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#thank u for your support and patience :')
valdotpng · 1 year
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missingn000 · 1 year
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msmacabre310 · 1 year
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*casual whistle as I'm more than a week behind*
Anyway this one has some high quality Abuela & Luisa conversations in it. Check it out!
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soothedcerberus · 1 year
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Digital comm slots filled!!! thank u so much ;w;;w;w;w; 💖💖
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kombuuuu · 10 months
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Miles 42 headcanons?
no one asked but i’ll deliver !!
Miles!42 x Fem!Reader random headcanons
also a lot of snippets :)
You/Reader: Blue
Miles Morales: Purple
Mama Rio/Rio Morales: Pink
Uncle Aaron/Aaron Morales: Orange
Random/stranger: Black
gift giving love language duhhh
Will have you walk with him through malls and whatever you look at for a second too long he buys
You don’t catch on until you’re both eating at a nice restaurant, absentmindedly staring at some plant when a lull in conversation happens.
He purchases the plant.
“Fuck you mean I can’t buy it?”
“Sir, the plants aren’t for sale, this is a dining establishment.”
“Establish the fact I’m gettin’ that plant.”
“Sir—“
50 bucks down and a plant 🆙
He will damn right die if you refuse him. He’ll get all grumpy and pouty when you say he should save for a house, not for you.
convinced you just get shy when bought things (you do).
is even more motivated to buy things
“Miles, baby, you need to save up. Not spend on me!”
“This would look so good on you, Ma.”
“Are you listening??”
“Fuck, and this.”
“Oh my god.”
gets so jealous it’s unbelievable
but only when someone goes too far with you
it’s like 1–100 real quick
he’s not usually the prowling type (ha)
but when someone pushes the line he loses his shit
other than that he’s a supportive bbg all the way
“Wanna go home with me, butterface?”
“Fuck you just say?”
“Nothing homie just get outta here.”
“Say that shit again ‘homie’.”
“Chill the fuck out. Let the lady speak for herself.”
“I’ll fucking speak for my girl all I want, homeboy.”
maybe got a liiiiittle bit of an anger issue
guy went home with a broken nose and a missing tooth
better hope he can afford fill ins
he would never get mad at you though
he gets frustrated you don’t listen sometimes, but it’s never to the point of anger
feel like he has the patience of a fucking SAINT
calm and collected baby u know the deal
“Mami, we gonna have a problem?”
“”
“Didn’t think so.”
a SWEETHEART at times
stand by him being raised right
mama rio taught him to be a romantic
wanted him to take after his dad
so flowers and gifts and chocolates
followed by lovin of any kind
probably a baby for affection but doesn’t show it
so when you get all emotional about being gifted roses for the first time
and hug him and smother him
give him stupid little kisses all over
he’s fainting
poor boy doesn’t know love like u show him
“Baby, are these for me?”
“Yeah, Chiquita. They okay?”
“Wh… They’re perfect.”
“Are you cryin’? I can return ‘em.”
“No! No, no, don’t do that.
I love them, C’mere.”
when you guys get rlly comfortable, like a year and some dating, he ends up getting more chatty
willingly talking w you for hours
feels like you’re the only person he can rlly do that with
rambles so rarely that you kind of just sit in awe when it happens
doesn’t catch himself until he’s trying to name your future kids
“I’ll marry you one day, we’ll have like two, three kids. Get all nice an cozy.
You want a boy or girl? I kinda want both. Definitely not girl first, never having a girl without a brother to protect ‘er.
You’d be such a good Mami.
What’d you wan’ name ‘em? I have a few ideas—“
“..”
“But you could choose the girl cause I don’t know any pretty names. And i’ll choose—“
“..”
“..”
“You gon’ let me keep goin?”
“I love your voice.”
“Tranquila, mami.”
Takes you to every family event he ever has
sits you regularly with Rio and Aaron
they insist you call them uncle and ma
you do, obviously
miles doesn’t need to meet your family if you don’t want him to, but if he ever does he’s totally suave with them
like weirdly smooth
able to get on ur carers good side quick
when you meet his extended family they’re just as loving
his whole family is this bright dash of colour
and you fit right the fuck in
“¡Oh, hija estás preciosa!”
“Dice la estrella de la fiesta!”
“You flatter me, Hija.”
“Miles, come get your girl.”
“You look nice too, Uncle Aaron.”
“..Thanks, kid.”
“Hey Mami, havin’ fun?”
“Aight, I’m out.”
when you find out he’s the prowler you’re not really shocked
he’s hella nervous to tell you and kinda puts it off for a while
as long as you’re not in harms way, nothin matters, yeah?
no
the guilt eats him alive
he’s already lost so much, if he doesn’t do things right with you, then loses you too
he’d probably lose himself
so he tells you
“The Prowler?”
“Yeah.”
“The.. Panther guy I keep seeing on the news-?”
“Mm.”
“Miles are you—
..—Are you killing people?”
“Mami, it’s not like that—“
“oh my god.”
“These men— I kill,”
“Oh my god, oh my god.”
“,They’re bad, you understand.”
“Miles..”
“[Name]. Do you understand?”
“Yeah.. Yeah I understand.”
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t.”
“…”
“Are you mad.”
“I’m not happy.”
“Okay.”
you’re kind of devastated he’s killing people
but you eventually get it
like it takes a while
say a month or so
but you forgive quick
i mean, who knows what those men are doing, right?
(ur delulu but it’s ok)
he lets you have your space but talking with mama rio when she realises your absence knocks some sense into him
mans is going to GROVEL
he will fucking beg on his damn knees
knocks on your door and is already kneeling
will plead with you to come back to him
like i said a whole ass romantic
you know what’s romantic? a man who can get on his knees
he will suffocate you in gifts and affection
oh you like (insert sanrio esc character) ? look over there at that lifesize plushie woahhhh wonder who that’s forrrrrr
“Hello?”
“Mami, don’t close the door.”
“Miles, go home.”
“And please stop kneeling, the floor is dirty.”
“I’m not leaving ‘til you hear me out.”
looooong sigh
“Okay, fine— whatever, come inside. You have two minutes.”
“God, I missed you. You’re so beautiful Chiquita.”
“Three minutes.”
You talk it out easy, he’s a real smooth talker when he wants to be
“Okay Miles, I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?”
“Yeah, Ma. See you soon.”
“Wh—.. What is that?”
“Ohhh…”
“Why the fuck is it so big?”
“It said “Life Size” on the site? I was thinking like two feet tall.”
“You bought that?”
“Yeah.. I was thinkin’ you wouldn’t let me in. Would have to bribe you.”
“…That’s really cute.”
Annnnnd that’s all i can come up with i’ll probably do more later :P
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hannieehaee · 3 months
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i love your writing i always check your page everyday! i was wonder we can get some brat reader x scoups or dk?? like we are messing with him around the members or going out somewhere without their permission? if not i totally understand and will still continue to support your writing! :)
18+ / mdi
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content: jealous!cheol, possessive!cheol, brat!reader, afab reader, established relationship, smut, dry humping, grinding, etc.
wc: 1575
a/n: idk where i was going with this im sorry if it makes no sense T-T thank u for requesting </3
masterlist
if there was one defining characteristic about your boyfriend, it was his pride.
seungcheol always thought himself to be a capable and dependable man, which were a few of the characteristics he took most pride in. as the leader of his group, he was always meant to take care of his members and provide a solid foundation for his younger brothers to rely on.
similarly to his members, he always took care of you. however, along with that also came his possessive and strict nature.
as a natural leader, seungcheol always expected instruction to be followed. he wasnt a dictator nor unfair by any means, but he expected his authority to be respected. he afforded you the same respect, but he would quickly grow frustrated whenever he felt himself be challenged by you; something that happened quite often.
it was usually just fun banter. he would ask or do something, you'd be a brat and get in the way, and he would then play along until growing too frustrated at your overly playful nature and either whine at you or punish you (it'd depend on his mood, really).
today, this dynamic was presented in the form of you popping in for a quick visit during dance practice. cheol had always told you you were welcome to stop by whenever you wanted, even letting security know that you were to be admitted in upon uttering his name when inquired for the reason of your visit. you didn't visit every day, but you made it a habit of dropping in at least once a week (specially considering your boyfriend worked seven days a week).
upon your arrival, a few of seungcheol's members dropped what they were doing to go say hi to you and engage in conversation. cheol knew them to be overly excited at times, so he always sat back for a minute or two before jumping in on the conversation. today, he did the same, waiting a bit before joining you, jeonghan and mingyu while the rest of the members continued what they'd been doing before your arrival – practicing.
usually you'd interrupt them only for a few minutes, but today was different for some reason.
cheol could read you very easily, and he was suspicions of your smile from the moment you'd walked in. it was the same smile you'd have on your face any time you challenged his patience for fun for seemingly no reason. he grew completely certain that your intent today had been to be a brat when he finally attempted to get the members to settle back down and go back to practice. you'd immediately whined in disagreement, causing the members to join in, now claiming you wanted to go get a quick snack with the members, since apparently, you had been missing them lately. now he not only had to deal with one brat, but with multiple.
"c'mon, cheollie! you guys are all sweaty, i'm sure you've been at this all day. a quick break wont hurt you," you argued, fueled by the nods in agreement coming from his friends.
"baby ... we have a schedule to follow, you know that. you can come back when it's our usual lunch time."
"okay, you don't have to come. i can just go with hannie and gyu."
he knew you were just trying to annoy him. you had at no time mentioned any wish to hang out with his friends prior to this moment.
"baby–"
"yeah, cheollie. we'll keep her company, dont worry."
jeonghan joining in on your brattiness was exactly what cheol needed in this moment. specially as he walked over to cuddle against you as you both smirked at cheol in defiance.
"you coming, gyu?", you looked over at mingyu, who also seemed to grasp seungcheol's annoyed disposition.
"uh, i ... sure, i'll go, i–"
"baby, can i talk to you for a moment?", he was annoyed at your stubbornness, but he still did not wish to blow up in front of all his members, knowing they'd tease him over how easy he was to rile up.
"you can say whatever you wanna say here, right y/nnie? we're all friends here", interrupted the parasite that was his best friend, swaying you back and forth as you giggled at the way he so outwardly defied his friend.
that was enough for cheol. he knew there was no way for you to have planned on having jeonghan copy your brattiness so easily, but he blamed you nonetheless.
with that, he grabbed you by the arm, ripping you away from his friend before storming out with you. he led you to the empty resting room that was connected to the practice room before turning to look at you.
"tired of being a brat yet?"
"hmm," you tapped your chin as if actually thinking it over, "nah."
he walked over to you, making you walk back as your entertained smile remained on your face. he was glad to know you found this all so entertaining; something he voiced to you immediately after.
"i'm sorry, cheollie, you're just so fun to rile up."
"did you want me to put you in your place, baby? got bored of waiting for me back home?", he got closer to you with every passing second, eventually basically pinning you against the wall.
"maybe ... so ... are you gonna?", you grinned at him.
"am i gonna what?"
"gonna put me in my place? here, where they all know what's going on behind this door?"
"oh? you think i wont? you think their presence is gonna deter me from fucking you into whatever piece of furniture is nearest?", his eyes were darker than ever, mouth just inches away from yours. he could feel your goosebumps rising from his close proximity.
"but what about practice, cheollie? i thought you were sooo bus–"
"fuck practice."
only five minutes later and you were already bent over the couch, skirt pushed over to uncover your ass as he ground his clothed crotch against you, stimulating no one but himself.
after having abused your lips with his for a few minutes, he had felt you up in every way you loved, tweaking at your nipples and even rubbing at your cunt through your clothes. he thoroughly made you believe he'd fuck the brattiness out of you, only to then flip you over and bend you to his liking, grinding his hardened cock against your ass while you whined at him to do something more.
"no, baby ... this is all for me. gonna teach you to not be a brat by giving you the barest minimum. want more? then be good next time ... now take what im giving you and be thankful."
"y– yes, cheollie ..."
"god, what a pretty baby ... if only you were just as obedient as you are pretty."
"i am! i'm good, i was just ... just wanted your attention so bad."
"yeah? couldve just told me you needed me, baby. wouldve come home running to you. didnt have to team up with hannie to piss me off."
he angled you a little higher for his cock to finally drag against your cunt rather than your ass, now giving you some friction as you began to push back against him.
"shit, just like that, baby. push it back for me like a good girl."
"didnt– didnt plan it, baby, i swear! i was gonna take you guys out to eat and then steal you away ... didnt know hannie was gonna join in on it ..."
"oh, yeah? you were being good, then? just got corrupted by hannie? hmm. that's too bad, angel. still gotta punish you for that."
"j– just please! dont stop ... feels so good ... cock feels so good against my cunt ..."
he continued to hold you by your hips, almost bruising them by the sheer force in which he forced you to grind back against him. he knew neither yours nor his orgasm would be as satisfying as could be, but he needed to make his point.
accelerating both the speed and strength of his grinding, he found himself almost at his end, deciding to show you some mercy by digging through the front of your skirt and rubbing rapidly at your clit through your panties.
"gonna cum with me, baby? gonna give it to me even if they're listening in on the other side? huh?"
"yes, cheollie! almost there, just– fuck!"
your pretty moans as you lost yourself to the pleasure were enough to get seungcheol to reach his peak too, pushing himself up against you once more as he released inside his pants. he caressed the bare skin of your ass under your skirt as he helped you stand at your full height again, kissing at your hair as he told you what a good girl you were for him, brattiness almost wiped from his mind.
"angel ...", now was time to scold you.
"im sorry, cheollie ... just felt lonely and wanted to come visit you ... i was just gonna steal you away for a bit. forgot hannie has a boner for mischief and would try and make you blow up. sorry, baby."
he couldnt help but chuckle at that. you were bratty, but you were still his obedient girl. all was good in the world.
"c'mon, angel. let me grab some clothes so we can change, yeah? then ill take you home."
"but practic-"
"you were right. i could use a break. let's go."
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devilmademewriteit · 1 year
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Let Me Love You Like A Woman (Let Me Hold You Like A Baby)
part 3 of Dark But Just A Game
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pairing: (pre-ellie) joel miller x afab!fem!reader
summary: you’re in his place. you’re in his bed. will joel ever be anything more than your dad’s friend who occasionally fucks his frustrations into you, or will you always be strangers?
warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, oral [m receiving] fem penetration, unprotected sex) so 18+ only content; fem afab reader; mentions of reader having long hair; pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel); dubcon (power imbalance); age gap; dbf!joel; angst; mentions of murder and torture.
beta reader: @millllenniawrites loml forever
word count: 4.1k
no use of y/n in this fic
Click here to read part 1, Dark but Just a Game. 
Click here to read part 2, Pretty When You Cry. 
(neither are totally necessary if u just wanna read some filth, fluff, n angst, all u rly need to know is that they’ve fucked twice before & he’s dad’s best friend lol).
a/n: thank u for all the support on this series. i’m literally so obsessed with all of you it’s not even funny. enjoy this while we collectively grieve the end of the season, & i’ll be here writing fic in the meantime. Don’t forget to join the taglist for any and all upcoming work! -em <333333
It had taken all of ten seconds for you to lose your shirt, your jeans, and your most beloved pair of (now ruined) panties after stepping foot in Joel Miller’s apartment.
“‘Fuckin’ soaked already—been thinkin’ about me all day, huh?”
