#someone else probably already did this but if not here you go!
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BOUND IN FLAMES - Part 11
Eris Vanserra × Archeron-Sister- Reader
Description: Feyre and her younger sister go hunting in the forest behind their family's cottage and go through life changing experiences.
Warnings: Pretty gruesome descriptions of violence and injury and lots of unaliving (i think thats all of it)
Authors Note: i swear i was going to post this part right after part 10 but i couldn't figure out the fight scene for the life of me and then once i did i kept rewriting but i hope you guys like this part
Word Court: 7.5k
****
“How long has Wesley been in Summer?” You ask Raihn as you shift, settling into his side since he was curled up behind you.
Not long. I’ve been tracking him for the past month—
You whirled, your eyes narrowed into slits, “Month!? He’s been here a whole month?”
Yes.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Because I wanted to track his movements, his habits before we did anything—before you did anything. Before you did anything reckless.
Crossing your arms, huffing, “Fine. But, tomorrow night I’m going to Summer. With or without you.”
All right, tomorrow night. Raihn agreed, knowing you would leave him behind if you had to.
Settling further into him, titling your face up at the stars—at the night sky. “Raihn, let’s stay here for the night?”
As you wish, Sunshine. He moved, coiling himself closer around you, keeping you warm—safe. Why don’t you want to go back to the manor?
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
His body tensed, Who do I have to kill?
“No one.” You sighed, “me probably.”
What happened? His voice was calm, demanding, the way it always was before he killed someone. Which he had to do a few times when you were growing up, you’ve been hunted by Amarantha since you were in your mother’s womb.
You turned to look at him, “It was my fault. I started it, I—“
I don’t care about what you did. What did the other one do? His blue eyes glinted with the promise of violence.
“Raihn, please… let it go. I’ve had a long day and I just want to rest.”
He didn’t say anything for a long time, he just kept watching you. Fine, he relented. Sleep, you’re safe with me.
“Always am.”
You drifted off not long after, his steady breaths lulling you to sleep.
****
The next morning, you made your trek back to the manor. Content to just listen to the birds and trees singing. It was almost as if in greeting as you walked through the Spring Court. Raihn said that they were happy you were walking among them as the heir of Spring.
You were close enough to the garden that you heard Feyre’s tins and brushes clatter to the gravel. Close enough for you to scent her fear.
Without a second thought you ran to her side, Raihn trailing close behind, as she stared at the fountain.
No, not the fountain, but the head spiked to it.
A bleeding High Fae male head—spiked atop the fountain statue of a great heron flapping its wings. The stone was soaked in enough blood to suggest that the head had been fresh when someone had impaled it on the heron’s upraised bill.
Instantly, your eyes scanned the area around you, taking in every detail, looking for any signs of movement. Nothing. Even when you tried scenting who had put the head on the fountain, nothing.
“Feyre,” You said softly so as not to startle her, her hand immediately clamped around your arm so tight you thought she’d break her fingers.
You didn’t need to ask Raihn to check the perimeter—he was already gone as Feyre and you continued to stare at that still-screaming head, the brown eyes bulging, the teeth broken and bloody. No mask—so he wasn’t part of the Spring Court. Anything else about him, you couldn’t discern.
His blood was so bright on the gray stone—his mouth open so vulgarly. You took a step forward and Feyre tried pulling you back, but slammed into something—someone.
She whirled, hands rising out of instinct, but Tamlin’s voice said, “It’s me,” and she stopped cold. Lucien stood beside him, pale and grim.
“Not Autumn Court,” Lucien said. “I don’t recognize him at all.”
Tamlin’s hands clamped on her shoulders as you turned back toward the head. “Neither do I.” A soft, vicious growl laced his words, but no claws pricked her skin as he kept gripping her. His hands tightened, though, while Lucien stepped into the small pool in which the statue stood—striding through the red water until he peered up at the anguished face.
“They branded him behind the ear with a sigil,” Lucien said, swearing. “A mountain with three stars—”
“Night Court,” Tamlin said too quietly.
You tensed. Fuck.
“Why. . . why would they do this?” Feyre asked.
Tamlin let go of her shoulder, coming to stand between you as Lucien climbed the statue to remove the head.
“The Night Court does what it wants,” Tamlin said.“They live by their own codes, their own corrupt morals.”
Your hands curled into fists as you fought to keep your temper in check.
“They’re all sadistic killers,” Lucien added. “They delight in torture of every kind—and would find this sort of stunt to be amusing.”
You dared a step forward, body moving on its own, but Raihn stopped you. Don’t.
You blew out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Willing yourself to relax.
“Amusing, but not a message?” Feyre asked as she scanned the garden.
“Oh, it’s a message,” Lucien said, and she cringed at the thick, wet sounds of flesh and bone on stone as he yanked the head off. You’d both skinned enough animals, but this. . . Tamlin put another hand on her shoulder. “To get in and out of our defenses, to possibly commit the crime nearby, with the blood this fresh. . . ” A splash as Lucien landed in the water again. “It’s exactly what the High Lord of the Night Court would find amusing. The bastard.”
Rhysand. Your uncle.
You gauged the distance between the pool and the house. Sixty, maybe seventy feet. That’s how close they’d come to them. To Feyre. Tamlin brushed a thumb against her shoulder. “You’re still safe here. This was just their idea of a prank.”
You fought the urge to roll your eyes.
“This isn’t connected to the blight?” Feyre asked.
“Only in that they know the blight is again awakening—and want us to know they’re circling the Spring Court like vultures, should our wards fall further.” Feyre looked as sick as you all felt, because Tamlin added, “I won’t let that happen.”
You scoffed.
He pinned you with a glare, “Do you not believe me, Y/n?”
Turning your body to face him straight on, you pointed at his mask, “The mask on your face makes it fairly clear that you can’t do a fucking thing against the blight.” He stared at you—fighting to keep his temper in check to not upset Feyre more than she already was—you stared right back. Unflinching. Even as his claws slid free.
Lucien splashed out of the fountain, “They’ll get what’s coming to them soon enough. Hopefully the blight will wreck them, too.” Tamlin growled at Lucien to take care of the head, and the gravel crunched as Lucien departed.
Tamlin’s eyes didn’t leave yours until Feyre crouched to pick up her paints and brushes. He knelt next to her, his hands closed around hers, squeezing. “You’re still safe,” he promised to her again. And you rolled your eyes.
Feyre didn’t say anything, her eyes flicked to you and then back down to her brushes—to her hands that were still shaking.
“It’s court posturing,” Tamlin explained. “The Night Court is deadly, but this was only their lord’s idea of a joke. Attacking anyone here—attacking you—would cause more trouble than it’s worth for him. If the blight truly does harm these lands, and the Night Court enters our borders, we’ll be ready.”
“No you won’t.” You muttered as you turned to leave, following the way Lucien went. He stopped as he heard you approaching. The gravel crunching beneath your feet, giving you away.
“What?”
Nodding at the head in his hands, “Let me see it again.”
“Why?”
“Lucien.” He lifted it so you could get a good look at it, he didn’t look familiar, your nostrils flared slightly once. Twice. “He’s from the Winter Court.” You said matter-of-factly.
Lucien’s brows furrowed as he looked at the head closer—examining it. “How do you know?”
You stared at him, incredulous, “You can’t scent the faint hint of crisp snow on him? It’s barely there but it’s there.”
He sniffed once, twice, then he sighed, shaking his head, “No.” Then he turned his focus on you, his head cocked to the side, sizing you up. “Who-what are you?”
“Nobody important.” Certainly not the “Sun of the Night Court.” Certainly not the heir that was promised to save Prythian—to kill Amarantha. Certainly not Tamlin’s daughter. . . his heir.
Lucien prowled closer until you were nearly chest to chest. “You are so full of shit,” he spat. “Are you a bloodhound or something?”
“Or something,” You shrugged—feigning nonchalance.
“You’re a bad friend.”
“I know.” Your voice came out quieter than you meant as you withstood his withering gaze. He stared at you for a few moments longer before turning on his heel going to get rid of the head as Tamlin asked. You just stood there, watching his figure disappear into the Western Woods.
Whoever was here is gone now and they covered their tracks. There’s not even a scent. Raihn said from wherever he was on the grounds. I can go out further if you want me to.
No, I need you to do something else. Go to the Summer Court and watch Wesley. Don’t do anything, just watch him and the others, and I’ll meet you at the border of Spring and Summer after the sun goes down and we’ll go back together.
All right, don’t do anything stupid till I get back.
You mentally rolled your eyes at him.
****
Making your way to the kitchen that was bustling with fae getting lunch ready. They all murmured greetings when they saw you. A fae male with a bird mask asked if you wanted something to eat before lunch was served or if you wanted something in particular for dessert.
“No, thank you sir. But I’m actually looking for Alis.”
He flushed, bowing his head, “I am no sir, Lady Y/n. I am merely a humble servant—”
Shaking your head, “Doesn’t matter. At least, not to me. You treated me with respect so I did the same, sir.”
“Ben.” He said, a shy smile gracing his lips, “My name is Ben.”
You stuck your hand out, “Y/n—just Y/n. I hate being called Lady.”
Ben laughed but hesitated when he saw your hand, “La— I mean Y/n,” he corrected himself, “my hands are dirty.” And they were in fact covered in blood from a buck he was preparing for lunch.
“A little blood doesn’t bother me,” your hand was still outstretched towards him. Ben’s eyes flickered between your hand and his as if in a silent battle with himself. Then he shook your hand, laughing and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face, “What?” You asked him.
He shook his head, “You’re nothing like I thought you’d be, Princess.” You stiffened at the title—Princess. You don’t know what he must’ve read on your face because he quickly reassured you, “Don’t worry only Alis and I know. We knew your mother. . . she was always kind to us, as are you.” He whispered.
You only nodded.
“Alis is in her room. In the servants quarters in the East Wing of the manor.”
“Thank you, Ben.”
****
As you made your way to Alis’s room, more servants greeted you. Some with a nod, others with a smile. Once you got to the East Wing, you realized you didn’t know which room was hers. You stood in the middle of the hall, trying to listen for her voice, trying to scent her, shaking your head in frustration when you couldn’t.
Then a sentry came out of a room, he had tan skin, tawny eyes and deep rich brown hair. He looked back into the room like he was speaking to someone and a couple seconds later a female’s laugh echoed into the hallway. His face broke out in a grin but when he saw me his brows knitted together and he whispered something too low for you to hear to the female inside the room.
He shut the door and strode towards you. “Are you lost Lady Y/n? Your rooms are located in the—“ He stood less than a foot away from you now.
You were still looking around or trying to at least since the sentry towered over you and his brawny build seemed somehow bulkier in his armor. “West Wing—I know. Where’s Alis’s room?”
He turned and pointed, “Down the hall, take a left, first door on the right.”
You nodded. “Thank you. . .”
“Emmett.” He smiled.
“Thank you, Emmett.”
He bowed his head, “At your service, my lady.” Then he left. You followed his directions, finally finding Alis’s room and knocking.
A few seconds later you heard movement behind her door before she swung it open. She blinked in surprise, “Y/n.”
“I need you to do something for me.” She stepped aside letting you in. “I need you to cover for me.”
Her brows pinched together, her lips pressing into a tight line. “For how long?”
“Just until tonight.”
“Tonight? What are—where are you going?”
“Out.”
She sighed, tilting her head back looking up at the ceiling as she shook her head, “Please don’t tell me you’re going to do something stupid.”
“Of course not,” You grinned.
“Reckless? Dangerous?”
“Well that’s still up for debate.”
“Y/n—“
“Alis, I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t have another choice.”
She was looking at you now. “At least tell me you’re not going alone.”
You shook your head, “Raihn’s coming with me.”
She didn’t say anything for a few minutes before sighing again and rubbing her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. “All right, fine.”
“Thank you, Alis.”
“You never have to thank me, Princ—Y/n. I’ll always help you. . . Now do you need anything else?”
“From you? No. From the armory? Yes.”
She looked up at the ceiling again, “Cauldron, save me.”
You laughed as you made your way to the door, looking back at her, “Thank you, Alis.” You drawled. “I appreciate you.” She muttered something you chose to ignore.
****
It didn’t take you long to find the armory. It was located near the training grounds, not far from the manor.
You just needed to find some fighting leathers, daggers, boots and anything else you might need. Yet, none of it would feel as familiar as the Illyrian fighting leathers or blades you’d been trained with when you were a child. But you’ve done more with less. At least you still had the two ash daggers that your fathers gifted you on the last solstice you all shared.
There were no other sentries near or in the armory that you could detect except for two High Fae males that were currently sparring on the training grounds. They were too focused on each other to see you slip in through the door. It was bigger on the inside than it looked on the outside, probably due to a glamour one of the past High Lords placed.
You couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face as you took in the entire armory. The wall directly opposite to the door had a small bench pushed up against it with shelves a couple feet above it. Fully stocked with different sized boots, fighting and training leathers.
One of the other walls was full of different weapons: swords, daggers, knives, battle axes, bows, arrows and shields. The last wall had floor to ceiling shelves that held different types of armor: breastplates, helmets, gauntlets, belts and other accessories.
You made quick work of filling an empty crate that was left near the bench with fighting leathers and boots closest to your size. Two leather gauntlets, a bandolier that could hold several daggers and a sword in the back, and a belt that could hold a battle axe.
Both hands were braced on your hips as you looked at the wall with weapons, trying to pick which ones would be the best. You definitely weren’t going to pick a bow and arrow—it’s not your favorite for close combat. So that left only swords, daggers and battle axes.
A simple battle axe caught your eye. The hilt was wrapped with black leather, there wasn’t anything special about the blade itself but it seemed to gleam brighter than any of the others. You picked it up, feeling the balance of it and its weight as you swung it.
The Illyrian part of you so at peace that you hadn’t even realized you closed your eyes. Until you whipped around, throwing it, so close past two sentries heads that were walking in. The same two sentries that you saw sparring.
They both chuckled and then one in the front spoke.“You missed,” he teased.
You gave them a wicked smirk that always put others on edge and they visibly tensed. “Did I?” Your eyes flicked to the sides of their faces, closest to the door frame, where the axe was embedded.
Both sentries reached a hand up to their faces in unison. To the matching slashes on the left sides of their faces—on their cheeks—that was bleeding. Their eyes widening before they let out amused chuckles. “Not bad, Lady Y/n.” The other one said.
Still smirking, you dipped your chin and made your way towards the door, pulling the axe free before dropping it into the crate. And went right back to picking a few daggers. Some straight bladed ones and some curved all the while feeling the sentries eyes on you. Glancing over your shoulder at them, “Do you two need something?”
“N-no.” They said at the same time.
“All right then.” You went on trying to find the right sword. They were all simple but finely crafted and well taken care of. Reaching for one when one of the sentries cleared his throat, making you stop. Turning around to face them fully. “Yes?”
The taller one of the two cleared his throat again, “We think we know the perfect sword for you.”
You tilted your head taking them both in and you realize they both had the same warm brown eyes and gold hair. Cousins? Maybe even brothers. They seemed familiar and not just because you’ve seen them around the manor, but from before. “Why would you two want to give me a sword?”
“It is yours by right.” The other one said.
You didn’t respond, brows pinching together as you nodded slowly, letting his words sink in.
Wordlessly the taller one of the two reached down and picked up the crated you had filled and walked toward the door. Only looking back to make sure that the other sentry and you were following him. You followed him back toward the barracks—where all the sentries stayed while on the grounds. Far apart enough that you didn’t look like you were all walking together.
Once inside the barracks, a few other sentries greeted them, calling them “Bron” and “Hart”. Some simply nodded while others ignored them completely and perked up when they saw you. Walking all the way to the end of the hall and Bron—the taller one—opened the door on the right and you all entered a room. His room.
He set the crate in his hands down on the bed that was pushed into the corner and got down on his knees, pulling out a trunk from beneath it. Hart went to his side and they both pulled several cloaks from it before finally pulling out a sword—your mother’s sword.
You let out a shuddered breath as Bron held it with both hands. “Why do you have that?” Your voice comes out as a whisper.
“We were both there that day. . . we tried to help but we were too late. We looked for you for days to no avail. This”—he looked down at your mother’s sword—“was the only thing we found.” He explained.
Hart’s voice was tight as he added, “Princess Rhaenyra was kind to us—a friend to us. . . Your fathers too.”
As if in a daze you took a step forward and grabbed her sword. You couldn’t stop the tears that fell down my cheeks as you held it. It was a beautiful sword. Slender and elegant made from Illyrian steel, with a black hilt, a gold cross-guard that was shaped as dragon wings with an amethyst the size of a chicken egg in the pommel. The entire sword had Illyrian runes carved into it for luck and glory.
You looked at them both with a sad smile, “Thank you. Y-you have no idea how much this means to me.”
They both nodded their heads and then placed their right hands over their hearts and kneeled. Then at the same time they spoke. “I swear myself to you. To ward you, Princess Y/n. I shall guard your secrets. Obey your commands. Fight at your side and defend your name and honor. With all my strength and give my blood for yours.”
Confused, you shook your head, “Neither of you have to swear oaths to me. Giving me this sword—my mother’s sword is more than enough.”
“Princess Y/n, it would be the greatest honor of our lives to serve you. The heir that was promised—the “Sun of the Night court.” Hart Replied.
“Please, Princess, allow us this honor.” Bron insisted.
“All right. But, never forget it is also my honor to have you serve me.” They nodded. “Now rise.” They did. And you gently laid your mother’s—your sword in the crate and went to pick it up but Bron’s voice stopped you.”
“Princess—“
“Please don’t call me Princess. The less people that know who I really am the better.” They both nodded again.
“Y/n?”
“Yes, Bron?”
“Why do you need all of this?” He asked, gesturing to the crate.
“Because there’s something I need to do in the Summer Court.”
“Would you like us to accompany you?” asked Hart.”
“No. No, it’s better if you both stay here. This is something I need to do alone.”
They bowed their heads, “Of course.”
****
By the time you made it back to your bedroom in the Manor it was mid afternoon and you didn’t even realize you had fallen asleep.
Alis woke you up with a tray of cured meats, cheese and bread for you to eat. With a goblet of fresh water.
“What time is it?” You croaked, your voice still thick with sleep.
“Late afternoon. The sun is going to set soon.” She said after glancing at the windows.
You nodded. Raihn? Even your mental voice sounded thick with sleep.
Yes, sunshine? He answered instantly.
I’ll meet you at the border of the Spring and Summer court after the sun sets.
Be careful. He said.
You too.
You ate in silence while watching Alis lay out the fighting leathers and weapons on your bed. She shook her head, “I don’t like this one bit.”
“What?”
“The idea of you going out. What if you get hurt?”
“I’ll be fine, Alis.” You reassured her. “I always am.”
She grumbled her agreement under her breath making you laugh as she took the empty tray from you. She left, taking the tray back to the kitchen and with a sigh you got up to get dressed.
Sliding on the supple yet tough fighting leathers, designed to provide flexibility and protection during combat. The boots following after. Next was the gauntlets, bandolier and then the belt.
Alis came back in after you had already sheathed your sword on your back and the battle axe on your hip. Now you were sheathing your daggers into the bandolier—three curved ones and three straight ones.
You were going to secure your two ash daggers into your boots when Alis stepped towards you, halting you mid movement. She held two leather thigh sheaths that could connect to a belt, “I had planned to gift this to you on your birthday but it’s in a few days anyway.”
You took it from her hands, taking it in.
There wasn’t anything special about it—except that it was a gift from her—but you could tell it was high quality.
She fidgeted, “I had it made for you—“ You cut off her rambling with a hug. She let out a surprised laugh before wrapping her arms around you too.
“Thank you, Alis.” You pulled away, moving to strap them on and secure them to your belt before sheathing an ash dagger to each thigh.
She tipped her chin and led you to the vanity where she braided your hair back away from your face. When she finished she met your gaze in the mirror and gave you an unsure. “It’s time.”
And surely enough through the reflection of the mirror you could just barely see the curtain drawn window and see that the sun had set. You turned around in the seat, facing her, “What did you tell Feyre?”
“That you weren’t feeling well and that you were going to sleep through the rest of the evening.”
“Good.” You made your way to the balcony doors and opened them, Alis followed behind you but stopped in the doorway. Your hands rested on the railing and without you looking back you said, “Don’t wait up for me.” Then without another word you leapt from the balcony, slipped past the sentries and made your way through the Western Woods.
I’m heading to the border now. You told Raihn mentally.
I’m already here. Be safe, sunshine. He answered.
You jogged into the woods before stopping in a clearing. Waiting, listening in case anyone was around or following you. Once you were satisfied you inhaled a deep breath and when you exhaled you shot through the trees.
Even though the blood spell dulled your senses and blocked your magic, you were still more fae than mortal. In your fae form your senses were sharper—keener than a normal fae’s. More so than a High Lord’s according to your mother.
Your clothed figure was a black streak through the dark and your blades gleaming like stars when they caught in the moonlight. The ground easy beneath my boots. Your immortal body gracefully leaping over rocks, fallen trees and branches, and dodging trees without even thinking. Without a doubt you let your senses guide you.
The smell of oak and moss and living things, the open coolness of the mist passing like a path that you followed. Until you finally made it to the border where the courts of Spring and Summer met not even fifteen minutes later.
Raihn stalked out of the shadows, moving towards you. “Tell me what you know.” A command not a question.
He held your gaze, blue eyes glowing bright in the dark. They set up camp between Adriata and the border. Six soldiers are on watch a mile out from the camp and six other soldiers are sitting out around the fire in front of the tent.
You nodded. “And Wesley?”
In the tent.
“All right.” You only took one step forward before Raihn stopped you, blocking your path with his massive body. “You’re not gonna stop me.” And you went to side step him but he only got in your way again. “What?” You growled.
There’s something else you need to know.
“What?”
