#this will all make sense once i force you to read this series over the summer

[wandasaura]

SONG IN THE CAR

summary — wanda just wants to check that you’re not lying, but you can only keep yourself together for so long before you beg natasha to fuck you in the car

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, dom/sub dynamics, mommy kink, daddy kink, subspace, public play, inspection kink, butt plugs, packing, strap-on usage, mentions of edging, mentions of spanking, doggy style, car sex, semi-public sex, degradation, praise, dumbification, mentions of free use, finger sucking, oral fixation, men/minors dni

authors note — i’m not even going to apologize for what this turned into because once i started i just kept adding the most unhinged things. as always, this doesn’t need to be read with the yail series but it might make more sense if it is. the ending is a wee bit rushed but i wanted to get this out for you, so i hope you enjoy!

you are in love

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

A strangled whine falls off the tip of your tongue when Wanda trails her fingers across the small of your back. The interior of the store is cold, the electric hum of an air conditioning unit almost as loud as the music that plays through speakers hidden within different vents around the clothing store. You can’t even fathom what business Wanda and Natasha have being in a shop that’s blasting brain melting pop tracks, but they dragged you inside at the first sight of the large LED letters out front. 

You’ve lost sight of Natasha, the Russian made a dramatic show of escaping toward the back wall merely seconds after Wanda dragged you over to look at a rack of denim shorts. The store was geared more toward a generation around your age, the elements of both boho aesthetic and minimalism felt almost too trendy to be authentic, but if you weren’t so… overwhelmed, to put it sweetly, you would’ve vocalized just how much you liked the style of clothes that sat folded precisely on the shelves surrounding you. 

Wanda’s hand lingered on the small of your back for longer than an appropriate second. Despite the cold store that threatened to erase all memories of the sweltering heat outside, the Sokovian’s hands were the perfect cross between just barely warm and unacceptably frigid. The longer they sat on the exposed skin of your back – the baby tee Natasha had picked out for you to wear hugging your ribs tightly and subsequently allowing both her and Wanda access to your sensitive spine – the harder it became to not envision them falling lower and lower until they found a place between your thighs for the second time that day. 

You weren’t looking at Wanda, intentionally avoiding her strong stare and focusing intensely on the white shelves that adorned the walls. You didn’t need to glance at her to feel the devilish smirk that rested across the very lips that had wrapped around your clit and left you needy only a handful of hours earlier to know that it was there and obnoxious. Natasha had kissed her in the car and claimed smugly that Wanda’s tongue still tasted of you, but neither had offered any assistance in relieving the sticky situation between your thighs. 

 When Wanda’s question went unanswered a second time, the question being if you liked anything in particular around the store, a perfectly sculpted brow rose in your direction and the attention you’d been putting on the racks of clothing became a fascination of the past. A slender finger cradled your jaw, cold against your flushed skin but not icy enough to flinch away from instinctively. The subtle gesture had forced your eyes away from the t-shirts and baby-tees you’d been meticulously staring at, and rather onto a set of twinkling green eyes. Wanda’s lips were still curved upward into a smirk, but they twinged with something dangerous as she set her gaze on your dilated pupils and permanently pink cheeks. 

“Mommy asked you a question, milaya. What’s got you so distracted?” Wanda pouts, her lips teasing and thin as they purse in an attempt to ward off a sickening grin of mischief that she wore mere seconds beforehand. She knows exactly what’s distracting you, she’d been the one to suggest this little game when Natasha decided she wanted to go shopping, but still she feigns innocence as you come undone in a disgusting public mall. 

Despite having an answer on the tip of your tongue, you can’t find the courage to share it with Wanda. There shouldn’t be any reason for you to vocalize your feelings when she’s already aware, despite her trying to break you down time and time again. Instead, you settle for something simple, and certain enough to wind her up a good deal. “Nothing.” The word doesn’t roll off your tongue as easily as you would’ve liked. It’s choppy and cuts like a dagger, but it sits lightly in the air between both of your warm bodies as Wanda takes the time to process what you’ve just said. Or rather, how you’ve just blatantly lied to her. 

“Oh, nothing’s distracting you, baby?” Wanda coos, her head tilting ever so slightly to the side as her eyes threaten to unravel the web of lies you're spinning. You don’t even have a chance to answer before she’s gripping your jaw, the pad of her thumb pressing into the hollow of your cheek while her pointer fingers sentence the other side of your face to the same fate. Her grip is tight, controlling, but not harsh enough to actually hurt. She’s mastered the art of grabbing you in a way that stuns you into submissive silence, and though you’re in public where anyone can see, she doesn’t seem to mind holding all the cards in her one-handed grip.  “So if Mommy put her hand in those pretty panties you’ve got on, she wouldn’t find a sticky mess?” 

There are two choices here, you can either deny the accusation and save a sliver of your dignity that’s waning fast as the day progresses, or you can agree with her accusation and hope that your honesty satisfies her need to be right in this moment; either choice will lead to her hand in your panties, you’re not dumb enough to believe that she’ll drop the act when you’re already this far in, but there’s still defiance burning in your belly that deceives you enough to believe you’ll walk away with the upperhand. Hastily, not thinking much of the consequences, your head shakes from side to side in the negative. You’ve decided to save yourself the embarrassment of admitting that your panties are absolutely drenched by no fault of your own, it’s entirely her fault and she knows that. The movement is little, restrained to small jerks due to the hand on your jaw, but Wanda feels it, and she quirks an eyebrow. “I need words.” She tightens her grip, forces your lips to pucker and your cheeks to ache from how her fingers sit flush against your teeth. 

“N-No.” It takes all of your strength to answer her, and even still all of your mustered up courage leaves a fierce blush sinking into the apples of your cheeks and across the tips of your ears, but a fire lights in Wanda’s eyes at your prolonged battle to remain coherent. You’ve been fighting her on decisions all day, trying to keep your head above the surface and your thoughts clear, but there’s only so much clarity in a moment like this. Nobody can blame you for falling beneath the thumb of the hottest lawyer in the world when you’re quite literally putty in her hands. 

“Oh, well then I guess you won’t mind if I check for myself, will you, detka?” You’d discussed this new kink a week ago. You’d agreed to what she called inspections with no hesitancy, though a healthy bit of embarrassment at the prospect of her being able to feel your sopping cunt whenever she pleased, but you’d agreed and even anticipated the moment she decided to put your agreement to good use. You hadn’t expected her to be so bold as to cash in on your agreement in one of the most densely populated shopping malls in the state of New Jersey, but there was no getting around it now. Still, your eyes fluttered away from hers, anxiously scrounging the small boutique style store for other customers or cameras.

Your eyes only found two figures, and one was distinctly Natasha who had styled her red hair in dutch braids before you left the house. For a second, you wondered if this had been the plan all along; to get you into a store where nobody else dared to shop because of the steep prices and violate you into submission, though you wouldn’t technically call Wanda’s premistion a violation, but… still. The only employee that stood on the floor was a smaller woman with silky chestnut hair, and she occupied a space next to Natasha against the far back wall as the two engaged in a conversation that looked to be revolving around a red bikini top your girlfriend held up to her chest. It complemented her hair nicely, would do absolute wonders for her boobs, but she had no real interest in the article if the pinch between her brows was evidence enough. 

Despite the reassurances you found, you met Wanda’s gaze again and choked out a strangled whisper, “Somebody’s going to see.” The blush on your cheeks was sheerly a factor of your mortification, but Wanda seemed to crave to deepen the sharp color on your face as the hand not gripping your face began its ascent toward your core. The flowy white skirt Natasha had picked out for you allowed her access without a fuss, and when her fingers tickled the sensitive interior of your thighs, you couldn’t help but instinctively part your legs for Wanda’s quest. 

“Shh,” The Sokovian shushed you sweetly, her hand loosening its grip on your jaw but never falling away fully. Her eyes searched yours, practically looking through you as she assured that you were okay to continue, anticipating the moment the safeword fell off your lips and all of her movements stopped. You’d never stop adoring her caution in moments like these. “Let Mommy do the thinking, sweetheart. Little girls don’t need to be worrying about anything other than their Mommy.” Her words fell onto you thickly, and a pout pulled at your lips as they sunk in. That submissive headspace all three of you adored was creeping up on you slowly, and her infantilizing words merely accelerated the process as you blinked at her slowly. 

The hand on your thigh brushed across your mound tauntingly slow, and for a second, you’d forgotten that you weren’t going to receive anything from her touch when it finally came. There would be no pleasure to spiral through your core when her fingers found a home beneath the drenched material of your panties. All that would come from her touch was embarrassment and more frustration. You gasped when Wanda’s ring trailed down the warm skin of your cunt, tracing a path downward until it fell onto your clit almost perfectly. Your hips startled at the cold sensation, but Wanda merely shushed you as the tips of her fingers sought out the source of your arousal. She hummed inquisitively, the pad of her finger pressing against your sopping entrance for merely a moment before it was gone and she was trailing strings of your wetness back up to your clit. 

“You’re so wet, utenok. No wonder you’re having such a hard time listening to Mommy. I bet it’s so hard to think when your pretty little pussy is just crying for attention.” Wanda mused mockingly, the pads of her fingers circling your clit that throbbed and ached for actual relief, but the pleasure never came. As quickly as her hand had dipped into your underwear and sought out your intimacy, they’d fallen away and resettled on your hips. The sticky thinness of your arousal smeared against your exposed skin kissed beautifully from the summer sun, and you knew she had every intention of making you walk through the mall with a patch of glimmering dampness adorning your body that you’d never have the courage to explain if someone questioned it. A deep blush settled across your cheeks, but Wanda wasn’t finished yet. Before you could reach out to her and tangle your fingers into the softness of her t-shirt, she was spinning you around and forcing your back against her chest. “Mommy’s not finished yet. Be a good girl and stay quiet while she checks something.” 

You’d almost had the chance to question her intentions before the words were stolen from between your bitten lips and the softest gasp of pleasure fell from you instead. Wanda’s fingers, still glistening with your arousal, had found a home beneath your skirt and against the base of the plug nestled deep within your ass. You’d only started trying the plugs out a couple weeks ago, but in that span of less than fourteen days they’d become something you adored and hated equally. The deep pleasure that came from constantly feeling full was insatiable and you craved it whenever Natasha pulled it out too soon, but you’ve grown to hate how every soft step shifted it against you perfectly, and especially how no matter which position you attempted to sit in it presses deeper and deeper into you without remorse. Wanda’s fingers circle the crimson red jewel framed between the globes of your ass, cheeks still pink from a spanking you’d received yesterday. The touch is soft, gentle, caring even, but when you think she’s about to pull away and end her little experiment, she taps harshly on the center plug twice, sending sparks of pleasure through your body and into your already fuzzy head. 

“So full for Mommy. Those panties are absolutely ruied, moya lyubov’.” Wanda pulls her hand out of your panties, spinning you back around in her arms and cradling you close to her chest as you shake and try to comprehend the fact that for right now, that simple touch was all you’d be getting. You’d think she almost felt an ounce of sympathy for your desperate form if she wasn’t wearing such a cocky smirk. “You’re being such a good girl, detka. Maybe we should keep you like this, huh? All full and eager to be fucked. Daddy could just bend you over anywhere and you’d take it, wouldn’t you?” Wanda preened into your ear, her words thick with lust and traces of an accent you’ve begun to memorize. You’re not sure whether to nod your head and agree, because it’s true, you’d let Natasha fuck you anywhere she wanted to right now, you’re not oblivious to the fact that she’s packing your favorite strap beneath those denim shorts adorning her toned legs, or to shake your head and beg for her to not let that happen. You’re not sure you’ll be able to survive in this state for another couple hours, let alone for however long they deem acceptable. “Huh, answer Mommy, baby. Do you want Mommy to keep you like this forever? Want to be ready to use whenever Mommy and Daddy feel the need to take you?” 

“I-I want you, Mommy.” You pleaded, shaking your head frantically at the suggestion that rolls off of Wanda’s lips like its been imprinted onto the tip of her tongue for decades. The Sokovian smirks, drawing you in closer to her chest and letting her forehead rest against yours, her deep sage eyes peering into your soul with how intensely she stares down at you. 

“You have me, baby.” She soothed your downturned lips with a gentle kiss, her touch soft and smooth yet harboring a lingerance of artificial strawberry chapstick if you thought about her taste long enough. The embrace was fleeting, entirely too short, but it had your head spinning when she pulled away and greeted Natasha who you hadn’t even noticed had come up beside you. “Come on,” Wanda patted your ass deliberately, jostling the plug just softly enough to have you hyper aware of its presence but not earning pleasure. “we still have a couple of stores to hit.” 

“I was thinking we stop by that store you like, ducky. We can see if they have any of those little pins you were talking about?” Natasha places a firm hand on your back, her eyes kind but tinted with lust that has settled deep within her stare permanently since Wanda wiggled the plug between your cheeks. There’s a hint of knowingness in her smile, an indication that she knows perfectly well what had just happened between you and her wife. 

