every wall in my apartment in Kansas City. That’s how much I enjoy looking at you.”

He thinks you’re joking, he thinks you’re trying to make him feel better. You can’t stop him from thinking these things. And yet still, as he turns away, he is smiling: just a whisper of a curl at the corner of his lips, secretive, fragile.

As Comet is leaving the beach, you stop at a souvenir shop on the boardwalk to buy your keepsake for this tour destination. You settle on a pink frisbee that has I love the Jersey Shore! embossed on it in large, abrasive letters. You think your parents’ Australian cattle dogs will enjoy fetching it when you get home. Home feels so much closer—both literally and figuratively—than it did just a few weeks ago.

Criston is browsing through the t-shirts. “Hey, what size is your mom, Aegon? Medium?”

“How the hell would I know? Probably.” He holds up a pair of red, white, and blue bikini bottoms that say Firecracker across the ass. “You think my dad would mind if you sent her these?”

Criston is blushing. “Aegon, stop.”

“You could get her a bikini top too. Oh look, that one over there is red, it matches. And it says MILF across the tits. So that’s pertinent.”

“Stop!” Criston cries, distressed, and flees the store.

Halfway through the hour-long drive back to the hotel, Aegon insists that Criston stop the Escalades so he can get a hoagie from a Wawa. Aegon has never had a hoagie before. He says he cannot truly experience America without one.

At the ordering counter, Jace—slightly less bruised and swollen today, and thus in better spirits—taunts Aegon: “Are you sure you need all that bread? You’re going to be wearing a muumuu on stage by the time we get to the Midwest.”

“You know, just because you said that, now I’m going to get two hoagies…”

On the television mounted inside the Wawa, CNN is reporting on a group of tornadoes that just struck Wichita. And it occurs to you that tornadoes don’t have trajectories to calculate like hurricanes or airplanes or comets; they are climatological sharks. They strike quickly, indiscriminately, and then they’re gone again. They aren’t named. They aren’t enshrined. They don’t even have a belly to cut open and retrieve pieces of your loved ones from. If they take someone, they’re just gone.

While the rest of the band is in line to order their food, and Aemond is scrutinizing the dried fruit and nuts selection, you sneak through the other aisles.

It’s time. I have to find out eventually. I have to know.

You pluck a pregnancy test—cute, pink, nausea-inducing—off a rack, purchase it with truly impressive speed at the checkout counter, and race to the bathroom. It’s surprisingly difficult to piss on a tiny stick of doom, especially when your primary hand is in a splint and only partially useable. Eventually, you manage. You put the cap back on the pregnancy test, set it on top of the toilet paper dispenser, and stare at the metal door of the stall. The Wawa speakers are playing The Fray’s Over My Head.

It won’t be positive. It can’t be positive.

You think of pregnancy test commercials you’ve seen: happy couples rejoicing, happy single women getting negatives. How are you supposed to react to bad news? Nobody ever tells you. Do you scream, sob, beg for forgiveness, schedule an appointment at Planned Parenthood? Do you kick the bathroom stall door down in mindless feminine fury? Do you throw yourself off a balcony?

There’s no way it will be positive. It was one time. Just one goddamn time.

And who knows if that will ever happen again with Aemond. This does not improve your mood.

You pick up the pregnancy test. It is unequivocally positive.

You shove it into the small rectangular trashcan for pads and tampons, things you won’t be needing in the immediate future. You get dressed, leave the stall, go to the sink and wash your hands. Then you grip the cool, slick, white porcelain and gaze at yourself in the mirror under nowhere-to-hide florescent lights. What do you feel? Everything, nothing, things you can’t name yet. You’re a raw nerve, you’re completely numb.

The bathroom door swings open. Shelby enters. She squares up with great purpose. Your eyes roll to her, slowly, with no tolerance left, not a drop of it. “Stay away from Aemond,” she demands.

“Make me.”

She is in disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”

You turn all the way towards her. “Fucking make me, Shelby.”

“I knew you wanted him,” she says, she seethes. “I saw you in those paparazzi photos from Reykjavik and I knew you were already twisting your claws into him.”

You hold up your hands to show her; your thoughts are fuzzy, dazed, without inhibition. “I have no claws whatsoever. If I did, you’d know about it. Believe me. You’d be able to look down and watch your heart beating through the gashes.”

“You don’t belong here. Some Midwestern farm girl running around in flip flops and Cookie Monster pajama pants? You’re trash. You’re a user. You’re a nobody. And if you’re trying to steal a taken man, then you’re a whore too.”