I heard Wesley saying he got word that the “Son of the Night Court” was in spring and he was going to send scouts within the hour.
Your face paled. “Fuck. They might not find me but if he finds Feyre they’ll take her.” Amarantha’s going to take her. Kill her. You shook your head, your blood now roaring in your ears. “Raihn, get back to Spring. If anything happens to her—“
It’ll have to happen to me.
Without another word he nuzzled his head into your shoulder and took off back towards Spring. A white blur through the night, through the trees. You took a deep breath willing your head to clear, you needed to focus, Raihn would protect her. It took a couple more deep breaths before your nerves settled and your blood was roaring for different reasons.
Even though you were only quarter Illyrian it was a dominant part of you. Powerful and intense like a storm gathering within you. Before a fight everyone always feels a mix of anticipation and adrenaline wash over them—some embrace it and others fight it, either willingly or unwillingly. You always welcomed it. Instead of it clouding your senses it heightened them allowing you to focus in fights. Allowing you to fight with lethal skill and precision, excelling in every fight.
You let the promise of revenge, bloodshed and death wash over you. Relax you. Letting your parents training take over as you unsheathed two daggers from your bandolier, the feeling of them as familiar as the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat. On silent feet you made your way to the camp's perimeter—to the first soldier on watch and faster than anything had the right to be you stuck the dagger into his throat and twisted.
He died before his body even hit the ground.
You did the same to the five other soldiers—four females and one male— that were on watch. Their blood dripped from your fingertips as you stalked closer to the camp. Standing on the edge of the tree line, you saw five more soldiers sitting around a fire—two females and three males—talking. They still hadn’t noticed you and you scented the air. Nostrils flaring slightly once, twice and you knew Wesley was inside the tent.
Reaching behind your back you unsheathed your sword and moved. Prowling towards them, holding your drawn sword behind your back, the point upwards.
Sunshine. Raihn reached out to you, mind to mind. The manor is secure. Feyre was safe. You hummed your agreement mentally and closed off the bond on your side.
You purposefully let leaves crunch beneath your feet as you neared them and they stopped talking. “Where’s Wesley?” You asked, your voice deathly soft.
One of the Hybern soldiers—a high fae female—tensed. “What do you want with Wes?” She asked as she looked around, no doubt wondering how you got through the soldiers that were supposed to be on watch.
“Where is he?” You growled.
“What. Do. You. Want. With. Him.” She growled right back.
“I heard he’s looking for the Sun of the Night court?”
Another Hybern soldier—a high fae male—flanked her, “You know where he is.”
“She is right here. Looking for him.”
Another soldier—male. “You’re not the son of the Night Court. You’re a mortal girl.” He spat, drawing his sword.
You shrugged, lowering your eyes, jaw clenching. “Semantics.”
They subtly shifted, giving another male soldier with deep brown skin that was holding a crossbow a clear shot at you. In one quick movement he raises it and lets the bolt fly.
You knock aside the bolt with your sword.
Then another soldier—the other female—rushes towards you and you parry her sword, stabbing her straight through the neck.
You parry a second soldier's attack and slice his stomach.
Whirling you stab a third soldier that tried rushing you from behind in the leg. He falls and the second soldier comes at you again, blocking his attack, with the blade of your sword pointed down. Your swords clash and then you twist your wrist and slice his throat. So deep his head is barely attached to his body.
A fourth soldier charges at you and you block his blow and with your left hand you clamp down on his right forearm and bring your sword down on it. Severing his arm from his body. Grabbing his sword from his right hand before it even hits the ground and stabbing it into the chest of the soldier with the crossbow before he can reload it.
Another soldier comes at you with his sword in one hand and a shield in the other. He spreads his arms as he raises his left, bringing down his sword in a wide arc and you duck. Then before he can bash you with his shield you spin and switch your grip on your sword so it’s horizontal and stab through the side of his neck.
You prowl forward, right as the third soldier you had stabbed in the leg charges at you. With his arms raised and you drop to a knee and angle your sword upwards stabbing him through his ribs and into his heart and take his swords.
The female soldier that you spoke to first snarls at you as your swords clash and you spin before striking another blow. She blocks it but with the other sword you stab her through her chest. Impaling her and pinning her to the ground. You take a step back and twist, decapitating her with one swing.
You hear, heavy, sure foot falls as Wesley prowls towards you. Too caught up in slaughtering his soldiers to notice him till now.
He points his sword at you as he charges. You dodge two thrusts and then parry several slashes. You exchange several more blows. Then land a punch to his jaw and drive him back, pinning him to a tree with your sword pressed against his neck. His nostrils flaring—he’s scenting you.
His eyes widened and then narrowed into slits.
“You remember me. Don’t you?” You growl.
He only growls back and stabs you in the stomach with a dagger you didn’t realize he had. He knocks aside your sword. Then he spins and swipes dodging your blows, then he slashes at your back and you bring your own sword behind your back just in time to block it.
You knock his sword away and bring your own down on his shoulder. He spins on his knee and slices your thigh with his dagger. You glare at each other. Then side step him as he charges, dodging a horizontal swipe, he puts the dagger in his sword hand.
The blades facing in opposite directions. You grab the blade of his dagger as it moves towards your hip and then in one quick motion he pulls it out of your grip. slicing your palm in the process.
You surge forward raining down blows. Wesley blocks a blow with both blades. You rip the sword from his grasp and aim your own sword at his throat. He stands rigid, staring at you with nothing but hate. You toss his sword behind you and lower your sword.
He lunges forward with the dagger and you knock it from his grasp with the pommel of your sword. And with your free hand you grab both his hands and in one fell swoop you bring down your sword in a brutal cut—severing both hands at the wrist. His blood, spraying your boots.
His blood curdling screams fill your ears and the forest around as he falls to his knees. Doubling over in pain. You laugh as his body obviously begins going into shock if the telltale sign of his hyperventilating is anything to go by. You circle around him—a predator about to make the killing blow to their prey.
He whimpers as you force his head up with the blade of your sword under his chin. “Look. At. Me.” You said deathly soft.
Wesley forces his eyes to meet yours. “W-we killed you. All of you.” His voice quivering from pain.
You shook your head, a feral grin on your lips as you loomed over him making him flinch. “You slaughtered a mother and two fathers. . . but you didn't slaughter every one of the Blackfyre’s.” His face pale from blood loss seemed to pale further. “No. That was your mistake.” You taunted. “You should have ripped them all out, root and stem. Leave one dragon alive and the sheep are never safe.“
His body began to shake even more as he took in the murderous look in your eyes. The rage.
“Do you remember what you said to me all those years ago?”
He whimpered, shaking his head.
You gripped his hair, tilting his head back, “I want words,” you snarled.
“N-no.” He stuttered between sobs.
“It was after you took a whip to my back. I could barely stand but I still tried slitting your throat and you dislocated my shoulder disarming me.” You let out a cold bitter humorless laugh. “You said,” leaning down to whisper into his ear, “you lack conviction” and then you tied me back onto the post and whipped me some more.”
“I am so sorry. I was just a soldier following orders.”
“And now you’ll die because you were a soldier just following orders.”
You lifted your sword up in a high arc and Wesley squeezed his eyes shut, murmuring some type of prayer under his breath. Your sword's blade glinted in the moonlight before descending in a swift clean death blow. There was a devastating elegance to the motion but right as it was about land true—
“Y/n!” Lucien called.
You pulled back the blow, barely a hair's breadth away from Wesley’s neck.
He appeared from behind the tent, stopping a couple feet away from Wesley and you. He sounded terrified. It took you a moment to realize he was terrified of you.
“Stop. . .” He pleaded, his voice hoarse.
You didn’t want to stop. Not until Wesley was dead. Not until all of Amarantha’s lieutenants were dead. Not until Amarantha was dead.
“Please, Y/n.”
You looked up and saw his remaining eye was wide, his metal one whirring softly as he looked around. At all the soldiers you slaughter and at Wesley with your sword at his neck. You blinked once and you were in his head, seeing yourself through his eyes.
Your eyes were clear but filled with feral satisfaction. There was still a hint of a wicked feral grin on your lips. And you were covered in blood from head to toe; some of it yours and most of it theirs. You blinked again now seeing through your own eyes.
“We can take him back to spring. Let Tamlin deal with him.” Lucien tried reasoning.
“No. Not good enough.” You raised your sword again.
The emissary took a step forward. “This isn’t going to change what happened.”
“I don’t care. He slaughtered my family.” You half growled—half whispered.
“Can you forgive your enemies?” He tried reasoning again.
“The gods will forgive. My task is to arrange their meeting.”
And this time when your sword arced through the air, the blade struck true. And Wesley’s head fell to the ground near his severed hands before his body did too.
You tilted your face up at the night sky—the stars, a small smile on your lips when you felt a soft warm breeze caress your face. Your eyes closed and it was as if your mother was doing it. You could’ve sworn you heard your parent’s voices in the wind.
Just two more, Sunshine. Your mother said. Only Cahir and Amarantha are left, Sunshine. Your father Declan seemed to say. My brave sweet girl you’re almost done. Your father Callum reassured you.
Just two more.
“Two more what?” Lucien asked cautiously.
You realize you must’ve said it out loud. “Go back to the manor, Lucien.”
Distantly you heard leaves crunching beneath light footfalls in the trees behind you. You didn’t spare him another glance before silently making your way towards the noise. Scenting the air, you smelled a female. Her scent, a crisp and refreshing winter breeze, with hints of frost and pine needles.
It was familiar but you couldn’t place it, so you pulled your battle axe free. The weight of it was a comfort in your hand as you silently continued further into the woods.
But it was almost too quiet so you waited for a minute to just listen. You could hear leaves rustling, a distant river, animals and then a heart beating rapidly. Not an animal's heart but fae. And it was all you could to grab the female by her throat with your free hand and slam her into the ground.
Her hands clawed at the one you wrapped around her neck as she thrashed beneath you. But she stilled when she felt the cool metal of your axe press into her skin. It was dark but the moonlight let you glimpse pale skin, white hair and blue eyes.
Your brows knitting together. “Viviane?”
“Princess?”
“Why were you watching me?”
“I wasn’t.”
Your hand tightened around her throat and you dug my axe deeper drawing a drop of blood. “Bullshit.”
“I didn’t know it was you.”
You slammed her head into the ground.
“I swear I didn’t know,” she grounded out through clenched teeth.
“Liar.”
“Fine. . . I needed to ask you something.”
You stared at her for a couple more seconds before slowly letting go of her throat and getting off of her. “You wanted to ask me something,” you repeat.
“Yes.”
You cross your arms. “Well?”
“A high fae male from Winter was found in Spring territory earlier today.” The one spiked to the fountain.
“What about it?”
“Did he have a note on his person?”
“No.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t hidden anywhere on his body?”
You suppress a shudder. “Yes.”
“Y/n did you check? He could have hid—“
“There was no way, no place for him to hide a note. They spiked his head to the fountain.” She visibly flinched. “I don’t know where his body is.” I whispered and she put a hand up to her mouth, stifling a sob. “I’m sorry, Viviane.”
She shook her head. “No. No. No.” Then she reached for me, her hands gripping my shoulders, “This is your fault.”
Your eyes shuttered. “I know.”
“No you don’t know!”
You wrenched her hands from your shoulders, spinning and pinning her against a tree with your forearm. “Trust me. . . I know. I lost people too.” You say with lethal softness and she blinked, seeming to remember that was true.
“I-I’m sorry Princess. . . about your mother and fathers.”
You waved your hand dismissively, “I don’t need to hear this right now,” you only made it a step back towards the Spring Court before she stopped you. “What?” you spat.
“Here.” she placed a silver dagger into your hand. It was elegantly made with a bright sapphire in the pommel. “For besting me,” she explained.
You stared at it and before you could say something she winnowed.
****
The trek back to the manor was miserable. You were sore, tired, thirsty and hungry. Not to mention covered in blood, it was dry and sticky, and you were still bleeding from Wesley stabbing you in the stomach. Your body was probably littered in bruises and minor cuts.
Thankfully, none of the sentries said anything as you strode by with your chin held high, slightly limping.
Bron was by the doors when he saw you and he took a single step before you halted him with a raised hand. Giving him a tight nod as you passed him. And you hoped Feyre was asleep by now.
You barely made it up the steps when you heard her.
Feyre.
“Y/n!” She tried running to you but Lucien stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“I’m fine.” You reassure her.
She scanned you from head to toe, her blue-grey eyes wide and lips slightly parted. “Are you sure? You don’t like fine”.
You nodded. “I’m fine. I swear.”
“Please tell me that isn’t your blood.”
“Not all of it. . . Most of it isn’t anyways.”
You felt him before you heard him—saw him. Raihn. His claws clicked against the marble floors as he made his way to you. Nuzzling his head against you, causing you to let out a hiss in pain from the wound in your stomach. You opened the bond on your side and felt his relief to see you were alive.
I’m all right. You reassured him.
He only let out a soft whine.
You heard a loud, startled gasp from behind you atop the stairs. “Y/n?”
Alis.
Heaving a breath. “I’m fine, Alis.”
Her hands hovered over your body, her lips pursing, “You are certainly not fine.”
I grinned at her. “I need another favor.”
She placed her hands on her hips. Her eyes narrowed into slits, “What?”
“Can you get me something to eat and some water and bring it up to my room please.”
She huffed. “Fine.”
“Thank you, Alis.”
“But first let me help you up to your room.”
No. I’ll take you. Raihn said.
You waved her off. “Raihn will take me.”
“Fine but let me draw you a bath first.”
“All right.”
Raihn lowered himself all the way down to marble floors and you stepped over him so a leg was on each side and then he stood. Earning another hiss of pain out of you.
“Y/n?” Feyre called again.
Turning to look at her. “What?”
“What happened?”
You looked at her before your eyes flicked to Lucien then back to her. “I can’t tell you. Not yet.”
“Y/n.”
“Soon, Fey.” You promised.
For other parts: Bound In Flames Series Masterlist
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10
Taglist: @historygeekqueen @cat-or-kitten @yeeyeebabe @khaleesihavilliard @impossibelle @sleepylunarwolf @cutie232 @meepmeep-318 @belledawnidk @fandomrejects @wasntpriscilla @brandywineeeee @thescooby-gang @annblvd @isa1b2h3 @tele86 @glaciuswduo @laceandsuch @hnyclover @spookyboogyuniverse @kennedy-brooke @minaethrym @dustyinkpages @azzydaddy @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @phoenix666stuff @starryhiraeth @fabulouslyflamboyant5 @esposadomd @st4r-girl-official @poetryinshadows @consultinghuntresshasthetardis @lili-flower03
*If you would like to be added to the taglist for this story or to my general taglist, please either reply to this post or send me a message.
#a court of thorns and roses#acotar#acotar fanfiction#acotar smut#eris vanserra#eris vanserra acotar#eris vanserra fanfic#eris vanserra smut#eris vanserra x reader#eris acotar#eris fanfic#eris smut#eris x reader#eris x you#bound in flames
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I’d love to see a best friends to lovers/idiots in love with Noah. If you haven’t done it already
Everyone knew that you and Noah had feelings for each other; besides the two of you.
You thought Noah wouldn't cross the 'best friend little sister' line.
Noah thought you would never see him more than 'Nicholas' best friend.'
The two of you have known each other since he was twelve and you were ten.
As you grew older, the scrawny teenager became a strong musician. But on the inside, he was still the Noah you knew.
Your heart had always been his, whether he knew it or not.
He didn't but his own heart was forever yours.
"He doesn't like me. Not the way I like him." you told Jolly.
He rolled his eyes. "Y/N, you can't be that blind. He hasn't stopped staring at you all night. You two have been in love since you were kids."
You were at Noah's place for a get-together and while you sat on the couch with Jolly, Noah was hanging in the adjacent kitchen talking with Michael and Jesse.
"He's probably staring at some girl behind me. I'll never be more than Nicholas' little sister."
There was no one standing behind you.
"Y/N doesn't like me. I'm the last person she loves like that," Noah muttered to Jesse.
He pinched his eyes shut. "Dude, you can't be that blind. Whenever you walk into the room. Her eyes always find you. You've loved her since you were a teenager. You're twenty-seven now, you can't keep hiding it."
"I can't do that to Nicholas. His sister is off limits," Noah shook his head.
That was the farthest thing from the truth. Nicholas was rooting for you two to be together. So much so he set something up so you and Noah had no choice but to be alone with each other.
While you thought you were meeting everyone for lunch the next day, you were shocked to see just Noah sitting at a table for two. He was also as shocked as you were.
"Hey, am I late?" You asked while tentatively sitting down next to him.
He adjusted the sunglasses over his eyes, the auburn hair peppering his upper lip and chin. "You're right on time. I think we were set up to be here just the two of us."
You'd known Noah for so long but you can't remember the last time you two hung out alone.
At some point during the lunch while you two conversed as friends, some fans came over to ask Noah for some pictures and autographs. You sat off to the side, quietly watching. You didn't like how one of the girls got a little too close to Noah.
You couldn't say anything because he wasn't yours, even when she asked him for his number.
Not wanting to see if he ended up giving it to her, you left some money on the table for your lunch and were halfway back to your car when you heard him following close behind you.
"Angel, where are you going?"
His nickname for you made you halt in your steps, slowly looking back at him.
"I don't want to get in the way of you getting a date," you responded dryly.
Something twinkled in his eyes. "Are you jealous?"
"Did you give her your number?" You ignored his question with one of your own.
"No, I told her I was interested in someone else."
Your heart sank low and prepared yourself for heartbreak.
"I bet she's lovely."
"She is," Noah nodded while stepping closer to me. "Especially when she's jealous."
You scoffed. "I am not jealous!"
It then clicked what was going on and you couldn't hide the smile.
"You're talking about me," you said slowly.
Noah brought you into his arms and nodded. "I didn't think you felt the same until now."
"I didn't think you'd felt the same way either, angel."
"So what happens now?" You asked, hopping on your heels.
"I'd like to kiss you if that's alright," he breathed over your lips.
Your answer was you closing the distance, tasting his drink and lunch on his lips.
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I think there should bé a fic where anyone from the grid would be third wheeling Landoscar, like, have you seen how these two interact.
So, I lack the ability and the time of f1writingbyme and LestappenForever to make this idea into a proper work like they did for "How (Not) To Third Wheel Lestappen" (check it out on Ao3 if you haven't already, definitely worth it) BUT BUT BUT, I can tell you how I think most of the grid would react in third wheeling Landoscar!
1) I feel like we should spare Checo, cause honestly this man has had enough as third wheel of Maxiel and Lestappen, I don't wanna give him extra traumas, SO –
2) Logan Sargeant: this one I really feel guilty about. Cause I like the narrative of him and Oscah being besties and still I cry over the sad edits of Logan just left behind. I think Landoscar with Logan has the most space for improvement?? I forgive Oscar even tho he definitely ghosted the poor Logan for the whole honeymoon phase with Lando (it's been almost two years, Osc, get a grip). I have a feeling Logan will speak up at some point and this would shake Oscar a little, so maybe he would be the more aware and more involved third wheel, possibly? They'll end up doing triple video-games championships with Lando and Logan mocking Oscar's gaming skills, mark my words.
3) Carlos Sainz: my man how does it feel to know you've wasted your chance (multiple chances, lets be real) for good? I have mixed ideas about this one, cause I think it would probably being more like Lando struggling to keep them both as close as possible resulting in Oscar being rightfully jealous 👀👀 so the third wheeling situation would be like Lando trying to involve a very annoyed and confused Carlos in their things (safe for work, ofc). I don't really see a way out of it.
4) Daniel Ricciardo: I mention him but I can't really explain cause honestly my idea of Daniel third-wheeling Landoscar is either him babysit them around Australia and bonding with Oscar over weird aussie habits OR OR OR something very NOT SAFE WORK so ( ... )
5) Max Verstappen: I love to think he'll remain an unbothered king, you know? Like he's well aware and a bit upset that his crepes companion invited someone else (beside from Daniel) to their dessert dates and that the two of them acts like lovebirds even without an actual physical contact. He'll probably send SOS texts to Charles and Daniel until a topic of (his) interest comes out and honestly at that point the power of maxplaining will win over pretty much everything and everyone. At the end of the day Landoscar turn out to be the real victims.
6) George Russell: poor thing was originally invited for a golf morning from Carlos (Landoscar were already supposed to attend), but Chili called off last minute so Georgie ended up with just the others two. LET ME TELL YOU he jumped off the golf cart cause he saw Lando placing a hand on Oscar's thigh and feared for his life. It took several minutes for them to notice he was aggressively walking behind. He was also hit by a golf ball because Oscar distracted Lando for a second too long, I guess you can figure out the rest.
7) Special mention to the PR and the McLaren team in general who's main job rn is having them to SIMPLY F O C U S outside the pit for like interviews and debriefings. I can picture Lando losing it after hearing a single compliment like "SO YOU THINK I'M PRETTY", cause ✨babygirl✨ energy hitting here and there, even tho he has tried to be somehow a model for Oscar, at least for what concerns work. Indeed I pity trainers and strategists bc ofc Oscar listens at them, but image them trying to explain a concept to him just for Lando to get there and rephrase it in the dumbest way possible and Oscar going like OHHHHH NOW I GOT IT, COULDN'T YOU EXPLAIN IT THAT WAY?
8) This is mostly a guilty pleasure but do we all agree they torture the entire f1 group chat with their subtle flirting?
IDK if this was what you had in mind but I really REALLY had fun writing it.
So let me know what you think in the comments down below, if you agree or if you want me to make it longer and/or more detailed or just to focus on a specific one in particular?
Again, my dms and box section are open to discussions, requests and any sort of (respectful) thing!