The proposition of spending another handful of hours surrounded by incompetent strangers with no regard for others and continuous sounds that blended into static chatter didn’t sound appealing, but unless you called red, they weren’t taking you home. Reluctantly, you took Natasha’s hand, allowing the lawyer to lead you out of the boutique and toward a store much more your style. Wanda’s hand stayed firm on the small of your back as Natasha took the lead, but your focus had fallen beneath the waves as you surrendered to them entirely. 

-

A desperate whine slipped past your lips as Wanda pulled you into her chest, toned arms still warm from the sun wrapping tightly around your torso and keeping you still. The dressing room was saturated in gold plated decor and embellishments, illuminated by a chandelier framed with dazzling crystals worth more than your entire college education. Natasha had dragged the both of you into the high-end designer store with the hopes of them having their new summer collection, and much to your annoyance, they did. The bold colored suits were a powerful statement, she’d look absolutely delectable in them, but that was exactly what you were worried about. The thought of her in a suit so expensive and sleek sent tingles through your belly that couldn’t just be ignored, especially not with your already existing desperation. Wanda wasn’t blind to your frustration, and she smirked wickedly down at you the second Natasha had slipped behind the heavy fitting room door. 

“Shh, Mommy just wants to check.” She whispered against the shell of your ear, a cold hand trailing up the inside of your thigh that is absolutely drenched with arousal. Your eyes burn into hers as you both become controlled by lust, already blown pupils somehow finding additional blackness to manipulate until the color in Wanda’s eyes is entirely vacant. Your bottom lip is bitten and quivering as you feel her fingers start to massage your slick coated folds, a shaky breath at the back of your throat desperate to be unleashed. “Oh, you’re so wet sweetheart. Did Mommy do this to you?” 

You nod shortly at her question, aware of how close the tips of her cold fingers are coming to your clit every time she strokes the length of your folds, but each time they never brush against your stiff and throbbing nerve, merely coming close enough to tease before they’re gone. She circles your entrance repetitively, pressing against it only to pull away seconds later and trail her fingers back down toward the plug, but she never fully grazes that either. She’s content to keep playing with your body like a toy in the middle of the fitting room, her lewd actions have entirely drowned out the sounds of Natasha throwing different articles of clothes around in the dressing room just a few feet behind you, your focus entirely on her and the sensations she’s provoking cautiously. 

“Oh she did? Mommy did this? What a little slut, getting so worked up and Mommy’s not even touching you fully. You’re so easy, dorogaya” Wanda continues to tease condescendingly, giving you not a single second of relief as she digs her fingers harder into your cunt on the last swipe across your panties before she’s hooking her fingers into the waistband and tugging them down. 

Your eyes go wide as you look up at her fully, your shoulders tensing as she keeps tugging the soiled garment down your thighs. “W-What are you doing?” Your skirt is short, it’s flowy and it’s thin but that was Natasha’s entire goal when she dressed you that morning. You know that despite the length every intimate part of your body is covered, but you weren’t prepared to challenge the wind once you stepped outside again. 

“Color?” Wanda stops her movements, her voice soft and kind as she keeps her eyes on you. Everything before this point had been a discussion that you’d had time to prepare yourself for, but this was unplanned and admittedly terrifying, and yet your belly clenched at the prospect of her undressing you in a public space and forcing you to walk around with no barrier to catch your arousal. 

“G-Green.” You mumbled back at her once you’d taken a second to collect your thoughts and swallow your shock. Wanda nodded curtly before she slipped right back into her role, eyes hard and jaw clenched as she continued pulling your panties down before tapping your thigh in a silent demand for you to step out of them. 

“Then stop talking and let Mommy do what she wants.”  Her voice was hard, leaving no space for you to argue, but you weren’t going to. You stepped out of your panties with a gentle wince, feeling their dampness against your shins before the sensation was gone entirely and Wanda was holding them up to the light to inspect. Your cheeks flushed in humiliation, watching her fingers swipe across the soaked material before she hummed and folded them up, shoving them into her back pocket like they were just a piece of paper she’d found on the ground. “Good girl.” 

You bristled beneath her praise, but your attention drifted away from her when you heard the door unlock and Natasha’s soft footsteps came stepping out slowly. There was no question about whether she had heard the entire exchange, but you had no time to pay attention to her cheeks flush with need as you drank in the sight of her in a hundred thousand dollar suit. If your eyes weren’t already blown wide with lust, they certainly were now as you gawked at her defined biceps and breasts, the suit drowning some of her more prominent features but highly accentuating others. A rippled whine fell off your tongue as your eyes memorized the sight, but so badly you wanted to rip it off her body and drag her home to appreciate her fully. 

“P-Please.” You just barely got the plea off of your lips as Wanda sparked up a conversation with her wife, commenting on the fit of the suit before she began her shower of compliments and praise. You’d gone ignored, or maybe they just hadn’t heard you, whatever the reason for their silence toward you, it only frustrated you further. “Daddy please!” You tried again, eyes wet and pleading as you held onto the little attention Natasha was providing you as her eyes danced away from Wanda’s and found yours beneath the bright LED lights. 

“Shh.” Wanda scolded, a finger coming up to sit on your lips as she turned her head to glare at you. It wasn’t intentional, but your lips had done it anyway. The second her finger, still soft from your arousal, brushed against your lips, you’d let your tongue poke out and lick at her finger, able to identify the traces of you that clung to her skin despite how she’d wiped her fingers clean on your outer thigh. Your lips wrapped around the digit, suckling and biting sweetly as the blanket over your mind became thicker and warmer. Wanda didn’t stop you, merely returned her attention to Natasha before the Russian nodded and disappeared back into the fitting room, hopefully changing back into her own clothes. “Mommy needs that back, little one.” Wanda said softly, gently easing her finger from between your lips when it became apparent that you weren’t going to relinquish it yourself. A pitiful whine came falling off the tip of your tongue when she pulled it away, but she merely smiled sweetly and kissed the top of your head. “Come on, Daddy’s gonna check out and then we’re going to go home.” 

You shook your head, absolutely appalled at the suggestion that you’d have to wait until you arrived home to get what you wanted. The mall wasn’t far, but an hour was a long time for someone who had been teased and dragged along relentlessly since the sun had first kissed the gravel paths that weaved and winded through Westview. 

“No?” Wanda furrowed her brows, looking down at you with nothing but softness in her still black and lust filled stare. She’d dropped the condescending tone, abandoned the fleeting touches and teasing, but the only thing that would fully cure the arousal in her eyes was getting a taste of your sweet pussy. 

The words felt heavy on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t last another hour without release, and so they found their way off of your lips before you could panic about the implications of your request, “Fuck me now.” 

Wanda’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but that look of shock that claimed her strong features had quickly become something sinister as she stepped closer to you, invading your personal space and allowed you the slightest tinge of her perfume as her chest came flush with yours and she let a single finger tilt your head upward to meet her heavy stare. “Yeah? You want your Daddy to put that strap to use and treat you like a filthy little slut where anyone can hear you crying out in pleasure? You want an audience, moya utenok?” 

A whimper filled the dressing room as your thighs pressed together, your lack of panties leaving the rush of arousal to drip nowhere by your thighs as you writhed beneath Wanda. A soft nod came next, and Wanda smirked proudly, mimicking your gesture before she stepped away entirely and turned her attention back to Natasha who had only just left the dressing room with the suit thrown over her forearm. 

“Hurry up, moya lyubov’. The little slut wants her Daddy to fuck her and who am I to say no to that?” Wanda taunted, grabbing your hand and leading you back out into the store, letting Natasha check out in peace as she occupied you with whispered promises of how the Russian was going to absolutely ruin you where anyone was around to watch. 

-

The only saving grace about Natasha’s car were the tinted windows that blocked out the eyes of anyone who dared to even get close to the Stingray. The seat was drenched in your arousal, thighs spread wide as you occupied almost the entire strip of leather. She’d need to clean the seats thoroughly when you got home, but for right now, neither of you cared. Your hands sunk into the cushioned row of seats as you pressed your ass out further, back arched and muscles strained as you dropped your forehead onto the window and watched with slitted eyes as your breath fogged up the glass. Wanda watched from the passenger seat, green eyes trained on your desperate form that reflected off the rearview mirror pointed downward. Natasha was pressed up against the door, shorts unzipped and hanging loosely over her hip bones as the strap stood at full attention, no longer confined beneath the stiff denim. 

Your skirt was bunched up around your hips, ass and thighs already red from various hits and spanks that the Russian had laid upon your ivory skin. She’d yet to touch you, but each hit that rocked the plug in your ass sent you reeling closer and closer to ultimate pleasure. All you could make out was white spots as they danced along your vision and intercepted the view of strangers and cars wrecking havoc in the parking lot around you. Even when a middle aged man and his wife had gotten close to the car, shopping bags in each of their hands that you could only assume was a pending return, you hadn’t focused much on what they could see from the outside. Your focus was entirely on Natasha, and yet the lawyer hadn’t done anything since bending you over. 

“D-Daddy please! I need you so bad! Please!” You cried out in desperation, back arching further as your nipples grazed the seats, your ass grinding against the strap that she refused to shove into you just yet. What she was waiting for, you didn’t know, but every agonizing second that passed was becoming longer and longer as you waited for relief to wash over you fully. Only she could get you to that point, and yet no matter how much you pleaded with her she didn’t cave. “P-Please!” A strangled cry slipped past your lips when her hand found your ass and her thumb pressed firmly on the jeweled plug nestled between your cheeks. 

“Shh.” The Russian coos. It’s the first sound that’s come to fill the car that wasn’t your own since she had aggressively shoved you into the backseat, and you greedily drink in the unspoken promise that what you want is coming soon. You have no time to prepare yourself for the intrusion of her strap as it slips between your folds and finds a home within your cunt in seconds, but you gasp so sweetly that Natasha doesn’t stop to give you a moment to adjust to the wide girth that’s splitting you open. You’ve wanted this for hours, she’s in no mood to drag your pleasure out any further, having already tested her own patience as she waited for Wanda’s silent permission to begin. You’d been oblivious to the curt nod that was given by the Sokovian, but as much as the game was in Natasha’s hands now, Wanda still held all the cards. “Do you feel that, malyshka? Feel Daddy’s cock splitting you open? Filling this slutty little pussy where anyone can see if they come close enough. I bet you’re so full. This pretty little plug has been driving you crazy all day, hasn’t it? Mommy picked out such a pretty color for you.” As the words drive you farther and farther into pleasure and submission, Natasha’s thumb presses against the plug and sends your mind spiraling downward into a sea of static energy. There’s a thick ringing in your ears that forces your mind to go blank, your hips that had been stuttering against her quick thrusts stilling as you surrendered your body to her control, willing to take whatever she gave you in this very moment. 

Natasha’s thrusts only grow faster as your moans and whines become softer and sweeter, desperation not only evident in the way your arousal soaks your thighs and the seats, but in the pitch of your moans as they fill the car and ricochet off the windows. You don’t have it in you to feel embarrassed by how loud you’re being, your only focus is taking the pleasure and not letting it slip away again. A broken cry leaves your lips as Natasha’s hand finds your clit, thumb rubbing circles on the sensitive nub as she winds you tighter and tighter. Her own thrusts are becoming choppy and quick, groans of pleasure harmonizing with yours until the entire car is just an explicit symphony of intimacy. Wanda’s eyes haven’t left you once, but you can’t see her with the way you’re bent and arched over. Natasha can, and she curses beautiful in Russian as she gives you the green light to let go. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Cum for me. Cum on Daddy’s strap.” She encourages gently, her thrusts growing harsher as she chases her own pleasure and orgasms with a delicate moan, though it's quickly drowned out by your own sobs and cries of bliss as you writhe beneath her heavy hands and let the coil snap in your belly. Your body shakes in the aftermath, arms giving out on you as you crash against the leather seats and subsequently pull your cunt off of her strap, the glistening material catching rays of sunlight before she quickly tucks it back into her shorts and zips them up. “You did so good for us, malyshka. So so good.” Natasha kisses the bottom of your spine, her fingers working on the plug in your ass simultaneously. Wanda maneuvered herself in the passenger seat, her hand reaching out to just barely brush against your upper back as well. “Relax for me, angel. Let Daddy take this plug out and then we’ll go home.” She talks you through the process, but nothing prepares you for how empty you feel when the metal is no longer flush against your walls keeping you full. A strangled whimper falls off your lips before it’s gently drowned out by shushing and shuffling. Natasha, unwilling to let you go through aftercare in a crowded parking lot all twisted up, opens the door and steps out of the car, nodding for Wanda to occupy a seat in the back beside you. “Mommy’s gonna sit back here with you, and Daddy’s gonna take us home. Just let go, honey. It’s all okay.” 

It doesn’t take longer than five minutes for Wanda to be sat beside you, your body curled up into her chest and void of a seatbelt. Typically she’d scold you for such a behavior, but all she does now is hold you tighter and kiss your head, promising that you’ll be home soon and there will be plenty of cuddles and kisses all wrapped up beneath the heavy blankets on the bed.

#wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #dom!natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fluff #wanda maximoff x reader #dom!wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fluff #wandanat x reader #dom!wandanat x reader #wandanat smut #wandanat fluff #series: you are in love #minors dni ৎ୭

[hellishjoel]

chokehold

1.6k / pairing: tattoo artist daddy dom!joel miller x sub f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | notifications blog | ko-fi

chapter summary: Joel teaches you how to face fuck. 

chapter warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, unspecified age gap, established relationship, reader is described to have hair and is able-bodied (but otherwise, unspecified), swearing, dirty talk, smut, lots of pet names (sweetheart, angel, little bunny, etc.), dacryphilia (kink = getting aroused by tears), dom/sub dynamics, innocence kink, praise kink, degradation kink, daddy kink, face fucking/oral (m!receiving), size kink

A/N:  very lightly edited, but I wanted to give a little love to joel and little bunny since the third chapter is taking me some extra time! divider is by @firefly-graphics! and always a thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this over and endless encouragement <3

Joel’s eyes roll to the back of his head, slow and steady, because that’s just the pace you’re taking him. 

Facefucking is still experimental to you. He’s your first partner, and you’re nervous to impress. 

What you don’t know is that Joel would never judge your inexperience. All sexual pleasures involve trust, praise, and a little direction.

Joel stokes your hair affectionately, growing more possessive as he gently guides your mouth up and down his thick length. 

You can feel the power shift as your knees dig into the floor, eyes hesitantly meeting his while you try to take more of his shaft. You want more, you’re willing to push your limits. 

Joel seems to sense your loss of inhibitions, your twinkling eyes meeting his whiskey ones. 

“Want me to use that pretty little mouth of yours?” Joel’s words vibrate through the room. He pulls his cock from your lips, smearing his tip from one corner of your mouth to the other as you catch a breath. His warm pre-cum slips onto your tongue, and all you crave is more. 

Watching you desperately try to get him past your parted lips again is enough to force out a dark, low chuckle. 

“Wanna hear y’say it, baby.” 

Your impatient whine and eager hands on the back of his thighs make you beg, “Please, Joel,” in that wrecked voice that he loves so much. 

Joel presses his hips forward once more, watching his tip slip past your puckered lips and back into the hot heat of your mouth. “Yeah, right where I belong, huh, baby? Right where that cock belongs.” Joel’s hand comes to cradle your face, tracing the bulge of his length against your cheek with a sinister smirk. 

The further he pushes on, your tells start to show. He admires the way your eyelashes flutter, gagging and coughing around him but insistent not to let yourself off. A stray tear slips down your cheek. He collects it with his thumb and brings it past his lips, tasting what you give him. 

“Even your tears taste pretty, sweetheart,” he mutters predatorily, watching as your eyes blow wide, shyly moaning against his length. 

“When it gets to be too much, try to stay on. Swallow around me,” Joel gently nods his head. “Go on.” 

You obey, swallowing around the thick trunk of his cock, throat feeling a little looser now. You’re oh so willing to take on the discomfort just to please him. Anything for Joel, because he’d do anything for you. 

As his hips pick up a lazy pace, Joel encourages you to drop your hands from the safety blanket of his thighs. Like the good girl you are, you ease them to the base of your spine and lay one wrist over the other. He’s tied you up in that position more times than he can count, allowing Joel to take control and use you as he pleases. Such a good fucking girl. 

Tears pool along the top of your cheeks, the sight of glassy eyes igniting a fire deep in his belly. The overflow of saliva trickles out along the corners of your mouth, pooling down to his length and soaking the coarse hair on his balls. 

Joel watches as you shift anxiously on your knees, eyes pleading because somehow you want more. 

“Oh, honey,” he drapes in a degrading tone, stroking your hair away from your wet face and letting you catch a breath as his hips halt. “Need more, don’t’cha, doll?” He drawls, cooing softly as you lay your head against his thigh. Your orbs lazily look to him and nod weakly, still measly sucking on his tip. 

You bravely flick your tongue along his tip’s sensitive slit, toying at the idea of getting a rise out of Joel. 

A hiss is released past his clenched teeth, his whiskey eyes turning wild. And then you do it again. 

Joel’s hips jerk like that of a bucking bull. His hand in your hair turns to a fist, causing you to clench your eyes closed at the scorching prickle along your scalp. Joel scoffs as you fucking moan against him. 

His grin turns wicked, twisted at the thought of you enjoying some rough love. 

“Fuckin’ naughty, aren’t ya, little bunny? Yeah, bein’ a damn brat,” he chastises, watching as you frown around his tip and sucking it insistently. “Think m’gonna have t’finish deep down that pretty throat of yours, make ya choke on it,” he remarks as he repositions your head with a newfound need to punish.

Joel gathers your hair into two sets of pigtails, fisting them between his large palms. He watches you struggle to stay upright and drags you into position. “Keep that cock in your mouth, don’t let it go, sweetheart,” he gripes as you struggle to maintain him. It almost feels like a twisted game the way he nearly slips loose from your heat. 

Your mouth was full, jaw aching for a break that was nowhere in sight. Your fingers intertwine to keep them locked at the very base of your spine, whining nonsense against his cock. Soaking wet and dripping onto the hardwood, your pussy clenches around the ghost of what is currently occupying your mouth. 

You wanted to touch yourself so fucking bad. The self-discipline it took to keep your hands together makes your stomach churn. Your pearl twitches with enthusiasm, drenched in your own arousal. 

The muscles in your thighs are tight, your chest heaving and causing your bare breasts to rise and fall at a quickened rate. The overflowing spit that drips down from his balls lands on your chest. Joel can’t seem to stop staring at the gleam. 

Your nose brushes against his thick pubic hair as he buries your face against the base of his stomach, and you sputter up a cough. Lungs squeezing, throat tightening, you will yourself to swallow around him and stay right where you are. I’m yours, Joel. Please, take me, use me. 

“Fuck,’ he growls upon yanking you off his cock, smirking widely as you gasp for lost breaths. “Love that goddamn throat,” Joel mutters before reaching past you and pulling your hands to the front of his thighs, which quickly form a home for you. It’s grounding, to feel him, to feel his blood pumping through his body, and etch mine on the inside of his upper thigh mindlessly. 

“Got me so close, honey,” he starts, and you’re already eagerly nodding. Joel brings his thumb to your throat and slowly circles one spot against the column of your flesh. “Wanna feel myself right here, think you can do that, sweetheart?” 

Your eyes soften at the depth he wishes to go, but you’d do anything for him. You nod shyly and drop your jaw, flattening your tongue just for him. Always for him. 

Joel’s pace is gentle at first, working up a rhythm that has your throat molding perfectly around him. You gag each time he thrusts all the way, knowing when to swallow and when to breathe, Joel has taught you this new erotic art. 

The saliva dripping down to the base of his cock greets your chin repeatedly. You hollow your cheeks around him, and he moans naughty filth. 

“Such a pretty slut for this cock, make me feel so fuckin’ good- god damn,” Joel pauses with his length fully down your tight throat, grinding himself against your mouth as you clench your eyes close and gag. Joel places his thumb on that sacred spot against your neck, and he can feel his tip bulging against the column of your throat. You’re so fucking full of him, and it’s enough to make him spill. 

The hold he has on your hair tightens, scalp prickling as you cry out along his length. Salt bitters your tongue, weakly swallowing back load after load of his warm, thick finish. You swallow around his length and moan lowly, all muffled and messy for him as he crashes harshly through his own concocted orgasm. 

Your nails etch half-moon shapes into the back of his thighs, keeping him there, pushing for him to cross the finish line. And it was all for you. 

Tears of happiness stream down your face as you let him finish painting your throat, releasing with a dramatic pop as you do your best to swallow every last dribble. You’re careful as you give his sensitive tip a few sweet kitten licks. His hands are at the ready in your hair as he hisses harshly, ready to control you if it’s too much overstimulation for your poor old Daddy. 

Sponging kisses down his softening length, you lay your head against his thigh, and he cards his fingers through your hair. A soothing hum leaves your throat, fluttering your eyes closed as his thumb comes along to brush away the stray tears. 

It’s easier to ignore the throbbing between your legs now that Joel has found peace. Your heart pounds in your ears, and you listen only slightly as he begins to coo gentle affirmations for you.

Joel holds your hands and helps you stand, your arms already tiredly linking around his neck as you lay your head on his shoulder. 

“Such a sweet girl,” he whispers, “always make Daddy so happy, you know that?” Your head bobbles loosely. His sweet remarks make your muscles even more pliant in his arms as he easily sweeps you off your feet and moves you to lie across the bed. 

Joel takes all of you in. Sweat glistening along your temple, parted lips lacquered in spit, the extra effort it takes you to swallow, how perky your nipples are, and the slick that’s all but made a mess down your thighs. 

“Shit, she’s so pretty f’me,” Joel whispers as you grin weakly.

“My turn now?” Your wrecked voice squeaks, to which Joel slowly nods, helping you pitch your legs up on the edge of the bed.  

“Your turn now, little bunny.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #The Last Of Us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #joel miller pedro pascal #daddy dd/sub #dd/sub kink #dd!joel miller #dom/sub

[thankskenpenders]

Amy's fortune cards

The Sonic fandom has long been the kind of fandom that takes minor details very seriously, for better or worse. On the one hand, this means fans will really dig for the diamonds in the rough, latching onto fun character interactions, animations, bits of background worldbuilding, and more in pieces of Sonic media that many would write off as "the bad ones." But it also feels like every week another needlessly hostile debate over Sonic minutia erupts on Twitter, whether it's over individual lines of dialogue, fanart that makes Tails' shoes blue, or the ideal length and volume for Sonic's quills.

So it was probably inevitable that a fandom-wide debate would erupt upon seeing Amy's new gameplay style in the DLC for Sonic Frontiers, which takes the once-obscure fact that she enjoys reading tarot and shines a spotlight on it like never before.

I mean:

The thing is, while I basically always try to tune out Sonic fandom bickering... for once, I kind of sympathize with the detractors? Don't get me wrong, I like Amy's tarot stuff, and people on all sides of the discussion are being overly nasty about their opinions, as usual. (Sonic Twitter remains my personal hell.) But when I set aside the hyperbole and zoom out, I do think I understand why some fans are put off by the sudden shift in focus for the character, even if I think it's cool.

It's complicated. Let me attempt to present the cases for and against Amy's fortune cards

For years, I was always one of those fans who thought it could be fun if they played with Amy's tarot reading, or even leaned into some kind of magic with her. Part of that is my own biases showing, but there's just something that makes sense there, especially when you look at Sonic, Tails, and Amy as a trio. (I would argue that's the real "Team Sonic" these days, especially in the comics where Knuckles is more likely to be stuck on Angel Island or otherwise doing his own thing.)

You could argue that Tails is all about logic, relying on science and technology and deductive reasoning to solve problems. But Amy is all about emotion. She wears her heart on her sleeve, is extremely empathetic, and is very prone to magical thinking - both figuratively and sometimes literally. Her origin story has always been that her tarot cards told her it was her destiny to meet Sonic on Little Planet. She's claimed to be able to "sense" peoples' presences - particularly Sonic's. She's the type to believe that The Power of Love is a literal magical force. So, on some level, it makes sense to mirror Tails's science by having Sonic's other best friend believe in magic. And then Sonic is somewhere in the middle, primarily following his own gut instincts but taking advice from both of them as needed. This isn't totally accurate to how their dynamics actually function in canon stories, but I think it's a mode that could work for them.

Going off of that, it's fun to lean all the way into Amy being a magical girl, or even a witch, using her fortune telling as a foundation. Take, for example, this version of Amy from Diana Skelly's old Sonic cast redesigns from before she freelanced for Archie and IDW. This is one of MANY such redesigns for Amy.

Fast forward to the 2020s, and Amy's tarot cards are, in fact, finally getting brought up again in canon. Which is fun! I like seeing that. I like all of the individual stories involving Amy's fortune cards. This is a fun character trait for Amy, a fun nod to old lore, AND a fun storytelling device, all in one. It's really cool that the Sonic universe has its own thematically appropriate arcana, and that the cards are getting made as physical merch. And sure enough, the official card backs and borders were designed by none other than Diana Skelly, in yet another cool example of an ascendant fan leaving their mark on the series.

BUT... when you step back and look at the big picture, I get why some fans find this shift in focus jarring. At the moment, it's starting to feel like every new story about Amy involves her fortune cards to some degree.

The most recent mainline comic arc to feature Amy as the lead character, 2021's Trial by Fire arc, prominently features a sequence where she reads fortunes while camping with the girls. The Origins version of Sonic CD now bookends the game with scenes of Amy and her tarot cards. Sonic randomly mentioned it in a scene in Frontiers. And now, just this week, we got the (very cute, gorgeously illustrated) Amy's 30th Anniversary comic with a story revolving around Amy's tarot cards, followed the very next day by the Frontiers DLC in which she gets a brand new tarot-based moveset. Even her base melee attack now has her throwing tarot cards instead of swinging her hammer. Again, I like all of these individual things, but after years of it almost never coming up at all, it's VERY noticeable that Amy's tarot cards are suddenly everywhere.