And those tantalizing fingers. They were third on the list of things you thought about when you touched yourself, right after his cock and the insatiable look that haunted his eyes when he was inside you. Joel’s talents were wasted as a smuggler—he’d have made a fantastic pianist or maybe a guitarist with the way that index and that damned thumb conspired to make you sing for him.
“Anyone else touch you here since me?“ “No, Joel—just you—only you.” “Attagirl.”
He’d gotten you fully naked (something he’d never bothered to do before) and writhing in his grip in a matter of seconds, laying rough kisses down your spine with patience and attention. Every single one was a spoken promise: I’m coming back for you.
“Look at you, baby, takin’ a real man all by yourself.”
Hands on your hips, knees pressed to the worn-in mattress—every other word in the English language omitted itself from your vocabulary as Joel drew his name from your lips over and over and over again, the thick length of his cock easing you to oblivion with every gratifying stroke.
“Gonna make this pussy come til’ you’re begging me to stop, sweetheart.”
Feeling his cum drip down your thigh, barely having a second to breathe before being manhandled onto your back, hands searching your body, mapping you out like a foreign land before taking him in again. “It aches, Joel.” Crying softly into his neck, tears of pain and ecstasy leaking down your cheeks. “M’jus’ breakin’ you in, angel.” The smell of his hair anchoring your senses to right here, right now as release washes over you again and again and oh, Joel’s hands on the outsides of your thighs to steady your shaking legs.
“Eyes up baby, wanna see ‘em while I’m comin’ on that pretty face.”
Joel tasted like salt and sin and his stickiness on your cheeks felt warm like a late august sun. Watching you blink your lust-filled and trust-filled eyes, grabbing a fistful of your tangled hair, Joel memorized the way your pouting mouth looked painted with his seed. Thick, dark eyebrows creasing together as a groaned ‘fuckin’ hell’ fell from his open lips—with you, he became an artist, and with him, you were a blank canvas.
Now, the moonlit room was quiet; with every primal need purged from both your systems, your exhausted bodies lay entangled, empty and content. Joel’s heartbeat had settled a few minutes after yours—you’d made note of it with your ear pressed to his chest. But every twitch or fidget from the hand resting on the curve of your waist had your own rhythm picking up double-time, sending hot blood coursing through every now-aching limb.
“You should go,” he grumbles after a while, eyes still closed, body still at rest. Fucking you had basically rendered the man comatose. “Your dad’ll raise hell if he sees an empty bed.”
You scoff. “It’s not like he’s ever cared before—remember when Emma and I snuck out to the old mall and I radio’ed him to get us out?” Joel chuckles, remembering the fond memory. After all, it had been him and not your old man who’d shown up to kick down those crumbling cinema doors, partly rescuing you but mostly reaming you out for being such a careless, stupid teenager.
“And either way, Miller, I’m an adult.”
This time, it’s Joel’s turn to scoff. “Jus’ ‘cause you’re legal, dun’ make you an ‘adult.’ You still whine like a kid.”
You giggle softly as he mocks your indignant tone, feeling the lungs beneath you rumble subtly, too.
Joel was always softest and at his most vulnerable after sex. Well, aren’t all men the same? You figured it was just the nature of the act that left its participants a little more tender and a little less inhibited after its completion. It was strange to remember that Joel was a man like any other.
And the man that you’d allowed to ruin you so skillfully, to burn himself on the archives of your mind, somehow remained a complete mystery to you. He was a tangled web of stifled emotions, unspoken sentences, and chilling stories you’d heard from your inebriated father.
If there was any time to untangle him, it was now.
Joel’s t-shirt is damp with his sweat, and yours, too. What a shame that he hadn’t removed it earlier. He was so very impatient when it came to fucking you, and despite having enough patience this time to get you naked, he didn’t bother to give himself that same treatment. At this point, you felt too self-conscious to ask, pretty well certain that he’d turn down your request, anyways. Peeling your profile from the navy blue fabric, you gaze up at him inquisitively, a steadying hand pressed tentatively against his broad chest.
“Can I ask you something?”
Your voice sounds small, like that of a scared child. It makes you cringe.
“Hmph,” he grunts, eyes firmly closed.
Better than nothing. A start.
“Well,” you begin, painfully slowly, tracing timid circles under his collarbone, “Sometimes, I think—”
“S’great, sweetheart,” he interjects in mock earnestness. “Good for you.”
“Knock it off, Miller,” you slap his shoulder playfully. A sly, amused expression teases his features.
After a long, heavy pause, with only the trickling and creaking of the old building occupying it, you soldier on.
“Sometimes, I think that when you’re… well, fucking me… you, well, you kind of use me to—vent.” There. You’d said it. “Like, your frustrations.”
A long exhalation escapes Joel’s lips as he mulls over your words, choosing eventually to respond with cautious and dismissive humor.
“This your way of askin’ me if you’re more’n my human Xanax?”
“No, asshole.”
He hums quietly. The distant sound of a gunshot travels through the open window, dragging you both back to the present moment.
A forced sigh. “I wanted to ask you what you’re trying to get off your mind.”
Joel tenses almost imperceptibly underneath you, an air of seriousness collecting around him.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he grumbles, amusement fading from his tone. “M’not really interested in talkin’ about our feelings together.”
The harshness of his words only entices you to push him again, to understand the man who so clearly understood you. There was something there–likely many things there–that he had fucked into you. Things that you now need to know. Things calling to you like an abandoned childhood home.  
You want to pull him into yourself, crawl under his very skin and exist there for a minute or two. In his bed, in his place, and you’re still worlds apart.
“I’m not asking you to talk about your feelings, Miller. I just want to know that I’m not letting, like, a total, raging maniac climb between my knees.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. His eyes flit open, and as soon as they do, you recognize the vacant, apathetic expression that had characterized him for you all these years. He grunts, pushing himself up on his elbows, and you sit up, yanking at the tangled sheets to cover yourself.
“Ever been outside the QZ, sweetheart?” He asks, his poorly restrained temper slicing through his words.
Looking down at your hands, you trace the cream-colored creases stretching along the blanket, shaking your head no, side to side.
“S’right. Not a single man on this planet that’s not a total, raging maniac. Enough fear, thirst, or hunger…” something truly terrifying creeps onto his expression, a vision of darkness, unlike anything you’d ever seen before. Not with soldiers, not with your father, not even with Joel.
“Everyone’s a killer.”
You swallow slowly, trailing your eyes up to meet his charged gaze. The room feels cold.
“Are you?”
His shadowed eyes narrow with irritation. “Am I what, sweetheart?”
“A killer.”
Then it’s regret and violence corrupting his features, and before you know it, Joel Miller is somewhere else. It takes a long time for him to come back to you (if you can even pretend to claim that Joel had ever been with you in the first place).
He hesitates, huffing quickly with frustration and looking away for a brief moment before focussing back on you—conceding to your question with a quick nod.
An acidic taste collects on your tongue, but his answer isn’t surprising. You’d always known in some way that Joel had taken lives. Still, it felt strange to hear him acknowledging it, to see the pain that admitting to it caused him. His actions actually bothered him. That meant he had a soul in some jagged, twisted form and that certain things could affect it. Thinking about that made your temples hurt.
“For what reason?”
You can’t help it—you’d come this far, and it felt like failure to quit prying. It doesn’t matter that Joel’s a grenade with no safety lever. You know it’s only a matter of time before he explodes, but you’d grown up diffusing your father daily. Bombs were your specialty.
“Does it matter?”
Upstairs, the floorboards creak softly. It almost makes you jump.
“I think so.”
Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, brow furrowing with irritation. Otherwise, he stays surprisingly level. Some hopeful part of you tries to whisper that some softer part of him actually wants you to get under his skin.
“Alright.” You stare at him, stunned at his forfeiture, as he breathes a dark, humorless laugh. “But you’re gonna hate me for my answer.”
There’s a loaded pause as you gape expectantly at him. His head falls back, eyes fixed to the chipping, washed-out ceiling.
“In the early days of the outbreak, before FEDRA had the QZs figured out… things weren’t easy. You gotta understand that.” His gravelly voice cuts through the room’s silence, vibrating through your stilled body. “I’ve killed, tortured, n’hurt more people’n I can count. Sometimes to save myself, sometimes someone else, ‘n other times… other times jus’ because. And,” he groans, laying his back against the pillows as his harrowing monologue comes to a close, “It wasn’t always life or death, either.”
You pull the sheets in close to your chest, shuddering partly due to his words, partly due to his delivery. As if he was warning you. As if he wanted you to hear the truth and…
And punish him for it.
With his eyes shutting again, he can’t see you studying him. He’s probably assumed that a look of abject horror has poisoned your complexion. As you angle yourself to view his resting body—the pained expression causing his eyebrows to furrow, lips pressed tightly together—an overwhelming rush of adoration expands in your lungs, swelling inexplicably and uncontrollably in your chest. Your thoughts blare at full blast inside your racing mind.
Joel was capable; he had blood lust and an inner violence that meant he felt, deeply, and he’d die—or even better, kill—for those he loved. He was…
Joel was perfect.
Maybe it was a fucked up thing to feel—maybe it meant that you needed to be studied by a team of psychiatrists. Either way, the thought of his agonized soul, carrying on out of sheer spite and a reluctant desire to protect his own had you melting at his side. Joel wasn’t static, unfeeling, or a ghost, he was real, and he was alive. Growing up in a near-dead world haunted by once vibrant cities had made that trait alone extremely precious.
He remains still while you move his arm, wiggling next to him to sit back on your calves and looming over his unyielding form. Maybe he thinks you’ve pulled a gun on him and is just giving you a chance to pull the trigger.
Dropping the pale sheet from your breasts, you caress Joel’s harsh jaw in one hand, sneaking the other down, down his stomach and under the waistband of his briefs.
His eyes surge open, finding yours and filling with confusion. You burn with affection, a kind of fierceness that wasn’t there before.
Brow creasing, eyelids fluttering as he hardens in your grasp. You wordlessly entice him once again, bowing down and over to press tender kisses to his neck.
“I could never hate you, Joel Miller.”
He whimpers softly as you stroke him—tantalizingly slow in big, long pulls—it makes your heart flutter to hear him whine for you. 
A refreshing reversal of roles.
You ease your way down, trailing your lips down his scarred side and over to his front, exploring the strip of grey hair marking the center of his abdomen.
Joel watches you, longing on his lips, but the uncertainty still lingers. You need him to listen.
“I’d kill and torture if it meant survival—” you arrive at his hard length, pumping it in your hand right next to your softened features.
“And I would kill and torture for you.”
Without breaking eye contact, you part your lips around the tip of his cock, drinking in his fascination as you take him in slowly, wholly. The head of his thick, impressive length kisses the back of your throat. 
Once again, you’re filled with Joel. 
A soft hiss, and then his face becomes a symphony of pleasure, disbelief, and, finally, hunger. His large hand caresses the back of your head, capable fingers tangling softly in your hair as you glide up and down his length, tasting the salt of his pre-cum and your own acidity on his satin-smooth skin.
He only parts from your stare when you draw lazy, adoring circles around his tip, throwing his head back and grinding out a ‘Jesus Christ.’
It’s almost too much for him when you start using your hands, making it your life’s purpose to eagerly please every inch, every square millimeter of him. You drag your tongue from the base of his length all the way up to the top, silver-lined eyes boring intensely into his own.
“Shoulda let you do this sooner,” he breathes, gently pushing your head down until your nose brushes against those dark, curly hairs. “Look so fuckin’ pretty with a mouth full of cock.”
There he is.
You pull off him, strings of saliva trailing down from your lips to the glistening tip of his length. “You wanna come on my tongue?”
In a haze, perfectly slowly, Joel throws his head back with a low growl. You stroke him affectionately, spit and his own salt collecting between your fingers as you wait patiently for his reply.
Then he pushes himself up to a sitting position, wrapping his rough hands around your upper arms and easing you up off his length. “Not this time, baby.” You’re straddling him, taking in the unfamiliar care spoiling his tone and softening his hard features when he leans forward, locking you in place like a missing puzzle piece he’d spent his whole damn life searching for. His cock rests between your bodies, pressing exquisitely against your abdomen.
“Only got one more in me, sweetheart. M’not plannin’ on wastin’ it.”
He lifts his hands to your face, cupping your cheeks between them like some kind of priceless, fascinating object. It all feels so paradoxical: innocent despite the filthiness of his words, gentle despite the forest fires blazing in his gaze. Searching your eyes, he runs the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone. 
And he kisses you.
It’s not bruising at first—it’s a soft, curious question, an experiment. The grey-flecked hair of his mustache brushes the crescent of your Cupid’s bow, and the feeling almost brings you to tears. So you lean into it, deepening the kiss with hard pressure, searching for the answer on his tongue. That’s when his hands tangle in your hair, and his lips steal the oxygen right out from your lungs as he reciprocates fiercely.
It’s like watching a prisoner take his first steps out into the sun after being held in isolation for a decade. You wonder if it had been that long for Joel.
Without breaking away, you trail a hand down the fabric of his t-shirt. Then, you’re grabbing it from the bottom and hitching it up his abdomen. He pulls away just a half-inch to meet your heavy-lidded gaze, his own marked with apprehension.
“I want all of you,” you plead breathlessly, sliding off his starved lips.
Joel ducks his head, staring at the meeting place between your fingers and his cotton.
“If…” he tries, words clumsy, voice gruff. A bit of bashful humour underscores his tone, too. “F’I let that happen, you’ll see that I’m really jus’ an old man, angel.” You begin to protest, having come prepared with another I-like-them-old-and-decrepit speech, but he cuts you off, anticipating your reaction. “Jus’ been a long time since I looked fit enough for somethin’ like you.”
It’s almost too ridiculous. Joel Miller, worried about how you’ll receive his appearance after you’d deep-throated him for admitting to Geneva-convention levels of violent crime.
This time, it's your turn to cup his face, cradling him reverently between your hands with passionate devotion.
“You and me might be different on the outside,” you begin, surprising yourself with the conviction dripping from your own tone. “But deep down? I’m just as rotten as you.”
His mouth breaks into a genuine smile, and he chuckles, creases lining the corners of his eyes as if carved there by God’s own hand. Nodding with concession, he shrugs his shirt off; you reach out to help him to pull it off entirely.
Scars, definition, and tan skin stretch with every shaky breath he takes. Fuck. The tips of your fingers explore him, honoured by the feel of likely being the first in ages to claim this spot, and that one, and this one here, too–Joel’s turned you into a conquistador, a crusader.
“You’re so, so handsome, Joel.”
It’s not enough to see him, wholly exposed, flesh-blood-skin-scars-and-muscle. Nothing’s ever made you feel so safe and so warm; Joel is a worn-out, hand-me-down jacket that you can’t seem to part with; he’s candles during a thunderstorm, a thick blanket begging you to wrap yourself in it. You want him on you, against you, inside you.
So you take the man, and you kiss him—ardently.
His breathing hitches when you grasp his length, and it stops completely when you slide it between your slick folds, pulling every inch of him inside yourself appreciatively. You swallow his groan as he inhales your gasp.
Your hips move together in tandem. Rocking against his thighs as his hands anchor into your hair, or on your breasts, your ass, your waist—Joel holds you as close to himself as physically possible, threatening to crush you between his arms, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip with a starving kind of need.