PEACE OUT 🤌🏻❤️
#ask juls#landoscar#landoscar headcanons#headcanon#f1#lando norris x oscar piastri#f1 fanfic#f1 rpf#mclaren#formula 1#ln4#op81#logan seargent#carlos sainz#max verstappen#george russell#daniel ricciardo#the grid being the victims#landoscar took thirdweeling to a new level
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more questions cuz you said it was okay and i want to interact with someone else instead of my own brain (its getting dark inside here)
who do you think will "turn into a phantom" first? Ashlyn said they are already starting to make phantom noises, so in your heard, who will lose control first? (i know they already did it in that arcade, but they were still conscious about everything)
i think it might be Aiden (obvious reasons) but i would love (cry) if it was Ben cuz even though he has angry issues no one is expecting to be him i guess
I always thought that if Aiden and Tyler died again together it's definitely Aiden to be a phantom first (we surely agree),
it's not about 'who died first' (deaths play a role but aren't the only thing) there's the "negative" feelings, from this side Tyler's probably has the least amount of negative feelings amongst the team ( if anyone said he has his anger issues, no he doesn't and that's 85% reflection of his personality and worries), Logan had a big rush of negative feelings, Taylor had her's yet seemed more furious and "phantom"like. Then we have Aiden who might be FILLED with negative feelings, and we can't straight tell since he covers everything with silly words and a smile, he has alot of love to give and ready to kill real people for those whom he loves with no hesitation ⚠️slight spoiler ⚠️ [and literally almost did.]
I think it'd be be Ben because if he gets real angry every emotion he has been feeling will explode at once making it the biggest rush of -feelings of them all, and it'll be more terrible if he dies.
+ Ben dying is the worst option, (not for us but for them), the only thing has been holding him from really hurting people was his kind heart (+Aiden), now imagine someone his size and strength with the powers and kill instinct of a phantom (straight up gg 💀)
Things we know would speed up the "mutation":
negative emotions
Death
Rifts(?)
Things that are effected by the mutation :
physical look
Body strength
Sounds
The way of thinking ( tHe VoICeSs)
I think it's either Ben or Aiden, they got the biggest chance.
(but if you want something very unexpected it might be Logan but I highly doubt it ☠︎)
_________
I like your questions cuz it force me to write my thoughts in a very tidy way 🗿👍
-I said alot that I've gone far from the main question sorry but I had to -
+ I got you, GO FIGHT THE DARKNESS 🔦🔦
тнαηкѕ ƒσя тнє αѕк! ♥♥
#school bus graveyard#sbg#sbg (webtoon)#school bus graveyard webtoon#aiden clark#ben clark#ashlyn banner#tyler hernandez#sbg theories#Misho:q&a
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Inhales and Exhales
So the Z Gups -
NONO WAIT COME BACK. LISTEN
I fully believe they (the writers) just made this thing because they realized that they were SORELY LACKING in whatever genre of design THAT THING IS and I am here for it brother
They could’ve easily made it resemble like. man idk a blobfish and it still might’ve worked. but no they went 80’s robot anime
And yk what? Not complaining the design is SICK and now I have a new idea for the Living Octopod AU so WOOPIE
#I KNOWW I WAS ONLY GONNA HAVE THE FIRST 6 GUPS I KNOWW#but then SOMEONE in our rp decided to make the gup-x and someone else made another gup that i already forget#AND I JUST WATCHED RING OF FIRE AND AMONG OTHER THINGS I REMEMBERED HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS DESIGN#SO NOW WE’RE HERE. DONT TELL ANYONE IN THE RP SERVER#and if you ARE in the rp server. uh. hi you see NOTHING GO AWAY!!!! GO AWAYYYYYY#octonauts#octonauts ring of fire#octonauts gups#mega gup z mantis mode my beloved#and then they NEVER mention the z gups ever again#listen i know theres a lot of gups and a lot of things and canon events and stuff to look at while making an episode#but the ones that only exist in the movies and specials.. LET THEM OUTTTT#LET MY BOYS FREEE#I WANT THE Z GUPS I WANT THE GUP Q AND GUP G HOHH#actually they probably did let the q and g loose in a&b#BUT WAAAAAHHH#hershel’s octonauts au
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OH about the finale at the shrine, this completely slipped my notice when we were talking about it, but Ichi says he's "reporting" Jo's verdict to both Arakawa and Masato. It's just not translated that way.
Not too big of a difference (well, it is to me, but I'm insane), but if it was highlighting anything, I'd guess it's probably Masato's change of heart. It would've been fair for Ichi to assume Masato wouldn't care and only "report" to Arakawa, but in the context of Ichi doing his damnedest to show Masato they all love him, it works in terms of, "Maybe I made him reconsider, and maybe now he would care."
Also... I'm looking at it in a "measured" way, since the chapter trophies are always just standard "Nth Chapter Cleared" messages that the localization team just spices up for us, but there's something I find really poignant about the Chapter 13 trophy being worded as "Fate of Our Fathers." The pluralization of both the noun and pronoun. Realizations that come too late.
Of course, Masato definitely didn't "know" and had no real reason to suspect it, but the Arakawas have this bizarre subconscious almost-psychic link. So even if he doesn't really think so, there's this sense that Ichi "might as well" be Arakawa's "real" son because they're so much more alike. And maaaybe he felt that way about Jo and himself at one point, because (as we've discussed) there has to be a reason Jo was Masato's "favorite."
[Follow up to this ask]
#snap chats#yeah i have no real notes sorry LMAO LIKE THIS IS GOOD ON ITS OWN YK. every base is covered#LIKE nothing i could say could really enhance anything or add much. god im so bad at words i should drop dead right now#i can reaffirm that masato definitely sees ichi as arakawass 'real' son if his whole 'you remind me of dad' bit is anything to go off of#thats a weird line/sentiment now aint it#masato didnt consider him and ichi as family and ergo he's angry at how similar ichi and arakawa are#i guess that's more of a deep-dive into that hypothetical masato essay ill probably never get to- why masato hates arakawa like he does#about 'fate of /our/ /fathers/' tho thats def an interesting point no matter how you slice it#'our fathers' could refer to arakawa and sawashiro and ichi and masato respectively#i.e. masumi- ichi's bio father and sawashiro- masato's bio father- and what happens to them by the end of the game yk#there's an alt way to see if as both arakawa and sawashiro as both ichi and masato's fathers#though im gonna chewing my cheek on that one. sure we've compared sawashiro to an abusive stepparent#idk... i think it's just cause ichi shows up well into his teens that it doesnt register in my brain that sawashiro could be a father figur#but thats MY personal dumb ass rambling im just here to vaguely try to interpret the title in multiple ways to cover everything#moving on tho... the use of 'our' prevents 'fathers' referring to only one of them . so. Aforementioned Possibilities have been listed#making it sound like i have anything else to say I DONT I ALREADY SAID EVERYTHING dummy. putting myself in the dunce corner#on that note. hopefully it finally got through to masato how much people loved him before he got ganked#i mean for sure it did but yk. still mad about y7 ending im gonna kill someone In Minecraft#'i have nothing else to say' LIAR YOU ARE A LIAR !!!!! THE FUCK ARE THESE TAGS STUPID ASS#anyway im going back to my google doc. im almost done with another cringe fic. sorry#BYE
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。i know you still think about the times we had
synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling
— word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)
— contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, it’s the cliche trope where the rich guy’s parent forces you to leave him aka gojo’s father is the villain, angst with a happy ending—i don’t want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvin’s room (iykyk), cliche rain scene—this fic is so cliche i’m sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)
— notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this one’s for you niku 🤞🏽 AND DABITEE ANON
you open the door when satoru knocks—just barely, though. it’s just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things he’s left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. it’s always been happy knocking on your door—he never thought he’d dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. it’s like taking the last bite of something sweet when you’re too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and it’s too much even though it used to be so good.
it’s too much being here. it’s too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. it’s too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, it’s good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you don’t want him to stay.
“that should be everything,” you murmur, still looking down. “let me know if there’s anything missing.”
satoru would never tell you if there’s something missing. he’d never come back and demand back something he gave you, he doesn’t think he could ever take back something he gave you—being handed back his heart after pressing it to your palms is hard enough. but then again, maybe he should look for small things you probably missed. just so he can come back. just so he can see you—how else will he see you now?
“no, it’s alright,” he says quietly. he doesn’t miss the way you quickly let go as soon as his hands grab the bag, almost like you’re being careful enough not to let your fingers meet each other. “you can uh…you can just keep them. or…throw them out if you don’t want them,” he mumbles.
you nod, standing there silently. it’s quiet, and then it’s quiet some more. and finally, you look up at him for the first time since he got here, staring at him a little expectantly. oh, right. now would be the part where he leaves.
“can i…can i just know why?” he croaks. fuck. he’s not supposed to cry. you ripped his heart out and threw it at his feet, you didn’t even care to hand it to him even after you tore every artery apart. but he sniffles anyway, lips wobbling as he stares at you. “why are you leaving me?”
your fingers twitch, like you itch to reach over and wipe that tear that rolls down his cheek. in the end, you cross your arms instead. “i already told you, satoru—”
“that’s bullshit,” he clicks his teeth, shaking his head as he stares at you frustratedly, “you gave me some bullshit reason.”
satoru has worked so hard to be here—to be with you. hadn’t he done enough? hadn’t he told you about himself, things he didn’t want to? hadn’t he tried to become something, someone more than just a guy swimming in trust funds? hadn’t he worked for your attention, waited outside classes and walked opposite directions in the hall with you just to seem dedicated? fuck, he even burned his hand trying to learn how to make pancakes to impress you, let the maids laugh at him as he twisted the stove the wrong way to try and turn it on.
why wasn’t it enough? what more could he give you than everything? how can the guy who has everything not have enough to give? he doesn’t understand.
“satoru, we weren’t gonna work,” you pinch your nose—it’s like you’re the one who doesn’t understand why he’s being like this. “the sooner you accept that the more hurt you’re saving the both of us—”
“we were working just fine,” he says exasperatedly. it’s like you insist he’s crazy when he’s nothing but sane. like he’s trying to tell you the sky is blue, and you’re refusing to believe it’s anything other than green. it’s clear. it’s practically a fact. you were doing just fine—why don’t you see that? “we were happy,” he takes a step forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “was it someone? did they tell you something? just tell me who, baby—i’ll fix it. i’ll put them in their place, okay? no one can bother you if i get them to leave you alone—”
“then you leave me alone,” you whisper. he stills. you pull away from his hands. “sator—gojo. please just leave me alone. it’s better that way.”
you close the door, and he stands there. numb. maybe a little shocked. entirely ruined.
gojo. he laughs quietly after a moment at that—it’s a laugh meant for men who’ve lost the last thread to sanity. gojo. it’s like a slap in the face, being called the name he worked so hard to get you to drop. it took him weeks—months, even, to convince you to call him satoru. then he upgraded to toru. then it was baby. sometimes you teased him and called him pumpkin—he called you peaches in return. when you introduced him, you called him your boyfriend.
not anymore. now he’s back to gojo—that god-forsaken name with everything but what he really wants attached to it. his grandfather’s legacy. his future. business deals. fancy invites. more money than he knows what to do with. the name gojo comes with everything but you.
but he had you for a bit, didn’t he? when he was just satoru—but now he’s gojo again, and you’re gone. the only sign of you left is in the faint traces of your perfume in the sweaters you’ve returned.
and satoru still isn’t sure what brought the break up on. he thinks it’s the part that stings the most—when everything seems perfect one second, and then it’s not. had he not tried enough? maybe he was too much. maybe he didn’t understand you the way you needed him to. maybe he was too overbearing. maybe he asked for too much too fast.
he’s not sure. he tried asking when you broke it off—you only shook your head and said it wasn’t going to work out between the two of you, that it was a mistake to try at all. mistake? how could you call this a mistake? things were so perfect, weren’t they?
satoru doesn’t think there was even one second he wasn’t smiling when he was with you, and he used to think the same was true for you too. had you been faking it this long? or was it real at one point—had he really failed you so badly, seen past you so blindly that he didn’t notice when your smiles stopped reaching your eyes?
it’s too late, he figures. you and satoru are broken up.
you ask him to come over one morning, and he does—because he always comes when you call. he brings your coffee order from that cafe you like, the one you don’t go to often because the coffee is more overpriced than any other coffee shop you’ve ever seen. he’s grinning when you open the door, leans in to kiss your lips excitedly. you turn your head then, and his lips meet your cheeks instead—he supposes he should’ve known it at that moment. he should’ve seen that your lips weren’t smiling. your eyes were tired, a little red. you were hugging yourself in that way you do when you’re nervous. you didn’t let him kiss your lips, you made him kiss your cheek.
and then you sat him down on that worn-down couch of yours, took off that bracelet his mother gave him to gift you on your anniversary, and pressed it to his palm as you said we should break up. break up. you wanted to leave him—and satoru didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand.
he’s tried for so long, replayed the last month of your relationship in his head over and over and fucking over. you always smiled. you kissed him first. you held his hand, and even squeezed. you asked to see him. you laughed when he was around. you said i love you. you were happy. but then you weren’t—when did you stop being happy? and how could you have stopped feeling it with him?
—————
breaking up with satoru is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. how long can people live without the sun? you think not longer than a few minutes—that’s what it feels like without satoru’s warmth, anyway.
gojo satoru has always smiled as long as he’s been with you. he smiled smugly on your first meet, smiled bitterly after every rejection, smiled in pure glee when you finally said yes, and smiled like his fingertips could touch the sky every time he saw you after that.
satoru has never looked sad for long in your presence—you have that effect on him, you make his lips curl and his eyes brighten in that way that they deserve to shine. but for the first time ever, his eyes dim with you around, his lips curl into a frown at your words, and he cries for you. his eyes glisten with tears instead of wonder, and you think for a moment that you might be making a mistake.
but then you remember that this is for the best—that if you really love gojo satoru, you’ll let him go instead of clipping his wings.
“he’s picked up his things,” you speak quietly into the phone. you don’t sniffle even as you desperately need to—it’s the last bit of control you have left, and you intend to keep it. “i won’t be seeing him again.”
“good,” his father speaks, “that’s good to hear.”
satoru’s father is a cold man, you learn that on the first meet. he doesn’t look at his wife with a soft look that tells you there’s any love built between the decades of marriage, and he doesn’t look at his only son with any affection for the boy he raised. instead, he stares at satoru like any businessman would an opportunity—with a calculating gaze that tries to work out the best course of action for the most profit.
satoru is young, but he’s charming and conniving and knows how to get what he wants when he wants—he’s quick on his feet and rarely lets himself get cornered into a wall. in the last three generations of the family business, no heir has shown as much promise as gojo satoru. that’s what his father tells you, anyway. you believe him—satoru is smart and knows how to play his cards right, you won’t deny that. his future is set to be comfortable, and he’s never known anything outside of that, never built any other plans for himself.
you can’t rip that away from him—not for your own sake, not for your own happiness.
“you promised you wouldn’t freeze his trust funds once i ended things,” you remind him, “and that he’d keep his inheritance.” somehow, because the world grants you this one favor, your voice doesn’t shake—it’s steady and firm as it reminds the stone-cold man at the end of the line of your agreement—and he offers a slow chuckle that makes your jaw clench.
“yes, i do recall,” he hums, “i’m glad we could come to agree. you understand, don’t you? it is my job as his father to do what’s best for him.”
you know what he’s saying—what that means. you’re not what’s best for him. maybe he’s right—maybe satoru needs someone who’s equally as promising to build a successful company into even more success. maybe he needs someone who can take him out for a change to those fancy places he takes you every few weeks. maybe he needs someone who’s heard of half the brands he wears and doesn’t scold him to turn the lights off so the electricity bill isn’t high. maybe he needs someone who can keep up with everything that gojo satoru is—and that someone is not you, no matter how deeply you love him.
“—the offer still stands, should you change your mind. i’m willing to compensate you for the trouble this must all be.”
your lips curl into a scowl at his words. that’s the thing about rich people, you think—money is always enough to sugarcoat everything. why worry about the dead grass in your lawn when you can paint it green? but you don’t leave satoru for extra cash on your hands—nothing can be worth auctioning off the only man who’s ever made you feel anything. you leave satoru because he deserves to continue living comfortably, to make a name for himself that isn’t just a ghost of his father’s. if that means being cut from the corner of the picture, you’re willing to pick up the scissors yourself.
“no thanks,” you hiss, “i don’t need the money.”
“i would disagree,” his father sneers, “but suit yourself.”
the line ends, and for good this time, satoru is no longer yours. was he ever to begin with?
—————
you try to forget your ex-boyfriend—keyword, try. every hour of your life consists of you using your burner account to refresh his instagram page to see if he’s posted anything new. you unfollow satoru from every social media platform the same day he picks up his belongings—you know he’s noticed within the first thirty minutes because all of his pictures with you are gone, just like all your pictures with him.
in what you assume is an attempt to be petty, he likes every picture of every girl he sees, and he even blocks you on twitter—you know he picks twitter because twitter is the only social media that blatantly states you’re blocked. but then you’re unblocked in two days, and you know he must be missing you now that the initial anger is faded.
it makes you laugh a little, even through your tears. satoru is not satoru without petty fits of emotion, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad, not when it’s your fault he’s hurting like this. he’s extra sad today, you gather—if the way marvin’s room is posted to his instagram story on a blank screen is of any hint. it makes you scoff in amusement that in true gojo satoru fashion, he’s effectively told all eight-thousand-something of his followers he’s pathetically in his feelings.
you scroll through suguru’s story, too—he didn’t unfollow you even after satoru temporarily blocked you, but you figure suguru is the only person satoru really has. you shouldn’t keep yourself close to him, not when it could hurt satoru more, so you remove him too.
suguru is, as always, drinking at some fancy party with obnoxiously rich college students who have not a care in the world for midterms around the corner. who needs to pass when you’re swimming in money whether or not you have a degree? the first thing you learn about the rich is that most of them are only at college for the experience—they don’t see college as the stepping stone to better opportunities, there’s nothing education could offer that trust funds already don’t. but satoru attends college for himself—he enjoys business classes, you learn, and especially finance ones. for someone who spends money so carelessly, he understands it particularly well.
there’s no sign of satoru at whatever party it is suguru is at, there’s no trace of strikingly bright white strands anywhere in any corners—you do see naoya in a corner, though, and you crinkle your nose in distaste. if satoru were here, he’d say something bitterly under his breath about the asshole, and you would giggle. but satoru is not here, and even naoya the women-hating jackass makes you miss your obnoxiously whiny ex-boyfriend.
everything reminds you of satoru. that bear he won you at the fair (after maybe six tries) by your pillows, those polaroids at your desk that you can’t bring yourself to take down, that sticky note on your fridge he left promising to replace the creamer he finished (he’s replaced it more times than he’s needed to by now), that extra big blanket you keep on the couch because the old one barely covered his legs, that pair of silly matching mugs you both had for coffee in the mornings.
every corner of your apartment has something that reminds you that satoru was here, that he was yours, that for a short while, he was the best thing you ever had. it’s your fault, you think—that satoru and you are here in this mess in the first place. he’s always looked at life through a hopeful lens. having everything does that to you, makes you ignorant to the misfortunes of the world, makes you think everything is within the realm of your reach. you, on the other hand, knew this was bound to happen. the two of you together is like hot oil and cool water—what feels like sparks is just the oil shooting out to burn you. you should’ve known this would have never lasted.
in a way, you think you did. it’s why you hated him so fiercely at first—maybe deep down, you always knew you wanted him, that he would never be yours. maybe that’s why you were so adamant about rejecting him, that even when he was clearly trying, it would never be enough. satoru has always been enough, has always been what everyone has wanted—you’re not so sure you can say the same for yourself.
you love gojo satoru. he loves you too—he falls first, and you think maybe, he might have fallen harder too. no one loves like satoru. they say if you press coal hard enough, it turns to diamonds—you think if you gave satoru coal, he would hand you back the sun and all of her stars. it’s just the kind of guy he is, the one that turns everything dull into something bright and warm and worth it. you wish you didn’t have to break his heart, you wish you could’ve walked out of this the only one hurt. but maybe, at the very least, if you break him good enough that he hates you, he’ll move on quicker, maybe have something to look forward to while you continue to work your way up and cheer him on.
before you can refresh suguru’s page one more time to stalk his story, you’re pulled from your thoughts as someone knocks on your door—correction: pounds on your door. you jolt on your couch, standing up and making your way to the front door quickly and looking through the peephole.
satoru. of course.
he’s soaked to the bone—it’s raining outside, and of course, just as on brand as always, he must’ve rushed here without an umbrella.
you shouldn’t open it.
but you can’t just leave him in the rain, can you? but he’s not your problem anymore, you agreed to leave him, didn’t you? but how could he not be your problem when he’s all you think about? but this could cause him trouble if his father found out he was here, right? but can you really leave someone, ex-boyfriend or not, in the pouring rain? you can’t be that cruel can you?
before you can make up your mind, he speaks up, “i know you’re standing there. open the door,” he demands.
“satoru, go home,” you sigh, head pressing against the surface that separates you, “don’t make this anymore difficult than it has to be.”
“if it’s difficult, that means you don’t really want to do this,” he argues. he’s still as good as ever at sweet talk, still as persistent and charming as ever at getting what he wants. “please,” he croaks, “just let me in.”
you know it means more than one thing. you know it means more than just your home. but you shouldn’t, you can’t let him know why you did all this—how can you protect someone from something if they don’t let you? satoru would never let you if he knew, and that’s why you can’t let him know.
“satoru, if you don’t leave…i’ll…i’ll call the cops,” you warn.
“no you won’t,” he says instantly. “i’m not leaving until you open the door. and if i get sick, i’ll send you my bill for the emergency room visit.”
“you’re not going to the emergency room for a common cold, you idiot,” you scoff.
the rain doesn’t slow—in fact, you can hear thunder. satoru is still stubbornly outside, knocking away.