To be fair, I'm looking at this from the perspective of a superfan who's actively following ALL Sonic media. Casual fans - especially kids - aren't necessarily going to be reading the comics every month, buying the thousandth rerelease of the Genesis games, or playing the ultra-hard new alternate ending DLC for a game that came out last year. Each of these stories is going to be someone's introduction to the idea that Amy can read tarot, and that's probably part of the idea behind this unified push.

But to play devil's advocate, for my fellow superfans, I understand why it feels like a very minor footnote of Amy's character is suddenly becoming the entire focus of her personality. While Amy has always been said to enjoy fortune telling, that wasn't really a character trait in and of itself, but rather an example of her being a typical girl who hopes she'll be able to find true love one day. It's less that Amy can literally predict the future and more like her using a cootie catcher or going "he loves me, he loves me not" while picking the petals off of a flower. So I get not vibing with this stuff, or feeling like it's being pushed very hard out of nowhere.

What I don't agree with are comparisons like "it's like if they made Knuckles' moveset revolve around him liking grapes." Like, I get it. Ian Flynn loves shoehorning in his little winking references for us nerds, and mentions of Amy's tarot cards were previously on the same level as other random bullet points from old Japanese manuals. But a multifaceted hobby like fortune telling that opens up so many narrative and aesthetic possibilities is obviously very different from having a favorite food. It's ALWAYS been a part of her story, not just a random fact, and there's no reason why the fortune telling can't be elevated to something more.

And, hell, even if it wasn't an established character trait, there's nothing inherently wrong with injecting new ideas into a character. One of the best Amy stories in recent years, the Free Comic Book Day special "Amy's New Hobby" written by Gale Galligan, came up with the idea that Amy's secretly been drawing little comics about her and her friends. Is this based on Lore? No. But it's cute, and helps tell the story of a younger Amy who's still coming out of her shell as both a hero and a friend.

Certain fans are also looking at Amy's Frontiers moveset and using it as evidence that once again the Vile American Contributors like Ian are CORRUPTING Sonic Team's perfect vision of Sonic with their misinterpretations. And like. Come on. Ian does not control the gameplay. He's a freelance writer. The tarot stuff is clearly something that Sonic Team likes if they made it the basis of Amy's new moveset - and, you know, if they keep approving comics and animations about Amy's fortune telling. None of this gets made without their blessing, and lord knows how much they can micromanage shit and shoot down ideas over the most minor of details.

Like, yeah, Amy's fortune telling was probably conceived less as a sign that she Knows Magic and more as a pretty mundane hobby for a lovesick young Japanese girl to have. But you're gonna sit there and tell me that using Amy's tarot cards for more than that could only be the result of a cultural misunderstanding? That nobody in Japan uses tarot card theming and aesthetics (or the general idea of magical cards) for the cool factor? Stardust Crusaders? Persona? The Astrologian class in FFXIV? Cardcaptor Sakura?? Hello??? Do you think Capcom put Gambit in Marvel vs. Capcom ironically because they thought using magic to throw cards at people was stupid? There's tons of precedent for this! It's nothing like Knuckles throwing grapes at people, be for real.

Giving Amy a very magical girl-esque moveset also just makes a lot of sense. For decades her hammer attacks have literally made sparkly heart shapes appear around her. Leaning into both that and her tarot cards in her new moveset makes a lot of sense to me.

But, admittedly... I do think it's very odd that her hammer is treated as a secondary element here, rather than having her primarily use her hammer and adding the cards for extra flair. If hitting the attack button made her swing her hammer instead of throwing cards, I'm not sure we'd even be having this discussion right now.

But the tarot-cycle and Amy riding her hammer like a witch's broom are fucking SICK and I will not concede on this point

The thing is, this whole fortune card discourse is but a small piece of a bigger problem. Amy's been a character who needed some work for ages, but there's basically nothing you can do with her without pissing SOMEONE off.

Years of stories where Amy's crush was her primary motivator and Sonic went "Ew, cooties!" have lead many casual fans to believe that being Sonic's obsessive fangirl is Amy's entire personality. At best people might call her Sonic's Minnie Mouse. This isn't just a matter of Amy having haters within the fandom - venture outside of that bubble and you'll realize that this is how MOST video game playing people seem to see her to this day. I don't feel like this is a fair assessment of the character, but this idea didn't come from nowhere. No matter how much good deeply entrenched Sonic fans may see in their old dynamic where Amy perpetually chases Sonic, this is a very real problem that Sonic Team has to contend with for their leading girl. Of course all those games where the way-past-cool protagonist thought Amy was annoyingly clingy and tried to get away from her made people think less of her.

If new stories were to go back to emphasizing Amy's crush on Sonic a little more, they'd probably be taken as confirmation that Amy's just the girl with a crush on Sonic and that this is her entire personality. Conversely, when the crush is played down, you piss off the hardcore SonAmy fans who don't seem to understand that they're Charlie Brown and Sega is Lucy holding the football. You can't win.

And so here we are. In the absence of what was once her defining trait, now reduced to an occasional blush or wink in Sonic's direction, new stories are trying to mine Amy's past for additional material to work with. Having been a thing fans wanted to see for years, right now we're getting a lot of tarot, but we're also getting reminders of her compassionate nature and her desire to go out of her way to help the little guy. This is an ongoing process. I continue to hope that her bubbly, exuberant demeanor can shine more in future stories. Now, I also hope that the tarot stuff gets balanced out a little better with other traits of hers. But I don't want it to go away. I think it's fun.

This course correcting is far from exclusive to Amy. Knuckles is getting stories that remind us that he's a competent fighter, an experienced treasure hunter, and even a self-taught archaeologist after years of him being perceived as either the dumb one or just the guy who stands in front of the Master Emerald all day. And Tails has been getting some stories reminding folks that he's a capable hero in his own right and not just Sonic's timid kid sidekick.

But no supporting character will ever compete with the sheer number of new ideas Sega has tried with Sonic himself. Like Amy, his Frontiers moveset has also given him half a dozen new superpowers that he never had before, from the Cyloop to air-slicing projectile attacks to his own take on Shadow Clone Jutsu and beyond. He's also been a hoverboarder, a swordsman, a time traveler, an Olympic athlete, a racecar driver, cursed with a Flame of Judgment, imbued with alien power, a fucking Werehog with stretchy powers, and on and on and on.

If Sonic can do all that, Amy can try out using a tarot-cycle.

Anyway TL;DR the REAL problem with Amy's current characterization... is where the FUCK is Amy's bestie, Honey the Cat???????

#tkp post

[prythianpages]

I Can't Pretend | Eris x Reader

summary: After your sudden disappearance, Eris takes it upon himself to find you. When he does, he breaks down and can no longer hide his feelings for you.

warning: angst, suggestiveness, smut (p in v, loss of virginity); this one is kind of a rollercoaster of emotions and the longest imagine of this series (at 6K words)

a/n: you can find the masterlist to this series here or read this as a stand alone imagine (: all you have to know is that reader is engaged to Eris's brother and in the part right before this one, reader and Sawyer got threatened by Beron. this piece here is brought to you by Tom Odell's Can't Pretend.

“There will be a bedding ceremony at your wedding.”

“You just marked your death sentence.”

Your body grows cold, muscles tensing once again. The tears running down your face feel endless as you stare at the door closing behind the High Lord. When it finally shuts, the sound feels like a sentence in itself, locking you into those promises. Bedding ceremony. Death sentence. The words repeat themselves over and over inside your head like a haunting melody. 

You’re going to be watched as you're forced to be intimate with Sawyer. Then, you’re going to die. You want to run…but where to?

A whimper drags you from your thoughts, directing your attention back to the male lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Your fate is sealed and cannot be helped. But you can at least help him.

You hardly recognize him as you kneel beside him and help him sit up. Blood trickles from his face and every exposed inch of his pale skin is littered with open wounds that make bile rise in your throat. You can also sense all the broken bones in his body, something urging you inside to mend them.

“Let me help you,” you whisper, unable to hide the tremor in your voice and your hands. Slowly, you bring your hands to his face, grimacing at the lack of warmth.

A choked, rattled sound escapes from Sawyer. He instinctively leans in to your touch, welcoming the surprising wave of relief that comes with it. It’s as if something deep inside you is calling to him, telling him that you can fix him.

“Did you…did you mean it?” He croaks out.

You don’t have to ask to know what he means. “Yes.”

Sawyer’s pained expression softens for a brief moment. “Sometimes…” he begins and as you blink away your tears, you catch the way he averts his gaze, focusing on the splatters of his own blood that taint the marble floor. “Sometimes, I wish the Cauldron had made me different too...”

“The Cauldron makes no mistakes,” you assure him, your voice steadying with every breath. “It doesn't matter who you love. All that matters is that you love strongly and freely. I sense you have a good heart…which I’m coming to find is a rare thing in a place like this.”

“I thought I was an asshole.” There’s a subtle hint of regret in his tone.

“Yes,” you say with a small exhale. “I’m afraid that you still are… An asshole with a good heart.”

And for the first time since you met him, a faint ghost of a smile graces Sawyer's lips as he looks back at you. 

You continue to help heal Sawyer, the same way you’ve done for others in the past. The cuts on his face close as your fingers brush against them, the swelling of his face goes down and the broken bones begin to mend. It’s like a miracle. There’s no trace of any injury left behind other than the blood that has not yet dried.

It’s strange for it to be quiet between you both. You’ve grown accustomed to the insults thrown your way in his presence and even the look of disgust that usually mars his features when looking at you. But all you see is the bewilderment in his face.

As the weight of silence threatens to consume you, you find yourself humming to deter the thoughts lingering in your mind. It’s a familiar melody, one your mother would gently sing whenever your injuries and the sickness that would often befall you begged for relief. Just as it did in those tender moments, the melody you hum washes over you, bringing an immediate sense of comfort. 

The warmth returns to your veins and Sawyer, too, senses the soothing energy as it radiates from your touch. His sharp aches dulls into a distant memory. “I didn’t know you were a healer,” he says quietly and then realizes how little he knows about you. He has an inkling that his older brother knows more. “Are you from Dawn Court?”

“My mother was. I think I inherited it from her side,” you reply, helping him to his feet.

As the two of you stand, the door slams open, causing you to involuntary flinch. To your relief, it is Lady Raelynn and not her fearsome husband. Her breaths are quick and shallow and eyes full of concern.

“Oh thank the Cauldron,” she breathes, rushing toward her son. She assesses him for injuries, not caring over the blood that stains her hands as she softly touches his face. “Let’s get you cleaned up. The healer is already waiting in my quarters and I’ve had my maid prepare some tea to soothe your ails.”

The way she speaks leaves an unsettling feeling in your stomach, as it gives away that situations such as this occur with such frequency. Lady Raelynn then turns to you, gaze dipping down toward your hands. They’re stained with Sawyer’s blood.  “The both of you,” she adds as emphasis.

Her hand reaches for yours but you take a step back, suddenly feeling sick. She had already included you in the disconcerting routine. The urge to run comes over you again as Beron’s words resurface in your mind. Is this what your life will become? A routine of suffering and torture until death harshly claims you.

“I’m okay,” you say, taking a deep breath. It’s a lie and you all know it but they don’t push you further. They share a glance filled with understanding, deepening your revulsion. You think you’re going to throw up. “I–I think I need to rest.”

“Of course,” Lady Raelynn nods, a deep frown settling upon her face. “Please allow one of my maids to escort you back to your room.”

**

Eris has grown to know fear over the centuries. It held him in its grip, bringing forth tears and whispering sweet nightmares into his ears until there was no trace of hope left behind. But this feeling surging through his veins and creeping into his heart is much, much worse. Like a fear he’s never known before.

You’re not in your room. You’re not in the gardens. You’re not in the library. 

All air has left his lungs and he feels like he can’t breathe until he finds you. There’s one more place within the Forest house he’s yet to check. He’s racing toward it, his pace reflecting the erratic rhythm of his heart. He knows he should tread carefully but you’re flooding him with your emotions through the bond, pushing away all rational thoughts from his mind. 

The doors to Lady Raelynn’s quarters slam open. His eyes are drinking in the room like a man deprived of water, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Y/n,” your name is spilling from his lips in a choked breath. “Where is she?”

His gaze lands upon Sawyer, who sits on the couch and then to his mother, who sits right next to him. You’re not here either. His heightened senses take in the bloody cloth in his mother’s hands–not your blood–and then, the somber expression on Sawyer’s face. Across from them, three teacups rest on the small table, the faint scent of chamomile wafting over to him.

Suddenly, Eris is livid. His gaze darkens and he’s rushing toward his younger brother. Hands roughly grasp onto the front of Sawyer’s shirt, forcing the younger male to rise to his feet. Flames tickle around his throat, tightening with every second.

“What did you do?” Eris seethes. It’s more of a demand than a question.

“Eris!”

“Answer me,” Eris nearly growls, his eyes mirroring the flames tightening around Sawyer’s neck. “Or I swear to the Cauldron, I’ll–”

“Eris!” His mother calls out again. 