Old habits die hard. Joel gets swept up in the way you start struggling to kiss him back, the involuntary clenches of your cunt around his impossibly hard cock, and your helpless fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. Sliding his hands under your ass, he holds your hips steady. Then, he’s spreading you open to receive him more readily, dictating the rhythm, the angle, and the brutality of how he fucks you.
Ruining you to completion was quickly becoming an addiction.
He smiles against your mouth when you give him a muffled “mmm,” releasing your lips to watch, a captivated audience, as your eyebrows knit together, relishing the sound of your lungs filling with short, pleading gasps.
“Gonna be bruised inside n’ out, baby.” Joel’s promise barely registers over the clap of his skin against yours and your own wanton moans. A thoroughly cock-drunken expression and the worship of his name on your tongue win you some hard-earned praise.
“Taken me so many times tonight—been such a good lil’ toy.”
Your lips slide down the stubble and the rough skin of his cheek, limp body giving out with every punishing snap of his hips. Still, you attempt speech, stammering out a “Joel, I-I want—” that’s mostly unintelligible.
“I know, baby,” he coos, words muffled by your hair, hot breath fanning out over the valley of your neck. “S’hard to use your words when you’re jus’ so full, huh?”
After finding the strength to straighten up and face him, your mouth moves from its permanent ‘ah’ shape to string together a pleading, desperate sentence. Joel doesn’t make it easy for you, picking up the intensity of his strokes, dragging you to the edge of bliss.
“I wanna—I want you to show me how to ride you—to take you—please—let me make you come.”
He laughs softly into your shoulder: the sight and the sound of a woman begging to do the work was a kind of rarity (albeit an appreciated one, at his age) in his experience. Acquiescing, he lowers you back onto his broad thighs, slowing his rhythm, and giving you a chance to catch your shallow, uneven breath.
“Only ‘cause you asked so nicely.”
Like a true cocky bastard, Joel leans back against the mess of strewn pillows, casually tucking his hands behind his head and leaving you to steady yourself on top of him, velvet walls still fluttering and squeezing adoringly around him.
You hold yourself up with your palms pressed flat against his chest. Rock slowly and carefully against his hips, observe the sight of your fingernails pressing into his unyielding chest. A whimper tumbles from your sore, parted lips as Joel’s tip nudges your inner-most sensitive spot.
“Eyes on me.”
Hardened hands reach out to circle your waist. “You look at me when you’re riding,” he instructs.
“Show me how grateful you are for this cock.”
His voice is strict and firm but gentle all the same. Joel relaxes underneath you. It feels good—so good—to watch your body undoing his own; it feels even better when he flexes involuntarily inside you, stretching open your sore, aching, and somehow still needy cunt. Locked into his lustful, dominant gaze, you speed up, throwing your hips back to grind enthusiastically against him. He watches first your eyes and then your breasts, palming them, teasing your hardened nipples roughly.
“You wanna touch yourself?”
Low and gravelly and filthy, his question looms over your body, only adding to the soft thud drumming inside the eager bundle of nerves between your thighs. 
He makes you realize that you really, really do.
You nod eagerly at him; Joel gives you a knowing expression of sympathy.
He never could help his condescension at watching you crumble so easily from so little.
“Show me, angel.”
So you do–Joel holds you steady as your hand falls to your clit, drawing clumsy circles over that one aching spot. Your fingers are frustratingly unskilled compared to his, but at this level of arousal, you’ll do anything to ease that mounting pressure. You focus hard, multitasking through your euphoria.
Him watching as you pleasure yourself excites you. Squeezing him harder, riding him with newfound passion—Joel groans as his long-awaited orgasm builds between his thighs, watching you bounce up and down his tense, throbbing length. His darkening eyes beckon you to keep going, to tip him over the edge.
You want to fall into them when he comes inside you.  
He knocks your hand away, replacing your index and middle fingers with a broad, calloused, impatient thumb against your grateful bud. “Ohmygod–Joel–” and the rush worsens, his fingers acting as catalysts for the all-too-familiar sensations spreading across your core.
“With me, baby,” his voice is gruff, restrained by need, want, lust. “Lemme feel you comin’ when I fill you up–s’it, good fuckin’ girl–”
Tears collect on your lashes, and a sob heaves from your throat. You reach your climax for him, the ache from your clit spreading to overtake every inch of your body. Joel comes too. He tucks your head into the soft, damp skin of his neck and fists the hair at the back of your head. Your legs ache with absence the moment he pulls his fingers away from your core. Still, his only instinct as his seed spills between your walls is to pull you into himself as tightly as possible, to intertwine himself wholly and eternally with your young, devoted soul.
He doesn’t let you move after it’s over. One arm circles your waist, the other snakes up your back; it feels like standing at the base of the pearly gates of heaven. When his laborious exhales brush the top of your spine, it’s those damn angels sighing.
And it feels like he’s here. It feels like you’ve landed somewhere together, no longer strangers but something else. Something new. Something stronger. Sweeter. And worlds more dangerous.
Joel Miller running his thumb up and down the plunge of your neck. Joel Miller cursing himself for allowing you to take a hammer and chisel to the walls he’d spent painstaking years putting up, eternities before you were even born.
Joel Miller realizing that he can’t find it in himself to let you leave.
“For the record, sweetheart—I’d torture n’ kill for you, too.”
You have no trouble believing him, smiling softly against his shoulder.
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Tumblr on mobile loves to destroy my fics by screwing with the last few hundred words SO here are the lyrics to Let Me Love You Like a Woman by Lana Del Rey lmao <3
I come from a small town, how about you? I only mention it 'cause I'm ready to leave LA And I want you to come Eighty miles North or South will do I don't care where as long as you're with me And I'm with you and you let me
Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me shine like a diamond Let me be who I'm meant to be Talk to me in poems and songs Don't make me be bittersweet Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me hold you like a baby
I come from a small town far away I only mention it 'cause I'm ready to leave LA And I want (need) you to come I guess I could manage if you stay It's just if you do I can't see myself having any fun, so
Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me shine like a diamond Let me be who I'm meant to be Talk to me in songs and poems Don't make me be bittersweet Let me love you like a woman Take you to infinity Let me love you like a woman (let me hold you like a baby) Take you to infinity Let me love you like a woman (let me hold you like a baby) Take you to infinity
We could get lost in the purple rain Talk about the good old days We could get high on some pink champagne Baby, let me count the waves
Let me love you like a woman Let me hold you like a baby Let me shine like a diamond Let me be who I'm meant to be Talk to me in songs and poems Don't make me be bittersweet Let me love you like a woman
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twobluejeans · 8 months
Text
HEARTBREAK ON TOUR!
charles leclerc x famous!reader
summary: in which the lavender haze has been lifted. or in which america’s it couple splits.
part 8: you’re losing me, part 7: revenge dress, series masterlist
faceclaim: madison beer
ally’s radio 📻: PART 8! taylor swift deserves jail time for creating you’re losing me. taylor swift also deserves jail time for not officially releasing it. def recommend listening to it reading the chapter! (might have to stream illegally bc mother is being stingy 🙄.)
INSTAGRAM, july 17 (midnight)
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yourinstagram and just like that, the final chapter of Midnights, is out now. this is my most personal body of work that i'm putting out into the universe, and i'm so scared yet excited to share her with u. thank u to my team, my producer jackantonoff turned dearest friend of almost 7 years (woah!!!) we spent many noons & midnights on this album and i'm forever in debt n grateful. thank u to all my other friends who i didn't mention, yk who u are. to everyone else, thank u for your persistent patience and support. it does not go unnoticed. from my heart to yours, midnights (till dawn edition), is available on all streaming platforms. i love u. thank u 💗.
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leclerccharl ain’t that the teddy bear charles won for her at the fair forever ago??!
y/nsfeverdreamhigh leclerccharl o em gee yeah..
fernandoalonso_offical Proud of you cariño
barbie 🥹🥹💗💗
landonoriss screaming crying shaking throwing up
danielricciardo gagging choking ascending to god
authur_leclerc Love you always, Proud of you always ❤️
INSTAGRAM STORIES, july 17
zendaya 30m
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badgalriri 2h
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sabrinacarpenter 5h
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TWITTER, july 17
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The song’s big question: “Do I throw out everything we built or keep it?”
BY: ALLY PUBLISHED: JULY 17, 2023
Y/n L/n’s lyrical candidness is what has always made her standout as a songwriter. Whether she was writing about young love, relationships, or breakups, her songs never flinched from trying to paint a full picture, even if it was one that was hard to look at.
It’s been a while since the super star has released a breakup song, but it was only a matter of time; since the singer split with Charles Leclerc, fans have already began anticipating the inevitable breakup album. But it turns out they didn’t have to wait long. At Midnight (July 17), L/n released a second deluxe edition of her 2022 album Midnights, which included four new songs, among them the release of “You’re Losing Me,” a song fans have deciphered as ostensibly about her split with Leclerc.
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via @yourinstagram on instagram
The nearly 5-minute track is a devastating relationship ender if we’ve ever heard one, as it details the hopeless and tragic dissolution of a relationship. Though L/n doesn’t include any names or details, it’s not hard to see why fans are interpreting it as being about her and Leclerc. 
When Entertainment Weekly first broke the news of their split in April, sources for both parties diplomatically described the breakup as amicable, and that “it was not dramatic.” “The relationship had just run its course,” one source told ET. However, that story was debunked as L/n herself, stated Leclerc had an affair with Australian Youtuber Lola Ransdell, in one of her Eras Tour Shows.  With the release of “You’re Losing Me,” L/n seems to offer a window into her perspective of how things ended while also releasing one of the most devastating songs she’s ever written.
Its lyrics don’t waste any time getting into the tragic heart of the matter. “You say, ‘I don't understand,’ and I say, ‘I know you don’t’/ We thought a cure would come through in time, now, I fear it won’t/ Remember looking at this room, we loved it ‘cause of the light/ Now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time,” she sings in the first verse, painting a portrait of two people who are unaligned and have seemingly grown apart in their relationship.
The pre-chorus lays out the song’s big question: “Do I throw out everything we built or keep it?” But waiting for resolution feels like something L/n doesn’t want to do anymore: “I'm getting tired, even for a phoenix/ Always rising from the ashes/ Mending all her gashes/ You might just have dealt the final blow,” she sings.
The most heart-wrenching part of the song comes in on the chorus, as she warns her other half, “Stop, you're losing me/ Stop, you’re losing me/ Stop, you’re losing me I can't find a pulse/ My heart won't start anymore/ For you/ ‘Cause you're losing me.” The lyrics mirror the song’s production which sounds like a quietly pulsing heartbeat, driving the knife’s blade of the song in even deeper.
Perhaps L/n’s biggest skill on this song is being able to convey all the heartbreak and roiling emotion without actually providing any specifics into the breakup. 
“You’re Losing Me” is rife with frank, confessional lyrics, but still keeps many of the exact contours of the split obscure. There are no accusations or fingers pointed at who’s at fault. There are no mic drop moments or explosive gossip; The closest L/n gets to revealing any details is on the second verse, when she seems to suggest that the relationship hadn’t been OK for a while now.
“Every morning, I glared at you with storms in my eyes/ How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying?/ I sent you signals and bit my nails down to the quick/ My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick,” she sings.
On the bridge, L/n reveals that she “wouldn’t marry me either,” perhaps offering the tiniest, sliver of hints into one of the other reasons why they ultimately fell apart: “And I wouldn't marry me either/ A pathological people pleaser/ Who only wanted you to see her/ And I'm fading, thinking/ Do something, babe, say something (say something)/ Lose something, babe, risk something (risk something)/ Choose something, babe, I got nothing (I got nothing)/ To believe, unless you’re choosing me.”
It’s the lack of details, the palpable restraint despite L/n’s clear heartbreak behind its lyrics, that makes “You’re Losing Me” perhaps the most devastating song in her catalog (yes, even more so than “All Too Well.”) Amid the grief and sadness of the song, there’s also a feeling of inevitability, of sorrow that nothing more could be done, of pointlessly waiting for action when you know nothing is coming.
 In some regards, it’s one of L/n’s most mature breakup songs in her catalog, regardless of whoever it’s about. And if this is just a “from the vault” track, it makes one wonder what an albums-worth of these songs would sound like.
SEE MORE RELATED POSTS:
• Lola Ransdell Cancelled over resurfaced racism tweets
• Lola Ransdell loses brand deals over Y/n L/n drama
• Charles Leclerc finally breaks his silence over Y/n L/n Breakup
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ally’s radio 📻:a filler chapter im sorry😞 but anyways, the related stories r a sneak peak of the next chapter🤫 if u asked me to tag u and i didn’t, pls send me a message or inbox me bc it might’ve gotten lost 😭 i try to stay up-to-date but sometimes i miss people so pls lmk!!!
taglist 🦢🪩: @incoherenciass@dakotali@405rry@topaz125@sassyheroneckgiant@hevburn@itsmytimetoodream@ivegotparticulartaste@crowdedimagines @asterianax @haydee5010@scenesofobx@christinabae@magical-spit@dessxoxsworld@myareadsbooks@honethatty12@hopefulinlove@diasnohibng@gentlemonsterjennie1@hummusxx@eugene-emt-roe@taestrwbrry @perjarma @cxcewg@chimchimjiminie16@glow-ish@allywthsr @millyswife @mrsmaybank13 @black-swan-blog27 @stargaryenx @lilsiz @ohthemisssery @leclerclvr @slytherinjimin3nthusiast @shessthunderstoms @cool-ultra-nerd @ncentic @playboykenz @canvashearts @tinyhrry @xeliaaaa @ifionlywould @gaviypedrisbride @callsignwindow @dhhdhsiavdhaj @chasing-liberosis @laneyspaulding19 @a-daydreamers-day @saikikusouswife @motorsp0rt @lifesuckslife @shessthunderstoms @drewsandsebastianswife @sainzluvrr @ietss
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hitomisuzuya · 2 months
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MY BELOVED (ur work is my absolute favorite u always have me on my hands and knees!!) I’m actually very serious the fire in my stomach when u post is <333
Dressing ur pretty boy Scara up as a maid! The outfits rather tight.. rather revealing and while he hates it and gives u quite the stinky eye all day, you can’t help but ride him to make him feel better! How sweet of you
Though his dominance starts to shine through as your “dominance” starts fading into submission when riding him, he calls you mommy while growling over how your walls clench around him, maybe if we ride him right after his orgasm he’ll get overstimulated and really see who’s really trying to be in charge here <3
“Wait.. wait! Wait oh fuck~” vibes <33
I HOPE THIS MADE SENSE IM JUGGLING TYPING THIS AND WRITING CLASS NOTES
Scaramouche x fem!reader Smut. Riding. Overstimulation. Degradation. Dom!Scara.
This made perfect sense 😳 Thank you, everyone for all your support and patience❤️ Be careful in class now😌 I may write a second part for this.
Dressing Scaramouche up in a maid outfit was supposed to be joke at first. You'd told him that he had the perfect legs for a maid outfit, and after some hissing and grumbling, he'd indulged you in your silly whim.
He was resolved to also get a hold of your phone to delete the picture you'd taken of him.
The sour expression he'd worn on his face had long since fallen away. In an attempt to placate him, you were bouncing on his cock, making him feel nearly limp from pleasure as he twitched and rutted up inside of you.
Scaramouche's arms were around you, clutching you against him, his eyes hypnotized by the white ring that glossed his cock. He let out a volley of incoherent curses, his eyes flicking to watch your breasts bounce before leaning his head down towards them.