“i’ll start screaming,” he insists, “your neighbors will complain for noise again. do you want to be kicked out of this apartment? just let your cold, wet, heartbroken ex-boyfriend in if you have a heart.”
and because you are, and always will be, weak to the charms of gojo satoru, you open that damned door—even though you shouldn’t, even though you can’t, even though you said you would never again. but you do. because it’s satoru, and he always comes when you call, and you’ll always let him in when he’s here.
“you don’t come to your ex’s house less than one week after the break up,” you sigh once you open the door. he takes a step in, shutting the door behind him.
“why did you leave me?” he asks.
“satoru, you can’t keep bringing this up—”
“why? just tell me why.”
“i don’t have to—”
“tell me why and i’ll stop bothering you. i just need to know why,” he insists.
and then you break.
you’re only human. you’ve lost the man you’ve given everything to for over a year in the span of one week. you’ll never see his lovely mother again who spoiled you rotten, you’ll never hang out out with his funny best friend who treats you like family, and you’ll never be enough for gojo satoru, the rich, loud, sheltered, obnoxious, handsome jackass you met and had to do a project with and accidentally fucked over and over again until you fell in love.
so you shove his chest, once, then twice, then a third time, each time getting weaker and weaker than the last as tears slip down your cheeks as you simply break down. “just leave, satoru,” you sob, “why can’t you just leave? why do you keep coming back?”
you hate seeing him here. you want him gone. you never want to see him again. you hope he never leaves. you’re glad to see him. you hope this isn’t the last time. you hate that he seems to not be getting enough sleep. his eyes are hollow. he must not be eating properly. he probably hasn’t attended class. he has a quiz next week. he most likely forgot about that. his clothes are wrinkly. he definitely hasn’t showered in days.
“last month you said i was it for you,” he glares at you, his eyes red and swollen and every shade of heartbreak. you miss when they were blue—that beautiful, bright, perfect shade of blue. “last week you said we were a mistake. what the fuck do you mean, huh? what are you playing at?”
“you can realize a lot in a month—”
“not enough to erase over a year,” his voice booms. it makes you flinch and hug yourself tightly. tears slide down your cheeks, your vision is blurry. this might be the last time you see satoru, and even if he’s angry, you want to remember the curves of his features. so you wipe them away. they keep coming back. “so tell me,” he clenches his jaw, “did you string me along for a year or did something happen last week that you’re not telling me?”
“i realized you were bad for me,” you say quietly.
satoru stares at you. it’s a piercing gaze—his eyes are electrically blue and his lashes are unfairly long and every time he stares at you, you think he almost sees into your soul. they’re tired—there are purplish bags under them on that pale skin of his, and the whites of his eyes are concerningly bloodshot. he stares, and stares, and for a second, you think you’ll die like this. watching him stare at you as your heart bleeds out.
“i spent weeks,” his voice shakes, “i waited outside your class. i followed you to the next one. i memorized your fucking schedule.”
“satoru, you need to leave—”
“and then you fucked me and left every morning like i was nothing,” he glares, sniffling. you don’t know where the rain drops on his face start and where the teardrops end. “and then i begged you for a chance—begged. i burned my hand, got laughed at by the maids to learn how to make those stupid fucking pancakes for you.”
“i didn’t ask you to—”
“it took you two months to call me baby for the first time. did you know that? i waited two months to hear that. i thought it was the best two months i ever waited.”
“satoru,” you plead.
you’ve given up on trying to wipe away the tears—he’s given up on crying altogether. you’ve never seen him so hollow, so dead in the eyes and so, so tired.
satoru has never gotten tired—not when he’s fighting for you.
“and then you kept pushing me away, acting like i was some shallow guy who wanted to get in your pants and leave cause i had some money to my name. i took you everywhere, introduced you proudly, let everyone say what they wanted to say about me because i loved you, and…and i thought you loved me too,” he shakes his head.
his voice breaks, and god, so does your heart right along with it.
“i do love you,” you admit it before you realize what you’re saying.
“then why did you fucking leave me?” his voice is loud.
satoru never yells, not at you. his voice is always gentle, patient, like he worships the ground you walk on, like he’ll get on his knees if you ask him too. satoru never yells—but he does tonight.
“because i had to,” you sob, fingers digging into your temples as you shake. the words spill from your lips faster than the tears, like a swarm of angry bees, one following after the other. “or you’d lose everything. the trust funds, the inheritance, the company. i couldn’t let that happen to you—not for me,” you whisper.
it feels like defeat—in the end, you couldn’t keep satoru, and you couldn’t leave him either. you couldn’t love him like you wanted, and you couldn’t let him go like you should have. what else is there left to fuck up? what more can you ruin in less than a week? the bees feel like maggots in your mouth, swarming a dead carcass.
“so you left me because my old man threatened you with my trust funds?” he asks in disbelief. you think something in satoru dies at that—something in his shoulders falls and his eyes almost seem gray.
satoru gets his blue eyes from his mother—they’re bright and kind and deeper than the ocean. but unlike the ocean, they’re not scary to fall into, to lose yourself in no matter how far you are from shore. his father’s eyes are gray—cold and blank and not laced with a single hint of emotion.
you can’t help but think that blue suits satoru so much better than gray ever could.
“it wasn’t just that,” you shake your head, “that’s not fair, satoru. what was i supposed to do? know you were about to lose everything and stay?”
“you could have talked to me before you decided for me,” he hisses, “what do you want me to say? thank you? thank you for breaking my heart? thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit who wasted a year for someone who didn’t seem to care? thank you for walking out on me?”
“you know i’d have stayed if i could,” you argue, voice breaking.
“then why didn’t you? why the fuck didn’t you?”
“because i couldn’t!”
“you could!” he screams—you realize, for the first time in your life, you hate when satoru screams. he never screams. “all my life, that old man has been making decisions for me. satoru, wear this. satoru, go here. satoru, don’t do that. satoru, put that away. satoru, stay away from them. satoru, come with me. that’s all he’s ever fucking done—make every choice for me. and now…now you’re just like him,” he breathes, lips wobbling as he stares at you with hurt.
it’s like that for a bit—you stare at him as he crumbles, and he stares at you like he doesn't know you anymore. you don’t know who leans in first, if it’s your hand or his face, but one second you’re feet apart, and the next second his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs swiping away at his tears. you catch them, one by one, waiting to wipe them away no matter how fast they come. because satoru always comes when you call, and you’ll always be there for him to find you.
“i don’t want to leave,” you mumble, “i never do. you are it for me, i meant that, you know. who else will melt extra chocolate in my hot chocolate?”
“then don’t leave,” he begs, voice cracking, “i don’t want you to. i’ll handle that old geezer—my grandfather will knock some sense into him. fuck, suguru and i can even hide his body, it’s fine. just don’t leave, okay?”
you let out a watery chuckle, pinching his cheek as you shake your head. “i don’t know if i’m worth homicide, satoru.”
“i think you’re wrong,” he huffs, “you’re wrong about a lot of things, you know. so wrong.”
“i never said i was perfect,” you pout.
he buries his head into your neck, clinging to you tightly—you cling back, because nothing is as safe as satoru’s arms. you’d melt into his skin if you could, live in that spot right where his heart is so you can make sure it’s always beating.
“you’re still perfect,” he mumbles, “but you’re always mean to me. this was the worst you’ve ever been.”
“i’m sorry,” you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hair—it’s still wet, you realize. he’s soaked, and he could catch a cold but you don’t care. satoru is back. he’s here in your run-down apartment with the mugs and the blanket and that toothbrush you forgot to return and that pair of socks you found in your drawer. satoru is finally home. “i’ll never leave you again.”
“promise?”
“yeah. as long as you don’t block me on twitter again.”
“you deserved that.”
“and for the love of god, toru, delete that marvin’s room story. that was so dumb.”
“are you stalking me?” he pulls away with a grin, making you glare with a huff. he chuckles, kisses your forehead as he murmurs, “missed me that bad, huh? yeah, i would too.”
“well, obviously not enough to post marvin’s room on my story.”
“you can’t be mean to me after you broke my heart!” he whines.
yeah, you think, satoru is home. he’s still that loud, obnoxious, pestering brat that he always was—and he’s still the only love you’ve ever known.
“i love you,” you press your forehead to his, kissing him slowly. you want to kiss him harder, you want to kiss him desperately like you’ll never kiss him again. like you lost him and miraculously got him back. like you’ll never see the sun again without him.
but there’s time for that—lots of it, in fact. because satoru is home.
“i love you too,” he whispers, “wanna shower with me? if you really love me, you would.”
read the makeup sex sequel ;) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
if this fic was a person i would want it dead.
#teepods.writings#fics.#rich boy! au#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo angst#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen angst#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk angst#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru angst
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23 things I learned in 2023:
Breaking promises to yourself is essentially telling yourself you’re not worthy of commitment or effort.
Listen to people when they tell you who they are.
People put their best foot forward when they first meet you. If they’re already being shitty, it’s likely only going downhill from here.
Self-care isn’t always indulging instant gratification and not doing hard things. I was actually at my most fulfilled when I did hard things DESPITE not feeling like it.
If you’re clinging to other people for fulfillment or validation, you probably don’t like yourself very much.
It’s never the end of the world like we think it is.
If someone wants to walk out of your life, let them. Never be in the business of changing people, even when it comes to changing how they think about you.
Brutally honest communication is everything, but that can also coincide with tactful kindness. Neither is mutually exclusive.
Having a routine makes a massive difference.
Comparison is pointless. No one else has been dealt the same cards you’ve been dealt.
Envy is a waste of time. Instead of being envious of other people, view them as proof of concept.
Self-accountability is important. We are fallible and it’s okay to make mistakes; we just need to own up to them.
Every failure is an opportunity for growth.
Every severed friendship, failed opportunity, lost connection etc etc leaves space for better things to replace it.
We are not tethered to people’s image of us. We are free to change ourselves whenever we please.
It’s not other people’s way, but it’s my way—and that’s all that matters.
Someone denying you love does not erase you.
Piggybacking off the last point—someone not acknowledging the virtues you have doesn’t mean that you don’t have those virtues.
All that really matters are the opinions of the handful of people who truly love you, as well as your opinion of yourself.
Waiting at least 15 minutes before reacting to something. Never trust yourself during the moments when something just hits (learned this the hard way).
Situations are complex and almost never a one size fits all. Asking for advice is okay, but take it with a grain of salt/ultimately follow your own judgment.
Social media isn’t the devil, but scrolling endlessly is. Make an intentional effort to supplant screen time with books and hobbies and friends and tangible, real life things.
We all die one day. None of this is that deep and none of this really matters. Stop taking things so seriously and just enjoy the process 🤍
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hii!! can i request for the event?? had this weird little scenario where a little kid goes up to reader, completely in love and confessing their love (even tho reader doesnt know who this little kid is) and the op men just look at what's happening with either a "😬" or "😠" reaction. any characters for this scenario would work but if you could put zoro as part of the 3 that would be great
Child Crushes
Send me an event request!
Characters: fem reader x Zoro, Sanji, Shanks
Total word count: 600
Zoro
“You are so beautiful!” A child screamed, slamming into you and wrapping his arms around your midrift tightly. “I love you!”
“Hey!” Zoro shouted, reaching for the kid. “Get off her!”
“Zoro!” you chided, shielding the kid from your boyfriend's wrath. “It’s okay!”
“You are the most amazing lady I’ve ever seen! Your smile is radiant, and you are kinder than anyone I’ve ever met!”
You laughed, slowly prying the kid off of you. You were about to bend down to talk to him, but Zoro beat you to it.
“Listen brat,” he hissed. “Go find another beautiful lady! This one is mine.”
The kid stuck his tongue at Zoro. “If you keep being so mean, she’ll leave you for a real man like me!”
“What did you-!”
“Zoro, stop!” you giggled, pulling him away. You looked back at the little boy, giving him a wink. “It was nice to meet you!”
“I’ll see you soon, lovely lady!”
You intertwined your arm with Zoro’s again, laughing at his outburst. “Wanna tell me what that was about?”
“He reminded me of that stupid cook,” Zoro groaned. “Besides, that kid needs to buzz off. You’re already taken.”
Sanji
“Excuse me miss,” a small voice came from behind you, and you turned around.
He was young. Probably around 6 or 7, with caramel brown hair and clear blue eyes.
“Hi there,” you said, breaking away from Sanji’s hold so you could squat down so you were at eye level with him.
“I just wanted to tell you are the most beautiful woman alive.” He held out a wildflower with small white petals. “Will you marry me?”
You giggled at his request. His bluntness reminded you of someone else you knew.
“I’m flattered. How about you come find me when you’re older?” you challenged.
He pushed the flower into your hands. “I will. I’ll never forget you! Until then, here’s something to remember me by!”
He took off, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. You laughed and stood up, your hand returning to Sanji’s.
“You have competition,” you teased.
Sanji hummed pleasantly, placing a soft kiss on your cheek. “He has good taste in women. Can’t argue with that.”
Shanks
You unfolded the note the little boy had given you and read the scribbles across the paper.
Please make my day and kiss me. You are so beautiful and kind. I love you.
Shanks peered over your shoulder, looking at the note, and burst out into laughter.
“Shanks!” you scolded under your breath. “Don’t laugh!”
“Look kid, only a real man gets to kiss this lady.” He planted a messy kiss on your cheek to prove his point.
The kid looked at you and him, and then ran off.
“Shanks!”
“He’ll be back, don’t worry.”
Shanks was right. A few hours later, the kid was standing at the end of the bar, peeking out and watching you from afar.
“You wanna impress her?” Shanks asked, creeping up behind the boy. “Give her a rose and ask her for a kiss. To her face. Like a man.”
“Will that work?” the boy whispered, glancing back at you nervously.
“That’s how I got her to kiss me,” he admitted. “Good news for you, I even have a spare rose.”
The little boy walked up to you, his knees visibly shaking as he gripped the rose in his hands.
“I got this for you,” he said softly. “Will you kiss me?”
Your eyes darted to Shanks, a smile dancing across your lips.
“Thank you,” you said, taking the flower from him and giving him a small peck on the cheek. “I’d be honored to kiss such a polite young man.”
#one piece#one piece imagine#one piece scenario#one piece x reader#one piece x you#zoro#roronoa zoro#zoro x reader#zoro x you#sanji#vinsmoke sanji#black leg sanji#sanji x reader#sanji x you#shanks#red haired shanks#shanks x reader#shanks x you#shanks x y/n#cozage#✧˚zoro✧˚#✧˚sanji✧˚#✧˚shanks✧˚
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Hi guys! Here’s some advice from a cane user on how to spot a fake cane user/disability faker!
YOU CANT
You can not spot a “fake disabled” cane user. You can not know if someone’s “really disabled”, much less by just looking at them. Here are some common misconceptions.
“Cane users always need their canes. If they walk without it or put it away when it’s inconvenient, they’re faking”: WRONG! Many cane users are what we call “ambulatory” cane users. This means they don’t always need their canes to walk. I’m an ambulatory cane user, and I experience really horrible leg pain on the daily. However, I don’t always use my cane, and when I don’t need to walk or stand a lot in a certain place I don’t use it. And when I do use it, I may lift it off the ground or carry it in places that are sandy, gravelly, or otherwise hinder my cane.
“Cane users walk abnormally without their canes, someone who walks normally without their cane is faking”: WRONG! Many ambulatory cane users can walk in a way that seems “normal”. This doesn’t mean they’re not in pain, or not “really disabled”. This just means that their condition doesn’t cause a noticeable difference in walking, and likely manifests in a different way.
“Cane users always need their cane, someone who doesn’t use their cane at home is faking”: WRONG! Cane users may not use their canes at home, because at home they may be able to do things like sit down wherever and whenever, regain more spoons, and use other mobility aids. Additionally, some ambulatory cane users only need or use their canes when they are doing something physically taxing, like going on a hike or standing in a long line.
“My cane user friend told me this person looks like they’re faking, so it must be true”: WRONG! Being a cane user doesn’t immediately make you an expert on all different conditions and experiences. Your friend does not know the random cane user walking down the street, they are going off looks and stereotypes. Disabled people are not immune to being ableist.
“They enjoy their cane too much/they’re too happy/they decorate their cane, so they can’t actually be in enough pain to need a cane” WRONG! We’re people like everyone else, and we experience positive emotions too, even if we go through a lot of pain. To me, customizing my cane is like getting a tattoo or putting streaks in my hair, it’s a way of self expression. And we deserve to be able to talk openly about our full experience, which include the parts we’re neutral or happy about.
“They’re one of those cringey teenagers who name themselves arson and like dsmp, so they’re probably faking” WRONG! Do I even have to explain why saying someone isn’t disabled because of their name and interests is messed up and also stupid? Or did you already know that and just wanted to make fun of a disabled teenager?
“They’re too young to be using a cane, so they must be faking” WRONG! there are lots of disabilities or injuries that can cause young people to need a mobility aid. For example, I use a cane for my fibromyalgia.
“They only use it in private places, and never in places where people recognize them, so they must be faking” WRONG! In a world where anyone can just randomly take out their phone, take a picture of a cane user, and post them online to be made fun of, it can be stressful to use a cane in public areas. Also, they may not want people to ask questions, or they may feel embarrassed about it.
“I saw them switch hands, so they must be faking” WRONG! There are different reasons a cane used might do this, but I’m going to use my experience as an example. My fibromyalgia is not consistent. Sometimes one leg hurts more then the other. But as I said, fibromyalgia is inconsistent, and sometimes my other leg will start to hurt more or need more support, which is when I switch hands. And when both my legs hurt equally, I may switch my hand if it’s getting too sore.
“They told me they feel like they’re faking when they use their cane, doesn’t that mean they don’t really need it?” WRONG! Imposter syndrome is strong in a lot of disabled people, especially when for a lot of our lives we were told by doctors that we were fine and just being dramatic. Anxiety is also comorbid with a lot of physically disabilities, which only strengthens this. To add to this, something that I’ve felt and seen other disabled people talk about it, when their disability aid lessens the pain, they start thinking “well I’m not in that much pain so I don’t really need it” even though the reason they’re not in that much pain is because of the aid. I know it seems dumb, but imposter syndrome can be that strong and affects disabled people a lot.
“They don’t have a diagnosis, so they must be faking” WRONG! First of all, diagnoses are expensive. On their own they’re often already expensive, but counting the tons of tests you have to take to confirm the diagnosis? Absolutely ludicrous. Some may also choose not to get a diagnosis, so that they don’t have to deal with the prejudice and setbacks of being diagnosed. Also, some people use a cane for injuries, and for stress or fatigue related pains.
These are only a few of the things I commonly hear from fakeclaimers, and I wanted to just put out a reminder that fakeclaiming hurts the disabled community much, much more than it does ableists. Next time you see someone with a cane switch hands, or someone with a wheelchair stand up, or someone with crutches put them down, before you immediately call them out to a friend, take a picture, or write a post: does your fakeclaim rely on stereotypes? Are your reasons things that apply to ambulatory aid users?
If so, just stop. Be mindful. Please.
#fuck fakeclaimers#fakeclaiming cw#anti fakeclaiming#disability#cane user#mobility aid#ableism mention#fibromyalgia#mobility aid user
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Not Tonight
[Platonic! Yandere! Neglectful Batfam × Gender Neutral! Sibling Reader]
[Warnings: Mentions of Neglect, Reader generally not having a good time.]
(Not proofread. Not too much Yandere shown. Mostly angst with Reader. Set up(?))
2nd part here.
๑۩۞۩๑————————————————————๑۩۞۩๑
How many times have you heard them say that? How many times have you tried to do something with them, to share your passion — or even just have some coffee with them, only to hear them say that phrase time and time again.
"Not tonight."
Well, what if you didn't ask them during the night? What if you asked them in the afternoon, or just when they were already up and about?
"Sorry! I can't right now, patrol reeeally kicked my ass last night. Besides, I have some other things that I have to get done, but maybe next time! For sure!"
Okay, right. That makes sense. Sometimes their line of work can be tough and draining, especially when someone is trying to run Gotham to the ground that night. So what if you just try to ask them when they aren't so busy? It may really limit the times you can ask... but you'd still try. Maybe it could also help if you asked for smaller things, like if they'd just like to spend a little time with you before going out again, or if you could just hang around them for a while? Nothing big, and anything was fine. Even if it was just sitting next to them, and having some small talk. Or maybe just the sitting part if talking was too much.
You'd take anything at all.
"I'm actually heading out right now, so I can't stick around. Go ask someone else."
"Can't you see that I already have enough compang with Titus here? Go bother Drake or something, I don't care."
All you could hear was snores past the door when you went to ask. So you moved onto someone else, hoping for a yes as your heart began to squeeze.
Someone had to agree eventually, right?
You begged the Gods as you traveled down the long halls. The chills of reality creeping up on you.
"Sorry, I'm going out to hang with some friends, but maybe next time!"
"..." She just looked at you before shaking her head, and taking her leave.
"I've got something to do at the moment, sorry, but hey, maybe you could ask your old man? Oh! Or maybe Alfred. That's a good idea."
Dick was out in Bludhaven, and you didn't want to bother Barbara considering how bisy she must've been the other night. So, you had no other choice. You asked, heart bleeding from how hard it squeezed.
"Not now."
Simple, to the point, and sharp.
Bruce's words were as cold as ever, and yet the echo in the cave only seemed to make the gap between you and him feel so much bigger. Even as you just nodded, eyes pointed to the floor. Taking your leave with a soft sigh that barely escaped you.
The elevator ride was longer than you remembered. The cold chill in the air grew freezing even as you stepped out, and now stood in one of the many halls in the Wayne Manor. Portraits and pictures decorated the walls, their painted and photographed eyes staring at you. Their gaze far from soft, but at least it was present. At least they, in that way, felt present.
You swore the only times they ever smiled at you that wasn't faked, or just for the sake of appearances was in those paintings and photos. Honestly, it was also probably the most times they've even looked at you too, and as sad as it is — you did say you'd take anything, right?