This time, she’s successful. She steps in between her sons, a hand at Eris’s chest and she can feel the frantic beating of his heart. The flames around Sawyer’s throat loosen their grip but only a little.

“Your brother has endured enough blows today.”

“He looks perfectly fine to me,” Eris retorts, amber eyes taking note of the lack of injuries on him. Despite his mother’s words, he’s inclined to give him one. One that will remain and act as a reminder to never cross him. He already knows that whatever happened, was Sawyer’s fault.

“Yes,” Lady Raelynn begins, voice heavy with caution. She knows Eris will find out what happened one way or another and though it fills her with dread to be the harbinger of bad news, she rather her son hear it from her. “Because y/n healed him.”

The sound of your name brings Eris back down and the flames around Sawyer’s throat extinguish. He looks at his mother, silently urging her to go on.

“Your father caught the ear of the rumors circulating in court and well…well, he called for a bedding ceremony.”

Sawyer swallows thickly at the reminder. He casts his head down, overwhelmed by Eris’s heated gaze that is directly solely on him now. A realization hits him then and slowly, he lifts his head. “You care for her, don’t you? All this time…,” his voice trails off.

Eris falters. He shakes his head, a mix of horror and panic tainting his delicate features. “I told you–”

“Then you should know,” Sawyer interrupts him, lips pressing into a tight line before speaking again. “Father plans to kill her after the wedding.”

Flames erupt from Eris’s fingertips, itching to wrap around Sawyer’s throat once more. He warned his brother not to be a fool. To be more careful because this was not just a matter of life or death for Sawyer but for you as well. Eris just needed more time to help you and he fears Sawyer just deprived him of it.

A firm push from Lady Raelynn stops him from raising his hands. “Eris, your brother is not the enemy,” she reminds him, tone pleading with him to hear her. “Y/n is in her room. Go to her. She needs you.”

Eris's fiery temper flickers, dissolving into the familiar grip of anxiety that had driven him to this chamber. He takes a step back and Lady Raelynn’s hand drops back to her side. “She’s not in her room.”

It’s now Lady Raelynn’s turn to panic. “What do you mean she isn’t? My maid personally escorted her there. She even helped draw her a bath.”

“She’s gone.”

Sawyer lets a curse under his breath, a shiver running down his spine. “One more mishap,” he murmurs, fear swirling in his eyes. He falls onto the couch, sinking into the cushion with dread. “One more mishap and father warned…,” his eyebrows furrow, not being able to finish the threat Beron had made to the both of you and Eris feels his heart at his throat.

“She couldn’t have gone far.” Lady Raelynn speaks but it does nothing to reassure Eris.

“When I bring her back,” Eris says, voice steady with determination because he will find you. He takes another step back, toward the doors. One hand grasps for the knob while the other points a finger at Sawyer.  “Then, I’ll deal with you.”

Sawyer says nothing but Lady Raelynn nods, urging him to go. “We’ll cover for you,” she assures him. “Please be careful.”

Eris leaves without another word, the doors closing shut behind him. 

“He loves her.” Sawyer's words are tinged with sympathy and bitter amusement. A humorless chuckle escapes from him and he looks toward his mother. Her gaze remains fixed on the doors of her room, where Eris had left just moments ago, as she gives a silent prayer to the Cauldron.

“Are we cursed? To love those we cannot have?”

“I’m afraid you all have inherited it from me,” Lady Raelynn confesses softly, her voice carrying the weight of years of unspoken longing, clouding her eyes with regret and sorrow.  

**

Leaves crunch beneath Eris's boots as he makes his way toward the stables, the crisp autumn air biting at his cheeks. His face dons his usual mask but his heart is still racing. He would much rather take his hounds in his quest to find you but the risk of raising suspicion held him back. It’s not uncommon for him to ride during these hours of the day and it’d give him a better vantage on covering as much ground as he can as opposed to winnowing. 

The sound of a high-pitched whinny echoes through the air as Eris approaches, drawing his attention. His gaze settles upon the stablemen, their focus fixed upon a solitary stall.

“Lord Eris,” one of them greets, bowing his head in respect. “Do you wish to ride? I can ready your horse. Just give me a moment.”

Eris offers no response as he strides purposefully toward the stablemen, his curiosity piqued by the source of the anxious sounds. The stableman follows his gaze, his expression troubled. It’s your horse, Maximus. The white stallion throws his head back, pawing at the ground with such force that the dirt rises in swirling clouds.

“He’s been restless all morning, my Lord.”

“I’ll take him,” Eris finally speaks, his gaze lingering on the horse. From where he stands,he can sense the tension rippling through Maximus’s powerful frame. It reminds him of the way his hounds act when they sense something is wrong. “Perhaps, a ride will soothe him.”

The stableman’s eyes widen in alarm. “I would advise against it, Lord Eris. This one has a temper that only Lady Y/n can soothe. He’s bitten us before.”

Eris lets out a quiet amused huff, undeterred. “I’ll saddle him myself,” he says and it’s as if your horse understands for it tilts his head to look directly at Eris, a silent exchange passing between them.

The stableman simply nods, reluctantly handing the necessary equipment to prepare your horse. As Eris steps into the stall, Maximus steps back with a deep and heavy exhale. “It’s okay. I’m y/n’s…y/n’s friend,” Eris reassures though the word ‘friend’ rolls off his tongue awkwardly.

As he utters your name, Maximus's body relaxes slightly, mirroring the calm that had settled over Eris earlier in his mother’s quarters. He admires the way Maximus’s eyes soften slightly, betraying his deep love for you. Animals are the true definition of unconditional love, he thinks. However, there’s a flicker of doubt in the horse's eyes at the mention of the word "friend," as if he could sense something more. It makes Eris wonder if your horse can see past the glamor he meticulously placed over himself and you.

Maximus doesn’t move when Eris takes another step forward. He pats his neck softly, running his fingers down the silky white strands of Maximus’s mane. The white stallion’s head lowers and ears relax under the gentle touch.

“Can you take me to her?”

Maximus taps one of his hooves in response and Eris smiles.

**

Eris can feel your bond growing stronger and stronger as Maximus gallops, taking both of them deeper into Autumn’s forest. Around them, trees adorned with golden leaves blur into a whirl of color. The sound of thundering hooves fills the air. He pulls on the reins and the white stallion immediately obeys, coming to a gradual stop. 

“Stay here.” Eris commands as he dismounts.

Maximus lets out a noise in protest but does not fight when Eris secures him to a nearby tree. He looks around the forest, allowing his senses to guide him through the labyrinth of trees. He feels a sharp tug against his ribcage, prompting his head to turn right. How did he not think of it sooner?

Eris quietly makes his way toward the clearing ahead, where the meadow he often frequents is. The canopy of the tall oak trees filter the golden sunlight into a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. A kaleidoscope of wildflowers blooms along the edges, their petals kissed by the wind. His senses sharpen with anticipation. It’s as if a taut string is pulling him inexorably closer to you. 

He’s flooded with relief when he finally spots you but it is short lived as he takes in your appearance. Relief is quickly replaced by a terrible sinking feeling that he feels in his very core.

The river is a distant murmur as you face it, your back to him. The shifting patterns of light and shadow play across your form, casting you in muted hues. You’re dressed in his clothes, the same ones he had given you when the two of you snuck out. The ruffled long sleeves do nothing to protect you from the biting Autumn winds and he frowns as you curl into yourself, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You seem smaller somehow, more vulnerable. He’s already taking his coat off as he approaches you.

“Angel,” he calls out softly, placing his coat over your shoulders, but you don’t move. You don’t even react…are you even breathing?

Eris steps around you, his eyes pools of amber concern and as he comes to stand in front of you, his heart clenches. Your eyes are bloodshot and puffy. Tears stain your rosy cheeks, making his knees weak. Yet it's the emptiness in your gaze and the absence of radiance in your expression that shatters his heart. This court has broken you beyond repair. You, who always shined so bright, who lit up his world, were losing your spark. This is what he had been trying to prevent and he failed. 

His hands cup your face in a tender caress, internally wincing at the lack of warmth he feels. Drawing upon his powers, he channels heat into his hands. As the warmth envelops you, he watches as your distant gaze gradually returns to him.

A pained expression clouds his features, tears stinging at his own eyes. He knows the answer, recognizes it the more he looks at you. He knows because you wear the same expression he does after facing Beron’s temper. But he needs to hear it. His brows furrow, barely able to contain the anger that had been left simmering. Anger not directed at you but at his father. 

“Did he…did he hurt you?”

“I’m okay.” 

There’s a roughness to your voice he’s never heard before that kills him inside. You lean in to his touch, tilting your head slightly to the right. Consequently, the same cheek Beron had struck earlier. Eris frowns. There’s no mark on your pretty features, no trace of harm of any kind. Though, he knows better now. 

So he asks again. Differently and more carefully, this time. He’s trying very hard to tame the fire raging through his veins for your sake, worrying that he’d scare you if he allows you even the slightest glimpse of it.

“Did he touch you?”

You shift your head, attempting to escape his hold. But Eris doesn’t allow it and takes your silence as an answer. He swallows thickly. His father had laid his hands on you. Fiery tongues surge from the earth, swirling around you both and painting the air with bright hues of amber and scarlet. How dare he?  His father is going to pay for this, Eris will make sure of it. He’s going to return the pain Beron inflicted on you tenfold. He’s going to ki—

“I’m okay.” You try again and it’s as if you’re also trying to convince yourself.

Eris leans his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m so sorry, angel,” he murmurs, voice thick with longing and regret. He had been so careful about leaving Autumn since your arrival and the one time he has to leave it, is when you find yourself in trouble.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You’re here now.”

He feels the softness of your hand against one of his, prompting his eyes to open. His amber orbs glisten with a haunting luminosity as quiet tears escape them. “I put you in this situation,” he confesses quietly.

Confusion flashes onto your face, your eyes searching for answers and he feels his heart at his throat. “I arranged your marriage, knowing the life I would be damning you to. This is all my fault.”

“You couldn’t have known. You didn’t know me then and my father…this marriage would’ve happened any–”

“Don’t.” He interrupts you, inhaling sharply, voice strained with emotion. He doesn’t think you’d be defending him if you knew what he did to your father just hours ago.  “Don’t defend me. I don’t deserve it.” 

And then he reluctantly drops his hands, stepping away from you, needing to put some distance between you both.

“I don’t deserve you.” 

“Eris–” You take a step closer but he holds out a hand, flames erupting from the ground right between the both of you.

“No. You don’t understand, Angel. I’ve tried to fight it but I can’t contend. You’ve pierced through every defense of mine and now… I’m exhausted.I can’t pretend anymore.” Eris bows his head, flames dancing around him with heightened intensity. He collapses to his knees, surrendering to the turmoil within.

“You awaken sensations within me that I’ve never known. Sensations that both exhilarate and terrify me. If you–if you only knew the depths of my capabilities, the lengths I would go for you, the sacrifices I’ve already made...”

He can already imagine the heartbroken look on your face when you find out the truth. That he, your mate, the very being that should bring you nothing but joy and shower you in love brought harm upon your family. You’re one and only remaining family member. It did not matter if your father was a monster because either way, you adored him. Or rather, the idea of him. 

Eris should tell you the truths he learned. How your father poisoned you for years, treating you not as his daughter but as a mere experiment instead. He only read snippets here and there from the journal, read just enough to be sickened with the horrors purposely inflicted upon you. 

And Eris will tell you. He knows he needs to. But you’re breaking and he can feel you on the verge of shattering apart this very moment. If he tells you now, he fears–

“Eris.”

Your voice pulls him out of his racing thoughts and he winces. As if it physically pains him to hear the sweet way you say his name. “Don’t say my name like that, angel,” he nearly pleads. You don’t know what you do to him.

The flames pulse around him with the rhythm of his heart. He decides at that moment that you can hate him all you want after. As long as you’re alive, as long as your radiance returns to you, that’s all that matters. He just desperately needs you to be you again.

“Just tell me, angel, and I’ll do it,” Eris says, closing his eyes as he tries to steady his breath. “Tell me what to do to make you feel better? I can’t bear the sight of seeing you like this so please tell me.”

**

His words strike a nerve in you, the devotion in them unfamiliar to you. How cruel, you think, tears pooling at your eyes for an entirely different reason. You’re marrying the wrong Vanserra. You take a step forward, the flames of Eris’s fire threatening to swallow you whole.

 “You care for me?”

“Devastatingly so.”

Another step forward. Your heart hammers in your chest. The flames lick at your feet and you should fear them. But you don’t. Because it’s Eris and though you shouldn’t, you want him. Not Sawyer or anyone else. You want Eris. All of him. 

“You’d really do anything for me?”

Eris lets out a sound–a mixture of an exhale and laugh. It’s humorless and singed with disbelief as if he can’t believe you’re really asking him that after he just confessed it all to you. But you need to hear it again.

“I would traverse all over Prythian, surmount every obstacle, and brave the fiercest storms just to see the light of your smile. All you have to do is ask.”