He let out a wanton whimper as your hand found the back of his head to push his mouth towards your breasts. "What's the matter, my sweet Scara?" You cooed, stroking his hair, "is this too much for you too take?"
One of his hands travelled down to grope your ass, growling as he latched his lips onto one of your nipples. "You are clenching around my cock like a total slut, Mommy," He groaned feeling you clench harder around his cock, a high pitched cry keening from your throat.
His tongue swirling around your nipple send jolts of pleasure to your throbbing clit. You arched your back, crying out again as his grip started to tighten a little around you.
You didn't think too much about it at first, figuring he was close to cumming. He had the sweetest, high pitched whimpers and moans. You completely missed the glare in his eyes as yours roll closed, enjoying the feeling of his cock kissing into your sweet spot.
"Cum for me like a good boy," You cooed, making him growl again. Your walls squeezed just right on his cock. It pulsed strong as cum roped inside of you.
Scaramouche writhed underneath you when you didn't stop bouncing. He spat a string of incoherent Japanese curses, overwhelmed by the pleasure of overstimulation.
He could do nothing but moan at your mercy. That is until something snapped in him. Your eyes suddenly open as his hand flew to roughly grasp your chin. "I'm fucking fed up with your feeble display of dominance," His fingers dug into your hips before he lifted you off his cock and fling you onto the bed.
Your eyes widened as he flipped you over onto your stomach. He'd stolen control so fast it stunned you. It made you wonder if you had ever really been in control at all.
"Ass up, slut," Scaramouche snapped, smacking a hand on your ass. You blushed, yelping as you did you were told. It was time for him to put you in your place, especially for making him wear a maid outfit.
A whimper of your own keened from your throat, making him laugh as his fingers found your clit to rub it before lining his cock up with your entrance. His hand pushed your face down onto the pillows as he thrust his cock inside of you all at once, smirking when you gasped loudly from the burst of pleasure.
You whimpered again behind broken moans, his cock slamming into you, his fingers digging bruises into your hips. "Fuck, how are you still so tight after I already rearranged your insides?" He smacked a hand on your ass again, smirking when he heard you choke back a broken cry of bliss.
"Awwa, my bad. I took you off my cock before you could cum," The condescending tone he used made your cheeks flush, drool pooling around your cheeks onto the pillow.
He grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking your head off the pillows so your moans wouldn't be muffled. He wanted to hear you scream while you creamed hard on his cock, crumbling underneath the sheer weight of his dominance.
And it sounded so fucking sweet to Scaramouche.
"My compliments to you for not ripping the maid uniform off of me earlier," He pulled out only to slam himself back inside of you, groaning when you came screaming on his cock. "I think it's time for you to put it on instead. You'll be the most delicate little maid fuck toy for me."
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seireitonin · 19 days
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heyy, i am huge fan of creepypasta (espacially Toby), so could u make headcannons about him in relationship in his 30's? Btw i love your content and follow u on tt :3
I’m so sorry I’m just now getting to this! I get distracted and I’m not on tumblr a lot! Anyway thank you for your patience and support!!
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Dating Toby in his 30s
Dating Toby was hard already
With his mood swings, cocky behavior and detachment despite him loving you so much
This was BEFORE he got captured
Now that he escaped the mental institution and is more traumatized than he already was….its worse
He clings to you now more than ever, scared to lose you
Scared you don’t love him anymore, although he’ll never say it
Why?
He got captured. It’s humiliating, embarrassing to him. A hit to his ego
So he’s kinda insecure about the way you view him. He doesn’t want to look weak or helpless in front of you. He’s supposed to be protecting you
He’s also much more possessive and protective over you, so scared something is gonna take you from him
Getting him to eat food has been a challenge
Getting him to do anything but lay in bed and stare at a wall has been a challenge
You thought he was unstable before? That’s worse too
Every single noise makes him jump
He’s so paranoid never able to relax
Some nights he’ll stand in the corner talking to the wall, unblinking. It’s what he did at the mental institution
You’ll have to lead him back to bed and hold him until he eventually snaps out of it
Even then he’ll never be the person he was before he got captured
Your Toby is gone
He’s much more moody and aggressive
“What the fuck are you coddling me for? You think I’m weak?”
“No. I dont. I’m worried about you”
He wouldn’t talk to you like that before. You know he doesn’t mean it
He used to love when you cared about him, when you held him
Toby can’t stand the feeling of being at another mercy or weak. It’s how he felt when he was being abused by his dad and being at the mercy of his captors brought back that feeling
Has more tic attacks because he has fears/ thoughts and hallucinations about being back in that place. His anxiety is constantly off the charts too, he’s gone back to chewing the skin off his fingers
His tics were less frequent before he got captured but now they’re constant, his tic attacks coming in harder and more frequent than ever
His tics are just straight up begging and screaming sometimes. Those are the noises he would make in the mental institution and they’re permanently part of his tics now
He hates it. Hates that you have to hear that
But you’re understanding and support him anyway
He loves the fact that you’re so understanding. He loves you
He can’t believe he was ever apart from you
He got captured protecting you
You were both surrounded, he pretended that he kidnapped you and that you were his next victim
To be fair he did kidnap you but you were never his victim
“I’m sorry I have to do this” he said as he cupped your face in his hands and looked into your eyes
“What-“
He grabbed you, putting you in a headlock choking you tightly, hearing the police come
Toby whispered aggressively in your ear as he squeezed your throat so the police would believe that you were his victim, not his lover
“Don’t say a word and listen to me. When they ask questions, you don’t fucking know me. I kidnapped you. I was going to kill you. You were trying to escape and I found you. You don’t remember anything. Do you fucking hear me? When they let you go, you go back to our cabin and you fucking lay low. Don’t come look for me. Don’t you fucking dare”
He had never been serious with you like that before as he gave you a story to tell and instructions in your ear
It scared you. As if you just remembered that he was a murderer and could just end you if he wanted although you knew he wouldn’t hurt you
The police surrounded you both soon after and he held the blade of his hatchet to your throat as he kept you in a headlock
“Come any closer and I’ll kill this bitch!” He screamed out making you truly look like a victim
After a standoff and you safely being handed over to the police and being put in the back of an ambulance, Toby got cuffed and shoved in the back of a police car
You exchanged a final glance, as you fought back tears to not look suspicious as you watched the man you love get taken away from you to an unknown fate
Its another reason you’ll never leave his side
He sacrificed himself and what little sanity he had to keep you safe
He told you about everything they did to him there. The experiments, the abuse and him being seen as less than human, the straight jackets, the metal mussel they had on him at all times, the padded room, having to hear people talk to him about his past from his abuse to the murder of his father to working for what they thought was a fictional being called Slenderman
Everyone looked at him with fear. With his many kills under his belt and his unpredictable nature
Hearing all of it fills you with guilt
He went through all that because he loves you
So you’ll never leave him. How could you ever? After what he did for you
Toby wakes up screaming at night sometimes, thinking he’s back in the institution or having a vivid dream about it
He’ll pull on his hair and his tics become violent and he thrashes
You just rub his back “it’s okay. I’m here. You’re here. You’re safe”
He feels bad after it’s over every time but it comes out like aggression because he doesn’t want to be vulnerable
“I know. I’m not stupid.”
He’s grateful. He is. Truthfully he’s scared and anxious but he’ll never tell you.
But you already know and you still love him
He loves you too, just give him time to readjust and he’ll try his best to get better for you again but that won’t be for a long time
You miss your Toby.
Your playful,upbeat, cocky and obnoxious Toby.
He wasn’t perfect but he was yours
Now you feel guilt when you look at him
“Toby…do you hate me?”
“No”
“You’re lying to me aren’t you”
“No! Why are you saying that?!”
“Because I feel like it’s my fault you got captured! I’m the reason that you went through that!”
He looks at you, blankly “no. You’re not the reason. It probably would’ve eventually happened regardless. I just did what I had to do to protect you. That’s it. So don’t say anything stupid like that to me ever again. I didn’t go through that for nothing. I did it for you.”
You tear up and for the first time in months, you hold each other. He holds you. And you hold him and he feels good. You missed him.
He takes you in, remembering how much he loves you. Going through all that for you and being able to keep you safe was enough for him
You love each other despite these horrible circumstances and the new problems that came from this
He lets you run your hands through his hair while your in bed together like he used to before
He’s starting to hold you again
He’s still not 100% his old self and most likely never will be, but he’s trying his best
Because he needs you now more than ever
And you will always be here
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ohwolfling · 5 months
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Gale, Mystra, and Abuse as Mentorship
(author’s note: this is part of what I hope to be an eventual video essay on godhood/coercion/consent in BG3 - you can see my other work and help fuel this efforts via my ko-fi :) if you're so inclined - and I will of course highly consider suggested deep dives from supporters, as you help me stay alive. I still have not actually finished this game so please go easy on me in regard to spoilers and note that some of what I’m discussing is from lore & knowledge I have as a little DnD gremlin for a decade before Baldur’s Gate 3, thank u, ily)
It’s really something to go through Act I and II of Baldur’s Gate 3 and hear Gale speak about being Mysta’s chosen. The way that Gale speaks of it, of his relationship with the Weave, the way the Weave feels to YOU if you have that moment of magic with Gale… 
You feel that Mystra’s Chosen, however perilous, however imbalanced, is a term of endearment.
And then you see Gale meet with Mystra… and the context of everything Gale has shared with you shifts.
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Religious trauma holds obvious weight with most characters in BG3, in subtle and unsubtle ways, but what resonates with me beyond even the queer experience with every flavor of Christianity and Evangelicalism is the way “mentors” use it to mask their own abuse. And yes, some of those mentors are gods. 
Mystra is cold and formal with Gale in a way that reminds me of the abuse typical in art spaces specifically. A mentor who crosses lines of intimacy at their convenience, but is cold to you if they’re in any way displeased. The focus always comes down to YOUR GIFT and how YOU FAILED YOUR GIFT.  This is an easier parallel for me to make because ultimately Gale reads as much as an artist as he does an academic. He’s not just interested in magical academia, he loves the ROMANCE of it. Even the way he speaks of his connection to the Weave smacks of inspiration and artistry, not rigid study and observation, “[...] could not only control the Weave, but compose it, like a musician or a poet.”
I suppose there is validity in interpreting Mystra as a reliable source, maybe she is just like this all the time and Gale was clouded by his service to her, maybe she means everything she says to and offers Gale. But that is not my interpretation (and I think that even in that interpretation there is no redeeming Mystra because she is still wholly uncaring of the serious power imbalance and just… TIME and EXPERIENCE imbalance between herself and a mortal man). 
She tells Gale that what he lacked was patience… What exactly was patience meant to get Gale? Enough magical prowess that he would no longer want to be intimate with her or please her in a human way? Enough knowledge that he would stop requiring a sense of partnership from his god, who first connected to him as a child, who returned from her presumed death (assuming a rough DnD timeline here this is the best case scenario) to take either the initial special interest in him or an increased special interest in him, to teach him with special instruction, to feed off of his own skill or potential, to take him as a lover? Gale did not wish to prove himself to the public at large. Gale wanted to be enough for her. Gale wanted to give to Mystra as Mystra (per her claims and his interpretation) gave to him so that she would take Gale further into her world and be a real partner to him. There is not a level of patience that makes a man seeking an equal partnership with a GOD able to like… be chill about what that must require of him if a lifetime of devotion and proven skill doesn’t? 
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This is not to paint Gale as a man without mistakes. Of course he is flawed. Of course his choices are reckless and dumb. But he doesn’t intend to raise himself ABOVE Mystra until the Crown presents itself as an option and Gale sees that he could both save the world- particularly this new found family he cares about in a context outside of the pursuit of Weave academia, I imagine very new for him- and in his mind finally feel a sense of agency outside of his abuser, even if he still can’t really identify her as that*. Gale’s craving for validation and power is not- in my reading of this as a survivor of various DV/CA situations, salt and personal perspective to taste- inherently selfish. It exists BECAUSE of Mystra. Even some of Gale’s stories about chaotic childhood stories, depending on what he means by being connected to it at a young age, could still be from that influence. To modernize this, theater kids dramatically backstabbing theater kids via tattle-tells or sabotage is very often about the atmosphere and choices the drama teacher has on offer. They’re kids adapting to the space that was given to them. 
“But such is Mystra’s Will” - Elminster the Enabler
Elminster provides such a specific frame for this dynamic, too. He is the kinder, more reasonable, more accessible mentor theoretically… but it’s like the “nice” parent in a narcissistic household as far as I’m concerned. Any kindness, leniency, or leveling with Gale is ultimately not about showing Gale kindness or teaching Gale. It is about enabling and supporting Mystra. “Just blow yourself up, you know how she gets.” “Well, you did remind her of Karsus and that hurt her feelings.” That kinda thing. 
If your Tav pushes back the second time Elminster crashes your camp, he says something along the lines of, “yes, her actions seem cold and tyrannical but that’s because you’re a mortal. She’s a god, you can’t judge her actions.” If you made the narrative choices to get that response from Elminster, you and your Tav know that that is, for lack of a more graceful term, complete horse shit. Even the way Elminster approaches Gale and delivers the news is in service of Mystra’s coldness. Elminster appears as more of an equal to Gale, but he twists the knife in ways that Mystra can’t be bothered to. I do not interpret ambushing Gale, demanding comfort and catering, and then delivering the news that Mystra wants Gale to die with half-truths, guilt trips, and tsk-tsks as general wizard eccentricity. That is dickhead behavior. Elminster is not pained to deliver this news. He is honored to be the one chosen to do it. 
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Gale’s motivation in pursuing the crown and wielding it himself, as he expresses in the Act III boat scene- and again, I can’t believe people read Gale as blindly ambition or egotistical- is that gods shouldn’t have the power that they do, shouldn’t be able to make us live for them and die for them. He speaks of gods using Ao as a shield or an excuse and in DnD lore I believe Ao is truly the only god that would outrank Mystra. 
If Gale’s orb is truly a fragment created from Karsus’ attempt at godhood, I think we have to question Mystra’s relationship to Karsus. Early on both Gale himself and the game paint parallels between Gale and Karsus. Perhaps being chosen and the power imbalance and grief that entails is implied. For me, the narrative weight is better if it is. She speaks of allowing the orb to feed on the Weave as some sort of temporary measure, some gift to Gale, some great thing she is giving up… but if it is born of the Weave, ultimately, it is enabled by Mystra. 
I don’t mean to imply that Mystra is walking around as a figure of deliberate cruelty. I’m sure in Mystra’s mind she thinks she is fair, measured, and even doting of her “chosens”. But that is not unlike any abuser- particularly in religious contexts, particularly in mentorship contexts- who grooms and crosses lines because they see “potential” in their victims. For Mystra, the potential of her Chosen does not offer them protection. It simply justifies (to her) that she can harness, wield, consume, and control them. Why else would they be so magically inclined, so skilled, so bright, if not for her to do with them as she will? In her mind, as both a goddess and arguably the Weave itself, Mystra may not even think of what she does as harming those below her for her own gain. She may see it as reasonable and necessary sacrifices to preserve magic. I won’t try to summarize 3e to present DnD here, but Mystra has died and been reborn several times, in questionable ways. She is a fractured entity, whatever you consider her, and could very well have indoctrinated HERSELF into the religion of herself, essentially. Mystra is arguably her own cult and cult leader (though almost always aided by Elminster).