“I’ve been called worse things by better people.”

“I can make them hate you,” Shelby says indignantly. “Comet. The world.”

“Good luck with that, Malibu Barbie. Nobody even knows I exist.”

“Stay away from Aemond,” she says again, trembling with her futile bleach-blond rage. “We’re meant to be together. We have so much history.”

“And yet no future.” You smile sweetly, breeze past her, step on one of her perfectly pedicured feet with a thoroughly unpretentious flip flop. By the time you return to them, the band is almost ready to leave Wawa.

You’re not hungry, but Aegon coaxes you into taking a few bites from his hoagie. You’re not able to focus on what people are saying, but you hear Aemond mention that he wishes Comet had time to visit a planetarium in some nearby town called Toms River. You think about what it would be like to lie side by side with him under the stars, under the sky where comets appear again after vanishing for centuries. You wonder if there’s anyplace where you and Aemond could ever be truthful with each other.

At night you can’t sleep. There is no shortage of reasons why. You wander from your bed to the gold-carpet hallway to the vending machines, where you stare brainlessly at the options. Am I supposed to not be drinking caffein? Did I get any Vitamin D today? How much sugar is too much? You buy a bottle of apple juice—surely a safe bet—and head back to your suite.

As you walk by Aemond and Shelby’s door, your steps slow. Some nights you can hear them in there arguing: Shelby reiterating all the reasons why they’re perfect for each other, clearly a rebuttal to an accusation you weren’t privy to. Some nights you hear muffled casual conversation or episodes of Cosmos. Some nights you hear nothing at all. Some nights your imagination colors in the gaps before you can stop it: his hands on her, his mouth on her, things you know you have no right to dread and yet you do. But tonight, Shelby is momentarily removed from the scene. You can hear the distant pattering of the shower, and then Aemond alone in the living room gathering up plates and glasses. He’s singing something very quietly, so quietly it takes you a while to recognize it. It’s not even a Comet Donati song. It’s Through The Dark.

You sit down in the empty hallway, your back to his door. And you lean your head against it as you listen to Aemond singing softly to himself, doubt sinking into you the same way that trapped blood fills a bruise: Maybe it wasn’t as good for him as it was for me. Maybe he doesn’t talk to me because he doesn’t want to. Maybe I don’t belong here anymore. Maybe I’ve invented a history that we don’t really share. Maybe he didn’t mean it when he said he loves me.

“What am I going to do?” you whisper, scalding tears brimming in your eyes, shivering hands settling on your belly. In a few months, you’ll be showing. “What the hell am I going to do?”

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #Aegon Targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #Aegon II Targaryen #Aegon Targaryen II x reader #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #Aegon x you #aegon x y/n

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breadandblankets · 5 days

Text

how i hc duke's relationships with the other (main) bats

bruce: mentor/friend/weird HS teacher u bond with kinda thing, i think bruce on his end still feels simmering guilt for not being there for duke when he needed him, duke feel simmering resentment towards bruce for being another adult that left him, this will boil over at some point but then they'll get over it, they will never be that dumb nuclear found family thing, i think doug and elaine would like bruce tho so maybe one of those friend of the family situations where u call someone ur not related to aunt/uncle

cass: very very good friends, would probably consider her a sister from another mister if u will, i would hesitate to call her a best friend *gestures at all of war* but i think she's up there, i really love the headcanon that there is some tension on duke's end because cass has the ability to be more efficient but she actively chooses not to, i think for a long time duke is going to be holding some unhealthy and unrealistic standards both for himself and also people around him, like everything else this causes tension then erupts before it gets resolved, cass i think would know about said tension the whole time but have no idea how to bring up the issue or how to even think about resolving it so it drags on

dick: i think duke holds a grudge for the robin war thing, and i think he fucking should iykyk, (the way he just leaves duke on a roof??? with cops????, i was shouting at my fucking comic) idk i think dick would probably make light of it for a while but duke would be real fucking clear that he remembers and won't be forgiving and forgetting any time soon, i think they're acquaintances at best but realistically, coworkers