A 'no' or 'maybe' was part of that anything, technically. It's just not what you were hoping for.
Sighing again, you stared up at one of the portraits, eyes shinging under the lights as everything you refused to say made itself so clear for a moment. You didn't want much, and never asked for more than what you were given. You didn't think so anyway.
You always followed the rules, you did more than just excel in all your classes no matter how hard it was for you to understand certain things, and you even tried to get into things your family seemed to enjoy without pushing too hard.
You studied up on all the pets Damian had so that you could not only care for them properly, but maybe even take care of them with him some day. You played games and read reviews on games you saw Tim play just for a chance that maybe you'd get the opportunity to play with him. You picked up boxing and have even been practicing your aim with an airsoft gun, and have also been going to certain place when you could to practice using real guns and learn about them just so you'd maybe be able to have a conversation with Jason, and even connect with him in some way. You even read nearly all the books in the library just to have a sliver of hope for something, anything.
You learned sign language in three different languages and tried to find out what Cassandra was interested in, just to have some kind of interaction with her. Even writing on small note cards in serval other languages in hopes she'd give some kind of response, even if you forgot to put your initials and such more than several times. You participated in gymnastics in hopes of getting closer to Dick. You tried to find out what Barbra was into so you could also hold up a conversation with her if given the chance. You've tried to match Stephen's energy and do things she likes and have even taken up material arts as a means to maybe be a little closer with everyone!
Yet it never seems like enough.
Your schedule was so packed and filled with activities and extra lessons of all kinds, just so that you could feel like you had something in common with someone in this family. So that, when given the chance, you'd be able to form a connection with one of them and your efforts and sacrifices wouldn't be in vain. Though that still had yet to happen.
You weren't even a vigilante as you tried to persue your own passion and dreams, and yet that one single thing seemed to be keeping you away from everyone else. The one thing you were unwilling to do for them just seemed to make the gap between you and the rest of the family grow bigger. They're constant and continuous dismissals only seemed to further that point.
Just... what were you doing wrong? Was you not being a vigilante and constantly putting yourself at risk every night really putting that much of a dent in your relationships? Did your dreams really get in the way of that? Just because you didn't want to put yourself in danger? Just because you wanted to pursue music instead?
You took up art despite not being super interested in it before. You've been reading all of your life. Your stretched, ran, exercised, cooked, cleaned, organized, sang, wrote, danced, and even sculpted. You picked up almost any hobby someone could have under the sun, even if it began to feel like a chore and a job to you, just so that you could have something, anything in common with this family.
Though now you've gone through countless 'hobbies', and dropped many more since nothing seemed to be working, it... it still didn't feel like enough. Like you had to be doing something more despite having lost countless hours of sleep, just to go through the list of hobbies you had written down that you had left to try. You even took up some sports you were somewhat interested in, and yet nothing clicked.
Though is that really surprising when no one noticed how many times you snuck out for lessons and practice, or how long you were out? When you'd even forget to return to the Manor sometimes, and anyone still had yet to notice you were even gone in the first place?
... You couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped you. It was broken in every way, and yet empty all the same. Maybe you were finally taking after Bruce, but you wouldn't get your hopes up.
You looked up at the painting as if it'd give you all the answers, and yet dismiss you at the same time. The disappointment you felt was normal to you at this point, but the aching pain that came after was always the hardest part. Yet you still stared at the painted faces as if they were your real family, and the people close to them. Looked at the calculated and skilled brush strokes as if they'd give you what your family couldn't. What they refused to give you at every twist and turn, no matter how much you tried to accommodate to them. To do things for them. To just feel worthy enough to stand by their side. To be closer to them.
Though in the end, it is only that. A painting. A well crafted piece that, no matter how skilled the artist, could never truly capture how distant and vague they felt when you were the one standing to the side. No matter how much experience the painter had, they'd never be able to express and show how this poor excuse of a family felt to you, because they were only like that around you.
Maybe you'd feel special if it didn't make you feel like you were wasting your life living like this...
Eventually, you were able to tear you eyes away from the painting. The moon beginning to rise as you were sure the Manor was becoming more empty than it usually was, as more of its visitors and residents left.
The painting itself was nice even if it was one of many that didn't include you, with the number of photographs without you in them being much higher. Honestly, it used to be one of your favorites despite how bittersweet you feel about it now.
You still remember that day, but that would be implying that you forgot the others.
Regardless, you managed to pull yourself away from the spot you had been stuck in for the few moments you were trapped inside your own head. You tried to make yourself feel a little better, and give yourself some reassurance that maybe tomorrow would be different some how, and if not? Perhaps the day after, and the day after that.
Yet it all failed as you passed by more and more memories. Some were events you had participated in, sure, but the pictures made it look like you were never there in the first place. Heartwarming moments littered the halls, but you only recall seeing them from a distance — or being aware that the moment had even happened only when you saw the picture be put up.
It was like the very universe was trying to send you a sign with your constant failures and your family's persistence, intentional or not, to keep you at a distance. You didn't even know if it was appropriate to refer to them as your 'family', and maybe it wasn't considering things, but you still weren't sure.
You had been fighting for a chance to talk with any of them about anything at all for the longest time, because you wanted to be a part of this family. You wanted to spend time with them and really give this 'new life' of yours a chance, but now that 'new' part of this life had worn off. It was hard and honestly more draining than it was rewarding at this point, but you still wanted to give it a try.
Sure, it had been years at this point and now you were just about to go into college, and when you had first arrived here you weren't even middle school, yet little to no progress had been made — you never gave up. You haven't given up. So maybe you could try for a little longer? Just... a little bit, not too much this time, and figure something out?
You almost felt a little sense of hope return to you, no matter how redundant and helpless this situation felt and seemed. Yet it all came crumbling down again when you passed by one of the rooms, and saw something taped to the door.
It was a flier for your performance. One that would be happening soon.
Since your siblings began to pay less and less attention to you as time went on, with your conversations with them growing even shorter, you opted to just tape fliers of your upcoming performances on their doors. Though only the performances you'd thought they'd enjoy, and just hoped that they would show up, if they wanted to, when you stepped onto that stage and approached the instrument you'd be playing for the evening.
You tried texting and other forms of communication at first, but those quickly stopped working and so you just opted for this, and of course it was just as effective as the others.
Alfred was really the only one who listened to your music when you performed, and you only knew that because you caught him playing one of the live performances you had done on the television one day. He not only going out of his way to record the performance, but also trying to find the channel it was broadcasted on.
Ever since you've tried to give him the correct channel number when you do live performances, but that still didn't feel like enough. You loved and appreciated Alfred from the depths of your heart and soul, but what would it take for one of your siblings or close family friends to notice you like that? What would it take for your supposed father to even care to listen to your music? To watch a performance? To not turn you away?
It was only in that moment did a new emotion fuel you. Crawling it's way up your spine as you carefully took the flier in your hands, looking it over before ripping it off the door.
This. This one small thing was all you wanted from them. Over everything else, you just wanted to see one of their faces, one time when you looked out to the crowd when you performed — but every single time, all you saw were strangers.
Every charity event, every gala, every party- that's all you were surrounded by, strangers. Even when you caught small glimpses of them, they were always doing something else, and completely off in a totally different world than your own. That distance along creating a large void-like gap between you and them, and yet it only ever continued to grow. Even when they stood next to you, it was like you couldn't be further apart.
The reality of everything was crushing. Near deadly as you could feel your chest and lungs tighten, with your fingers digging into the paper enough to tear it apart, and reaching your palms as they formed crescent moons, soon drawing blood. Yet nothing could compare to the weight of your heart, and how heavy it felt to carry in your chest.
As you finally moved on from the door, your mind raced. Memories and flashbacks filling your head as every word and notion flashed before your eyes. Barely even paying attention to where you were going, but not caring enough to pay attention.
Every dismissal and excuse thrown your way. Every head shake and blank look. Every confused look, and realization that you were standing there the entire time. Every birthday that passed with the same wish never being granted. Every celebration spent on your own. Every message left on read. Every note ignored. Every time you were forgotten. Every time you were left behind. Every time you brought yourself home, and every time they never noticed. Every night wasted, trying to come up with different things to do only for all of them to turn out fruitless. Everyday that 'maybe' never cones true. Every time you looked out to that sea of strangers, hoping to see someone you recognized, only to find none. Every hour you wasted trying to do something for them while they never once thought of you.
Maybe you'd cry if you could. Then again, maybe not.
You already had spent too many tears over failures you recovered and grew from, and hardships you faced and fought. You've already cried just a little too much during those night you just couldn't handle being so alone, in such a big place anymore. Besides, you've cried enough over people who've never once thought of you. Who never once tried to make time to even see one of your performances, or even allow you to spend a few minutes in their space.
You've given them enough, you think. Especially since after you spent years trying to just make it two thirds of the way — they couldn't even reach that one third of the gap you couldn't. They didn't even try, at least not anymore, and after you had tried to make it easy. Yet, you only hurt yourself in the end.
They never cared about you, and maybe they did once upon a time, but good does that do now when you're trying to go out of your way to make things convenient and easier for them, only for them to skip out on you anyway. No text, no call, no message, no indication, nothing. Just pure silence.
Maybe you were asking for too much, but was it really so bad to want to be loved? And by the people who are supposed to be your family no less?
Hah, who are you kidding at this point. You've just been living in a house full of strangers, and you're the only one who hasn't seen it yet. They've already long since cast you out, and it's only now have you come to truly realize it.
Especially now, as you stand in front of the foot of the door to the music room. Staring at the knob as if it'll turn itself.
You weren't surprised, honestly. Playing music had quickly become an amazing outlet for you, and you had always come here to seek out what little your family couldn't give you; comfort. So it was no wonder that as you collapsed mentally, you had subconsciously brought yourself here.
And yet, only one thought entered your head in that moment.
'They don't deserve to hear my music.'
Perhaps it was now that you decided they had lost the privilege to do so. After all, ever since you had started having performances, even ones in front of wealthy crowds, your 'family' had seemingly been avoiding them like the plague. Never daring to even attend one, for whatever reason, and sure you could understand why they didn't attend the ones you performed at night — but they couldn't use that excuse anymore. You have strictly been playing during the after noon, and at sunset at a push, for over three years now. You've been playing in front of crowds and releasing music for four.
So, you turned away, walking off to your room as your thoughts still stormed. Anger fueling you as you barely remembered storming into your room, collecting any valuables and belongings you had and stuffing them into a bag or two. Not caring about clothes, and only what you deemed important and meaningful to yourself as you just grabbed and shoved everything into a bag if you could.
You could clearly tell now that you obviously weren't wanted, and that no one here even wanted to do the smallest things with you. That even asking to just spend a few minutes with them was too much. So you were doing the only sensible thing, and getting the hell out of here. Moving so quickly that your breathing became uneven, but you didn't stop until you had packed everything you needed, or was important to you in some way.
You only really had a second thought about all this when you were at your window, just about ready to jump out until you paused for a second.
Looking back at the door to your room, you couldn't help but hesitate. There was only ever one person in this entire Manor who treated you like family, and actually put in effort to not only be with you, but to indulge themself in your passion. That met you at the half way mark, and even went a little over sometimes. Since even if everyone else had ignored you — Alfed was there, even if despite all of his efforts you still couldn’t handle this, and maybe that was also your own fault in some way.
You still didn't want to stay, you couldn't anymore, but shouldn't you at least say goodbye? Maybe? After everything... at least he tried.
...
You settled for second best.
Quickly, you grabbed a flashcard and wrote down something before pocketing it and moving back to the window. You may not have any equipment for this kind of thing, but you still managed to scale and work your way around the wall, and managed to reach the window to Alfred's room.
You took a little peak inside, and when you saw that he wasn't there, you opened up the window just a bit, place the small note on the windowsill, and closed it. Then, you skillfully and carefully made your way down, and snuck off to Gotham City. Making your way to a friend's place as you crashed there for the night.
Never once did you look back.
Nor did you ever feel inclined to.
------
Later that night, when Alfred read the note, all it said was:
I'm sorry, Alfed. - Y/n
Just with that alone, it was like he understood everything despite the little that was said. All he could wish you was luck, and that you'd be safe wherever you went.
Suddenly, just like that. The nights where melodies would lull the residence of the Manor to sleep, and bring a temporary, mellow peace to all who heard such a tune, were long gone...
Guess they'll just have to find it, and bring it back.
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Kind of rushed at the end there, hope it isn't too bad for a first post. There's probably a lot of mistakes, so apologies for that.
#this was all written in one go#so that's fun#more angst than anything honestly#not really any yan but it is supposed to be for yan stuff#platonic yandere batfam#yandere batfam#yandere dc#yandere x gn reader#gn reader#platonic yandere#neglected reader#sibling reader#reader tries too hard and does their best but finds out it isn't enough#some things just aren't meant to be#but that doesn't mean they get to run around scott free either
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fall into temptation | three
Post Outbreak Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter! Reader
series masterlist l previous chapter
summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. JACKSON ERA. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, reader has a father and two sisters, all who come with names, reader gets put into a a very uncomfortable situation, insecurity, anxiety, Seth is an asshole, protective Joel, he threatens to break someone’s jaw which is a warning in and of itself. SMUT. loss of virginity, reader is inexperienced but not totally clueless, oral (both m and f receiving), risky unprotected p in v sex (please wrap it up), lots of praise and pet names (baby, babygirl, honey, you know, the works), Joel gets a teensy bit rough, creampie, hint of aftercare, ends with a cliffhanger, but also not really if you think about it?
MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.
word count: 10k
a/n: it was not my intention to post this on jesus day, but here we are. this took forever and a day considering the second part was posted back in september, but i am so so proud of myself for finally completing a wip i could cry. i did a bulk of the editing while i’ve been sick and in all honesty i probably should have asked someone to beta for me because i think i coughed out like 90% of my brain cells this week, but i think it turned out okay. ish.
Somehow, even over the volume of the live music, you could still hear their hushed, astonished whispers.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
“Is that Joel Miller with Pastor John’s daughter?”
“What’s she doing holding his hand?”
“He’s got to be at least twice her fucking age—”
Throat bobbing anxiously, you glanced up at Joel.
His shoulders were squared back, his head held high.
Solid. Steady.
Joel couldn’t seem to care less about the bewildered stares, the judgment that was being flung his way. Not once did he seem to waver. But you?
Oh, you were already starting to crumble underneath it all, on the verge of falling apart right before everyone’s prying eyes. Shame sat heavily inside of your chest, the weight of the feeling suffocating you, making it harder and harder to breathe as it prevented air from reaching your lungs.
It had nothing to do with Joel. Of course it didn’t. It had all to do with you and with who you were. Their beloved preacher’s sweet, innocent young daughter.
His youngest daughter.
Suddenly, the whispers were no longer whispers.
“Oh God, she’s not going home with him, is she?”
“That’s not right! Someone should say something!”
“Pastor John would never allow something like this.”
“Poor thing’s naive—she doesn’t know any better.”
Hot, stubborn tears of frustration glazed over your eyes and threatened to spill. It was as if you were a child who didn’t know any better, a gullible, clueless little girl with nothing in her brain who needed to be rescued—saved from the bad, bad man before he did bad, bad things to her.
Had it been anyone else, no one would have batted an eye. No one would have noticed, let alone cared. But it was you that Joel Miller was leaving the bar with in the middle of the night and it was you whose hand he had clasped in his own. That is what made it wrong. That is why it was a problem.
Everyone’s concerns had nothing to do with him at all, they had everything to do with you. You, you, you. You were the sole reason why it was a problem, the reason why he was being perceived as the Devil himself, horns out as he dragged the poor little unsuspecting angel down to the fires of Hell.
“Joel?” Overwhelmed, you instinctively reached for his arm with your free hand. Cold and trembling, your little fingers curled tightly around his bicep, digging into the firm, bulging muscle through the thick corduroy fabric of his sleeve. You whispered his name again. “Joel—”
“S’alright, babygirl,” he reassured you quietly over his shoulder. He gave your hand a comforting squeeze. “S’alright. Just keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You just keep on lookin’ right at me, okay?”
Nodding, you inhaled deeply and focused on him. Only him. The broadness of his back and his shoulders. Tufts of hair that curled over the collar of his shirt. Only him. He’s what mattered. He’s all that mattered.
“Almost there,” Joel murmured, squeezing your hand again as the door came into view. “Breathe, baby. We’re almost there. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you. Promise I’ve got you.”
It wasn’t until his fingers wrapped around the old, brass handle that you finally exhaled the breath you had been holding out in utter relief, though it was very, very short lived. Just as Joel pulled the door open, you felt a hand wrap around your arm. Dry, slender fingers dug into the soft flesh above your elbow as an attempt, and a feeble one at that, was made to tear you out of Joel’s grasp.
The music stopped and the bar fell silent. Everything and everyone came to a sudden standstill, freezing mid dance, mid drink, mid bite, mid gossip.
Shocked, you glanced over your shoulder. “Seth?” you squeaked his name. “What—what are you doing?”
Seth didn’t acknowledge you. His focus was on Joel.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Miller?”
Joel’s anger couldn’t be seen, but it could be felt. So palpable you could have wrapped your fingers around it. It radiated off of him and loomed over the entire bar like an incoming storm cloud. Threatening. Dangerous.
“Where are you taking her?” Seth demanded, his other hand curling around your wrist as he tried, but failed, to snatch you from Joel’s side once more. “Let the girl go! You let her go right now, you hear?”
Caught in between the two men, you nervously turned to look at Joel. Nostrils flared, jaw clenched, seething eyes that did the talking for him. His message was loud and oh so abundantly clear.
If Seth didn't take his hands off you, he wasn’t going to have any hands.
Not after Joel Miller was through with him.
Blazing heat flooded your face. As if it couldn’t possibly get any worse, everyone had now gathered around you to watch the tense encounter, eyes wide, brows raised and jaws practically on the weathered, hardwood floor.
Tommy Miller stood among the crowd, subtly shaking his head, his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line of disapproval as he glowered at his older brother. Would he be looking at Joel like that had it been Esther in your place? If she was the one he was taking home? Would any of this be happening if it was her instead of you?
“Seth.” Uttering his name, you shifted your attention back to him. You sounded calm and collected, despite feeling anything but. Joel’s hand in yours was the only thing keeping you steady and grounded. His touch was the only reason you hadn’t yet spiraled into a state of panic. Clearing your throat lightly, you spoke again and tried your hardest not to waver. “Please let go of me.”
Still fixed on Joel, he spat, “I’ll be damned if I let him take you anywhere.”
“He’s not taking me anywhere, Seth.” Without thinking, the words came tumbling out of your mouth—loud and clear for everyone in that room to hear. “He isn’t forcing me to go with him. I’m making the choice to leave with him. Out of my own volition. Please let go of me.”
Finally, Seth looked at you. His old, worn features were twisted in disbelief. “What?”
You swallowed dryly. Part of you wanted you to shrink away, curl into yourself. Instead, you straightened your posture, forced yourself to stand a little bit taller. Willed yourself to have a backbone for once in your life.
“You heard me,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. Several onlookers gasped in surprise at your rebellion. Where had this insolence come from? “I’m choosing to leave with Joel. Now, please let go of my arm.”
Behind you, Joel stood silent and still.
Watching. Observing. Waiting.
He wanted nothing more than to intervene. Rip you out of Seth’s hands and shatter each and every last bone in all ten of his fingers for putting them on you. Had Joel not realized that this was probably the first time in your whole, entire life you’d mustered up the courage to use your voice, he would have easily given into the urge. He wanted to protect you. He needed so badly to protect you. Yet, he knew you weren’t helpless or incapable of standing on your own two feet. He knew you deserved the chance to stand up and speak for yourself after a lifetime of being silenced, a lifetime of being forced to stay in your place, seen but never heard.
“Seth, let go of my arm,” you repeated. It was no longer a polite request. It was a demand.
He scoffed. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you leave with somebody like him? You think I’m just going to stand back and let him take advantage of you?”
Oh, you hadn’t liked that insinuation, not one bit.
It caused something inside of you to finally give way.
Snap.
The blood in your veins boiled, ran hot enough to make you feel like you were about to burn from the inside out. “Joel isn’t taking advantage of me! It isn’t like that,” you seethed, furiously. The quiet, well mannered, obedient good girl everyone in Jackson knew was gone. And she could stay gone. In your periphery, you could see Leah elbowing her way through the sea of people to the front of the crowd with an incredulous look plastered on her face. She stood there beside Tommy, who appeared to be just as incredibly bewildered by your outburst. “Don’t treat me like I’m some child who doesn’t know any better! I’m an adult and I’m old enough to make my own choices, okay?”
For a moment, you had forgotten it was Seth standing there in front of you.
“I’m capable of making my own decisions! I don’t need you to dictate my life. I don’t need you to tell me what is and isn’t good for me—controlling what I should and shouldn’t believe in.” Your voice trembled as emotions you’d been suppressing for years bubbled their way up to the surface. Amidst the chaos, you could feel Joel squeeze your hand again, as if silently encouraging you not to lose your nerve. He was your anchor, the only person who could keep your world from capsizing. You knew he wouldn’t let you drown. Not even God, who you had always been forced to believe was your pillar of strength, had ever made you feel this protected. Safe. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live and much less when it’s the end of the world.”
It wasn’t Seth you were addressing.
It was your father.
Your father, who controlled every last thing, from what you would eat to the way that you dressed and how you wore your hair.
Your father, who refused to let you have a mind of your own, who simply could not bear the mere thought of you thinking for yourself.
Your father, whose love felt like shackles, heavy, rusted metal restraints that had been digging into the flesh of your wrists for far, far too long.