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Karsus and Coercion
Mystra knows anything and everything that touches the Weave. Gale tells you point blank that Mystra would know he accessed the Karsus text, that just freeing it and reading it would be like shooting up a beacon. How does this interpretation stand if Mystra saw no signs of what she was doing to Gale, did not see him researching her prior death and fracturing? Could the same be true for Karsus?
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The Karsus fragments devour the Weave, but why? Do they intend to harm her? Are they desperate for her? Does it feel like agency? Is there an additional parallel between Karsus and Gale here - meaning, as Karsus sought to make himself god-like, to stand above Mystra, perhaps in some way Gale thought bringing Mystra lost fragments of her former self would at the very least mean that Mystra needed him, controlled him, fed off of him in whatever way less? 
By Mystra’s own admission (I have not found this in game, I’m going from some Candlekeep lore and deity guides in 2e to now), those who use the Weave are to love the Weave, to do magic for the love of magic, to constantly explore and create new magic, anything to preserve and empower magic. So assuming that somehow Mystra legitimately has no idea when a Karsus or a Gale is setting out on a precarious path of potential godhood or at least hubris and hamartia, how then is Gale’s pursuit of the lost fragments of Mystra herself a violation? How even is Karsus' invention of his relics doing so? Mystra has the ability to cut the Weave off entirely for people, just as she had the ability the entire time to give the orb within Gale access to the Weave directly. This has me theorizing that perhaps, just as she condemned Gale to die when him EXACTLY FOLLOWING THE PHILOSOPHY SHE HANDED DOWN upset her for whatever reason, perhaps Mystra is why Karsus was pursuing higher magics in the first place, seeking to make up for some access he may have been denied after being suddenly cut off from her? Mystra does not set boundaries or make things clear. To be her Chosen does not seem to be a process of understanding and consent. It is thrust upon mortal men, in Gale’s case a mortal man she pursues a deeper emotional and sexual connection to, and then they are meant to “be patient” and anticipate what is or isn’t acceptable to her. 
And ultimately, I want to end with this, in regards to some middling discourse I keep seeing around Mystra that I think is well-intentioned but disastrous if we apply it to the reality of imbalance power dynamics, abuse, and trauma with any sense of realism** -
Grooming is not just sexual - Mystra being the provider of the magic Gale is naturally inclined to is enough of a power imbalance from the jump. The man repeatedly responsible for enabling new forms of Mystra being a close mentor to Gale and possibly responsible for his education is in itself a gateway of grooming. Institutions and systems use grooming as a tool as well. 
There is not an age at which you become immune to abuse or at which abuse is less abusive. Grooming and harming a teenager is neurologically different from doing so to an adult, but both are still incredibly common, and again, see number one. 
Abuses within any system- be it a church, an outright cult, an educational system, a dojo, a theatre, a volunteer organization- are significantly harder to escape because the isolation and indoctrination are built in. Group-think, the affects of trauma on the brain, etc, legitimately stunt a person’s cognitive development in relationship to the subject. A god waiting until a wizard is of age to fuck him when said wizard has been attuned to and charmed by the magic that is a part of herself since childhood would certainly fall under this category. 
There is not a way that Gale- or any real world person harmed on a scale of toxic relationship to outright abuse- can respond to abuse that legitimizes the introduction of abuse and coercion in the first place.
*note - depending on your Tav’s relationship to Gale, I DO THINK this is something Gale is beginning to identify… His comment when in a romantic partnership with Tav are that essentially everything he thought Mystra was is fading away because she condemned him to die when giving up the crown to her was always on the table, done after a year plus of shutting him out for his “folly,” and he speaks of "tenderness" and "feeling" from Tav, the subtext there being he knows now he never received that from Mystra but I want to leave room in this conversation for folks who didn’t romance Gale or didn’t romance him in service of the Gale the Man is Enough narrative to explore this topic
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**Pretend is pretend and a valid way to explore so many things but as a survivor of various kinds of abuse who lives with C-PTSD every day, I think it’s important we apply some level of weight and realism to portrayals of these dynamics, even when the metaphor is literal magic, because 1- how we speak about abusers and the abused in fiction historically reflects our real world feelings on them, often to the point of LEGISLATION and 2- trauma should not be a sandbox for the unscathed to play in more than it should be a space for exploration, catharsis, and perhaps even healing for the many of us who have survived or are trying to survive those dynamics. If you don’t agree with that, that is technically legal but my interpretations will annoy you until the end of time always. 
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soullumii · 4 months
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it's a risk but babe, i need the thrill | joel miller x f!reader
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part 1, part 2
summary: everything finally comes to a head
warnings: 18+!!! smut! unprotected piv, gentle smut
tags: angst, reconciliation, fluff, pining, smut (but it's light compared to the other two parts), halloween vibes (i was supposed to finish this in october, oops)
word count: 5.8k
a/n: guys. i am SO SORRY for the wait. this was so hard for me to finish i almost gave up so many times. i'm still unhappy with this but i can't make myself work on it anymore so here u go. thank you all so much for your patience, i really appreciate it. special thank you to @joelsfaveouritegirl for your support... i probably would've never finished this if it weren't for you, so thank you. <3. and thanks to all of you who kept me accountable. i hope you enjoy this fucking mess. also, this is probably the last joel fic i'll write for a while. i'm sorry. still, i hope you like this.
______________________________________________________________
There are only two seasons in Jackson, Wyoming: winter and not winter.
Where other states might have a gradual shift from warm to cold, in Wyoming, it’s like a slap to the face, quite literally. The moment you step into the evening October air, it feels as if you’ve walked into a wall of cold. 
You shiver in your thick coat, and pull your scarf over your frosty nose as you meander down to the plaza.
While Jackson residents enjoy their time indoors and close to the fireplace during the colder months, they still love to celebrate outdoors, relying on their booze to keep them warm.
You don’t stop by Joel’s for a drink this time, he’s likely already in town square, dragged there by his daughter. Or… sort of daughter. He’s told you how he feels about Ellie, but the girl has her own opinions. Sure, she might deny that he’s like her dad, but she sure as hell treats him like he is. 
You’re meeting them there. 
The stars are already twinkling in the sky when you reach the throng of people. All of Jackson’s residents are in the plaza tonight for Halloween, dressed in homemade costumes and ones raided from the Party City in Idaho Falls. Jack-o-lanterns glow menacingly in corners and scarecrows are propped against brick walls. A few people in particularly frightening costumes prowl about, startling kids and adults alike.
Stalls line the edges of the plaza, each one providing something different. Tipsy Bison’s stall is run by Tommy, serving alcohol for the adults of the town. Seth’s stall is serving pork and brisket sandwiches. There’s a few stalls down the road advertising pumpkins and pastries, and you get a whiff of apple cider. Barrels of fire are scattered about to provide warmth. Lights are strung from the roofs of buildings, spread across the road, like clothes on a clothesline. 
It’s incredibly cozy, and already, you feel much warmer than you did walking out of your house. 
Within moments of passing Seth’s stall you hear Ellie’s voice ring out. 
“She's here!”
You can’t see her weaving through the crowd but you can see Joel trailing behind, his arm trapped in front of him. He politely excuses himself and apologizes to those he bumps into as his daughter drags him through a crowd of people. 
You can’t help but laugh, especially when you hear him say, “Jesus, kid, slow down.” 
And then she’s in front of you, smiling and bouncing excitedly on her heels, dressed as one of the superheroes from the comics she reads. Joel is behind her wearing a black blindfold with the eyes cut out, and a felt superhero crest is stitched to the front of his black sweater. He looks very adorable. Clearly, Ellie forced him to dress up. His gaze catches yours, full of something you can’t quite grasp, a small, embarrassed smile on his lips.
“Hi,” he says, voice soft.
“Hi,” you repeat.
It’s been… well… you’re not quite sure how to describe how it’s been since you told him to stop kissing you. 
It’s not like you guys have stopped seeing each other since then. Or that it’s been more awkward or anything. It just feels as if you’ve been depriving your body of what it needs, like you’re actively starving yourself. 
You’d feel full while he was fucking you, and yet there was a hole in your chest, gnawing at your thoughts, a hunger so deep rooted that it’s been taking you longer to come. 
Joel had noticed, too. Noticed your struggle and your frustration. He took it as something he was doing wrong, even though you insisted that wasn’t the case. Still, he took his time with you, trying to meet all your needs, and that, funnily enough, just made you feel worse. 
Your meetings have grown fewer. Sometimes you would go a couple weeks without seeing each other—at least like that.  Funny, how before you were so upset when he hadn’t been with you for a while. And now… now the distance is needed.
You still went out to dinner with him and Tommy and Maria. You still stopped by to say hi to Ellie and ask Joel how he’s been. Things have been normal, besides the overwhelming feeling of longing that strikes your breast the moment you see him. 
You worry that it shows on your face, especially because of the dreams you’ve been having, like some lovesick teenager. Dreams that don’t involve just having sex. Dreams that frame the two of you as lovers, as parents as… growing old together. 
Sometimes you’ll wake up crying, wondering if maybe you should just stop seeing him, talking to him, being around him all together. But then you’ll see him in town, or on patrols, and you know you’d never be able to stay away.
You swallow down the lump in your throat, and turn your attention to Ellie. 
“Hey kiddo!” You greet, plastering a smile on. She doesn’t seem to notice your being off. 
“You’re not dressed up,” she remarks, arms crossing over her chest. 
“Um. Yes I am,” you gesture to your black sweater and black pants. “I’m a black cat.” 
“You don’t even have ears or whiskers and a nose. That's a terrible costume.” 
Joel squeezes her shoulder with a frown. “Hey, quit.”
“No, she’s fine. She’s right,” you sigh. “This was super last minute.” 
“Cat is doing face painting down by the haunted house. You should let her paint some whiskers on you.” 
You take a glance at Joel and he shrugs. God he looks ridiculous in that costume. Your heart constricts. You might as well be as ridiculous as him. 
“That sounds great,” you say. Ellie looks like she’s about to drag you there when Dina comes running around the corner, practically slamming into her. 
“Hey!” Ellie laughs, “Slow down.” 
“You have to come with me. We’re going to do the haunted house, Jesse is already waiting for us. Come on,” Dina says, and pulls Ellie away before you and Joel can say a thing. 
The two of you stand there for a moment, watching the kids with fond smiles before finally looking at each other. 
His gaze seems to soften impossibly more when it lands on you.
“Your costume is kinda lame,” he says after a moment. 
“Oh shut up.”
**
The paintbrush glides smoothly over your skin as Cat paints the tip of your nose black and whiskers on your cheeks. You keep sneaking glances at Joel who waits patiently for your face painting session to finish.
Once you’re done you stride over to him, grinning.
“Well?” You prompt, turning around and showing off your newly improved costume. “Not so lame anymore, huh?”
He chuckles, eyes roaming your figure. Heat simmers low in your belly at the glint in his dark eyes. “Much better.”
He pauses, eyes catching on your face. “Hey, wait.” He grabs your hand and pulls you in close. He’s warm, a nice contrast to the cool October air. You want to just snuggle up to him, wriggle your fingers up under his sweater to share his warmth.
“You got a little somethin’…” he trails off, hand coming up to press his thumb to your skin. He gently wipes off a stray black smudge from beneath your eye. It takes no less than five seconds, yet it feels like an eternity. Your chest presses into his, his hand is warm as it cups your cheek. His breath puffs against your lips, an almost kiss. And his eyes, focused so dearly on the smudge, slowly drift up to lock with yours. 
“Perfect,” he mumbles, gaze never straying from yours. His hand never leaves your cheek, his thumb brushing carefully below your eye once more, a soft, subconscious caress now.
“Thanks,” you breathe.
Time feels like it’s stopped. 
A kid rushes by with a delighted scream as another kid in a costume chases after him. You and Joel jolt apart, snapped back into motion.
He clears his throat and you swallow hard.
“You want somethin’ to drink?” he asks.
“Yes, please.”
***
Tommy is beaming with his own little flush of alcohol when you and Joel come across his stall.
Maria hangs by his side, but her eyes follow every action happening around you. Ever the diligent leader.
“Howdy,” Tommy says, and Maria takes the time to glance over at the two of you with a welcoming smile.
“Hey,” Joel says, and you nod your head in greeting.
“You guys lookin’ for a drink?” Tommy asks. “We’ve got spiked apple cider.”
You bounce excitedly on your toes at that. Joel laughs lightly at the way your expression brightens. “We’ll take two.”
“Comin’ right up.”
“You’ve done a great job planning for this, Maria. Everything looks amazing,” you say.
She turns to you, and to your surprise, she looks a bit bashful. “Thanks. Everyone on the council helped a lot. I’m glad we can provide something fun like this.”
“The kids really need it.”
“I think the adults do, too. It’s nice to be able to scream without it being true fear.”
“Amen to that,” Tommy pipes up and sets two mugs of steaming spiked apple cider down. 
“Thanks, Tommy,” Joel says, and hands you a mug.
“There’s a haunted house down the road, you guys should go check it out. Laney and Paul spent a long time on it,” Maria says.
“We will, thanks. See you guys around!”
You wave goodbye to them and make your way through the plaza. Joel’s hand finds the small of your back, warm and steady. You’re glad for it, as scarers prowl along the streets, jumping out randomly and thrusting their hands in your face.
The haunted house lingers at the edge of the road like a ghost. Party City decorations blot the yard: gravestones, plastic skeletons, witches with rotted cloaks. It’s like everything they could manage to carry was dumped here. 
A line curves outside the door, kids bouncing on their feet as they await their turns. You feel a little ridiculous joining them, being your age, but Joel probably feels even more ridiculous so you push the thought from your mind.
“I’m actually kind of nervous,” you tell him as screams ring out from within the house.
“This thing ain’t nearly as terrifyin’ as the real world,” Joel says.
“Yeah, but still. I’ve never been a fan of being scared.” 
Joel takes a sip of his spiked apple cider and shrugs. “I’ll protect ya.”
“My hero,” you coo and run your hand over the superhero crest stitched to his chest. He smiles. 
Soon enough you’re at the door. 
“You go first,” you tell Joel, and shove him in front of you, but you don’t let go of him.
"Good to know you're not afraid to throw me to the wolves."
"Your sacrifice will not be in vain."
He rolls his eyes but lets you fist one of your hands in his sweater and hold onto his arm with the other. You peer around him as the two of you venture inside. 
A radio plays spooky sounds from all directions as you trail behind Joel through the house. Your eyes flit across every crevice, searching for who is going to scare you. Still, you don’t notice everything.
From seemingly nowhere, someone pops out in a Michael Meyers mask with a fake knife. You screech and hold tight to Joel. He hardly even flinches.
“How are you so chill?” you ask with a pout once you’ve recovered. Red lights flash in the hallway. Your voice is shaking. God, you’re a wimp.
“Because I’ve got someone I need to protect. I can’t act all scared, now, can I?”
You roll your eyes, knowing he’s just making shit up. He’s not scared at all.
You get closer and closer to him as the house progresses. Your hands are now interlinked, your cheek pressed against the warm muscle of his shoulder blades. You’re practically on top of him, trying to stay as close as possible. 
Even with Joel acting so nonchalant, you’re scared. You get jump scared a few more times as you continue, thankful that your hands are preoccupied with holding onto Joel else you might’ve punched one of the scarers.