damian: like cass Extremely good friends, found family if you will, honestly i think they got a lot of their interpersonal issues out of the way before duke becomes signal, so really its a matter of time before they actually become friends and not just acquaintances, they're old man young to me, i think they do old man things like feed birds in the park and play Go together, i think damian is probably one of the only people duke doesn't hold to his standards, he thinks damian deserves to be a kid, making damian be a kid is probably some of the only time that duke is forced to relax by proxy, therefore duke and damian's friendship is strongly encouraged by bruce who is out of his depth for what to do with both of them and throwing them at each other seems to be working (👍 parenting)

tim: i honestly don't think they know each other well, like i think they may have talked once??? so i don't have shit to base their relationship off, generally i think they're amicable if distant, like a coworker you say hi to at the coffee machine

babs: i Need them to interact, honestly it would be really funny if duke meets babs for the first time as oracle and he's just like??? you're my favorite librarian? and babs is like !! we missed you when you stopped volunteering!!! and duke has to be like yeah that was the joker, i think they would have a good relationship, they don't work together all that much cause oracle doesn't run duke's ops and duke isn't usually on the night shift but they know they can call each other in if they need. one of duke's few trusted AdultsTM

jason: i think rocky at the start, duke would definitely have some Memories of the red hood, that would probably be a hill to overcome, but i generally think that jason will eventually move into a more positive position in the city even with the shadows of all that stuff following him ofc. they are absolute Assholes to each other in a way that is clearly affection, jason will let duke get away with anything up to and including murder, duke will never let jason get away with anything, its like a typo in the group chat

steph: re same as tim, and babs practically nothing to base the relationship on BUT i think they would get on like a house on fire, like cass: sister from another mister energy, steph is giving duke the "you just found out ur dad is a supervillain" support he needs, they are the only bats successfully going to college they probably go to events on campus together, idk they have so much potential as the forgotten robins and all that, i think they should bully bruce together that would be so fun.

#duke thomas #bruce wayne #cassandra cain #dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #barbara gordon #jason todd #stephanie brown #batfam #oh gd tags #i hate tagging them all like this but my last group post went Nowhere and i Actually put thought into this #i mean i lost steam at the end i just want it out of my fkin drafts #tired boy hours #anyway these are just my hc #its how you'll see me write them for the most part #or it wont be neither i nor gd know what is going on at any one time

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koshkamartell · 2 months

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No One But Me

masterlist

*chapter warnings* - talk of rape, sexual harassment

You didn't reveal what had happened to Oscar, or to anyone else. You kept your word to Joel and did not speak about it. You were still afraid of what he was capable of doing if you did tell someone, if he somehow found out that you told the truth. You felt ashamed and dirty, as if you were deserving of Joel's wrath, that what he did was justified. Maybe you shouldn't have been dancing and drinking so much that night, maybe Joel was right about the men at the bar and their lecherous intentions. After all, you had to defer to Joel's knowledge and extensive life experience when certain subjects were concerned, and this time seemed to be no exception.

Ellie and her happiness were also at the forefront of your mind. You knew that she would be devastated if she discovered how Joel had treated you; the security of her world and a happy family life would be shattered and her heart broken. You couldn't do that to Ellie. Not when you could see so much of yourself reflected in her, that same yearning for a stable and loving family.

Yes, you still loved him, and perhaps a small part of you always will. But he has broken something inside you and you know it can never be repaired or compensated for in any way. Joel had pushed you too far for you to be able to forgive and forget. A bridge has been crossed and there's no returning to how things once were. Where do you go from here? Do you leave him? Joel hadn't accepted that the first time you tried to leave him - would he relent this time?

You tried not to show the inner turmoil you were facing when around others. Working at the school proved to be a good distraction from your thoughts; the young faces of the children, their innocence and wonder at the world, always managed to motivate you to be collected and calm.

However the library shifts proved to be more challenging at times. You were alone more often than not, only the occasional visitor popping in to seek out material on a specialist subject or children wanting to peruse the comics and picture books. Left alone with the whirlwind of introspection inside your head could be tormenting.

Does he really even love me?

What if he does it again?

He's been so sweet and loving lately, maybe he's changed?

Maybe he's realised how much I mean to him?

This fruitless cycle of thoughts was interrupted by the surprise appearance of Oscar at the door, a grin on his face as the bell jingled above him. You felt startled, like you had been caught doing something you weren't supposed to, but you quickly composed yourself.

"Is it weird that I miss that sound?" He chuckled.

"Hey stranger," you greeted him, flashing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes . "Didn't expect to see you here. How can I help you?"

Oscar smiled at you, his clean shaven face boyish and handsome, and you suddenly felt warmth spread all over your cheeks. Surely you weren't blushing because of Oscar?