“You need to let me go now,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat. Once more, you caught Leah from the corner of your eye, your heart lurching in your chest when you noticed her desperately trying to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. She was the only person in the room who understood how you felt. Her rebelliousness only ever masked the pain of knowing her father’s love came with terms and conditions—and the fear of knowing what would happen if those terms and conditions weren’t met. For several weeks, you’d gotten a taste of what she went through everyday, how her fear of putting her foot down led her to run around in secret and live a double life. “Just let me go.”
Seth firmly shook his head. “No! I’m not letting you go anywhere with him. I don’t know what the hell he did to you, but he’s clearly got you all fucking brainwashed.”
That was fucking enough. Joel stepped in, lowering his voice as he said, “Y’know, I’ve just ‘bout lost count of how many fuckin’ times she’s asked you to let her go now and it’s really startin’ to piss me off.” Raising an eyebrow, he laid his offer out on the table. “Here’s the deal. You let go of her right now and I won’t shatter your fuckin’ jaw into pieces. That seem fair enough to you?”
“No.” Seth gripped your arm even harder, prompting you to let out a little yelp as his nails dug painfully into your skin. Though it’d been accidental and he hadn’t meant to hurt you, it didn’t matter. He’d just set off the ticking time bomb that was Joel Miller.
Furious, Joel snatched a fistful of his shirt with his free hand—the other still held yours. Gentle, despite being mere moments away from beating someone to within an inch of their life.
“Joel! Stop!” Tommy’s voice broke through the tension as he approached. His footsteps were slow—careful and cautious, as if he was afraid to make any kind of sudden movement. “Joel. Hey. C’mon now, let’s not do this, alright? Ain’t gotta handle things this way. We can talk it through. No need for anyone to wind up bleedin’ in the fuckin’ infirmary tonight, so just take a breath and let him go.”
Blatantly ignoring Tommy’s attempt to keep the peace, Joel tugged Seth forward, yanking him closer. “Listen to me and listen to me good ‘cause I ain’t gonna fuckin’ say it again. You’d best take your fuckin’ hands off her right now unless you wanna spend the rest of the night sweepin’ up your teeth off the floor of your own fuckin’ bar,” he threatened, his tone enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, even your own.
“You wouldn’t dare, Miller.” Somehow, Seth managed to keep a straight face, but you could see it so clearly in his eyes and in the tremble of his lower lip—oh, he was terrified of Joel and rightly so. “Not in front of all these people. Not in front of your brother. That wouldn’t be a smart move considering you’re already on thin fucking ice for what you did to that boy’s face, now would it?”
Joel tugged him closer. “Test me,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Go on. Fuckin’ test me.”
His challenge was immediately met with a pathetic look of defeat. Seth dropped your arm and he was released.
“S’what I fuckin’ thought.” Without another word to the man, Joel whirled around and roughly pulled the door open, leading the way outside. As you both descended the building’s old, creaking wooden steps, you began to shiver and he suddenly remembered he’d left his jacket behind inside the bar. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “C’mere, my little dove,” he murmured as he tucked you against his side for warmth. “I’ve got you.”
The first thing he did was light the fireplace.
“Should start warmin’ you up, sweet girl,” he’d said to you over his shoulder. He tossed a log into the blaze as you sat perched on his couch rubbing your bare arms with your hands. “M’gonna go upstairs and find you a blanket, alright? You stay put.”
“Okay,” you’d mumbled, knowing there was no point in telling him not to fuss over you.
Even with the soft, fleece throw blanket he had draped around your shoulders and the warmth of the flames in front of you, you continued trembling. Subtle, but he’d noticed it, felt it when he had sat down beside you and pulled you close against his side. “Oh baby, you’re still shakin’?” That was when he realized you weren’t cold. Frowning, Joel rose to his feet and disappeared down the hallway. He came back to the living room a minute later with a glass of water in his hand. With a small, labored grunt, he dropped to one knee in front of you and held it out. “Here.”
“No, thank you.” You shook your head. “I’m not thirsty.”
“Maybe not, but I’m kinda worried you could be in a bit of shock, right now,” he stated, the creases in between his brows deepening as he observed you for any other physical signs of distress. Carefully, Joel lifted the glass to your lips, gently coaxing you to take a drink. “C’mon, darlin’. Think you can be a real good girl for me and at least take a couple sips? Hm?”
Sighing softly, you nodded and did as he asked of you, taking a small sip of water. It soothed your dry mouth and throat and you took another one. Maybe you were thirsty after all.
“Little more, now. Little more. That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Once he was satisfied with how much you’d had to drink, Joel set the half empty glass down on the oak coffee table behind him. He turned back to you, placing his large hands on either side of your thighs below the hem of your dress. He started tracing soft, soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. “M’real proud of you for standin’ up for yourself back there, sweetheart. Took a whole lot of fuckin’ courage to do that, y’know.”
You glanced down at your hands in your lap. “Mhm.”
“Baby. Hey. Look at me.” One of his hands abandoned your leg and he reached up, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. He tilted your face upwards, his worried gaze meeting your own. “Talk to me. M’right here.”
“That—that was a lot,” you admitted meekly, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline started wearing off and your body slowly came down from the peak hormone rush. “It was a lot.”
Sighing, Joel’s hand fell away from your face. “Yeah, I know it was a lot, babygirl. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No.” You were quick to cut him off. “Don’t be sorry.”
His chest heaved with another sigh, this one deeper, heavier, bearing the weight of his guilt. “Well I am,” he said. He planted his hands on either side of you on the couch and lightly shook his head. “Didn’t even fuckin’ think twice when I pulled you outta that fuckin’ supply closet and took your hand in front of all those people. I was so fuckin’ hellbent on showin’ everybody you were mine that I didn’t even stop and think ‘bout what all it would mean for you. It was selfish of me. Real fuckin’ selfish. And I’m sorry, little dove.”
“Do you regret it?” you asked, quietly.
Joel chuckled in spite of himself. “M’pretty sure I’m the one who should be askin’ you that question, darlin’,” he remarked. “Tell me. Do you regret it? Do you regret me pullin’ you outta that closet?” He momentarily paused. There was a stutter in his heartbeat when you dropped your gaze away from his, silence your only reply. “Do you regret me takin’ your hand in front of everyone?”
Of course not.
You wanted to be his and you wanted everyone to know it. There was no regret, none.
Still.
The consequences that you would undoubtedly have to face in the morning were overwhelming. Daunting.
Surely, by then, your father would know about you and Joel. When he came downstairs right after sunrise and he discovered you weren’t in the kitchen helping Lydia prepare breakfast, he would question where you were and make some kind of remark about how you should not be sleeping in this late. He would tell her just how irresponsible it was for you to ignore your duties and obligations to him and the family. Sloth was one of the seven deadly sins, after all. He would make her trek upstairs and wake you, and when she did, your sister would find your bed empty.
Meanwhile, there would be a knock at the front door.
No stranger to having members of the congregation show up on his doorstep when they were in need, be it of prayer or comfort, your father would answer it only to find someone, not in need of solace, but who felt that it was their responsibility and moral obligation to inform him that they had seen his youngest daughter leaving The Tipsy Bison with Joel Miller in the middle of the night, hand in hand.
He wouldn’t believe them.
“Now, that is simply not true,” he would say, offended that anybody would have the nerve to show up at his door and accuse you of something so vile. “That’s not possible. I know my daughter and she would never do such a thing. It must have been someone else that you saw with him. Someone who looked like her, perhaps.”
Then, Lydia would descend the staircase and tell him you weren’t in your bedroom. “She must have gone up to the main street as soon as she woke up,” she would suggest with a shrug, not yet privy to the events that had taken place the night before at the party you and Leah had snuck off to. She never had to worry about you, the good one. “I did notice we were running pretty low on eggs. Sugar, too. She probably wanted to be the first in line at the pantry to—Papa? What’s the matter?”
The color would drain from your father’s face when the realization slowly sank in. No, you weren’t out on the main street picking up eggs for breakfast and sugar for his tea. You were lying up in Joel Miller’s bed—defiled, impure, and with the curse of Eve on your flesh. Even after dedicating his entire life to making sure you did not stray from the path of righteousness, he had failed. You had fallen into temptation.
There was a chance he would have mercy on you. All you had to do was beg and plead for his forgiveness—and more importantly, for the forgiveness of God. “Vow to atone for your sins,” your father would say, his gaze fixed on the Holy Bible in his lap. He probably wouldn’t be able to look at you, not after what you had done. “Repent. And swear to me, child, that you will never so much as glance in that man’s direction ever again.”
No. That’s not what you wanted.
You wanted Joel and the freedom to be with him.
But that freedom came with a high, high price.
You were willing to pay it, but you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to navigate the consequences. Then again, was there really any way for someone to prepare themselves to be shunned by their own father?
“I can take you home,” Joel offered quietly, the sound of his voice taking you out of the future and bringing you back into the present.
“What?”
“I can take you home,” he repeated himself. “I can take you home right now if that’s what you want, sweet girl. Won’t give you any kinda grief ‘bout it.”
Confused, all you could do was stare at him.
“Listen to me, baby. You mean a lot to me. More than I can even begin to explain,” Joel reassured you before any kind of doubt could find its way into your mind. “I want you to stay with me. There’s nothin’ on what’s left of this fuckin’ earth I want more than for you to stay here with me. But what you want matters to me a hell of a lot more than what I want.” He reached up, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb. “If you decide you wanna go home and go back to your family—back to your old man—then that’s where I’ll take you. Okay?”
Your father would give you an ultimatum. But Joel? He was giving you a choice. And he’d respect that choice.
“I wanna free you from your cage, my little dove. But I think we both know you’ve gotta make the choice to fly outta there on your own.” He lightly swept his thumb over your quivering bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours as he whispered, “Door’s wide open for you. What you do next is all up to you.”
“I’m afraid, Joel,” you confessed. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye and rolled its way down the side of your face. He was quick to wipe it away, along with the others that followed. “I do want out of my cage. I really, really do. But I’m terrified. All I have ever known is my family and my faith. I have never been apart from my father and my sisters.”
His expression softened. “I know you’re scared. Can’t promise you things will be easy, but there is one thing I can promise you.”
“What’s that?” you questioned, then waited with baited breath.
He gingerly cupped your cheek in his large palm. “I’ve got you,” he swore to you, just like he had done so back at the bar. “If you decide to stay, I promise I’ll take real, real good care of you, alright? For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. You won’t ever have to worry ‘bout a thing with me by your side. Swear it on my life.”
Warmth blossomed in your heartspace and finally, you stopped trembling. Lifting a hand, you curled your fingers around his wrist as your gaze fell to his mouth. “Joel?”
“What is it, darlin’ girl?”
“Kiss me. Please.”
With a gentle nod, Joel’s other hand found your hip, the warmth of it seeping through the cotton fabric of your dress. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against yours. It was a chaste thing, soft and innocent until you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you. “Babygirl,” he mumbled against your lips. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue through your parted lips and into your mouth. He tasted like bold bourbon and citrus beer. There was a faint hint of tobacco too—you recalled him admitting to you one night in the church house that while he wasn’t all that much of a smoker, at least not like he used to be when living in the zones, he would occasionally partake in the habit if he happened to come across a pack of cigarettes while out on patrol, pairing the nicotine with a drink. He tasted delicious. He tasted delicious because he tasted like yours.
You sank back into the worn, supple brown leather of his couch, tugging him forward so he sank in with you. Over you. Releasing your near death grip on his collar, you managed to wedge your hands in between your bodies and began to claw furiously at the buttons of his shirt, your fingers shaking out of pure desperation to feel him. It wasn’t until you were halfway down that he finally noticed what you were doing and leaned back, catching both of your wrists.
“Baby, wait,” he panted, shaking his head. “Don’t think now’s a good time for that—”
“Joel, please,” you pleaded, the intense ache between your thighs almost too much for you to bear. “Please. I want it. I want you.”
“S’been a rough night for you.” Joel’s voice was hoarse—strained, like he was aching just as much, if not more. “You’re real emotional right now. Vulnerable. Last thing I want is to take advantage of you at a time like this.”
You frowned. Had Seth’s words gotten into his head?
“You’re not taking advantage of me.”
“Darlin’ I just don’t think we should—”
“Joel, please,” you begged him again. “I was so good for you, was I not? Wasn’t I patient, just like you asked me to be?”
His lips thinned into a tight line. He wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. You, his beautiful little temptress of Eden.
“I waited for so long,” you reminded him. “I’ve been so, so good for you. Please, just make me yours already. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to be with you. Please, Joel. I need you so badly it hurts.”
Christ.
No man could stand it. No man could possibly have the strength to deny you.
With a look of utter defeat, he folded. Before he could say another word or make another move, your greedy mouth was on his, and you kissed him with fervor, with urgency, as you finished the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Pushing it off of his shoulders, the corduroy fabric fell into a crumpled heap behind him, nearly knocking the glass of water off the coffee table. You broke away from him and shamelessly marveled at his mouth watering form—you admired the way miles of smooth, tanned skin stretched over his wide shoulders, broad chest and soft, soft belly. Arousal pooled between your legs and you reached out and raked your fingers down his chest, and over his stomach, going lower and lower, following the trail of coarse, dark hair that led you to his brown leather belt. You clumsily started fumbling with the brass buckle until he caught your hands once more.
“Slow down, my little dove,” he murmured. “No need to rush this. We’ve got all night.” He stood up and held his hand out to you. Time blurred a bit—maybe it was your nervousness mingled with the eager anticipation of what was to come, but there seemed to be a small gap in your memory, a blank space that spanned from the moment you rose off the couch until the moment you found yourself standing in his bedroom where you were about to answer to the call of the flesh.
Dropping your hand, Joel switched on the lamp on his bedside table and kicked off his boots before taking you into his arms. “C’mere, honey.” He nuzzled your cheek with the tip of his nose as he spoke, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheek. “Couple’a rules, sweet girl. I do somethin’ that you don’t like, you tell me. You want me to stop, you tell me to sto—”
Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, you slowly lowered yourself down onto the floor and knelt at his feet with purpose, as if kneeling before an altar, a sacred, holy space. Though you felt anxious, you were eager to worship. “I haven’t forgotten about what I said earlier tonight,�� you cooed, noticing the mild look of surprise on his face. “I said I’d make it up to you and I intend on keeping my word.”
All the blood in his body rushed south to his cock and it strained painfully against the crotch of his jeans. “Baby, I—” Again, he was cut off, only this time by the sound of his own groan when your hand brushed up the front of his thigh and over his growing bulge. He glanced down, his heart thrumming painfully hard against his sternum as he watched you reach for his belt buckle.
With all your might, you willed your hands so as not to tremble. It was self-explanatory, what you were about to do, but your total lack of experience sowed seeds of doubt into your mind—you wanted to make him feel good, just like he had made you feel good outside of the church house during services. Just how you knew he would make you feel tonight.
Hand still over his buckle, you pressed the tenderest of kisses to his bulge through his jeans. Then, turning your head, you rested your cheek on one of his thick, blue denim clad thighs and peered up at him through your eyelashes with a small, nervous smile as you confessed what he already knew. “I’ve never done this before.”
Oh, how sweet and endearing you were. Joel reached down and smoothed your hair back and away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “S’alright, honey,” he crooned, grazing the silkiness of your cheek with his index finger. “I’ll walk you through it. Teach you how to be a real good girl and suck my cock just the way I like it. That what you want, my little dove?”
His filth made your cunt clench hard around nothing.
Slowly lifting your head off of his thigh, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and managed a clear, consenting nod as your hands fumbled with his buckle, the clinking sound of metal ringing loudly in your ears. You undid the button on his jeans and pulled down his zipper, your throat drying when you saw the outline of him, his size intimidating even behind the cotton fabric of his faded, black boxer briefs.
With a harsh swallow, you glanced up at him, silently asking him for his permission to continue.
Such a polite little thing, Joel thought to himself. “Go on, sweetheart,” he encouraged.
You tugged his jeans down to the middle of his thighs and hooked your index fingers underneath the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down and freeing his cock. There was a deep, swooping sensation in your belly as you watched it slap up against the lower part of his abdomen. After many nights of sitting in his lap, feeling him through his clothes, grinding your cunt down onto him, you thought you’d at the very least had an idea of what you would be in for, but oh, how wrong you had been. He was so much bigger than you could have imagined, and your stomach swooped again when you realized he was not going to fit. Anywhere.
Licking away the dryness of your lips, you take him in one of your hands, feeling the heaviness of his length in your palm. He was so long and so, so thick.
“Oh fuck,” Joel hissed the curse through gritted teeth, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as your touch sent a charged jolt of electricity shooting up the length of his spine. He looked down at you, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Christ. You hadn’t even done anything to him yet, but seeing you sitting so prettily at his feet was almost enough to make him come on the spot.
Delicately wrapping your hand around him, you found yourself almost in awe at the way your fingertips barely, just barely, touched. The sheer size of his cock dwarfed your hand, and made it seem so much smaller than it really was.
“You’re so big,” you murmured, echoing your thoughts. You licked at your lips again, suddenly feeling ravenous, an appetite that had seemingly come out of nowhere making you salivate. The tip of him was flushed red, slit already glistening—how badly you wanted, needed a taste. Never, ever, did you think you would be down on your knees for anything but prayer, but there you were, starved and desperate to bite into the forbidden fruit.
“What’re you waitin’ for, darlin’ girl?” he croaked.
“Permission,” you replied, sweetly.
“Go right ahead, baby. S’all yours—I’m all yours.”
Yours.
Yours, yours, yours.
Finding your first push of courage, you leaned forward and so carefully swept your tongue along the tip of his length, collecting the slight saltiness leaking from the slit and getting your first delectable taste. With your hand still wrapped firmly around his base, you looked up, your eyes locked on Joel’s face as you flicked your tongue up against the rigid underside of his cock.
“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned, all of the muscles in his stomach already pulling taut when he felt you dragging your tongue in a slow, purposeful lick along the length of him. “Babygirl.”
“Is that good?” you asked him, sounding hopeful. “Am I doing good?”
“Doin’ so, so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart. Look so fuckin’ pretty down on your knees for me.”
Pleased, you wrapped your mouth around the head of his length, pressing forward and taking him in as far as you possibly could—which, in all fairness, wasn’t very far. At least not as far as you would have liked. Another groan tore itself from the depths of his chest as your plush, plump lips sealed around him, your tongue warm and wet on the underside of his cock. Moving both of your hands to rest on the sides of his thighs, you began to move your head back and forth, following what felt most natural to you. The nerves you initially felt slowly but surely dissipated, vanishing one by one with every curse, every tremble, every sharp breath.
Joel resisted the urge to buck his hips forward, fought the desire to feel himself at the back of your throat. He needed to be gentle, so careful with such an innocent, pliant thing who had much, much to learn. “Sweet little fuckin’ mouth feels so good around my cock, baby, just like I fuckin’ knew it would. Y’think it can take more of me, little dove? Hm?”
You hummed, the vibration intensifying his pleasure.
“Yeah? Y’trust me?”
Your reply came in the form of a muffled, “Mhm.”
Joel reached down and cradled the back of your head in the palm of his hand. He carefully guided you further onto his throbbing length, slowly feeding you one inch at a time. Your fingers dug into the denim of his jeans. He was much more than a mouthful for you, and you could only take about half of him before he hit the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him. Drool dribbled out from the corners of your mouth and down the sides your chin, dripping onto your lap.
“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Little more now, honey,” Joel encouraged. He bucked his hips forward, his head slipping further down your throat. Just when you felt like you were about to choke, he pulled out and you tried your hardest not to cough and sputter as you took in a much needed, precious breath of air. He gave you a few seconds or so to finish catching your breath as he shoved his jeans and boxer briefs further down his legs. He stepped out of the articles of clothing and kicked them somewhere off to the aside, standing before you completely bare. “Open up.”
Your absolute devotion to him bred sweet submission, so as worried as you were that you wouldn’t be able to handle it, you nodded obediently and very willingly did as you were told.
He guided himself right back into your waiting mouth, pressing deeply. You tried to relax your jaw, reminding yourself to breathe in and out through your nose. Tears streamed down the sides of your face as you did your best to forestall another gag. “Little bit more,” he said, thrusting his hips in a slow, steady controlled rhythm. He advanced even further into your mouth—trusting he wouldn’t suffocate you, nor push you too far past your limits, you opened up wider. He moaned, “Yeah, baby. That’s my good girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl.”
With a bit of newfound confidence, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him. You swiped your tongue along the thick, prominent vein on the underside of his cock, earning yourself more of his sweet, sweet praise.
“Fuck, yeah, suck me off, sweetheart. This pretty little mouth was fuckin’ made for sin,” he breathed, guiding your head back and forth with a firm, but gentle hand.
You moaned, the noise muffled around his length. Slick soaked through your panties and coated the insides of your thighs. With another moan, you tightly squeezed your legs together, inwardly reminding yourself that patience was a virtue.
Noticing the way you had shifted, Joel moved his hand from the back of your head, lightly curling his fingers around your jaw. He pulled you off of his cock, a loud, lewd popping sound bouncing off the sage green walls of his bedroom. “C’mere, baby.” He grabbed your arms, effortlessly hoisting you up to your feet.
“What’s wrong?” you questioned him worriedly. “Did I do something wrong?”
Chuckling softly, he brushed a finger along the strap of your dress. You could do no wrong, his perfect, perfect girl. “Of course not, sweet girl. You did so fuckin’ good for me,” Joel reassured you, lightly tracing along your collarbone with his finger and making your flesh erupt in goosebumps. He leaned forward and feathered a kiss onto your lips, murmuring against them, “Are you wet, little dove?”
Before you could even process the query and generate some kind of coherent response, he dove his opposite hand between your thighs, cupping your warm heat in his palm. At this, your weak knees buckled, prompting you to reach out and grab onto his arms to hold steady and keep yourself from falling into a helpless heap on the floor.
“Oh, honey. You’re soaked. That what sucking my cock does to you?” he cooed. He peppered another kiss, this one onto the corner of your mouth. His voice lowered another octave. “Poor little thing. She needs me, don’t she? Needs me to take care of her?”