Eventually you make it to the end in one piece, your heart racing. You know it’s ridiculous—Ellie probably got through this with a straight face. Still, it’s kind of fun, being scared. You’re giggling into Joel’s sweater by the end of it, and he’s tucked you into his side, hand still interlocked with yours as you meander back to the plaza.
Warmth blossoms in your chest. Is this what it would be like if you were truly together? You feel the urge to push up on your toes to kiss him, but you shove it down. Guilt tugs at the back of your mind at the thought. 
“You’re such a scaredy cat, I guess that costume is fittin’,” he muses, rubbing warmth into your waist.
“Sorry we can’t all be macho men like you."
You go to pull away, to create some distance. You can’t keep getting close to him like this. It weighs too heavily on your heart. But Joel squeezes your hand and tugs you back into his side, and you’re so very weak. You melt into him despite yourself.
“I think you rather like my macho-ness,” he says.
Heat pools in your belly at the smirk on his face, the darkness in his eyes. You avert your gaze with a small smile, warmth coloring your cheeks. “Yeah right.”
He turns toward you, towering over you. His hand splays heavily on your hip, and you shudder. “Playin’ coy now, huh? Where was this yesterday when—“
“Joel!” Ellie screeches, skidding to a stop in front of the two of you. You feel the urge to jerk away, but Joel only shifts so that he’s no longer in your face. He still keeps you close. 
“What’s up kiddo?” 
“There’s a campfire, everyone’s asking us to play a song.” 
That piques your interest. Joel has played guitar for you a couple times, though he’s always very shy about it. You’ve stumbled across him playing on his own with no one to watch. It’s fascinating what the music does to him.
It’s like he’s transported somewhere else, his eyes closed as his fingers pluck the strings of his guitar, his foot tapping to the beat, his head nodding along as his hands tell a story through the notes. 
You’ve never seen him play a whole song like that, he’s always noticed you before he could ever finish. And when you’d ask him to keep playing, there was a bit of stiltedness. You realized it was nervousness… he wanted you to be impressed, to like what he was doing. 
You’re not sure how you ever could dislike his playing. 
“You should do it,” you say. 
Joel’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “I dunno—“
“What, you’re not scared, are you?” you tease.
“Don't talk to me about being scared. Pretty sure you stretched out my sweater with how hard you were holding onto me,” he counters. 
“Will you two stop bickering like a married couple? Joel, they’re waiting. Come on!” Ellie says and grabs his hand, tugging him along. You laugh as you follow, though her little comment sticks in your mind. 
***
Joel settles down on a log with his guitar in his lap. Ellie sits at his side. You got a spot a couple logs away, so you could get a good view of them. The campfire lights his silver hair copper, reflecting like stars off the wood of his guitar. 
“Any fans of Bread here?” he asks, and a few hoots and hollers sound out. Joel laughs at that, and Ellie rolls her eyes. You've never heard of the band, but you wait with bated breath. They tune their guitars, and then Joel takes a deep breath and counts down. 
One, two, three, four…
Soft strumming fills the air. Ellie keeps the main melody, but Joel plucks more of the details. He sings first.
Baby I’m-a want you
Baby I’m-a need you
You’re the only one I care enough to hurt about
His voice is smooth, a bit shaky from the nerves, but it washes over you like a warm wave of water. Immediately, you’re drawn in. It’s unrealistic, but you still think that Joel could save the world with his voice. It’s scratchy but soft, if one can be both of those things at the same time.
He looks up through his lashes, his gaze catching yours.
Maybe I’m-a crazy, but I just can’t live without
your lovin’ and affection… givin’ me direction
Like a guiding light to help me through my darkest hours
Lately I’m-a prayin’ that you’ll always be-a stayin’
Beside me…
Your breath catches in your throat while he sings.
It’s just a song, you tell yourself. But the way he’s looking at you… it’s as if everyone else has disappeared. As if the words were created specifically for you. As if… as if maybe he chose this song for a reason…
Ellie picks up the prechorus with her angelic voice, and you’re brought back into the present. But then Joel starts the solo, his eyelids fluttering shut as the music takes over him. His head nods along to notes as he plucks each one out with precision and skill. His foot taps in time with the beat, and people cheer, but you can’t stop staring. 
The solo ends all too soon, but Joel’s voice merges beautifully with Ellie’s harmonies back on the prechorus once more. 
Lately I’m-a prayin’ that you’ll always be a stayin’
Beside me…
Used to be my life was just emotions passin’ by. 
Then you came along and made me laugh and made me cry
He gives you a small grin, secret, for no one else but you.
You taught me why…
Baby I’m-a want you. 
Baby I’m-a need you. 
Oh, it took so long to find you baby
Baby I’m-a want you.
Baby I’m-a need you.
Your chest constricts at the sight of him, at the sound of the last few notes being plucked expertly by his fingers. At the blend of his voice with Ellie’s. You can't bear to sit here at this campfire, watching him only as a friend, a fellow neighbor, just like everyone else. You want him to sing this song for you. To know that it’s only you he’s thinking of as the last few strings are plucked by his nimble fingers, ringing out into the dark, cold night. That it’s only you he sees clapping and cheering him on. But you can’t even grant him that, already on your feet the moment the song ends, practically sprinting away from the campfire as your throat grows tight and tears spring to your eyes.
You hope no one has noticed. You hope the footsteps you can hear crunching on crimson leaves are just someone walking past. Of course they’re not though.
“Are you okay?” the familiar timbre of Joel’s voice asks.
God, no! Why! 
You frantically wipe the tears from your eyes, sniffling snot so it doesn’t drip down your lip and betray you. 
“Oh,” you start, and internally curse the way your voice shakes. You turn toward the one who has been unraveling you at the seams with a trembling smile. “Hi, Joel.”
“Christ, what’s wrong, baby?”
“Don’t—don’t call me baby,” you say, and it’s not at all what you mean to say. You mean to just reassure, to just brush this off and bury it deep inside and never let it out. But you don’t. 
Joel’s face hardens, and he steps in closer with a hand stretched out but at the look on your face, thinks better of touching you.
“Okay, I’m sorry,” he says. “Why are you crying? What happened?”
Nothing. It was just a pretty song.
Was it for me?
Nothing. I’m just being hormonal.
Do those lyrics mean something to you?
Nothing. 
Enough. Enough with the excuses and the rules and the lies. 
“You happened,” you spit. 
He takes a surprised step back. “What?”
“You and your stupid fucking—your stupid fucking friends with benefits and your stupid fucking big heart and your stupid fucking guitar happened, Joel.”
This is probably the first time you’ve ever rendered Joel speechless outside of sex. He looks so stupid standing there staring at you with his wide eyes and his dropped jaw. And yet all you want to do his pull him in and hug him and tell him how much you love his stupid fucking face. Instead, you take a step back. 
“I don’t… I don’t understand,” he mutters. “You’re freezin’. Let’s head back to my place, we can talk about it there—“
“No. No. I won’t let you just fuck me and then pretend like whatever’s between us doesn’t exist.”
“That’s not—“ he starts, but then must register what you said because his brows furrow over his ice cold gaze. “Me? I pretend like it doesn’t exist?” 
“Yes!”
“No I don’t. You’re the one that told me you didn’t want me to kiss you anymore. You’re the one that’s been keepin’ me at arm's length all this time. You’re the one pretending.”
You go to yell back at him, to deny, but the realization that he’s right kills the words in your throat, and you fall silent. 
Joel steps closer, his voice dropping. “You can act like I’m the one that’s been torturing you as much as you like, but it just ain’t true.” 
His eyes flit across your face wildly, taking in the tears in your eyes, the tremble of your lips, the tint of your cheeks from the cold. He softens.
“Darlin' I... I have been in love with you since the first time I heard you laugh. Since the first time you even glanced my way. Every god damn day is torture wanting all of you when all I can have is some of you.”
You can’t speak, can hardly even breathe. 
“If you don’t want to make this anythin’ other than sex, just tell me,” he whispers, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw. His breath condenses into steam in the cold air. “Tell me you want to keep pretending, and we can keep pretending."
“I…I don’t.” You shake your head. “I don’t want to keep pretending.”
His nose brushes yours, his breath warm against your lips. “Tell me you don’t want more.”
You swallow harshly. “I want more.” 
“Tell me you’re sorry you made me stop kissing you.”
“Please, kiss me, Joel.”
“You’re not very good at followin’ directions, are you?” he says, grinning, and you can’t help but laugh into the kiss when he pulls you in.
His lips are soft, deliberate when they meet yours. He coaxes you open, makes you slow down, pulls you into it so you feel it entirely. Reminds you of what you were missing when you forbade him from kissing you. 
God, you missed it so much. Missed him. 
Joel’s arms wind around your waist, his hands sliding along the fabric of your coat, and it’s so cold but god you wish you had less layers on right now. You’re sure the warmth of his hands could keep you from hypothermia. 
“I’m sorry I forbade you from kissing me,” you say. 
He hums, “I guess I can forgive you. Might need some convincing.”
“Oh shut up,” you grin, and pull him back in again. 
“I hate pretending like I don’t love you,” he murmurs against your lips, hands gripping your waist.
“You… really love me?”
“Did you not hear my speech earlier?” 
“I did. I just… can’t really believe it.”
He pulls you in close and gently grasps your jaw with his large hands. He kisses you again, thumbs brushing against your cheeks. 
His lips find the corner of your mouth. “I love you,” he says. 
A kiss to your cheek. “I love you.”
A kiss to your eyelid. “I love you.” 
When he pulls back, he’s smiling again. It’s strange to see Joel smile. He really doesn’t do it often around anyone. But you guess you’re an exception.
All that time you had spent pushing him away, agonizing over how much you loved him, fearing that he’d leave you if you so much had hinted that you were in love with him, only for him to be in love with you all this time? Holy shit. The world feels like it’s turned upside down. 
“Okay, I think I believe you now,” you say in a laugh. 
“You haven’t said it back, which I guess is alright—“
“I love you too, Joel,” you interrupt. 
He softens again. “I love you,” he murmurs, and pulls you in again for another toe curling kiss. God, you were an idiot for making him stop.
He wipes the tears from your eyes with a calloused thumb. “Your face paint is smudgin’.” 
“It was a stupid costume anyway.”
“No, it's cute. But…” Joel glances about, lips quirking in a smirk. He leans down, and his voice is so low you almost don’t hear it. “I think it would look better on my floor.”
“Well…” you fight the grin on your face, delighting in the heat curling low within you. “I guess since you love me and we’re kissing again and aren’t exactly friends anymore… we could really put that statement to the test.” 
“I think we should,” he says, and leans down to kiss your neck. 
You hum in approval. “What about Ellie?”
“She had plans to go to Dina’s after the festival,” he says, between kisses. “Come over, please? Or do I need to send you a letter with a wax stamp and everythin’?”
“Well… since you said please, I guess that will do.”
The whole walk to his place he has his arm slung about your waist, proudly displaying that you’re his. 
You nuzzle yourself into his side, grateful for his warmth and companionship. Your heart feels so full, so light, as if you might actually drift up into the air. Thank god Joel is holding you to keep you grounded. 
You smile at Maria and Tommy when you pass by them, and they exchange a look that says something like Finally. 
Then you’re at his house, and he’s unlocking the door and letting you go in first. And this time when you’re welcomed inside, you’re no longer worrying about rules or how you feel, or how you might fuck this up. It’s so fucking freeing. 
Joel doesn’t ravish you the moment the door closes. Instead, he kind of just stares at you. 
You squirm under his attention, growing self conscious. “What?”
He smiles, hands gravitating to your hips. “Nothin’. I just love you.” 
You grin. “I love you too.” 
He kisses you again, and you don’t think you could ever get enough of it. You kisses you roughly against the door, hips colliding with yours, over and over, and soon enough you’re shaking with want. Mind muddled, whispering a single word into his ear, “Bedroom.” 
It feels different here this time. All those times in the past had felt restrained, now, everything feels exactly as it should. 
When before you used to strip down quickly just to get him inside you, this time, you both take your time. He carefully unwraps you like a present as he noses kisses down your throat. He peels your thick black sweater off, and slides the straps of your bra down your shoulders, his dark eyes locked with yours. Joel reaches behind you and undoes the clasp with ease. You can hardly hold back your shaky sigh. 
Your hands smooth over his sweater-clad chest before pulling it up and over his head. That jagged scar is there on his stomach, a reminder of everything he’s been through. You run your hand along it, and he shudders. 
“Sit down,” he says. 
You sit on the edge of the bed, and he kneels before you. Then, he grabs your boot-clad foot and sets it on his thigh. He undoes the laces and carefully takes the boot off. He does the other, and then hooks his fingers around your waistband and pulls it and your panties off together. 
“I was right,” he says. “It really does look better on my floor.” 
“You’re ridiculous,” you say, and pull him back into you. His lips catch yours gently, but the kiss intensifies when your mouth parts eagerly as his tongue swipes across the seam of your lips. His tongue slips in, and a moan tumbles out of you as your hands scrabble at his shoulder blades, your nails lightly scratching over thin scars.
His nose squishes against your cheek, and his large, hot hands slide up and down your body, like he just can’t keep them still. Like he wants to catalog all of you right now, remember it forever. 
He rocks against you, still confined in his jeans, but you can feel the hard shape of him brushing against your sensitive core, the friction incredibly delicious. Your hands find his button and zipper, undoing them both with as much concentration as you can muster, though it’s really difficult when he’s kissing you like you contain all of the world’s oxygen. 
Finally, he allows you to breathe, his beard scraping against the sensitive skin of your throat as he mouths hot kisses down your skin. He grips one of your thighs, setting it against his hip, large, rough fingers splaying across the whole of it. God, you love how easily you fit in his palms.
He grinds his hips into you over and over and you moan, aching for the feel of him inside you. You tug at his waistband again. “Joel, please take these off already.” 
“Not yet,” he says, and releases your leg, his hand skating across the skin of your thigh, brushing gently along, making you shudder in his hold. You can feel the warmth of his fingers as he nears where you want him most. 
And then, his fingers are on you, swirling in gentle circles, unraveling you at the seams. Your head hits the mattress and your back arches. He knows exactly what to do to make you putty in his hands, has had so much time to practice. But this time, it feels so much better, knowing now that he loves you. That you’re more than just friends. 
Your palms find his face and you pull him in for a slow, meaningful kiss, trying to tell him just how thankful you are for him. How glad you are that he loves you. How sorry you are for not letting him kiss you. It’s kind of hard to kiss him, though, when he’s making you feel this good. Your fingers curl into his hair, tugging at it, and he moans into your mouth. 
He slips one, two fingers inside you, pumping them at a steady pace that has your hands gripping his hair tightly and your hips scrabbling for that pleasant release dangling in front of you. He urges you on with encouraging, quiet words, his dark eyes boring into yours. Your mind, body, and soul feel hot.
When his thumb finds your clit it’s only moments until you’re shattering against him, warmth flooding your body. Your hips jerk, your legs shaking as he takes you over the edge. 
“Pants off. Now,” you huff between breaths, and he finally listens. 
“Yes, ma’am.” 
Then, he shifts you up the bed… it reminds you of the first time the two of you had sex again after he was so busy. So much the same yet so different. His hand moves up your body, cups one of your breasts, kneading it gently. When his thumb ghosts over your nipple, you shiver. 