He walked to the counter where you stood and plopped his satchel on the counter top. "Mhm. It's lunchtime, so I figured I'd stop by for a visit and we could pretend it's like old times - us eating together, hanging out. What do you say?"

"Oscar, are you sure you wanna spend your work break with me?" You asked dubiously, making a face at him.

"You're kidding me, right?" Oscar arched a thick eyebrow in question. "As far as I'm concerned you're the only person I wanna eat lunch with."

He didn't wait for you to speak any further before he flipped open his satchel and took out some sandwiches wrapped in wax paper and a few pieces of fruit. You looked away from him bashfully and shuffled your feet. You could definitely feel your cheeks glowing now.

"Oh Oscar," you murmur, sighing a little. "I don't deserve this."

"Don't deserve to eat lunch? C'mon," he scoffed.

"No, you know what I mean," you said while smoothing your hands over your skirt, still unable to look at Oscar. "You coming here specially for me."

Oscar proped his elbows ontop of the counter and leaned forward so that his head was craning closer to you, tilting his head in an attempt to catch your gaze.

"Hey, look at me," Oscar implored softly.

You obeyed his request and slowly raised your head up to face him. He was gazing at you with a mixture of confusion and pity on his features.

"Why do you think so little of yourself, when others think so much of you?" Oscar asked quietly.

The question is too raw for you to actually answer. It makes you feel bare, like your insides are being dissected. How can you possibly explain to Oscar that you've carried this low self worth all your life, that it has been rooted into your very core since your parents died, left to pullulate and fester like a disease?

Somehow, you believe Oscar already knows that he isn't actually asking for an answer.

All you can do is shrug awkwardly and look away from him. Oscar sighs and extends his arm over the counter to take hold of your wrist. "Honey, what is it going to take for you to believe just how important you are?" His thumb begins to stroke the fragile spot where your pulse and veins intertwine under the thin layer of skin.

You close your eyes and savour the sensation of his soft hand wrapped around your wrist. "Important to who?" You murmur.

"The children at school. Ellie. Me." Oscar whispers silkily. "Look at me."

You raise your head once more to gaze back at Oscar. He studies your face, his eyes roaming over your features longingly. The tip of his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. "You're a beautiful person, and I'm lucky to have you in my life."

The the lilt of his voice and the passion in his gaze penetrate your heart and send electric like shivers up and down your limbs. "T-thank you, Oscar." You stammer.

He smiles at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He gently releases your wrist and stands back upright. "Now, enough of this nonsense. I'm hungry and I want you to tell me everything that's been going on here since I left. Didja finish Bug Science? What about that paperback that old man stole and refuses to give back?"

You can't help but laugh at Oscar's light hearted way of breaking the tension in the room. When he sees you finally smile genuinely, he smiles back with a mix of relief and adoration.

After you finish eating and Oscar has to go back to work, you both agree to a regular lunch date at the lunch every week.

That night you were pacing around Joel's kitchen preparing dinner for when Ellie arrived. She was making a dedicated effort to spend more time with Joel without making him feel awkward; you had suggested that regular dinners together were an uncomplicated way to achieve this, and so naturally Ellie had invited herself over.

You alternate between stirring the pot of stew on the stove and shuffling to the dining room to set the table. You carefully arrange the bowls and cutlery in their places, mindful to give Joel a slightly bigger bowl than you and Ellie, knowing that his appetite was more voracious than either of you, especially after a patrol shift.

The setting reminded you of a tale you had loved as a child - a papa bear, a mamma bear, and a baby bear, all with porridge bowls and furniture corresponding to their sizes. Three bears, a happy family with food and a comfy house. Until an intruder comes and disrupts their carefree life.

What was it again? Ah, yes. Goldilocks and The Three Bears.

Silly stories and fairytales created to entertain and teach children morals and valuable lessons. You only vaguely remember some of them from your childhood. Just like the innocence and curious wonderment of youth, your happy memories had been destroyed by the end of the world, shattered to smithereens.

You want Ellie to be able to experience the things that had been so brutally ripped away from you. You know she's suffered her own share of trauma and horrors in her life, things she hasn't shared with anyone but Joel. You know their bond is what has given them both reason to endure and survive for so long. But Ellie was still young, and now she was safe from whatever was still left in the wild of the world. She deserved her own fairytale.