You whimpered. “Yes.”
“Manners, babygirl,” he reminded you, skimming your cheek with his nose. “Yes, what?”
“Yes, please.”
Humming in approval, Joel withdrew his hand from in between your legs and guided you backwards towards his bed. “Sit,” he commanded gently, bidding you to let go of him. “Arms up.”
Reaching for the hem of your dress, he took great care in pulling it over your head, then discarded the vibrant yellow material over his shoulder, leaving you in nothing but your cowboy boots and thin, cotton white panties. Without a word, he knelt before you and pulled off one boot, and then the other, setting them both aside. He hooked two fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your underwear, coaxing you to lift your bottom off of the bed, just long enough for him to pull them down and slide them down your legs. He was so tender in the manner in which he undressed you.
“Fuckin’ beautiful, beautiful girl,” Joel praised. His dark gaze dragged down the length of your body as you sat before him wearing nothing but the delicate, gold chain around your neck. The holy cross nestled between your supple breasts gleamed in the light of the lamp on the nightstand. He would leave it on until your decision was made, set in stone. “My pretty little dove.”
“Joel.” You whimpered his name, hands curling around fistfuls of his dark blue sheets. You were drenched now, in dire need of some relief. If he didn’t touch you where you needed him most, you would surely lose your mind.
Desperate, you leaned back slightly onto his bed and parted your knees, your folds glistening as you showed him just how badly you needed him.
Joel groaned, almost visibly salivating at the sight. The blazing heat in his eyes sent ripples of desire coursing through your body, straight to your throbbing core.
You opened wider. “Please.”
“Christ, babygirl. Already soakin’ the sheets.” Sliding a finger up along the seam of your pussy, he grazed your clit, the touch light, but somehow still enough to make your hips arch off the mattress as white-hot pinpricks of pleasure danced their way up your spine. He lowered his head and leaned in, your sweet scent drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Just when you were about to start pleading him for more, he dipped his face into the apex of your thighs, his mouth finally, finally, meeting your wet heat.
“Oh!” you gasped, your head falling back. “Fuck!”
Against you, his lips curled upwards into a wicked grin. He’d never heard you curse before, not until now.
Joel took his time devouring you, savoring the essence of your cunt with each broad stroke of his tongue. Sealing his lips around your clit, he flicked the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again, eliciting from you some of the sweetest noises that he had ever heard in his entire life. In preparation for what you both knew was to come, he pushed one finger inside of you, the invasion causing you to fist his sheets even harder. He then slipped in a second finger, groaning in sheer, carnal bliss at how your walls squeezed them, at the mere thought of them squeezing his cock in the same manner. How was it that you felt so much tighter this time around?
“Oh God.”
You shouldn’t be saying His name. Not like this.
Not when something this sinful was being done to you.
Hungrily, Joel lapped at you, curling both of his fingers in an upwards motion to hit the perfect spot. He knew you were close, felt it in the way that you squirmed and writhed. Draping his arm across your hips, he pinned them down onto the bed, holding you still as he chased your high as if it were his own.
“Joel,” you chanted his name over and over again in a fevered prayer. Releasing the sheets, your hands found his hair, tangling themselves in his curls. Your head fell back, and you cursed at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Joel—”
Pushing onto his mouth, you came, moaning his name so loudly you were certain the whole neighborhood was getting an earful.
Joel pulled back, his beard and mustache slicked with your spend. “S’right, honey,” he crooned, his digits still buried to the knuckle as he helped you to ride out your wave of ecstasy. Eventually, when he pulled them out, you tried closing your shaking legs. He tsked and shook his head, wrenching them open further. “No, no, baby. Keep those pretty thighs open for me. Wanna see her.” He admired his work, his cock twitching at the sight of your pussy, swollen and shining, and ready to take him.
Like earlier, there was another brief skip in time.
Mind still in a haze, you hadn’t even realized that he’d risen to his feet and guided you further up onto his bed, not until you were lying on your back with your head on his pillow and he was hovering over you, his hard length brushing against one of your messy, inner thighs when he settled himself between your legs.
Your heart began to pound in a mingle of both fear and excitement.
Joel’s eyes met yours. His pupils were blown so wide, there was not one, single trace of brown anywhere to be seen. “Y’absolutely sure about this, little dove?”
Your response came without hesitation. “Yes. I’m sure.”
He pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw. Your submission was a gift, and he would cherish every last second of your surrender to him, savor it for as long as he possibly could. His lips, soft and warm, skimmed along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fresh goosebumps in their wake.
If, by some chance, you decided that you wanted to go back to your father and to your faith, Joel didn’t know how he would find it in himself to let you go, not after this. Of course, he would have to let go, though.
The last thing he wanted was to help free you from one cage just to stick you right back into another. While he was no stranger to loss, he had to admit to himself that to lose you would be a knife to whatever was left of his heart.
Shoving the thought out of his mind, he reached down and gripped the base of his cock, pumping it in his fist before running the leaking head along your puffy lips, coating himself in your wetness with the hope it would ease some of the pain you were bound to feel. “Ready, babygirl?” he asked you, lightly teasing your entrance. “Might hurt a bit. M’gonna go slow. Just need you to relax for me, alright?”
“Okay.”
“I’ve got you,” he promised.
You nodded, saying softly, “I know.”
Though he knew he had all of your trust, Joel could still sense your anxiousness. He reached out for your hand, lacing your fingers together with his own as he gingerly pressed forward and eased himself into you, taking the very innocence you had been taught your entire life to preserve, one slow, careful inch at a time.
“Oh—Joel!” You cried loudly at the initial stretch, your pretty face scrunching in discomfort. Tightly slamming your eyes shut, sparks flew behind your eyelids when he finally bottomed out. The burning sting in between your thighs was too overwhelming, almost impossible to cope with. He felt so enormous within you, you could have sworn he was in your belly. Another broken cry fell from your lips and he swallowed it with a comforting kiss.
“Jesus Christ,” he hissed against your lips, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow, neck, and chest. He wasn’t sure where he found the strength, but he suppressed his urge to thrust. Instead, he dropped his face into the hollow of your neck and waited, giving you the chance to adjust to him. He mumbled against your skin. “Doin’ so good for me, sweet girl. Y’know that? You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”
Even in discomfort, you preened at his praise.
He squeezed your hand, and after a minute, he gave an experimental thrust of his hips—and then another and another before he ceased his movement once again. He was so big and you were so deliciously full of him.
Eventually, the pain subsided, and you found yourself asking, no, begging for more. “Move.” Your other hand found itself cupping the side of his face, coaxing him to lift his head and allowing your gazes to meet. Your soft, plush thighs parted further to help accommodate the breadth of his hips. “Please, Joel. I need you to move—I need you to fuck me.”
Surely, you would be the death of him.
He drew his hips back with cautious, tender care, then advanced in the same manner to fill your precious cunt all over again. He did it over and over, your pleasured moans encouraging him to begin picking up the pace. He drove his cock in and out of your weeping pussy, the slapping of flesh against flesh, the lewd, wet squelch of you around him inspiring him to fuck you harder, faster. And the noises you were making?
There was something oh so beautiful about your cries, sweet raptures of submission as you laid there beneath him, all too graciously taking everything he had to give you like the good, good, good girl you were for him.
“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” Joel rasped. “Look at you—look at the way you take my fuckin’ cock, honey.”
And you did.
Glancing down, your gaze fell between your bodies and you watched in awe, openly marveled at the way Joel slid in and out of your cunt, how he knocked hard so deeply inside of you, driving himself as far as he could possibly go.
“Fuck Joel, I’m gonna—” You tried warning him as the pressure in your belly neared its peak, but you tumbled over the edge before you even had the chance to finish your sentence. Arching up off off the bed, you pressed your chest against his, your fingers squeezing his own so hard you feared you might break them.
“That’s it babygirl, let go,” he grunted, speeding up his thrusts. “Squeeze my fuckin’ cock—just like that. Good girl. My perfect, perfect girl.”
You didn’t quite get the chance to let the praise sink in.
Joel pulled himself out of you, and with ease, he flipped you over onto your belly. His hands gripped your hips and pulled them up off the mattress, his fingers moving to firmly knead the fleshiest part of your ass. He leaned over you, the head of his cock nudging at your hole. “Y’think you can handle a little bit more, sweetheart?” he whispered the question into a tumble of messy hair, the delicate scent of the lavender shampoo you used to wash it filling his senses. “Answer me, little dove.”
“Yes,” you replied breathlessly with a nod. “I can.”
With a satisfied hum, Joel sank into you, this second stretch not quite as overwhelming at the first, but still intense. “Relax,” he murmured, hunching further over your quivering back. He pressed a kiss onto the top of your head and then leaned down to brace his hands on either side of you. “Need you to be sweet for me just a bit longer, okay, baby?”
“God,” you whimpered when the heaviness of his balls came to rest on your sensitive clit.
It was the second time you’d uttered His name.
Joel almost grinned at the irony. He found his rhythm, groaning in gut-deep satisfaction with each snap of his hips—each smooth stroke in and each smooth stroke out.
“Oh fuck, sweet girl.” Heaven was indeed a real place, and Joel Miller was buried in it to the hilt, right at this very moment.
He was getting closer and closer.
Maybe it was your eagerness to help him reach his own release mingled with the pride you knew you would feel once you did that gave you a second wind, a fresh, new burst of energy. You planted your hands firmly on his pillow. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you curved your spine and pushed back onto Joel with purpose, meeting his thrusts halfway as you rode his aching length to the satiation that waited for him at the end.
“There’s my girl,” he rasped. “Oh fuckin’ Christ—”
No way he could live his life without you now.
He needed you.
He needed you so much more than you needed him.
Joel slipped an arm around your shoulders, across your chest.
“Oh!” you gasped as he then yanked you back, pulling you flush against him. The rough crash of your back against his chest, combined with the angle in which he was fucking you knocked the wind out of your lungs.
His lips were at the shell of your ear. “Stay,” he panted, his breath hot against your cheekbone. He wrapped his other hand lightly around your throat. Relentless, were his hips now—his movements had become frantic. Desperate. “Stay with me, baby.”
Even as you fought to catch your breath in the position he had you in, you picked up on the fact that he wasn’t asking you of it, nor was he demanding you of it.
He was begging you.
Him, the most feared man in this town. Begging you?
“Joel,” you choked.
“Please, my little dove,” he pleaded, turning your head towards him. His mouth was then on the corner of your own, his beard roughly scratching the soft and delicate flesh of your cheek. “I need you, babygirl. Stay with me. Please, just fuckin’ stay with me.”
Your hands curled around his wrists. “Yes, I’ll stay,” you moaned. “I’m yours, Joel. I’m all yours. I—I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll stay with you.”
A low, guttural sound rumbled through his chest. Joel firmly took hold of your cross, and without so much as a warning, he ripped the chain from around your neck and tossed it somewhere over his shoulder. He heard it land on the hardwood floor with the tiniest, faint clink the moment he spilled into you, ropes of warm release coating your fluttering walls. Curses and groans spilled from his lips and into your neck. Your cunt clutched at his pulsing cock, greedy for every last drop of his spend she could get.
Once you were filled, you both collapsed beside each other on the bed, heaving to catch a steady breath.
“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Joel managed to ask, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.
Exhausted, all you could do was nod and utter, “Mhm.”
He exhaled an amused huff through his nose. “C’mere.” He reached for you and pulled you against his side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, holding you as close to him as was possible. “Y’did so good, honey.”
Your mouth curled into a small, contented smile.
Several minutes had passed by, and despite telling him that you were too tired to even think about moving, Joel made you get up and use the bathroom, and while you did so, he ran a clean washcloth under warm water. “Here, darlin’. Let me clean you up,” he’d said, his lips meeting your forehead in a loving token of affection before he sank down onto one knee and ran the damp cloth along the insides of your thighs. He took extreme care when he wiped at your swollen folds, knowing you were still sensitive to the touch. “There we go. All done, now.”
Not long after, you were both back in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets.
Yawning, you nuzzled into bare his chest, your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier with each and every second that ticked by. You’d started drifting off when you heard his voice.
“Baby?”
“Hmm?” you answered sleepily, eyes still closed.
“Did you mean what you said?”
“Mean what, Joel?”
There was a brief pause. “Y’know, when you said you’d stay with me.”
Snuggling closer to him, you mumbled, “Mhm. Of course I did.”
“S’not gonna be easy,” Joel murmured into your hair.
“I know.” You yawned. “But I have you.”
“You do. You’ve got me—and I’ve got you, babygirl.”
“Mm. I know that too, Joel.”
You felt him kiss the top of your head and then fell fast asleep in his arms.
The sun bloomed over the Grand Tetons.
Your father would wake soon, that’s to say if he wasn’t up already.
The nerves began to set in.
Joel must have sensed it. “Breathe, baby. S’gonna be okay,” he soothed, squeezing your hand.
With one of his warmer, heavier jackets that normally didn’t see the light of day until winter season draped around your shoulders, the two of you made your way down the road and towards your house. Or better said, towards your father’s house. Because after what you were about to do, that yellow and white cottage would no longer be a place you could call home.
He led you up to the porch. “Y’sure you don’t want me to go in there with you?” he asked, quietly.
You could have laughed. You almost did.
“Do you believe that to be a wise choice?”
“No, I reckon it ain’t the best idea,” Joel admitted with a sigh, raking his free hand through his unkempt, salt and pepper hair. He looked up at the house, then back at you. “Look, little dove. No matter what happens in there, just know that everythin’ will be alright. M’gonna take care of you. For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. I’ll try my hardest to be everythin’ you need.”
“You already are, Joel,” you said, your gaze earnest.
His chest swelled with warmth.
Truth be told, Joel didn’t know how he had managed to defy the odds—how he, of all people, had managed to make his way into that sweet, innocent, beautiful little heart of yours, but somehow he did, and he would not take this responsibility lightly.
He brushed your lips with his and promised, “Gonna be waitin’ right here, okay?”
“Okay.” Inhaling deeply, you willed yourself to let go of his hand and took a step back. You then started up the porch steps on wobbling legs. When you made it to the top, you glanced over your shoulder at Joel, who gave you a subtle nod of encouragement. Exhaling slowly, you reached for the knob with trembling fingers and turned it, opening the door. You stepped inside, your heart dropping into your stomach when you saw your father sitting there at the foot of the staircase, as if he’d been waiting for you. He had been waiting for you. Fully dressed, he sat on the second to last step with both hands folded on his bible in his lap, a rosary clutched between them. “Papa?”
He said nothing. Instead, he silently observed you—his eyes glazed over the men’s jacket and the short dress you were underneath it, the disheveled, loose hair and kiss swollen lips. Your holy cross nowhere to be seen.
“Papa.” You swallowed harshly and shifted your weight anxiously from the heel of one boot to the other. “We, um—we really need to have a talk.”
He peered around you, catching a brief glimpse of the man standing outside, waiting for you at the foot of the porch.
He cleared his throat, lightly. “Yes, child. I suppose that we do.”
Nodding tightly, you turned around and slowly closed the door. Joel’s words rang in your mind over and over, giving you the push of strength you knew you would need.
I’ve got you.
divider credit goes to @saradika 🤍
#fic: fall into temptation#joel miller x reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x afab!reader#joel miller x you#joel miller smut#joel miller series#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller angst#the last of us fic#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfiction#post outbreak joel
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Just a Taste
Max Verstappen x best friend!Reader
Summary: you quickly learn that there’s more to the chocolates you devoured than meets the eye
Warnings: 18+ content, dubious consent (thanks to aphrodisiac chocolates)
You knock on Max’s front door, balancing a tray with four large lattes in your arms. “Max!” You call out, “It’s me!”
No response. You frown, knowing he’s usually back from his morning run by now. Shifting the drinks to one arm, you pull out your key and let yourself in.
“Max?” You call out again as you kick the door closed behind you. Still no answer.
You make your way to the kitchen and put the coffees down on the counter. Every Sunday morning you and Max have brunch together, a tradition you’ve kept up for years, ever since you became friends as kids.
As you take a sip of frothy caffeine, your stomach rumbles loudly. You glance at the clock — you’re a bit early today, so Max probably hasn’t returned yet.
Looking around, you spot a pink box on the counter that you don’t recognize. Curious, you open it up to find a dozen chocolates inside. A small note card reads:
For when you finally meet someone special - Lando
You chuckle to yourself, trust Lando to tease Max about being perpetually single. Popping one of the chocolates in your mouth, you savor the rich sweetness that melts on your tongue. Before you know it, you’ve eaten three more. They’re just so good! Max won’t mind if you have a few, right?
You’re nibbling on a fifth chocolate when warmth blooms through your body. You feel … tingly all over. And is it just you or did the room get brighter? You blink a few times then shake your head, trying to clear the sudden haze that’s settled over your mind.
Just then, the front door opens and Max calls out, “Y/N? You here already?”
“In the kitchen!” You reply, your voice coming out breathier than normal. You feel hot and flushed now, your skin ultra sensitive. What was in those chocolates?
Max enters the kitchen and stops short when he sees you leaning against the counter, breathing heavily. “Whoa, are you okay?” His brow furrows in concern as he takes in your disheveled appearance.
You stare at him, suddenly unable to form a coherent thought beyond how good he looks right now, sweaty from his run in just a compression top and shorts. You’ve always thought Max was cute of course, but now an almost uncontrollable urge to touch him overtakes you.
“Y/N?” Max prompts again, stepping closer and seeing the open box of chocolates beside you. “Did you … oh no. You ate from the pink box, didn’t you?”
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Max runs a hand through his hair. “Those were from Lando, they’re infused with … let’s just say they have special effects. I told him it was a stupid gift idea.”
He moves towards you but you back away quickly. “D-don’t,” you stammer out, worried what might happen if he gets too close right now.
Understanding dawns on Max’s face. “It’s alright, just try to stay calm. Come on, let’s go sit down.”
He gently grasps your arm and leads you to the living room couch. You sink down onto the soft cushions, resting your head against the back and closing your eyes. Your skin is on fire, you shift restlessly as desire coils hotly inside you.
Max sits down on the other end of the sofa. “This will pass, just ride it out,” he says soothingly.
You crack open your eyes to look at him. His face is etched with concern and something else you can’t quite place. “Max,” you breathe out his name like a plea.
He swallows hard. You’ve never wanted someone as much as you want Max in this moment. Scooting closer to him, you reach out a hand to touch his cheek.
Max inhales sharply at your contact but doesn’t pull away. His eyes search yours questioningly.
“Please Max, I need you,” the words fall desperately from your lips before you can stop them.
Max’s eyes widen in surprise before darkening with unmistakable desire. He’s silent for a long moment, emotions playing across his face as he struggles with indecision. You hold your breath, heart hammering in your chest.
Finally Max moves, shifting forward to close the small gap between you. His hand comes up to cradle your cheek tenderly as his eyes lock with yours.
“Are you sure?” He asks softly.
You answer by surging forward to capture his lips in a heated kiss. Max responds immediately, mouth moving urgently against yours. His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his strong chest.
You sigh into the kiss, hands tangling into his hair. His lips are even softer than you imagined. You swipe your tongue along his bottom lip and Max parts them with a low groan.
As the kiss deepens, your desperation mounts. You need more, need to be closer. Straddling his lap, you rock your hips against his, feeling his growing arousal.
Max breaks the kiss with a gasp. “We should stop, the effects will wear off soon,” he protests weakly.
“Don’t want to stop,” you murmur, trailing kisses down his neck. You nip at his pulse point and Max lets out a strangled moan, resolve clearly wavering.
His hands grip your hips tightly as you continue to move against him. “We shouldn’t, not like this,” he tries again, but you silence him with another heated kiss.
You pull back just enough to meet his gaze. “Max, I want this. I want you. Not just because of the chocolates. I’ve always wanted you.”
Max’s eyes widen at your confession, before a vulnerable smile spreads across his face. “I’ve wanted you too, for so long,” he admits softly.
Cupping your face in both hands, he kisses you tenderly. When you eventually break apart, foreheads resting together, Max asks “Are you sure this is what you want? I don’t want you to regret anything.”
You smile and take his hand, rising from the couch and pulling him up with you.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” you tell him sincerely. “Now take me to bed.”
His eyes darken and he laces his fingers through yours. “Gladly,” he murmurs, before leading you towards his bedroom and kicking the door shut behind you.
As soon as the door clicks closed, Max presses you up against it, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. His hands roam your body eagerly as your own fumble to push his shirt up and off him.
Breaking the kiss, Max trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You gasp and arch into him, nails raking down his bare back.
Needing more, you reach for the hem of your own shirt but Max stops you.
“Let me,” he says huskily, grasping the fabric and lifting it up tantalizingly slowly to reveal your skin inch by inch. He pulls the shirt over your head and tosses it aside before returning his heated gaze to you.
Reaching behind you, Max deftly unhooks your bra, letting it slip from your shoulders to the floor. He hovers over you, grey eyes burning with desire as they rake over your newly exposed skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers reverently before ducking his head to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and chest.
Leaning in, he kisses down between your breasts before capturing a nipple in his mouth. You cry out, hands coming up to grip his hair tightly. He lavishes attention on your breasts until you are squirming against him desperately.
Sensing your need, Max scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the bed. He lays you down gently against the rumpled sheets before settling over you, the hard planes of his body pressing deliciously against your own softer ones.
You kiss feverishly as you fumble with the drawstring of his shorts, shoving them down impatiently. Max kicks them off before reaching for the button of your jeans. Soon the last barriers between you are gone.
Max trails heated open-mouthed kisses down your stomach until he reaches the apex of your thighs. He looks up at you questioningly and you nod eagerly. You arch up into his touch, gasping and tangling your hands in his hair.
“Please Max,” you beg desperately, needing more.