“You’re so beautiful, darlin’,” he murmurs, and grasps your knee, pulling it over his hip. 
And then he’s sliding in, and the stretch is blissful, so welcome, so familiar and yet so new. You hold onto him, keeping him close as he begins to move. You feel full, mind faraway with bliss.
“God, Joel-“ you hiss. 
He groans out your name, and it rumbles through you like rolling thunder. Lightning lights a fuse at the end of your spine. 
You’re out of control. He tends to do that to you. Make you angry, make you sad, draw all the emotions you tend to not want to deal with out of you. Frustrates you, makes you so hungry with want that you throw all semblance of rational thought away. And he likes it. You like it. 
God, you love him so much. 
You move together as one, pushing and pulling. Everything shrinks down to just this. Him. You. Where your bodies meet. 
“More,” you moan, and he huffs out a laugh, but obliges, thrusting into you deeper, harder, and you’re as tight as a bowstring. 
Every anxious thought, every worry, every single doubt dissipates with every movement of his hips. You shift your own to meet his thrusts, and soon he’s gasping into your skin, growling your name. His hand winds into your hair, and he breathes with you, eyes locked with yours. 
“Come on, baby,” he murmurs. “Come for me.” 
Well, who are you to deny him? He pushes you over the edge in an instant, your body going taught, eyes rolling back into your head. His name flows out of you like a mantra.
Joel. Joel. Joel. Joel. 
“I love you,” he says into your throat when he follows you, hips jerking with sloppy thrusts as he comes inside you. 
Joel collapses next to you, pulling you into him, his arm slung heavily across your waist. When you can finally catch your breath, you say, “I love you, too.”
His grin is sated, eyes heavy when he pulls you in for another deep kiss. “We’ve said that a lot, huh?”
“Just making up for lost time. I think it’s alright.” 
“I should’ve said it a lot sooner,” he says, calloused fingers brushing against your cheek as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. 
“Me too. Telling you not to kiss me was really dumb.” 
“Probably not the smartest thing you’ve said.” 
You scoff in mock offense, pushing at his shoulder. “Asshole.” 
“Yeah, but you love me.”
You roll your eyes, but scoot further into him, laying your head on his chest. 
It might have been a risk to fall in love with your best friend, but God, you’re glad you did. 
“Yeah, I really do.”
370 notes · View notes
utterlyazriel · 21 days
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whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)
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a/n: here she is... chappie four <3 thank u for ur patience and 1000 kudos to the anon that made a plot suggestion that i had already written lmao-- as always let me know what u think! things are heating up....
word count: just under 4k
synopsis: You return to regular training for the first time in a month. Azriel asks a favor from Rhys and finds you in a less than stellar condition when he returns to camp
CHAPTER FOUR :: FRIENDS
Velaris is a sight for sore eyes.
After nearly a month of endless white scenery, of the blinding glint of the sun against snow, paired with endless pine, the sight of a city is a reprieve in itself.
And because it’s Velaris — because it’s home — something else settles within Azriel.
A hackle that always stays on high alert finally lies down. The constant agitation of his shadows falls into a calming hush. He breathes easier.
He's back with his family and can be here to keep them safe if need be. He's back to the closest semblance of comfort he's ever known.
Where do you find comfort?
Azriel blinks a little, taken aback at the abruptness of the thought.
The lone shelter in the mountains, spaced out from the circle of buildings, every bit representing your isolation from the people of the camp — that was your home.
Where you resided and took solace from the world in, the place you felt safest. But... it's no place of comfort. It's a crutch. A necessary support. Somehow, Azriel has no doubt that if you could survive out in the snow, burrowed amidst the elements, you would, if only to have one less thing to maintain.
You've never even seen a city before, he thinks. All you know is the mountains.
Suddenly, eyes cast across the breathtaking beauty of Velaris, the hum of the Sidra carving its way through his beloved home, the buzz of people on the streets, Azriel recalls the very time he lay eyes on it himself.
It never stops being breathtaking. That much is true, but then again, there was no comparison to the first time.
The warm feeling that had grown in his chest. The way something he hadn't known ever existed within him had unfurled, like a flower blooming in the sun. Something Azriel now knows to be hope.
He hadn't known a place this beautiful could exist.
Wouldn't have been able to dream it up when all he had known for so, so long was darkness and shadow.
Even in the time after the cage, all there was to see was the white of winter and the cold bite of the harsh mountains. He learned how blood looked melting into the snow, how to sleep with one eye open, and all the different shades of cruelty.
Azriel remembers being unable to comprehend the sight, the stumble in his heart at the indisputable proof before him. That despite what had been drilled into him by his father, his brothers, by every Illyrian warrior who punched down on bastards, there was a place where peace reigned above all.
People who lived in harmony. Where Art and music are considered a treasure alongside other skills, each equally important. And Azriel belonged there, as much as any of them.
It had been one thing to walk through the city, to marvel at every cobblestone, at the trims lining each and every window, to have people regard him with such a polite and casual manner — not a second glance at his wings or his hands.
It had been something else entirely to fly over it as night fell.
Mountain ridges illuminated by his most constant friend, the rising moon, watching the moonlight spill over the dark red rock of the mountain and paint it ever softer. Sweet ocean air and the very perfume of the city intertwined within the current as he soared above it, mighty wings beating.
Azriel could remember that first day and night in Velaris vividly, like an unforgettable dream. How easy it had been to fall in love with it, to let its arms unfurl and to allow himself to make a home within them.
Looking out across it now, as Faelights begin to twinkle and blink to life as the night creeps in, all Azriel can think of is how much he wants that for you.
To bring you here. To have both of you fly above the city and wander down the streets aimlessly, to show you that there were places far kinder in this world than all you had known before.
He yearns for you to have the same dawning realisation he did—that so much more existed outside of those gods forsaken mountains.
Azriel knows you're a very guarded male. You have more than enough reasons to be. He's already pushed a thousand boundaries you have and each time you let him into your sanctuary in the mountains is a sign of enormous trust.
Maybe for that reason, Azriel wants to be the first to extend that kindness to you.
A twinge in his chest sings a different, golden answer.
Azriel ignores it and steals one more look out at his home, swallowing down how all logic seems to be pointing to the same thing, time and time again.
He finds the High Lord in his study, papers stacked high on his desk that have only grown higher in Azriel's absence. His dark hair is tousled in a way that means he's been running his hand through it too much.
Azriel lifts the shadows from beneath his feet as he enters, letting the other hear the sound of his soft footsteps. Rhys looks up at the new arrival. Despite his tired appearance, it does nothing to dim the grin that overtakes his lips at the sight of his brother.
"My, my, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"
Azriel grins back, stepping forward Rhys pushes back from his desk and stands. His usual wings have been hidden away through his magic and Azriel notices their absence when he pulls him into a brief hug. Rhys lingers close, his violet eyes raking over his friend.
"Not bad to see you either."
"You flatter me." Rhys purrs, his voice all buttery and smooth. "You've got new eyebags. Overworking yourself as usual, are we Az?"
"I presume you make such lovely comments about Feyre too?"
"And risk her wrath?" Rhys smiles, eyes glittering at the mention of his mate. "Never."
Azriel rolls his eyes, letting his obvious endearment at his brother's happiness show. They truly are a perfect pair.
He crosses his arms across his broad chest tightly, if only to hide the fleeting flicker of wanting the spools tight in his chest. A ribbon of envy, woven between his ribs.
If Rhys notices, he doesn't comment. Instead, he says, "Usually, you're itching to escape the mountains but not this time I see."
He pauses, eyeing up the Shadowsinger to see what response it'll give. Azriel yields no comment back. Expecting this, Rhys smiles.
"Either way, you'll be happy to hear that Cassian has returned from his time off and is ready to resume his usual duties."
Azriel stills at the words.
He knew that Cassian would at one point return to his usual positions and that Azriel himself, would return to his spymaster post. But it's come sooner than expected. Perhaps, time with you has been passing far quicker than Azriel thought.
"I found the cause of the rumours."
"Yes, I assumed you had," Rhys says, wandering back around the deck to slump into his chair. He leans one arm against the armrest, his knuckles against his temple.
"I also assumed that you spent all that time dealing with it. Much of a problem?"
Azriel considers his words carefully. The trust he's managed to garner with you is fragile, though he knows his friend would not severe it or interfere if he asked.
Another part of him knows it's unusual behavior of him, to offer his skills so willingly to a stranger. But, well, you're not exactly a stranger anymore.
"There's a male.” Azriel begins, choosing his words carefully. “A bastard, the one causing all the stir-ups. He feeds the other bastards when he can. It's what had Lord Mylind kicking a fuss."
Rhys curses lightly at the realisation of just which camp they are dealing with.
"He's learning to make healing tonics," Azriel continues, noting how Rhys' head straightens up a fraction. Interested. "In hopes of slipping them to freshly clipped females. To see if it can reverse the damage."
Rhys sits back in his chair completely, his hand brushing over his mouth in deep contemplation. For a moment, he says nothing.
"I suppose I don't need to ask if there's been any female training then."
Azriel feels himself glower instinctively, his wings hiking up an inch higher without meaning to. He thinks of Lord Mylind and the conversation he had on the first day in their camp. The sheer display of male arrogance, snarling, and threatening violence outright.
"No.”
Rhys curses again, his eyes crushing closed. He seems to filter through a pained reaction, his face contorting until it lands on a tired resignation.
“The camp of Exordor made very good on a bargain struck during a very hard time.” Rhys grits the words out.
Something dangerous flashes in his eyes at the mention of the deal that had turned sour. A cold ripple of night shudders through the room.
No amount of soldiers supplied during the war had been worth the suffering that camp Exodor alone produced— or continues to produce if the whispers that came out of there held an inkling of truth.
It’s a rotten place, tucked deep in the mountains, and some of the worst brutes Rhys has ever had the displeasure of meeting were born in the bowels of that place.
“It doesn’t lift for another 50 years." Rhys sighs, his voice wavering with a hint of shame. "I can’t touch them without slaughtering them all— innocent or not.”
Azriel didn’t say anything for a moment. This information is not new. He watches as Rhys digests his silence, leaning back in his chair as the wheels spin in his head, dizzyingly fast.
For the second time, Rhys' brows jump.
“You’re helping him.”
Not a question.
Azriel nods.
"You don't want Cassian to take back over."
"No," Azriel murmurs. "Not yet. The male is... He's guarded. Isolated. It has taken time to earn his trust. I believe in what he wants to do and I believe he has what it takes to achieve it.”
He thinks of the quiet evenings within your shelter, your patience as you taught Azriel what you could — how you took every piece of information from him on the chin, not one complaint of ever tiring. He thinks of the heaving in his chest, the tug on his heart.
"I ask that you let me see this out." Azriel finishes, his shoulders rolling back as he stands tall. Let Rhys understand how this had become more than just a mission to him; it’s a personal calling, one he must answer, one that he needs to see out to the end.
Rhys surveys him intensely, unblinking for a moment. Then something devious crosses his face, catching in a smile.
"That's not the only thing you want to ask me, is it?"
Azriel looks to the ground, suddenly bashful. This would be entirely too revealing of the closeness he felt, to ask this, to offer this. He asks anyway.
"I wish, with your permission, to take Heartstriker." Azriel's voice rumbles lowly. He forces his eyes back up, meeting Rhys' strong gaze. "To gift to him."
Something dips into Rhys' smile, threatening a smirk and for that reason alone, Azriel feels his ears tinge hotly. His face remains calm, however, giving nothing away.
"Heartstriker? As a gift?" Rhys repeats, with a sly smile. "Pray tell Brother, when's the wedding? Since when have you ever been known for gift giving, let alone something as dear to you, such as a sword? I might just have to meet this bastard."
Azriel’s ears only get hotter, betraying him. He prays it doesn't show on his face, though he's sure the increased swirlings of his shadows give him away. And Rhys’ infallible ability to read his flustering each and every time.
"Is that permission?"
Rhys, seemingly realising he won't be getting any juicy details, quits tormenting his brother with a flourish of his hand. He leans back in his chair relaxed, a softness creeping into his expression.
"It's been yours to take all these years, Az." Rhys finally lands on. "You did earn it, after all."
The shelter looks bigger without him here.
Betrayingly, it’s the first thought you have when the door swings open, letting you into your nest of safety. You heave in a breath that rattles loudly and it gets swept up in the foul whistle of the Mother's Kiss.
On your side, your blood-soaked hand clutches your abdomen tightly. Pain spiderwebs up your body, fraying every nerve with a burning agony.
Every step feels loud and clumsy.
You cough as softly as you can, yet still feel the warmth of blood on your lips. The familiar metallic tang overwhelms your mouth.
You must be dripping blood behind you, dragging a slushy mess of crimson snow in on your boots. Fuck, what are you doing again? Your head throbs. They must've knocked your head hard this time if you're losing focus this quickly.
The Mother's Kiss howls fiercely, a reminder of the cruelty outside your little haven.
Right. You remember you need to close the door— and you shove the deadbolt closed along with it. If your ribs were aching a little less, you would reach up and do up the second deadbolt too, at the top of the door. You try to anyway.
Your arm gets mid-way up before you freeze, pain lashing every nerve in your midriff, enough to make you wince loudly. The bindings on your chest aren't helping. For a moment, dark spots dance before vision as you quickly tuck your arm back down, moving too quick.
Fuck. Fuck. One deadbolt will have to do.
It feels as if the whole world lurches when you take your next step, blurring like thick taffy for a split second. You stumble towards your bed and realise as you sink onto your knees on the edge of it, you need to dress your wounds.
Another bloody cough. Has your nose stopped bleeding yet? It's impossible to tell between each and every other ache.
What were you doing again?
Without meaning to, you begin to slump over, nearly lying down in your bed.
Dressings! That's right, you need to make sure the wound on your side isn't still bleeding, need to make sure it's clean when it finally begins to clot, need to...
Need to... what did you need to do?
That's right— you need to sleep.
Your head crumples against the pillow like a dead-weight as you collapse against it, exhausted. As your consciousness wanes, you cough again, a splatter of red spraying your pillow.
Not good, you think absentmindedly. Eyes slipping shut, you miss the familiar figure out the window, approaching through the storm.
You're wincing before you even realise you're awake.
Crackling. Logs spitting out little snaps fill the air, the quiet roar of a hearty fire; the first things you hear when you come too, far too slowly for your own liking. Your left ears hum loudly in discomfort— no doubt a result of one of the harsh hooks you had caught in the face earlier today.
Next, you smell something... clean?
Your tongue comes out gingerly, licking your cracked lips and you realise quite suddenly, there's an absence of blood on them. The thought slams into you at the same time you realise; you hadn't been able to stay awake for long enough to even light a fire.
Panic reaches through your ribs and grips your heart, tight, and you sit up without thinking.
Pain follows you closely like a lazy afterthought that slams into you, soaking into your body meanly and making you regret moving so fast. Your head swims heavily, throbbing dully.
A pained noise threatens to leave your lips and you force it down. Then force your head up, eyes blinking rapidly, trying to assess the threat, trying to do something.
Panic squeezes your heart painfully again when your hazy vision clears just enough to reveal the shape of a body before you— your blood chilling in your veins as you realise there's somebody else in here with you.
The whimper you held back before slips out before you can help it, your body squirming backward without thought. Your breaths comes out in sharp pants, bursts of pain accompanying each one, and right as you hit the wall, your vision focuses.