You know you will have to try your best to mask your melancholy for the upcoming evening. You are about to turn off the stove when you hear the front door rattle open, then the sound of boots stamping at the door. It seems Joel and Ellie have arrived home at the same time.

"Good evening!" Ellie trills as she floats into the kitchen. "What did you make? It smells fucking amazing!"

Your heart lights up to see her bound over to the stove and lean over the pot to take a big whiff of its aroma. She lets out an exaggerated sigh and rolls her eyes.

"I'm sooooo hungry!" Ellie groans. "Work sucked today."

You chuckle and pull her into a hug, brushing a little snow flake from her head. "The goats giving you trouble again?"

Ellie was assigned as a farmhand for her work duties and tended to the goats, chickens and sheep. "It was the sheep this time, lazy fuckers wouldn't listen."

"Didn't do what they were told, huh?" Joel chimes, walking into the kitchen with a smug smile tugging at his mouth.

"You callin' me a sheep, old man?" Ellie pretends to square up into a boxer's stance and raises her fists. You watch the interaction with your fingertips pressed to your lips, hiding your smile. No matter how low you were feeling, being immersed in the domesticity of Ellie's and Joel's company was always entertaining.

"You know what insolent means?"

"Uh, nope," Ellie says with a crinkle of her nose. "Why, that what you're callin' me?"

"Damn right."

Ellie punches his shoulder playfully and then begins a hasty exposition on just why her job is so taxing and why Joel should shut up. You shake your head at her theatrics and slip on some oven mitts before carrying the pot of stew out to the kitchen table.

"And if you actually let me go on patrol I could show those assholes just how badass I am," she laments as she follows behind you and Joel.

"No." He takes his seat at the table. "Too dangerous outside the gate."

Ellie just scoffs loudly and flops down onto her chair. You ladle the stew into the bowls and hand them to Ellie and Joel before serving yourself.

"You gotta teach me how to make this," Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of stew. "Tastes amazing, dude."

You settle into your seat and dip your spoon into the bowl. "Yeah, I can do that."

"How'd you learn how to cook?" Ellie asks between another slurp.

You occupy yourself with slowly stirring your spoon through the vegetables and chunks of lamb floating in your bowl. "I picked up some things from working in the mess hall but I mostly taught myself, through cook books and experimenting. More so experimenting."

"Cool," Ellie says, sounding sincerely impressed. "What's your favourite thing to make?"

"This kind of stew, I guess," you respond quietly, still not meeting her eye. "It's hearty, so it's good for when you're sick. And it reminds me of a dish my mother used to make when I was a kid, so...I find it comforting..." Your voice trails off at the end of your sentence. You never spoke of your mother or father but the words had come rolling from your tongue without thought, leaving you to feel as though you've said too much, been too vulnerable infront of both Ellie and Joel.

"Oh," Ellie murmers. "Well, that's good that's it's good for when you're sick, right? You've been sick alot lately so--"

"Ellie," Joel says low and warning.

A tense silence falls over the dining table. You are sure Joel can read your mind, the automatic internal response that you dare not utter aloud - "I wasn't sick last time, Ellie, I was just hiding my face."

You are thankful when Ellie fills the silence once again and starts talking about her friends and the different adventures she's had lately. You listen but do not talk much, only sometimes expressing a hum of agreement or a noise to indicate your interest. To your surprise, Joel makes an effort to engage with her to ask questions or make comments; it is unusual but refreshing, and you can't help but think Joel is doing it for your sake.

When Ellie excuses herself to go to the bathroom, Joel outstretches his hand to you and tenderly clasps it over yours. He lightly squeezes your small hand in his large one and leaves it there, his thumb making tiny circles over the knuckle of yours, soothing and supplicating. You glance up at Joel but he's staring down at his lap unmoving, and you wonder if it's because he feels too ashamed of himself to look at you.

When Ellie returns to the table Joel doesn't move his hand from yours.

It feels like forever since you've joined the girls for a meal in the mess hall. A few days after Ellies visit, you were greeted by Kate waiting outside the school to surprise you after your shift. Despite being exhausted from the days work her cheeky grin made you laugh.

Truthfully, you hadn't thought much about your friends since the night you had all celebrated Jackson's birthday at the Tipsy Bison. It seemed like the time between then and now had stretched infinitely, the events of that night like a vivid dream that was not real but of which you still could not shake from your memory. Seeing Kate in person and so excited to you makes you feel guilty for not being more involved in your friendship circle.