At the first touch of his mouth on your most intimate area, you cry out his name, hands twisting into the sheets. He takes his time exploring you with his lips and tongue until you are writhing and gasping beneath him.
When you feel yourself teetering on the edge, you breathlessly beg Max to be inside you. Needing no further encouragement, he moves back up your body, positioning himself at your entrance.
He pauses, meeting your gaze. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he says huskily before finally joining your bodies in one smooth motion. You both moan at the feeling of completion.
Max sets a steady rhythm, angling his hips until he finds the spot that makes you see stars. You feel the pressure building rapidly within you. Sensing you’re close, Max increases his pace. His thumb rubs tight circles over that sensitive bundle of nerves until you shatter around him with a cry. He follows right after, burying his face in your neck and groaning your name as he finds his own release.
You cling to each other as you come down, trading soft kisses and whispers of affection. Eventually Max rolls off of you, gathering you close against his chest.
“That was incredible,” Max murmurs, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. “You are incredible.”
You smile up at him adoringly. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
He grins and squeezes you tight. You drift off curled safely in the arms of the man you’ve always loved, happier than you’ve ever been.
***
The next morning, you wake up to find your legs tangled with the man beside you. Last night had been incredible, even better than your wildest fantasies.
You feel Max begin to stir. Turning in his arms to face him, you meet his sleepy gaze.
“Morning,” Max smiles at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His expression turns serious. “How are you feeling?”
You know he’s asking about more than just the effects of the chocolates. You lift a hand to caress his cheek reassuringly.
“I’ve never been happier,” you tell him honestly.
Max’s face breaks into a radiant grin. He kisses you softly before pulling you tightly against his chest. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent.
“I’m so glad you feel the same way,” Max whispers into your hair. “I’ve wanted to tell you how I felt for so long but I didn’t want to risk our friendship if you didn’t feel the same.”
You lift your head to meet his gaze. “Well you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” you say, leaning in to kiss him languidly.
When you eventually break apart, Max smirks at you. “Remind me to send Lando a thank you card.”
You laugh and snuggle back into his embrace, making a mental note to pick up another box of those chocolates. Just in case.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#max verstappen#mv1#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#max verstappen fic#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#max verstappen x female reader#max verstappen x y/n#red bull racing#max verstappen one shot#max verstappen drabble
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something nice — sub!fem!reader x dom!yeonjun x servicetop!kai
cw. reader is in an established (open) relationship with yeonjun, cucking? (kai eats reader's pussy while yj watches lol), cunnilingus ofc, nipple play, orgasm denial, edging, pet names (baby, jjun), begging, mention of "punishment" but nothing's ever done, yeonjun and kai talk about reader and what they're gonna do to her (without her understanding—everything is consensual in the beginning, but read note below), let me know if there's anything else.
notes. IMPORTANT: ok so the tea with this one. the idea here is that the reader doesn't speak korean well and kai and yj are speaking korean to kinda talk about the reader and what they're gonna do to her so she doesn't understand. nothing aggressive, just describing what to do to her body so she's kinda surprised? SO!! anything in italics is in korean. thats important!! also idk how i feel about this???? smut under cut.
wc. 1.5K
“Did she give you a reason or did she just break up with you?” You’re eavesdropping on Yeonjun and Kai—not that they’re being very secretive. They’re talking about a woman Kai’s been seeing while you play video games and attempt to translate in your head, but you're not being too successful, catching a few words here and there.
“She did say one thing,” Kai says hesitantly. “But it’s kinda embarrassing.”
“What is it?”
“Well,” he starts, scooting closer to Yeonjun to awkwardly whisper something to him, twiddling his thumbs, running his fingers through his hair.
“Oh,” Yeonjun chuckles. “That’s…man, if you get really good at that, you could date anyone.”
“What are you talking about?” You finally pause your game, curiosity getting the best of you. Looking up, Kai looks like you caught him stealing cookies from a cookie jar while Yeonjun tries to hold back a chuckle. The three of you exchange looks until Yeonjun rolls his eyes to bluntly say—
“Eating women out.”
“Yeonjun—!” Kai says, shoving his arm.
“What?” He chuckles, returning the shove. “I eat her out all the time. She knows what it is. She knows you eat pussy too.”
“But that’s why that woman broke up with you?” You ask. “Because you…you're bad at eating pussy?” He blushes, averting his attention to the floor while he clasps his hands together, nodding shyly.
“Be honest, babe—am I good at eating you out?”
Looking between the two of them, you sit up and say, “Yeah, you’re probably the best I’ve had, but we’re super compatible, you know? We’re, like, super in love. That makes a big difference sometimes.”
Holding back a cocky smile, he asks, “But, objectively, I’m pretty good, right?” You shrug and nod—really, he probably is the best you’ve ever had, but that’s another story.
“What makes it good?” Kai asks.
Humming, you think before saying, “First, he doesn’t go straight for it.” Turning red and ears getting warm, you gush and— “Oh god, Kai, don’t look at me when I tell you this.”
“Ah, this is ridiculous,” Yeonjun exasperates. “Do you just wanna practice on her?” You both whip your heads in his direction. “If you’re comfortable with it, of course,” he says to you. “Just thought it might be helpful.”
Oh, how did you end up here? Laying in Yeonjun's bed, clenching your thighs together out of nervousness. “Remember, this is kinda specific to her. Pay attention to what whoever you’re with wants.” Kai nods, kneeling at the foot of the bed.
“She already said this—” Yeonjun says. “I don’t go straight for it. I kiss her first, then make my way down there.”
“You want him to kiss me?”
He shrugs and says, “If you’re alright with that.”
“If you are,” you say, looking Kai in the eyes. Both of them can’t help but notice the confidence you seem to be exuding, especially compared to Kai. Trembling fingers reaching for your cheek, he looks at you for permission one final time. Finally leaning in, his lips press to yours.
You’d forgotten what it was like to have a first kiss with someone. Kai’s kisses are different from Yeonjun’s. Kai’s are much more cautious, more careful—not necessarily shy, but careful. It quickly turns hot and heavy. But you remember Yeonjun is watching you, suddenly overtaken with bashfulness, you break the kiss to glance over at him.
Him and that sinister smile.
Turning back to Kai, you crash into his lips again, humming into his mouth and smirking to rub how much you're enjoying this in Yeonjun's face.
“Touch her,” Yeonjun says. “Kinda slowly, but then a little more intense.” Kai does as he’s told, his hand dragging up your hip to squeeze your tits. “Under her shirt.”
His hand on the outside of your bra feels new and exciting. Reaching around your back to unhook it, you break the kiss to take your shirt off, pulling at the hem of his.
“Slow down for a second,” Yeonjun chuckles and Kai listens, placing gentle kisses to your collarbone. “Lick her nipples.” Swirling his tongue around your nipple, you gasp, reaching for his hair. “Pay attention to which one she likes better.”
Kai tests both, slyly licking between the two. After testing the waters, he picks correctly. You chuckle thinking about Yeonjun sitting on a chair across the room, smirking in approval. You could look for yourself, but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes.
“Keep licking her until her hips roll.” This is a bit crazy, isn’t it? The guy you love telling another man how to fuck you the way you like. “Not yet.” Yeonjun switches to Korean, making you roll your eyes. If you didn’t have the energy to translate in your head earlier, you definitely can’t focus enough to translate now.
Lips trailing down your body, he tugs at your shorts, but keeps your cute pink panties on. Yeonjun talks him through every move—to lick his thumb and rub your nipple, to press his nose to the outside of your panties, to skate his lips across your inner thighs.
Your hips roll uncontrollably, practically begging him to taste you.
“Kai—” You whisper, your body instantly burning at the sound of the both of them chuckling. Pulling your panties down and off your legs, he throws them to Yeonjun who happily wads them up to sniff them and smell how delicious you are.
Licking his thumb again, he keeps rubbing circles over your nipple as he finally licks your clit, your back arching as soon as he touches it.
“Fuck—” You say breathlessly, looking down at him as his eyes sparkle up at you, your head dropping to your pillow with a thud. “Who the fuck is this bitch that says you’re bad at this?” He shakes his head, digging deeper into your pussy.
Smiling cockily, you look over at Yeonjun, trying to control his breathing. He can’t help it—the two of you are just too hot together. He's never been able to enjoy this kind of view before. Seeing how every part of your body reacts to being touched—it's an incredible view.
“Please tell me he’s allowed to make me cum, baby,” You beg.
“Of course,” he chuckles smugly. “If he can.” Kai’s eating you out like he’s absolutely starving. And it’s true—he can’t help it. You taste too fucking good.
Your eyes squeeze shut as you start squeaking, throwing your head back.
“Okay, that sound means she’s gonna cum soon. Try to bring her as close to the edge as possible and then stop.”
“Fuck, Kai,” you breathe. “Right there—yes.” You can’t believe how good he is at this, especially given the reason you're under his tongue right now. He’s supposed to be bad at this, right?
You’re so fucking close and he can feel it. “Don’t stop—” he brings you right there. And then he does it. He stops. “Agh, fuck you,” you groan. Looking down at him, his smirking at you, eyes flashing between you and Yeonjun.
He doesn’t waste too much time before getting back to your pussy, flicking his tongue over your clit.
“Take it away from her for a bit. Lick her nipples again.” He does just that. You’re aching, bucking your hips over and over, desperately trying to relieve some kind of tension. But his tongue does feel amazing on your tits. Threading your fingers through his hair, you tug at it hard. He groans, his mouth dropping open like you just unlocked a new kink of his.
Now he can’t take it anymore. Hips jutting forward, you feel the roughness of his sweatpants drag against your center, relieving some of that tension. You gasp, resorting to begging him to get back to licking you.
“No, don’t,” Yeonjun says sternly.
“But I want to,” Kai whines back, looking at your pussy hungrily, sticking the tip of his tongue out, giving his best begging eyes. But Yeonjun just shakes his head, satisfied with watching you uncontrollably rolling your hips up toward Kai’s mouth. Kai compromises, wrapping his hands around the backs of your thighs to yank you closer to him and presses his lips to the skin right around your clit, teasing you even more.
“Babe—” you breathe, begging Yeonjun with your eyes to let him continue licking you.
“I know, baby, I know…” he responds, his voice low and rough. He finally lets him lick you again. But he doesn’t show much mercy. He repeats the same tactic over and over—having him bring you right to the edge, even to the point of tears, then he stops right in his tracks.
"I'm gonna tell you to stop, but I want you to keep going, okay?" Kai nods, agreeing to his instructions. Bringing you to the edge again, you're begging for mercy, begging to cum. "Don't let her cum, Kai," he says, making tears form in your eyes. "Stop—"
And he does.
"I told you to let her cum that time."
"Sorry," he smiles up at him, licking his lips. "It's so fun to see her beg like that though." Tilting his head toward you, he says, "Look at her...she's got tears in her eyes. Isn't that the hottest fucking thing you've ever seen?"
"It's okay, baby," he says, fingers flowing through your hair while Kai's mouth finds your clit again. You're moaning, gasping for air, swearing, screaming, anything to try to find a release. "Not yet. Don't let her fucking cum, Kai." You don't think you can handle this much longer. Edging is nice, yes, but this? This is bordering torture.
"Please, please, please, Jjun..." you trail off. "Just please let me cum. I can't take it anymore."
"I know you can take it, baby. Fucking taking it so well..."
It's building again. That knot in your stomach that gets tighter and tighter with every second. That white hot fire in the pit of your stomach waiting to explode.
"Don't stop, Kai," you blurt. "I'm gonna cum—" Slamming your palm over your mouth—you shouldn't have said that. He's gonna make you regret saying that.
"Don't let her cum," he orders.
But his grip gets tighter. His tongue licks furiouser. His face digs deeper. You're so fucking close. Closer than you've ever been tonight.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Kai..." your orgasms crashes over you like a bolt of lightning. "Yes, fuck yes, that feels so fucking good." You feel like you're having an out of body experience. It's one of the best fucking orgasms of your life. "Don't stop, right there." You chest heaves with heavy breaths.
Coming down from one of the best orgasms of your life, your vision clears up and all you keep thinking is how much Yeonjun's gonna make you pay for this. You came without his permission—what's he gonna do now? Everything flashes across your mind: not letting you cum for a week, spanking you until your ass had his hand print on it, tying you up for hours, you're not sure.
But he doesn't do any of that. His hand caresses your cheek as he smiles down at you, "Did that feel good, baby?"
Confused, you nod, "Mhmm." You're still nervous, looking around at everyone's reactions. Kai's smirking while he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Bad at eating pussy my ass," you say, shoving his shoulder with your foot.
"Ah, I knew you a had a little crush on him...I've seen how you look at him." Your face turns beet red. He's noticed that? Oh god... "I just wanted to do something nice for my baby."
#hp's writing🪲#hueningkai smut#hueningkai hard hours#hueningkai hard thoughts#hyuka smut#hyuka hard thoughts#hyuka hard hours#hueningkai fic#hueningkai ff#hyuka fic#txt smut#txt hard thoughts#txt hard hours#txt ff#txt fanfic#kpop smut#kpop ff#txt x reader#hueningkai x reader#hyuka x reader#yeonjun#yeonjun smut#yeonjun ff#yeonjun x reader#yeonjun x reader smut#txt x reader smut#choi yeonjun#choi yeonjun smut#yeonjun hard thoughts#hp's hard thoughts ☁
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affection, ln4 ❀ chapter i. clueless
masterlist || chapter ii
in which everyone can’t believe that a certain mclaren driver and f1’s resident rich girl aren’t dating already
contains: smau, oblivious lando & oblivious reader
liked by landonorris, carlossainz55, danielricciardo, and 223,211 others
yourinstagram a much needed vacay
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landonorris im still offended by the lack of an invite
yourinstagram thailand is for the girls, not sorry!
bsfsinstagram there was a strict no lando norris rule for yn
user i have gyat to go to thailand
liked by yourinstagram
carlossainz55 the book is upside down dummy
yourinstagram i’ll turn you upside down
oscarpiastri what an informative post yn
yourinstagram hehe, can’t wait to see you
user omg yn at the next race???
user literally what are all these f1 boys doing in her comments
user shes a nepo baby i think
user her dad is mclaren’s biggest sponsor so she’s able to attend a lot of f1 events
user my fav honorary f1 wag
yourinstagram wag?? i’m very much single thank you
daniel ricciardo 🌚
yourinstagram don’t give them things to read into daniel.
lanny
i miss you
hey yn
miss youuu
when are you coming back
thailand can’t be that fun
y/n/n
thailand is totally that fun
in fact we’re about to go on a boat
lanny
you can go on a boat over here
y/n/n
it’s not the same 🙄
i don’t know why you’re so hung up about me taking a vacation
monaco gets boring sometimes
lanny
yeah but the second i get back from racing around the world you’re already gone
y/n/n
well i’ll be in the uk just in time for silverstone
lanny
you’re going back home?
y/n/n
my father said it’d be good to be around for a home race
so i’ll be in the uk for some time probably, it’s been a while since i’ve been back
lanny
okay good
i better see you cheering for me
it’d be embarrassing if my best friend was rooting for someone else
y/n/n
i’ve got my mclaren 4 cap ready to go
cant wait to see you ❤️
liked by yourinstagram, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell and 533,444 others
lando.jpg home dump
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yourinstagram and it’s all just a bit too much…for littol lando norris
lando.jpg im hiding in your walls
yourinstagram creep
maxfewtrell stream time? 🤔
lando.jpg let me race first bro
user not lando feeding yn pasta and lobsterrrr
carlossainz55 aye, was this a date??
yourinstagram he wishes, he got me from the airport & we went straight to eat
danielricciardo who’s that cutie?
yourinstagram i’m right here!
danielricciardo oh..i meant lando
oscarpiastri 😬
user im so confused, are they dating??
user no, but they’ve been like best friends since lando’s rookie year in mclaren
user shes better than me, i would have fallen in love…
liked by mclaren, landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 745,234 others
yourinstagram couldn’t be prouder of my boys!!
tagged landonorris and oscarpiastri
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mclaren loving the love from our papaya girl 🧡
yourinstagram mwah
user yn ate today on the paddock
user she’s wearing lando’s hat im gonna cry
bsfsinstagram ugh get these men off my feed and show me ur pretty face
yourinstagram i was held at gunpoint and told to post this :/
landonorris the 6th photo…
yourinstagram ikr can you believe that loser got p2?
landonorris not too much now
oscarpiastri i look crazy
yourinstagram you look so cute??
oscarpiastri you shoved a camera in my face while i was eating
yourinstagram i did nothing wrong 🥰
user who was the man you were with on the paddock though?
yourinstagram my father!
user girl your daddy fine
liked by bsfsinstagram
bsfsinstagram user you have great taste
maxfewtrell send me that lando photo please
yourinstagram will do 🫡
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onlyyn i luv a good arfter prty
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danielricciardo me when i’m on the hennessy
onlyyn hehe
landonorris im looking for you
bsfsinstagram please don’t do anything crazy babe 😭
onlyyn i’ll try
lanny
y/n
where are you?
i thought you were with oscar
y/n/n
i let oscar leave! he looked tired
lanny
you should’ve told me that then
i would’ve kept an eye on you
are you drunk
y/n/n
i’m not a child oscar
lanny
*lando, but i’ll ignore that
and i’m not saying you are yn
there’s just people here that can be like
weird is all, who knows
are you drunk??
y/n/n
i don’t know, i’m not sober
are you drunk
lanny
i’m not sober
y/n/n
i thought you hated alcohol?
lanny
carlos convinced me to do some shots with him and max…
i regret it a little
do you wanna go home
y/n/n
yea
my feet hurt
lanny
i’ll carry you until we get to an uber
so can you tell me where you are now??
y/n/n
i’m in the bathroom
lanny
don’t move, i’ll come get you
y/n/n
god you’re the best ever lando
lanny
yeah i know 😁
#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris imagine#f1 x female reader#f1 x you#f1 smau#f1 x black!reader
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Summary of The Cat of The Year poll atrocities of 2023/2024
I'm sure that most people on this side of tumblr have seen the Jellie vs. Nefarious Anglerfish poll going around with like 60k votes at this point, and I'd really like clear up some of what happened since I was around for the whole thing.
Url blocked out for op's privacy. They have already left but don't look for it if you haven't seen it/don't harrass them if you already have.
1. The previous round (preparation)
I discovered the poll in its previous round, needless to say she beat Jort's ass severely. This was around the 3rd of january, meaning that this round finished before jellie's passing with only about 7k votes. Op did add their own piece of propaganda from their main:
...which was FINE. (except for stuff we'll see later) Of course running a poll while biased isn't ideal but I for one didn't even know they were the op until much later. I also added my own piece in a separate thread, and they didn't interact with it at all. There was no drama.
2. The Finale
Jellie unfortunately passed away right before the starting of this poll, which was the catalyst for what happened next. Op did exactly as last time and added a slightly more mean spirited encouragement to vote for the other contestant. This is the point where I believe that i fucked up personally.
I added this thinkpiece accusing op of associating all mcyters with Dream (who we all hate for the record) despite them not alluding to him at all. This is because tumblr has a history of disimissing all mcyters as... everything that dream was been accused of. Op did allude to not caring for mcyt. but they didn't say what i accused them of. This is important to point out because this reblog of mine is still being spread. Jellie was in the lead at the time, but not by the time i woke up next morning.
I won't be including anyone else's additions because I don't want to put blame on any specific person. Just felt like clearing up mine.
3. The Fuckening
Some time later op made this post to their personal blog:
which is insanely shitty because, as other people have pointed out, the "lame ass youtube cat" didn't die to inconvinience op or ruin their fun, and people would have probably voted for her anyway because jelly is universally beloved in the mcyt community. This isn't anti democratic. This post was added to the poll with a caption saying op should not be running this poll, and it took off. Op later went on to say that this was a joke:
This apology was not taken well by people, (including me) because "you were not meant to see it" isn't an apology and they still very much made fun of someone's pet dying. Safe to say this did not make the drama stop and only added fuel to the flame. I believe this was the point where the conversation of mcyt fans being unjustly sent hate to was reignited.
We should discuss that! it's a real thing that happens often and is equal to childish bullying. However, in this case, OP was the only one getting sent hate to my knowledge. The notes were mostly saturated by mcyt fans, and even now i can only find one or two hateful stance towards us under the whole 20k notes post.
4. Conclusions
Op posted a second apology to the catoftheyear blog to try and calm people down (i believe this is comprehensive and a lot better than the previous one) The blog was deactivated shortly after, so i only have my phone screenshots of it that i also added to the poll itself at some point:
(Edit) Here's proof that op did not write the justification they got criticised for, from the notes of the original poll:
This apology didn't get seen, or get accepted by enough people, so op made this statement on their personal:
Needless to say I am deeply dissapointed (and guilty) that it's come to this. Yes, op said tasteless things that made us all angry, but telling a human being to commit suicide is worse than being insensitive about a stranger's pet dying. Even after I posted about the blog being decatived i had someone come into my notes to wish that "they never find happiness" i mean wtf. This isn't like shipping where we can do whatever without the content creator's input. this is fucking harrowing and i can't imagine how i'd feel if this was done in my/my pet's name especially after losing them as recently as a week ago.
I hope no one from hermitcraft who is on here (let alone scar holy shit) learns about this like they did with previous lighthearted tournaments. If you truly respect the creators you claim to be a fan of as people, you do not tell people to kill themselves over them. And finally, let Jellie fucking rest, guys. she had a long, good life. I hope op can come back and also avoids behaving like this if they ever wish to do so. I'm angrier at mcytblr, though.
#catoftheyear#jellie#tw animal death#tw suicide bait#hermitcraft#goodtimeswithscar#adding to main tags so people see this instead of the poll itself with no context on how it ended#If this breaches containment and gets used as a reason to hurt mcyt fans i am going zo eat whoever is doing that#catoftheyeartournament#jellie the cat
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