And then you’re taking that last step, braving yourself against the searing heat that dances in the air to reach him. Because if you’re going to die, you need him to know. You need him to know the truth that lingers in your heart. 

That he’s your golden hour, painting your world in shades of warmth and love, but also your midnight hour, where secret desires and dreams are whispered under a canopy of stars and now…

Now, he’s everything in between. You’re every waking thought and the last before you sleep. You need him to know that you burn for him. Ardently. Your breath catches and Eris’s eyes snap open, widening as his fire reaches out to embrace you. 

But it doesn’t burn you. 

The two of you look at each other in awe before you’re falling to your knees in front of him, the flames enfolding around you in a tender caress. Neither of you say a word. Your hands reach out to cup his face, coaxing his gaze to you. He doesn’t stop you this time. Not even as you lean in and press your lips against his. He should pull away but he doesn’t. Instead, his lips move against yours, kissing the warmth right back into you, giving a piece of light from him to you.

You pull away, just enough to speak but still close enough to feel the warmth of his mouth. “And if I ask you to take me in a way only a lover could, what then?”

He looks at you with such an intensity it sets you alight but then he’s averting his gaze and there’s an ache in your chest.  “Please,” you whisper, eyes glistening with tears. 

You always dreamed of what your wedding would be like, who you would marry. A part of you always knew that it would be arranged. Still, you foolishly hoped that in light of the arrangement, love would blossom. That your husband would hold affection toward you and learn to love you. That on your first night together, he’d be gentle and caring.

But your dream was morphing into something darker. Your husband would never love you in the way you desire. He hated the very thought of you and though you caught a mere glimpse of the caring male underneath the harsh exterior earlier, it did nothing to soothe you. It can’t be Sawyer. 

The night you dreamed of was becoming a nightmare. The last thread of hope was hanging precariously, threatened by the sharp blade of anxiety and fear. You can’t lose the last part you hold dear to Sawyer. You can’t let Beron win. They don’t deserve to forever hold this over you.

You look at Eris, your last thread of hope. “Your father called for a bedding ceremony and I don’t want that to be my first time. I don’t want Sawyer to…to…”

**

“I know, angel,” Eris murmurs, not letting you finish your sentence. He wipes at your tears and then places his hands over yours, which remain on his face. He gives a gentle kiss to your lips but his body is tense. The thought of you having to endure the horrors of a forced bedding ceremony. Your body on display for others to see, the emotional and physical pain it will bring upon you, the—

Eris has to force himself out of those dark thoughts, the bond in his chest roaring with a fierce and protective anger. He kisses you again. This time, on your forehead. “It’s not going to happen.”

“But your father–”

The fear in your eyes pains him. He pulls you closer, nose brushing against yours as he forces you to look into his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“With my whole heart.”

“Then trust me when I say that no one will touch you against your will again.”

“Even though your father, the High Lord, has condemned me to death?”

“No one,” he repeats, voice firm as he pulls you close to him. One arm wraps itself around your waist while the other cradles your head to his chest. He brushes his fingers through your hair, basking in the sweet scent of rose it brings forth.

Silence envelops you both and you allow it to embrace you, the same way Eris does. In his arms, you are safe, you are warm. It is just the two of you…against the world.

“Tell me what you’re thinking of,” Eris speaks softly.

“I’m thinking…” your voice trails off as you shift in his hold to face him. His hands fall to your waist and you make yourself comfortable in his lap, placing a knee on either side of him. “What if it's your touch I will?”

Heat and desire pour through the bond, filling his veins.

“Your eyes I dream of,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his red hair and tilting his head up to look into his eyes. When you lean in to delicately kiss the corners of his eyes, he shudders beneath you. 

“Your heart I want.”

Your hand trails down his neck in a tender caress, stopping at his chest. Right over the organ that beats for you. The golden threads stir under your touch and he swallows thickly, eyes locked onto you. He wonders if you can feel it–the way the bond is singing madly like it wants to be heard. With a sudden boldness, he tugs on it.

His eyes widen when your body seems to react, lurching forward slightly. Your movements still, hand lingering on his chest and he watches you with bated breath. You felt it…but your end of the bond remains quiet. Still waiting to unravel, only giving him a glimpse of the emotions stirring within you. 

Something that both uneases and relieves him. He wants to know exactly what you’re feeling–if your emotions resonate with the same fervor that consumes him. He wants you to understand the depth of his devotion to you. However, amidst his yearning, your oblivion toward the bond allows him to mask the subtle shift in your scent. A silent sacrifice that weighs heavy upon his heart but a burden he is glad to carry if it means he can safeguard your innocent heart from the cunning foxes at court.

Your hand continues its path downwards, tracing a tantalizing path toward his. His heart stirs with a flutter of anticipation. He can feel the unspoken yearning in your touch. With trembling fingers, he intertwines his hand with yours, each brush of your skin igniting a wildfire in him that grows brighter as you bring his hand to your lips. 

 “Your hand in marriage I long for.” You press a soft kiss upon the fourth finger of his left hand and his resolve is faltering. Teetering on the edge of surrender…

The flames surrounding you both catch on the ring on your fourth finger, the very one claimed by his brother. A forced and loveless claim. Yet still, regretfully, not him. A stark reminder that you are not his and perhaps, will never be. The simple golden band glistens precariously as if acknowledging his thoughts. He should stop you.

 “Y/n–”

“Your touch I crave,” you continue, your longing turning into a desperate need as you kiss him. Harder, with more urgency, sending a delightful sensation down his spine that makes his cock twitch. 

As your hips roll against his, Eris abruptly pulls away. The hands at your waist tighten, keeping you still and holding on to that last wall of defense. He wants you but he shouldn’t.

Your brows furrow and Eris hates the hurt that flashes in your eyes. The hope that deflates. “I’m sorry.Have I misinterpreted your—““

“I want you too,” he interrupts, needing to reassure you. He licks his lips, gaze flickering to your own, already missing their taste, before lifting back up.  “Gods, do I want you but not like this.”

He gestures to the autumn meadow around you both. The meadow that is painted in hues of crimson and gold and alive with the whisper of falling leaves and dancing flames. It’s beautiful. The epitome of Autumn. But it’s no proper place to have you. 

“You deserve better. You deserve for your first time to be special.”

“It does not matter where we are. As long as it’s with you, it is special. Please,” your bottom lip trembles and Eris leans in, gently kissing it steady. “I want you to be my first. I don’t want it to be Sawyer or anyone else. I want it to be you.”

“We don’t have to do this now. There will be another time,” Eris utters but his voice lacks strength. The promise in his words hangs in the air delicately like a wisp of smoke that is already dissipating into uncertainty. 

“Time,” you echo quietly, a wistful shadow casting over your features.  “What if we don’t have time? What if–what if this moment is all we have left?”

Eris wants to respond but the words catch in his throat. There’s nothing he can say to reassure you there. He knows you’re aware of the impending dangers that wait for you back at court. His father will be watching you closely now, security will be tighter. Eris will have to be more careful, tread lighter and with higher caution. 

There’s only a little less than two weeks away from your marriage to Sawyer. The three of you are running out of the time and there is still so much to do. The stolen moments with you will have to cease and he senses you’re aware of this truth as well. This may be the very last one between you both.

If you thought Autumn was a terrible place before, then you’re about to learn that it’s much, much worse. It’s a living hell. And Eris curses the Cauldron for its cruelty.  

Angels like you shouldn’t live in hell.

“So much has been taken from me and I fear there is very little choice I have remaining in this world. But this,” you pause, placing his hand over your racing heart, an urgent plea echoing in the rapid rise and fall beneath his touch. “This is mine to give and it wants you. I want to give it to you before it’s too late…”

Eris’s entire body tenses, muscles tightening with restraint.

“And if your heart feels the same, then I need you,” your voice trembles under the weight of your emotions and suddenly, Eris feels like he can’t breathe. “Like fire craves the kiss of air–”

No one has ever looked at him with such devotion, spoken to him with such passion. It’s overwhelming and threatening to drown him in its intensity. While his mind is screaming for him to run away, his heart wills for him to stay. 

“–like flowers thirst for the tender caress of rain, like–”

Eris’s lips crash onto yours. His kiss is searing yet gentle and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and he groans into your mouth. He carefully guides you back onto the soft bed of fallen leaves and golden grass, cradling the back of your head with one hand while the other remains over your heart. 

He kisses you until you’re both breathless and forced to pull apart. His body hovers over yours, amber eyes drinking you in. He tenderly kisses the remnants of your tears away, reveling in the way you softly sigh and lips begin to curve upwards into a smile.

“I love you, Eris.”

The three words hit Eris so hard there’s a crack in the last wall of defense. He’s terrified to move, not wanting to leave this moment but also in fear that if he does, that last wall will crumble entirely. 

“Me? Are you sure?” 

“I’ve never been more unequivocally sure.”

Eris studies you intently, captivated by every subtle shift in your expression. There’s nothing but unwavering love and desire reflecting back at him with such luminous intensity that it threatens to blind him. He can no longer think properly. Every reservation, every thought telling him to stop is slipping through his fingers.

All he can think about is you and how you love him. You love him! You love him! You love him!

And when he meets your eyes again, it’s too late. 

The damage has already been done. That last wall of defense is crumbling at a devastating speed. A soft flush creeps up his cheeks, betraying the vulnerability that seeps through his every pore in surrender.

“Is this what you really want?” 

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut in anticipation as his nose brushes softly along your neck. “Even if it’s just for this moment, let me be entirely yours. Every beat of my heart. Every breath. Take it all.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Eris murmurs against your neck, inhaling sharply and when the honeyed scent of your arousal greets him, he whimpers.

**

Gentle is not a word Eris Vanserra would use to describe himself. That is, until he met you. His mate. The one who dismantled the walls he spent centuries constructing around his heart in months with little effort. In your presence, lies a burning desire to soften the edges of his demeanor. To be the gentle male worthy of your affection. 

You wield a power over him unlike any other, leaving him utterly captivated and surrendering to all rationality. He should tell you he feels the same but he is beyond words. How can mere words capture the magnitude of his devotion?

So when you’re asking–begging–to be his, he can’t bring himself to say no. Not when this may be the very last moment shared between you both. Not when you’re giving him the perfect opportunity to show you the depth of his feelings instead.

Everything fades into insignificance. Nothing matters but this moment. With a touch as light as the brush of butterfly wings, his hands explore your body. Tentatively, as if scared to burn you with his burgeoning desire. Always asking for permission–”is this okay?” “yes”–before venturing further, before discarding your clothes–his clothes. 

Flames continue to dance around you both, a protective circle and barrier against the cold winds. Each flicker of light casts intricate shadows upon your faces, your bodies. Eris pulls away just enough to admire you. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down and capturing your lips for what feels like the hundredth time. But it will never be enough. “So, so beautiful.”

You’re melting like wax beneath every touch and then his lips are tracing down the paths his hands have forged. Gentle and somehow still urgent. His mouth lingers on the swell of your breasts, sucking and eliciting the prettiest sounds from you. 

“If it’s too much, you tell me,” he utters, holding your gaze as he rests his chin on your stomach. He can sense your nerves. He’s nervous too. He wants this to be perfect for you. As perfect as it can be, given your circumstances.

“We can stop whenever you want.”

You nod but it’s not enough for Eris. “Words, angel,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to your stomach. “I need your words.”

“I’ll tell you,” you breathe, body arching into him. “I promise.”

Eris presses another kiss to your stomach before continuing his path downwards, to where he can feel you aching for him the most. He’s breathing so hard and kissing every inch of your skin, setting you ablaze. His nose brushes against the apex of your thighs and he’s flooded with your arousal. It’s overwhelming all his senses and he’s pulsing with need to have a taste. 

Still, he pauses to look up at you through his long eyelashes.

“Please,” is all you manage to say.

Eris moans in anticipation, drinking in your otherworldly beauty, the same way he wishes to devour you. One hand rests on your hip while the other reaches for yours. His fingers intertwine themselves with yours and when you squeeze them, he lowers his mouth and finally has a taste.

You throw your head back with a choked cry. “Eris!”

Eris groans, lapping and working his tongue against you. He’s never loved his name more. “You taste absolutely divine,” he breathes, losing himself in you. If this is how you taste, his cock throbs painfully as he imagines how you’d feel.

You reach your peak soon, crying out his name again. He lifts his head and brings your locked hands to his lips, admiring the look of pure bliss on your face. “Beautiful,” he whispers again, heart swelling with warmth. Overcome with emotion, he dives for your lips and pours them out into his kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. 

The hand not intertwined with yours, caresses against your core, fingers prodding at your entrance. Your mouth parts in a gasp at the intrusion but he eases you through it until you're clenching around his fingers and begging for more.

“Are you sure you still want this?” He can’t help but ask, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Yes.”

“I’ll go slow,” Eris promises, his amber gaze filled with softness and tenderness. Blush rises to your cheeks and it’s instinctual, the way you look away. He lets out a low sound in disapproval. “Eyes on me, angel.”