You sit side by side with Kate and Cassie at one of the dining tables, Rhi and Jess opposite you. You have little to no appetite and even the delicious dinner menu doesn't inspire any hunger from you; you mostly move your spoon aimlessly around your plate, only occasionally taking small bites of food. Rhi has lowered her voice and is recounting a recent incident between her and the blonde ranger she has been pining for.

"Can you believe it? He actually stuck his hand up my skirt right then and there!" She hisses with disgust. "Without even kissing me!"

The four of instantly you scrunch up your noses in revulsion.

"Gross!" Jess gags.

"Who the hell does he think he is?!" Cassie fumes.

"What did you do? Did you slap him?" Kate grumbles. "God, please tell me you slapped him!"

"Ofcourse I did!" Rhi answers haughtily, primly running her fingers through her hair. "No bastard touches me like that without my say so."

"He's was cute but boy, did he turn out to be an asshole," Cassie tuts, then adds sympathetically, "I'm sorry, Rhi. I know you liked him for a long time."

Rhi shrugs dismissively. "Eh, better I find out now than after six months of dating and wasting my time."

"Very true," Jess chimes in. "You deserve better than that shit."

"Ofcourse I do! I'm staying out of the dating game for a while, men are so not worth it." Rhi concedes, scooping up some potato and carrot with her spoon.

You watch the airy way Rhi speaks, how the words spill so confidently from her mouth. She's so self assured - in her capabilities, in her worth, in her beauty. You are simply in awe of her. You have often found yourself wishing you were more like Rhi; someone more bold, stronger willed.

You're sick of being timid. You're tired of never standing up for yourself. You're exhausted with hating yourself.

It was becoming more and more difficult for Joel to ignore the fact that he was in love with you. Obviously he knew you belonged to him, but he hadn't really examined just how deeply his own attachment to you ran. The concept of romantic love was something so foreign to Joel that during his pursuit to conquer you he hadn't even recognised how much he loved you.

It hit him when he returned to his house after a gruelling double patrol shift while you were still at work. The inside of the house was still and lifeless and seemed so much bigger and colder than usual. Not a trace of your pretty fragrance or your soft voice to greet him. Joel hated it.

It was you who Joel wanted to see when he ambled through the door after work, aching and weary and hungry. It was your face that he wanted to see when he opened his eyes every morning. And it was your lips that he wanted to kiss goodnight before each time he went to sleep. Joel needed you as close as possible, so it was a natural conclusion that you start the process of living together.

It wasn't part of Joel's plan - he hadn't expected things to have progressed so quickly, but then again he couldn't deny just how much he needed you. So for the first time since living in Jackson he had decided to follow his heart.

One night after his patrol shift, a week and a half after Jackson's birthday celebration, Joel slipped through your front door and toed off his boots.

"I been thinkin' about somethin'," Joel calls out as he shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the hook by the door. "I want you to come stay at my place. Got plenty of space for your things. Can even turn one of the spare rooms into a library for your books."

When you didn't answer him he turned around and stepped into the living room. You were sitting on the couch with your feet tucked under you, staring down at your hands as they fidgeted with a loose thread on the cuff of your sweater. Joel put his hands of his hips and clears his throat.

"Baby, you hear me? What do you think?" He asks with a tilt of his head.

He was trying to temper the irritation that was pricking at the base of his neck, but when he properly looks at you it quickly disappears. He clocks the despondent slouch of your shoulders and the pensive expression on your features.

You sigh softly and then tilt your head up to meet his gaze. You look tired, and the tears swimming in your eyes alarmed Joel enough for him to stride over to the couch and sit down beside you.

"What's goin' on?' He asks with genuine concern, his soulful brown eyes darting up and down your form.

Joel had seen you cry many times before, and it was he who was the reason for your tears more often than not. It usually did not perturb him or discourage him. He knew from the beginning that you were sensitive and soft hearted, the opposite of himself. But something about this instance was totally different.

You swipe the sleeve of your sweater across your eyes to brush away the tears that have spilled over.

"Nothing," you mumble, downcasting your eyes back to the loose thread on your cuff as your fingers toy with it. "Just lonely...missing my parents alot today."

Joel hums and smooths his hand over the back of your head tenderly. "Come to my place, babydoll, stay at my house. You'll never feel lonely there."

"Like, live there forever?"

"Well, not just yet." Joel smirks as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. "We can move your belongings gradually."

"What do you mean?" You question him with a side eye glance.