Your lungs empty in relief.
It's Azriel before you, on his knees, his scarred hands are held out in front of him.
They aren't touching you, just hovering, his palms up to indicate he means no harm. His wings are tucked back, hunched down to be smaller than usual, and all around him, his shadows whirl about animatedly.
There's an expression on his face you've never seen before.
"—on't move," He's saying, his low voice finally registering in your ringing ears. His hazel eyes are fixed on your face, darting about quickly. "You'll re-open your wounds."
He's talking about your wounds but for some gods forsaken reason, all you can think is how surprised you are that he came back.
The thought loops endlessly, like a holy mantra —he came back, he came back, he came back— and you realise that you were both terrified and also sure that he wouldn't be coming back at all.
That somehow, somewhere along his trip back to his home, he would have realised you weren't anything worth coming back for.
"Azriel?" You wheeze.
Just to check—you have to check.
Maybe he's a mirage. He certainly would be the kindest mirage you can think of.
You think you see something soften on his face, his wings dropping an inch lower behind him. His hands are still held out before you, still waiting. He's endlessly patient. His shadows seem to slow a bit, less frenzied.
"Yeah," He murmurs gently in response. His hazel eyes burn as they take in the sight of you again. "They got you pretty messed up. huh?”
You're sitting on your bed still, you realise. Blinking slow, you take an inhale, trying to put together how he got here— your eyes fly to the door. It's locked, this time with both deadbolts secured.
Azriel follows your gaze, turning his head slightly. "They're a good precaution. Don't be dissuaded that the spymaster of this court managed to get past them."
You wheeze again, some delirious laugh that gets cut off when pain splinters through your side. You groan lowly, unable to hold it in and your hand creeps slowly to paw at your side.
Faintly, you can feel the scrape of bandages on your skin, covering the wound, and sigh in relief. It makes your diaphragm sink down, the bindings around your chest shifting and that sends a frantic bolt of alarm through you once more.
“You—” The word scratches out your throat and you cough weakly. Every instinct starts to light back up, hackles rising— there has never been someone else around when you're too weak to defend yourself. It takes a moment with eyes closed and measured breaths to lean into your trust. You trust him, you know you do.
“You... patched me up?”
The question comes out wary and pointed despite your efforts. Though, that might just be the gravel in your throat from having your face beaten in.
You don’t know how to covertly ask if he saw— if, that when he pushed your bloody shirt up to nurse the slash in your side, he noticed the gauze around your ribs.
It's an alien and terrifying thought, Azriel finding out. A worry deep in the marrow of your bones warbles in response, a thousand hairs standing up on end at the possibility.
How a revelation of that magnitude could sever the first trust you've had in years.
How it could lose... the first friend you've ever truly had.
A string of nausea tugs in your throat, bile threatening, and you have to swallow it down with the crippling fear that's been thrust into your system.
This is how it goes. The intrinsic balance of the world —to be gifted closeness and friendship, is to submit to the possibility of losing it.
Back against the wall, it settles into you very starkly, a thought sharp and clear; you do not want to lose him in any way.
Some part of you thinks he must see you as some kind of starving mutt, growing far too attached to the first hand that feeds it. But looking at him now, his shadowed face and kind expression, the depth of his eyes... you're convinced he sees something more to you.
And you want him to, desperately.
In a way you can't comprehend, can't begin to understand— how can you be so tied to someone you've known for so little? How can it hurt so much to be parted from him when you're barely friends? When he doesn't even know who you truly are.
Perhaps, you think, this is what all friends are like. You wouldn't know, you haven't had any before.
Azriel nods mutely, a strand of his dark hair falling over his forehead. He seems to be considering his words carefully and you take the moment to steal a few deep breaths.
When he speaks, his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard. "I understand that might be... crossing a line. But—" A waver in his voice. "— but I could smell the blood from out in the storm."
There's something left unsaid in his sentence, his tone clipped. Whatever it is, you're far too tired to discern it. Your body, overwhelmed with tension, abruptly loosens as the perceived threat of danger seeps away. It drains you, a sudden wave of tiredness cresting upon you— because you know, undoubtedly, you're safe now.
Not quite meaning to but unable to stop yourself, you sink down and fall limply against your bed. Your wing curls over you defensively, a blanket and shield all in one.
Azriel's hands finally lower, resting gently atop his thick thighs. His shadows dim their chaotic activity, almost lazy with how they whirl about his neck and shoulders. You wonder absentmindedly what they feel like against his skin.
Looking back at his face, you find his eyes haven't broken their watchful gaze on you— intense enough to stir up an unfamiliar warmth within your chest. You avoid it and his eyes, your tired eyes catch sight of something behind him.
"You brought...?" You can't quite finish your sentence, a vicious shiver wracking your frame, making you curl up closer. Tiredness chases it, the threat of sleep looming closer and closer.
Your eyes close without meaning. In the darkness, Azriel's voice swims before you muted and far away.
"You have to get better before I can give it to you." His voice has dropped to a whisper. It makes your lips twitch in an attempt of a smile. It's funny, hearing a legendary Illyrian warrior like him whispering.
"Okay," You might say back— though you're not sure if it sounds like a word at all.
It doesn't matter. You're already asleep.
tags <3
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pastelbakugou · 1 month
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Hiiii, not sure if you’re accepting requests or not, BUT IF YOU ARE ☝️
May I request poly Kiribaku x reader who has social anxiety? It doesn’t help the fact that they’re socially awkward either 😭
Thank you for sending this in, dear! Sorry that it's taken me a bit of time to respond to this ask, thank you for patience🙏I hope you enjoy~!
I'm going to write this one bullet point style. Reader is written as gender neutral.❤️
It's funny because like you said, you are all at least a little bit socially awkward but out of all of you, Kirishima is considered the least socially inept
You and Bakugou are completely content staying at home and keeping your own company while Kirishima wants to go out
Don't get me wrong, Kiri is also content staying at home with his lovers, but from time to time he gets an itch to go out to he has to scratch
You and Katsuki indulge him sometimes, of course, letting him drag you out to dinner and clubs to see your other classmates turned co-workers outside of your work environment
Out at Dinner
Often times, you get all tongue tied trying to order, then begin apologize over and over for being such an annoyance.
Katsuki and Eijirou will watch you struggle only because you haven't requested their intervention.
As soon as you give them you're cute little pleading 'help me?' look, they'll step in to help you.
Katsuki will get frustrated with the server if they try to talk over you or attempt to finish your sentence for you because it makes you even more flustered.
He'll demand that they let you finish what you saying, which often times has the server bowing and apologizing for rushing you.
You'll eventually finish your order, burying your embarrassed face into the shoulder of whoever is closest to you.
God forbid that your order doesn't come out right, you'll plead with your boyfriends not to say anything and that it's fine while Katsuki waves somebody down and Eijirou explains nothing's wrong with asking them to correct your order and that you should get what you wanted.
"Um, can I have the chicken, please?" You asked shyly, leaning into Kirishima who silently supported you by placing a hand on your thigh. "Okay and what sides would you like with that?" The server inquired politely. "Oh, um, I didn't know it came with sides. Uhhh.." You trailed off trying to flip through the menu to find the sides.
The server began to rattle off the list of available sides at you, none of which your absorbed because you were internally panicking as you tried to find the written options. "U-Um, I'm so sorry, can you repeat that?" You asked, you forehead dampening with uneasy sweat.
You flinched as the server let out an irritated huff, but before they could repeat the list of sides to you, Katsuki snapped. "Oi! Be patient with 'em. They're obviously shy 'n strugglin'. Deal w'th it 'n do yer job." The blonde growled, glaring mean vermillion eyes at them.
"U-Uh, yes! My apologies!" The server bowed toward you. You chewed your lip nervously, frustrated tears prickling the corners of your eyes as you glanced toward Eijirou. "It's okay, Baby. Let me help you." He offered, taking his hand off of your thigh to instead wrap it around your waist. "You like sesame broccoli, yeah? Would you like that?"
You nodded, quickly, looking back toward the server who nodded in response, jotting down the order on their pad before bowing again then scurrying away. "Thanks, guys." You breathed a sigh of relief, slumping against your redheaded boyfriend. "Tch. They should train their serv'rs ta act right." Katsuki sneered, turning his nose up. " 'n they better get 't right this time er else I'll blow 'em to hell."
"Easy, Babe. We're not trying to get kicked out over something so trivial." Kirishima rubbed his leg against Bakugou's under the table in an attempt to ground his partner. "Tch. Whatev'r." Katsuki huffed, but slouched in his booth, a show of submission to his boyfriend.
Needless to say, you were grateful that your dish came out correct.😅
Out at the Club
Eijirou and Katsuki have to constantly keep an eye on you.
You're such a sweet little thing, so sweet that often times you'll catch the eyes of onlookers seeking to take a cute little thing like yourself home.
It's not that they don't trust you, you just clam up whenever someone approaches you. You become a blubbering mess, stuttering while trying to explain that you're there with your boyfriends.
Most of them will understand and politely back off, but every once in a while you'll land an asshole who doesn't wanna give up on the prospect of having you in their bed.
"I-I told you. I'm-I'm taken." You repeat, taking a step back, but it proves futile as they take a step forward. "Yeah? Why were you checking me out then, hm?" They grinned at you, trying to get closer to you. You didn't know how to explain that you weren't checking them out. You were only looking at them because they were ogling you.
"Please. Please, l-leave me alone." You beg, looking around as you try to locate either of your boyfriends, but it was seeming pointless since you had stupidly stepped away from your them, even if it was only for a moment.
"They should be keeping an eye on a little hottie like you. Terrible things happen to lambs who stray from their shepherds." Their words and the way they leered at you made your face scrunch up in disgust.
Relief swept over you as two thick, scarred hands firmly gripped each shoulder of your pursuer. "Yeah? Well, terrible things happen ta wolves found terrorizin' lambs." Katsuki growled in their ear causing the person to shudder and scurry away with their tail between their legs without another word.
The blonde immediately brought you to his chest, holding you close while searching your face, distress still a bit evident on your features.
He grunted at you, a sound you knew was him asking if you were okay. "I-I'm fine. Better with you here." You breathed, leaning into his body for comfort. Eijirou wasn't far behind, coming around Bakugou's side when he realized his boyfriend had found you.
You apologized for wandering off, but they wouldn't have it. You should be able to go where you want without creeps terrorizing you.
They spent the rest of the night passing you back and forth from each of their laps, taking turns comforting and loving on you while bringing you drinks and snacks.❤️
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lacedupforyou · 10 months
Note
Can I request yandere ex bf Kaiser x reader who's dating yandere isagi
𝒲𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝐿𝑒𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑅𝓊𝓃 Yandere Isagi & Yandere Kaiser
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~
You had known both boys in childhood, Supporting their careers in soccer and their passion. You had originally lived in japan and knew Isagi first but you had to move away and say your goodbyes promising to come back for him, of course he was going to wait for you. He was going to wait as long as he needed to.
when you first met kaiser, he seemed to think highly of himself but you respected his courage and passion. He admired your patience and kindness, Keeping you close at all times and making sure you came to every game he had. He could be seen walking around with you gripping your hand tightly as you could only smile and go along with it. Love could only blossom from then, But it wasn't perfect. he's a perfectionist.
He's extremely controlling always going on about what you wear, who you talk too, your love languages. He was so much to deal with and it was exhausting. But when you had came home one night to see him kissing and sucking lip with some girl you were devastated. You didn't take any explanation to his little stunt for your attention, he almost grabbed you and knocked you out right then and there, But he wasn't in the best headspace at the time. You rushed out the door home.
You stayed in bed for a few days hearing kaiser at your door a few times but you made sure to be dead silent. He wasn't crazy enough to break in or anything..Right?
You needed to take your mind off of what was going on around you. But while scrolling on your phone you notice something called blue lock going against the Japan U-20! Sae Itoshi and his brother would be playing..! And..Isagi!? You had to see it in person! You packed your things for a vist to take your mind off of your surroundings and see your best friend again!
While in the stands you saw isagi and he had definitely matured...During the match you re-met with isagi's mom and she was ecstatic to see you again and that isagi had a girl in his life. When halftime had come you called out to isagi with everything you had. When he noticed you his eyes lit up he smiled a huge smile of an egoist and signaled for you to come down. You rushed from the stands to a hallway. He was already there waiting for you before he even got any water. You rushed at each other hugging tightly as he lifted you off the ground. It seems his teammates noticed and snickered a little but he didn't care. Having you in his arms gave him the strength to crush the U-20 team.
Meanwhile, kaiser was fuming. He stalked you enough to know where you were at all times. To shine your light on some nobody instead of him? Ridiculous. He was coming for you and taking you back with him. No matter what it took. But Isagi had plans to make you his right after the game.
This was a dangerous game, And poor you seemed to be caught up in their twisted Ideals. But I guess it's up to who you choose..Right?
Wrong. That doesn't matter much to them anymore. They're never letting you leave again.
| Part 2? Request it! | Thank you to all the lovely words I've received you guys are too kind! |
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gh0stsp1d3r · 10 months
Note
Hi are you still taking requests?
I was wondering if u could do something like Hobie visiting his girlfriend(who is a nurse or doctor) at a free clinic in his universe after leaving HQ and they are just being a cute couple in love(maybe suggestive if u feel comfortable). Bonus points if the topic of kids come up(u know cuz of Mayday) and Y/N is like you’d be a good dad.
A kiss a day keeps Hobie okay
Y’all see what I did with that title? Anyways I’m doing better and I’m trying to get to as much requests as I can. (:: thank you for your guys patience and support
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He swung around the place, mask and suit off, just swinging. He turned and stopped, making sure no one was around. He smoothed his jacket, and started to walk towards the door.
“Brown, Y’Know the boss is gonna kill her if you keep coming in.” The receptionist said.
“Ehh, can’t kill her when I’m here.” He smirked.
“She should be in the back. It’s her break right now.”
“Thank you.” He said, and walked straight to the back. He saw you writing some things down, and he pulled up a chair next to you, sitting on it.
You looked up, and saw him. You smiled at him.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you.” You gave him a kiss.
“Yeah, sorry I haven’t been here in a lil. Been busy and stuff.” He said.
“It’s alright, you make up for it.” You smiled and went back to writing.
“It’s called a break for a reason.” He said, and slowly grabbed the papers away, and slid a bag to you instead. The bag of your favorite takeout.
You rolled your eyes. “I know Hobie but I’m really busy and-“ you tried to grab the papers and he held them higher.
You smiled and shook your head, laughing quietly. “Alright, you win.”
“Always do love.” He smirked as you opened up the bag and started to eat.
After a while of eating and talking between you both, you had to leave and go back to work.
“Alright, I’ll see you later at home.” You stood up, throwing your stuff away, washing your hands and kissing Hobies cheek.
“Ye- oh, I forgot to tell you. I’m watching Mayday today, Y’Know, my friend Peters kid-“
“Oh! That’s alright. I love her, she’s great.” You smiled.
“Yeah she is. She almost said my name the other day.” He said with a smile.
“That’s great, Hobe’s.” You smiled and a thought popped up. “You’d make a great dad.”
His eyes widened slightly. He’s thought about it for sure, but he didn’t expect it from you.
“Really?”
“Really. Alright, I gotta get back to work. We can talk more later.” You leaned in and kissed him, he gave you the papers you needed as well.
He smiled as he said his goodbyes and walked out the clinic.
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