When you meet his gaze, his pupils are blown but his gaze remains soft and warm. Your lips curve upwards and he does the same. Both of his hands are locked with yours, resting on either side of your head. He holds your gaze, slowly sinking into your warmth and stilling at the furrow of your brows. He kisses them, allowing you to adjust and wanting to ease any discomfort you may be feeling. 

“You’re doing so well for me, angel,” he encourages, voice strained. The bond in his chest is surging with pride at being your first and with a primal fervor to be the only one who gets to have you like this.

He feels like his heart is going to burst into flames and when he finally sheathes himself inside you, everything catches fire. His mind. His body. His soul. Every muscle, every nerve in his body is coming undone with every thrust. His kisses, though still soft, grow intense. So hot yet so sweet.

Fire consumes him, its vibrant flames igniting not destruction but building something new. Something beautiful. Something heavenly. where hopes and dreams, once thought lost, are resuscitated. The wounds of his heart being mended by you.

His body presses further into yours, mouth pressing feverish kisses down your neck, whispering sweet praises and worshipping you for the divine being you are. Your moans grow louder and you’re clenching around him tighter. “I love you,” your voice is a mere whisper but he hears it loud and clearly and you don’t seem to mind his lack of response. Not when he’s following after you, bodies shuddering as release courses through you both.

Eris pulls you close to his chest, arms tight around you. He can feel your heartbeat. Fast but steadying and in tune with the rhythm of his own. The gentle rise and fall of your chest let him know you’ve fallen asleep. Letting out a sigh in content, he closes his eyes, wanting to bask in this moment longer.

His fingers lightly trace along your back, tracing the four words he couldn’t bring himself to say back to you earlier.

I love you, too.

a/n: I've never written soft smut before so I hope it was okay. I also hope I was able to convey the desperation between Eris and reader well. I debated a lot on whether keeping the smut or scrapping it. Huge thank you to @stormhearty for helping me out with this part and giving me her input! ily! ❤️

series tag list: @fabulouslyflamboyant5 @fxckmiup @stormhearty @skyesayshi @sfhsgrad-blog @crazylokonugget @evergreenlark @secretlyhers @mybestfriendmademe @ib525, @96jnie, @glitterypirateduck @thatsassyhufflepuff @acourtofbatboydreams, @mal-adaptive-dreams, @dandelionfairyyy, @queerqueenlynn, @circe143

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria

#eris x reader #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris vanserra imagine #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x y/n #acotar imagine #acotar x you #acotar x reader #acotar x y/n #eris angel au #eris vanserra smut #eris smut #acotar smut

[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury | just friends

a/n: boys have debrief sessions too! a lot of pining! lovers who are blind! yippeeee!

series masterlist | previous | next

vii. just friends by virginia to vegas

“yo, castellan!” 

luke was lying on your bed, head falling off the corner as he watched you scribble things down in your notebook on your desk. he’s been hanging around in your room more often. your bed was much comfier than his own, with a fluffy white blanket, silk sheets, and a million pillows that mostly end up on the floor when you go to bed. he cringes when he thinks of his usual navy, polyester sheets on his bed, and piles of scrap paper with wasted lyrics scattered around his floor. 

the pictures you took at the photobooth were now taped with the rest of the decorations on your wall. you placed it front and center, giving him the perfect view of it from where he was. the boys had asked him about the sudden change in attitude between the two of you, but he never gave many details about what happened the night the two of you disappeared. 

they cornered him once on his way to the gym, “what gives, luke? when did you and y/n get so close?” 

luke shrugged, “i don’t kiss and tell.” 

“you kissed?!” 

“well, no.” 

“dude.” 

that was that. luke wasn’t going to share anything with them, partly because he didn’t know if there was anything to share. yeah, you two were hanging out a lot more now. you were touchier with him, a hand on his arm (he tried not to flex whenever you did that but it’s like muscle memory for him to do so.), a leg on top of his own when you sat beside him, a lingering touch on his back when you said goodbye. you were also more open to him touching you, a hand around your waist while you smoked together, holding your hand underneath tables, a hand on your thigh as you engaged in conversations with the group. but he didn’t know if he was reading into things. maybe you were just like this with everyone. he’d only ever seen you with clarisse and she wasn’t a very touchy person, so that didn’t help much. and you didn’t have many other people you were close to at camp for him to base anything on. 

luke sat up on your bed, “in here!” 

travis, connor, and chris popped their heads into your room, no doubt thinking of new ways to tease luke about his crush on you. they said hello to you and motioned for luke to follow them into travis’ room. 

luke groaned, not wanting to leave you, but obliged. he got up and walked over to you, squeezing your upper arm, “i’ll be right back.” 

“m’kay,” you replied, sending him a smile. you closed your notebook as he peeked over your shoulder, “you coming to the party tonight?” 

he smiled, “wouldn’t miss it.” 

the three boys were sitting around travis’ computer when he walked in. connor motioned for him to shut the door when he arrived. oh, luke thought, this is a band intervention. this only happened once before when connor was going through a tough time and he was taking his anger out on everybody. he’d just broken up with his girlfriend because long distance got to them and it seemed like he was upset at everyone he encountered. not the best situation to be in when they were all forced to live with each other in a small tour bus and hotel rooms. 

“what’s going on?” luke asked, leaning against the door. “you guys look serious.” 

“because this is a serious issue,” connor said, playing with his key ring, “we need to show you something.” 

“well, we need you to hear something,” chris chimed in, motioning for travis to cue up something on his computer. “so this thing with y/n… is it serious?” 

luke felt like he was put on the spot. he didn’t know how to answer that question. were you serious? what were you anyway? he didn’t know how to categorize what the two of you were doing. he felt like he was stuck in a limbo with you, maybe something more than friends but not anything more than that? it didn’t make sense when he tried to rationalize it. it kept him up more nights than he’d like to admit. but he let you call the shots. he didn’t want to scare you off. 

luke’s jaw ticked, “i don’t know if we’re anything.” 

“dude,” travis groaned, “come on. you’re something. i’ve never seen you act like this since…” 

“ever,” chris finished travis’ sentence for him. he sat beside connor on travis’ bed, “i’ve known you for years, luke, and this is not something i’ve ever seen before.” 

luke sighed, “look, i know you guys said not to fuck up our relationship with mr. d and it’s really not my intention to, but i dunno, guys. she’s just so–”

“i’m gonna stop you right there before wax on and on about how great y/n is,” travis cut off. “you do realize that we’re not mad that you have feelings for her, right?” 

that caught luke by surprise. he’d been so focused on trying to figure out what the two of you were that he was kind of relieved to know where his friends stood on the situation. sure, he wasn’t the happiest knowing that his friends disapproved, but at least he didn’t have to guess about what they thought of it, but now he was more confused than ever. 

“luke, man, we just want what’s best for you,” connor said, shrugging his shoulders. “did it have to be the daughter of the man who decides if we get a contract extension and the man who dictates the trajectory of our career? no, but we can’t stop the two of you from whatever it is you’re doing. plus, we like y/n.” 

“i’m confused,” luke vocalized, walking over to the three of them, “if this is not what that’s about, what’s the point of the intervention?” 

travis beamed, twirling in his computer chair to dig up some files, “we wrote a song.” 

“you wrote a song?” 

“yeah, we just recorded it without you because you’re too busy sending y/n googly eyes,” connor snickered, “wanna hear it?” 

luke nodded, pulling up travis’ drum seat, “absolutely.” 

“before we play it,” chris prefaced, “we mean these words in the most loving way possible.” 

“is this fucking song about me?” luke asked, gobsmacked. he let out a laugh, understanding why they felt the need to call for an intervention, “you guys suck.” 

“maybe,” travis smirked, clicking on an audio file, “but the song doesn’t.” 

the song began with drums, followed by the sound of connor playing guitar. the bass came in shortly after with the three of them doing background vocals. travis seemed to take the lead on main vocals. luke felt connor tap his shoulder, sliding him a piece of paper with the lyrics to the song. 

luke couldn’t deny it– the song was good. he looked down at the page, cheeks turning red as he read the words. the paper had three distinct handwritings, showing that this song was definitely a group effort. this was co-signed by the three of them. 

“stop making up your excuses

call her up, tell her you forgot something

it's worth more than you are thinking

don't be a fool, tell her you think she's cool

stop waiting for a fairy tale to

take you away, don't wait for someday

she's thinking the same thing as you

don't be afraid, dreams aren't found they're made

'cause you've only got one chance

you've only got one chance

kiss her you fool.” 

luke put his head in his hands, laughing uncontrollably as the song continued. the three boys laughed along with him, head bopping to the instrumentals of the song. it was insanely catchy. luke knew instantly that this song would be a fan favorite. it was definitely going on their second album. 

as the song faded off, luke tossed the paper to travis, “you motherfuckers. did you write a song to try to convince me to make a move?” 

chris looked at him with a straight face, “duh.” 

“i really thought this was gonna be a whole thing,” luke smacked travis’ leg, shaking his head, “whole time you guys just wanted the dirt on me and y/n.” 

“okay, here’s the thing, luke– there is no dirt to share!” connor whined. the three of them weren’t nosy per se, but they were curious. they wanted to know what developed between you and luke. he’d never been one to shy away from talking about his romantic interests, but this time, with you, it was like luke was suddenly a square. 

they often saw you guys giggling with each other, sharing secret looks that you thought the rest of them wouldn’t notice, hands on each other at every possible moment. it was quite ridiculous, actually. luke didn’t need to have a finger hooked on your belt loop while you made cereal in the morning nor did you have to have the string of his hoodie wrapped around your finger when you were lying on him on the couch. 

they’d tried to ask him about it many times, but luke wouldn’t budge. they didn’t need to know everything, but it became clear to them that luke’s silence wasn’t because he was keeping secrets from the band, but because nothing had happened between the two of you that warranted a conversation. it was like you two were playing a sick game with each other, pushing the envelope just far enough to avoid a conversation about what you were, but subjecting everyone around you to the brutal torture of watching you fall for each other without making a move. 

okay, so they were nosy. sue them. 

“i don’t know what to tell you guys,” luke got up from his seat, rubbing his neck, “i just– i’m scared that if i make a move, it’ll fuck things up between us.” 

“believe me when i say this,” chris got up, placing his hands on luke’s shoulders, “you aren’t going to fuck anything up. trust me.” 

he cocked an eyebrow, “and you know this, how?” 

chris’ face flushed as he removed his hands from luke and stuffed them in his front pockets. he looked down at his feet, shyly, “clarisse told me.” 

luke’s eyebrows raised, eyes twinkling with fondness, “you guys are so focused on me, but we need to talk about chris and clarisse!” 

chris’ face morphed into a gigantic smile at the sound of his name next to clarisse’s. luke shoved him, motioning for him to start talking, while the stolls leaned in, locked in to listen to chris’ perspective. luke took his spot next to connor, giving chris the floor. 

chris scratched the back of his head, red creeping down his neck, “i really like her…” 

–

when you mentioned that there was a party happening, luke didn’t realize that it was a party just for the older campers. imagine his surprise when he walked into the woods with chris in tow to find lee fletcher with his entire dj set up blasting IDGAF by drake and bottles of liquor strewn about on a picnic table. 

“hey, you see y/n or clarisse yet?” chris asked, looking around. luke didn’t comment on how chris seemed to spray a bit more of his cologne on his clothes tonight and how he hogged their bathroom to fix his hair a million times. they were late to the gathering because of chris. luke thought it was adorable how chris got so nervous around the girls he liked. 

“nah, sorry man,” luke pat chris’ back, “don’t be so nervous. you’ll be fine.” 

chris scoffed, fixing the pearl necklace around his neck, “easy for you to say, castellan.” 

“chris,” luke stood in front of him, blocking his view of the party, “clarisse likes you too, alright? don’t stress.” 

“no, i know she does,” the boy replied, shaking his head. he peered over luke’s shoulder to look for clarisse again. “she showed me what she was wearing for tonight and i know she’s gonna look so pretty. do you think i look okay?” 

“you look good, rodriguez,” he chuckled, moving to chris’ side. the interaction brought luke back to high school, back when chris went on his first date with a girl from their chemistry class, adrianna. they’d been paired up to do a lab project together and it was the first time luke saw chris become a nervous mess. the two of them rode around on their bikes going to four different grocery stores to find the best bouquet of flowers for adrianna. in the end, they settled for an arrangement of poppies and sunflowers. adrianna loved it and they went on to date for a few months before she broke it off with him when he started to take music seriously. 

luke always thought that chris was a better man than he was. chris never harbored any ill feelings towards adrianna, stating that the rockstar’s girlfriend life was just not something she saw herself in. chris said that adrianna wanted to be a teacher and had her own dreams she wanted to follow. as much as chris liked the girl, he took the breakup pretty well. even if he was younger than luke, he was always more mature than him, emotionally anyway. 