Joel leans into you and nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck. One of his arms snakes around your middle and he effortlessly drags you closer to his body like a scolded kitten tugged by its scruff.

"You can move into my place permanently later, aint no rush. But for now I want you close by, always. In my bed waitin' for me after work. Sittin' pretty on my lap while you read." He inhales your scent and places a soft kiss on your neck. His breath is hot against your skin and his whiskers tickle you. It makes shivers crawl up your spine.

"I don't know Joel," you whisper hesitantly. "I don't think I'm ready for that."

Joel's body immediately tenses at your words. He slowly draws his face away from you and loosens his arm from your waist. Your first instinct is to cower away from Joel and curl into yourself, to distance yourself from any potential outburst of wrath that he might choose to rain down upon you.

"What d'you mean?' Joel asks in a low, dangerous tone.

"I just...want to stay here, I don't want to go anywhere," you mumble, not meeting his gaze but still feeling the heat of his scathing glower nonetheless.

"Don't wanna go?" Joel growls harshly. "Look at me when I'm talkin' to you."

You cannot control the automatic reaction that his sharp tone commands from you; your head whips up to look at him obediantly. You feel small and vulnerable under Joel's glare.

"You don't wanna live with me in my house?" He hisses. "I thought that's what you wanted."

You sigh helplessly as you feel the tears begin to well in your eyes once again.

It is what I wanted. But now I'm not so sure.

"I'm ready to give you everythin' and now you wanna throw it away?" Joel spits bitterly, scowling. There is an inflection of dejection in his words, and the disbelief and hurt reflected in his glistening eyes causes a small stab of guilt in your chest.

"I just...don't think it's the right time," you explain with slow deliberation. "I'm not ready for that."

Joel takes a sharp inhale and scoffs. "So you changed your mind? Just like that, you changed your goddamn mind?"

"Joel," you speak calmly in order to placate him. "I want to keep my place. I don't want to live at your house."

"Why the hell not?"

The pressurised anxiety and woe that has been gradually constricting around your organs finally explodes, rapidly surging through your veins and your limbs and up into your skull.

"Because you raped me!" You snap suddenly, your voice hoarse and choked with emotion. You haul yourself off the couch and storm to the other side of the living room. "Because you hurt me worse than you ever did before!"

The word rape hangs heavily in the air, shocking and weighted in the way it tears from your throat. Joel's mouth falls open and shut, like he's too shocked to form a response.

And truthfully he is. He's speechless at your outburst, at seeing you so impassioned that you have raised your voice at him for the first time in your relationship. He wonders where this argumentative side of you has come from so suddenly. This kind of back chat and disrespect would usually warrant a punishment, but the near hysteria of your demeanour has thrown Joel off completely.

And then it clicks. He really did hurt you. He hurt you so much so that you are expressing anger at him for the first time, aswell as rejecting him. His throat feels dry. Joel swallows thickly, his adams apple bobbing.

There had been times in the QZ when the women Joel fucked had been desperate enough to acquire something he smuggled in that they let Joel use their bodies however he wanted. He had readily accepted the trade conditions but had never taken any woman unwillingly before, had never forced himself upon a woman or abused her. He openly despised the men that did - the FEDRA officers, the perverted assholes that roamed the streets, the raiders on the outside that thought nothing of gang raping a girl and leaving her bloodied and broken for the infected and wild animals to devour.

But when it came to you, Joel seemed to lose his sense of morality and rationality. He was blinded by the intrinsic need to dominate and possess you from the moment he saw you. It was something feral and biological inside his brain, his heart, his loins. You were his, you belonged to him, and he had to assert ownership over you in any way possible in order to never lose you. That included having to punish you at times to remind you of your place beside him.

Joel knows he's been rough at times. But rape?

Rape. A disgusting and violent violation used to assert control and cause one of the worst kinds of pain possible.

And that's what he did to you. He hadn't stopped once to think exactly what he had done, but now you've said it outloud he has to acknowledge it. He raped you.

Joel heaves himself from the couch and steps towards you but you flinch, wrapping your arms tightly around your waist and shrinking into the corner.

"I...I know what I did wasn't right. I just got carried away." Joel confesses. "Got so angry I wasn't thinkin' straight."

"Angry for what?" You sob, glaring directly at him. "For having fun with my friends like every other person in town?"

"I don't want my woman behavin' like that," Joel declares while shaking his head firmly, his mouth downturned in a scowl. "Not when she belongs to me."

"So you call me a whore and rape me?" You cry with exasperation, the tears pouring down your face.

Joel sighs and runs his hands through his hair in frustration. "I told ya I didn't mean to go that far, but you know I got a temper."

"That doesn't give you the right!" You argue back, secretly thrilled by your surge of self confidence in confronting Joel. "Imagine if someone did that to Ellie, what would--"

"Don't." Joel grits fiercely, his nostrils flaring and his jaw clenching. "Don't you dare mention her."

"Why not?" You ball your trembling hands into fists and stare him down. You can see the anger simmering just beneath the surface of Joel's restrained exterior, the mannerisms that signify an imminent danger. Your heart is thrumming in your chest and your stomach feels sick with trepidation but you won't back down. Not now. "So it's okay if you do it to me but if it's El--"

In a flash Joel storms toward you, his boots thundering heavily on the floor boards. He grabs a tight hold of your wrist and yanks you to him. You squeak with fear and collide into his chest. His eyes bore down into yours with steely reproach.

"Better listen to what I say, little girl," Joel warns lowly. "Mind your fuckin' manners."

You stare back up at Joel, tears of outrage and hurt stinging your eyes. Neither of you move during the tense stand off and time seems to stand still. There's a loaded intensity emanating between you two that is intoxicating, like both your souls are being forcefully pulled together despite fighting tooth and nail to resist. Amidst the anger and pain is something primal, a kind of hunger that is magnetic and electrifying. You can see it burning in Joel's orbs as his gaze flits between your lips and your own eyes.

Before you do something you'll regret, like kiss him or slap him, you try to pull away, but Joel effortlessly keeps you pinned to him. You shake your head despairingly and a sob escapes from your lips.

"I l-loved you," you whisper brokenly. "S-so much. And you have d-done nothing but hurt me."

Joel's expression softens and his grip on your wrist looses a tiny bit. The hardness leaves his dark eyes and is replaced by a helpless kind of sorrow. He blinks and clears his throat.

"That ain't true," he whispers back. "I been tryin', you know that, don't you? Been tryin' to show you how I feel and make it up to you."

"You broke my heart, Joel," you confess in a barely audible whisper.

Joel appears almost pained when the words leave your mouth; his brows furrow and his eyes shut tightly for a second. Then he releases his grip around your wrist and instead cradles your hand in his rough palm. The gentle way his paw engulfs yours is beseeching, as though your very being is the elixir that sustains him, something vital to his life yet is also so fragile. It brings you no comfort and instead makes the situation feel even more gut wrenching. Why can't you always be like this? You want to scream at him. Why now, when it's so late?

"I'll fix it," he says definitively. "Lemme fix it."

"I don't know if it can be fixed," you whisper truthfully.

You move to pull away from Joel again but his other arm wraps around your waist and holds you firmly against him. His emotive puppy dog eyes search yours beneath the heavy frown of his brow.

"Please," he whispers.

You shut your eyes and your breath hitches in your throat. You are so empty that you cannot evoke any words to describe the maelstrom of emotion inside you. Your legs feel weak and you feel like sleeping. Without speaking a word, you feel Joel dip down and lift you up into his arms like a child, and then carries you to bed.

Joel lays you carefully on the mattress, placing your head delicately on the pillow. You pull your knees up to your chest and curl up into yourself, wanting nothing more than to drift off and dream of alternate realities that you had read of in your favourite books, of imaginary places and people that you longed to visit. Joel climbs over your legs and plonks down behind you with a grunt.

"Baby," he whispers in your ear. Joel slips his thick arm around your waist and presses his front flush against your back. You hate yourself for the way your body has become conditioned to crave the heat of his body, how you still relish the sensation of his skin on yours even after he's defiled you.

"I'm nothing more than a whore for you, aren't I?" You whisper back wetly.

"What?" Joel breathes. "What? N-no, God, no." He props himself up with an elbow and uses his other arm to flip you onto your back. You stare up at the ceiling ans blink away the tears threatening to pool in your eyes.

"You said that," you warble.

"I know," he says with a sigh. "I didn't mean it." Joel splays his large hand over your belly and leans down to press his forehead to yours. "I'm sorry," he whispers. The two simple words stun you - it is the first time he's ever apologised.

Joel nuzzles his nose against your cheek tenderly, his eyes falling shut.

"I ain't lettin' you go," he whispers against your lips. "I'll prove myself to you. You'll see. You're mine, babydoll. I love you. You only belong to me. No one but me."

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