“i think i see her,” chris said, fixing his shirt for the umpteenth time. “y/n is there too.” 

luke’s eyes quickly darted to where chris was looking. you and clarisse were sitting on another picnic table, feet resting comfortably on the benches. beside you was a red cooler with selzters and beers perched on top of ice packs. you were laughing at something clarisse said, talking to two older, male campers who didn’t hide their attempts to check the two of you out. 

luke couldn’t blame them. the two of you did look good. you were wearing jeans that hugged your curves perfectly with a long-sleeve off-the-shoulder black top. your hair was thrown behind your back, two small braids on either side of your head, and small gold hoops hanging from your ears. in the orange glow of the campfire not too far away, luke could see the hint of lip gloss on your lips. you wore your black platform converses and luke squinted to see if his little doodle on the side of the rubber was still there. 

he tilted his head in your direction to signal chris to start walking towards the both of you. as he got closer, a warmth spread inside his chest when he saw his familiar handwriting on your shoe. in silver sharpie, luke wrote ‘5 star’ with an atrocious attempt at a star on the left shoe. 

you two were in your room when he had the idea. he didn’t notice it before but you wrote little things on each of your shoes. you told him a story about a house party you went to years ago where you’d accidentally taken the wrong left shoe on your way out the door. you’d all taken off your shoes to jump into the pool and left a pile of shoes by the living room, stacked on top of each other. in the rush of things, you grabbed a pair of vans and slipped them on, only to realize when you got home that the left shoe was a different size than the right. since then, you always customized your shoes in small ways to make it easier for you to find them. 

you’d never wore your converses before so you didn’t get to do anything to them yet. luke was happy to help you continue your tradition. he also wanted to leave you a reminder of him whenever you wore the shoes. a small memento of your time with him at camp. 

“five star,” luke called as he approached you. the four of you turned your heads at the sound of his voice. the two boys paled at the sight of two members of poisoned mercury and scurried away before he and chris could even grab a beer from the cooler. 

you unseriously rolled your eyes, taking a sip from the can in your hand, as you watched the two boys you and clarisse were talking to before leave in a hurry. not good for luke’s ego, you thought, though you were glad the boys left. you were on your sixteenth (and yes, you were counting) ‘oh really?’ with the boy who only seemed to talk of himself. 

“castellan,” you raised your can to him in a greeting. 

luke moved the cooler away from you, snagging the last bud light in it, before sitting beside you. clarisse and chris got to talking, choosing to move to another area away from the noise and left the two of you alone. 

“who was that?” 

“hm?” you asked, genuinely forgetting that you were talking to someone else before he got there. you were focused on the boy beside you now. he was wearing a red flannel, bunched up around his elbows, with a white shirt underneath. his black jeans complimented the silver jewelry he always wore. he looked good. you blinked, “oh, i don’t know. james or justin, or something.” 

luke cracked open his beer, “you need to start remembering people’s names.” 

“i remember the ones that matter,” you dismissed, turning to face him. the small studs on his ears were illuminated under the dim light. “you showed up.” 

“told you i would,” luke smirked, bumping your knee with his, “you look good.” 

“thank you,” you squeaked out, looking down to play with the ring on your index finger. luke’s eyes looked down at your hand, a wave of fondness crashing over him. “you do too.” 

he grabbed your hand, running a finger over the silver metal, “is that my ring?” 

your eyes widened, “oh, yeah. sorry you left it in my room and i wore it to remind myself to give it back to you.” 

“keep it,” he said, keeping his hand on yours, “i have so many i didn’t even realize it was gone.” 

that was a lie. the barbed wire ring was in his daily rotation. he always wore it on his ring finger along with his other two rings. he even had a ring tan that matched it. he’d been looking for it everywhere for days, but decided it was a lost cause when he couldn’t find it in time for the party. luke figured he could just buy another one, but now knowing that you had it, he didn’t feel the need to anymore. it was safe with you. 

“what did the boys want earlier?” 

“oh, nothing,” luke flushed remembering the song they played for him a few hours ago. the four of them got caught up talking for hours that by the time they ran out of things to say, it was nearly time to get ready for the party. the stolls headed out earlier, too impatient to wait for chris as he flailed around trying to find the perfect outfit for clarisse, and luke stayed back to wait for him. he didn’t see you after he left your room, too preoccupied with helping his best friend. 

you narrowed your eyes, “didn’t seem like nothing.” 

“well, they wrote a song and wanted me to hear it.” luke could never hide anything from you, not like he wanted to anyway. there was nothing he wanted to keep from you, except how he felt about you. but that was more of a complicated situation. 

“i wanna hear it,” you said, excitement in your voice. 

“absolutely not,” luke scoffed, playfully. he was not ready for you to hear that song. he knew you’d connect the dots quickly. “soon, though. maybe.” 

“come on, castellan,” you droned, placing your seltzer on the table. “i wanna hear it.” 

“i told you, soon, five star. s’not ready yet.” 

“and? what if i wanna hear it unfinished?” 

“nah, you’ll get to hear it when it’s perfect,” the corners of his lips quirked up into a smile, “gotta impress you.” 

in the morning, you were going to blame the alcohol in your system, although you had been sipping on the same seltzer since you arrived. the drink tasted watered down and dull. it didn’t really have an effect on you at all, no red flush on your cheeks, no dizziness in your mind. but for now, you were going to blame it. perhaps, it was a placebo effect of some sort, encouraging you to be bolder with luke. “you always impress me, pretty boy.” 

luke was glad that the beat dropped the same time he choked on his drink, the liquid getting stuck in his throat as the pet name left your lips. he played it off, clearing his throat as he looked at you. your lips were parted slightly, the ghost of the words you said prior still lingering in the air. your voice echoed in his head. you always impress me, pretty boy. 

you were looking at him with hooded eyes, something foreign dancing in your irises. a dare, maybe, for him to succumb to you and let you hear the song he was speaking of. or maybe for him to do something else, something that crossed the line of friendship that he’d been tip-toeing around for weeks. is it too far to press his lips against yours right now? the voices of his band mates rang in his ears, begging him to finally make a move. 

your lips were inviting. the remnants of your lip gloss was smudged haphazardly on your bottom lip, sparkles of glitter catching his eye. you were closer to him now, too, thighs pressed against his own, breath fanning over his face. it drove him wild how you were looking at him, patiently waiting for him to do something. 

he decided against it. it took all his willpower not to kiss you then, but he didn’t want the moment to be tainted by the watching eyes that surrounded the two of you. he knew you didn’t like the spotlight, preferred to have your private business safely tucked away just for you, and he respected that. he wanted that too, to only have these moments for himself. what he envisioned with you was his own personal reprieve from the world. he didn’t want to share you. 

five star, the girl who had him wrapped around her delicate finger, who teased him relentlessly, who carved a permanent space in his thoughts, who took his breath away with every stolen glance and concealed touch. he shared so much of his life with the world with his music and his status. he’ll be selfish just this once. this was just for him. 

luke looked away, sipping the last few drops of his drink. your pull was magnetic. he sighed, voice hoarse, “you’re killing me, five star.” 

it amazed you how luke still didn’t realize that he had the same effect on you, though you couldn’t judge him too harshly, you supposed. for the last two months, you’d given him nothing to work with but a roll of your eyes, snide remarks, and feigned nonchalance. you built your walls up too high. from the moment you’d met him at your smoke spot, you knew it would be dangerous for you to be around him, though you didn’t show it then. 

an attractive boy who shared your vices, incessant on pushing your buttons undeterred by the fire in your soul, ready to argue back. he had his sarcastic replies that countered your defense mechanism that often left your mind scrambled when you thought about it at night. his proximity to you, living in the same cabin, giving you just enough space to leave you wanting more. you enjoyed your time with luke, much to your premature dismay. your biased perception of musicians was turned on his head the more you spent time with him. 

people always told you that you liked a challenge, always searching for something to keep you vigilant, on your toes. and luke castellan, the bastard that he was, was exactly who you needed. he always had something up his sleeve, but never something that could hurt you. you didn’t know if he was even capable of the sorts. 

it was easy to see why people were attracted to him. he was easy on the eyes, even if it took you weeks to admit it to yourself. but you pitied the people who didn’t get to know him like this– they’d never understand how it feels to know luke castellan. they’ll only get to know the luke that the tabloids wanted, and he was the furthest thing from it. he was wild and rowdy the way any teenager would be, but with his mom, his band, with you, he was something else entirely. 

you were sure that anyone who was lucky enough to know him were unlucky enough to want him because when anyone gets to know luke, there is no denying that they’ll fall for him. and you were teetering dangerously close to the edge. 

if gods existed in this world, will they make you one of the lucky ones to experience this? had you done enough good in this life to deserve this? you didn’t know and you were scared to find out, but with the way he was looking at you now, something between longing and tenderness, your patience was wearing thin.

before you could say anything, clarisse, chris, and the stolls walked over to the two of you. chris had his arm around clarisse, sending luke a wide smile. 

“we’re ditching the party to grab food by the gas station,” connor explained, “you guys wanna come?” 

you looked at luke. you loved your friends, but you didn’t want to be with them right now, not when all you wanted to do was talk to luke. he saw your pleading eyes and shook his head, turning to the group, “nah, i think we’re good here.” 

“suit yourself,” travis shrugged, beginning to walk towards the main road. the other three followed, the murmurs of their conversations fading into the night. 

luke got up from the table, dusting off his pants, “you wanna head home?” 

“yeah,” you followed his actions, taking his outstretched hand to help you off the table. “let’s go home.” 

the walk back to your cabin was filled with your usual banter, laughter that you both tried to suppress in fear of getting caught after hours, and excuses to touch each other, playful and teasing, but they lingered longer than what could be deemed as friendship. when you arrived at the cabin, you and luke stood in the living room, both unsure of what happens next. 

you paused, scruffing the bottom of your shoes on the cabin floors. you motioned to your room, “this is me.” 

he rubbed the back of his neck, every bone in his body begging him not to retire to his own room. “yeah. guess we should get some sleep.” 

“yeah, g’night,” you turned around to walk into your room. luke watched as you opened the door, only beginning to walk to his own when he saw you enter. he was so caught up in his head that he didn’t realize the door never closed. it was the sound of your voice that made him turn around. “luke?” 

he jerked his head so fast, he was sure he almost got whiplashed. luke’s voice was hushed when he spoke, “what’s up?” 

you bit your bottom lip, “do you want to come in?” 

his feet took him to you before his mouth could open to give you an answer. he was in front of you in record time, breaths uneven and palms sweaty. you placed your hands flat on his chest, feeling the racing of his heart. he closed his eyes as you wrapped your arms around his neck. when he found the strength to open his eyes, he found your face close to his. his hands found their way to your hips. he cautiously let his lips graze your cheek, placing a soft kiss there. “five star.” 

“mhm?” you purred. “what is it luke?” 

the sound of your voice like that, breathless and raspy, was enough for him to press his lips against yours. luke felt like his heart was about to burst in his chest when you kissed him back.

#frances writes #poisoned mercury #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson #percy jackson fanfic

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

12 — IN SOME SAD WAY, I ALREADY KNOW

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

“A written statement from the General himself.”

You mindlessly nod, eyes unfocused and ears ringing as you sit at the conference table, Laswell at the head with the paper in hand. Her brows are furrowed, and one of her hands rests at her hip as she reads over the paper’s contents once more.

Everything feels numb. Like your entire body’s been reset, and nothing makes sense – as if your very existence has been muffled.

Price and Ghost sit at the table, too, sharing looks with each other. The Sergeants are out training rookies – and a small, minute part of you is grateful. You don’t want them to see you so…

Whatever you are. Numb, cold, unfeeling. Any adjective that fits.

“Shepherd traded her,” Price seethes, knuckles whitening on the tight grip he has around his pack of cigars. 

“But why?” Laswell asks, exasperated, pacing at the front of the conference room. The overhead beams have been left off, so the frosted window is the only source of light. It allows a soft, gentle glow from the moon to fill the room, and it helps with your racing mind.

“We need to find him,” Ghost demands, voice gruff and icy. Thinly veiled anger – you recognise the tone all too well. 

“This gives us evidence to push the search further,” Laswell cuts in, her footfalls pausing as she searches the scrawled handwriting for something. “And it opens up a new trail. Why did Graves want you? And what did Shepherd deem worthy of trading his star soldier?”

Your leg’s bouncing, the soft tap tap tap of your foot against the linoleum floor sounding more like a ticking time bomb than anything.

When you look up from the table, your eyes instantly clash with a pair of dark brown. Ghost.

He’s watching you – something hidden behind his gaze that you can’t unpack. Not now, at least, with your mind racing at a million thoughts per hour. With your body feeling as sensitive as a live wire. Every breath feels manual, a feat in and of itself.

You break your eye contact with him suddenly, weary, looking to the window instead. The moon isn’t so complicated; doesn’t hold so many layers of darkness, both in colour and soul.

There’s nothing like the feeling of moonlight against your skin, the brush of nightly breezes against your chilled skin.

“Sweetheart –” Your attention instantly goes to Price, whose hands are clasped on the table, gaze heavy where it sits on you, “Do you know anything at all that could help us. Any leads.”

You go to open your mouth, but everything feels wrong, your stomach sinking and hands trembling and vision going blurry.

Without any thought, or reason, you abruptly stand, slightly shaky on your feet. You swallow, once, a difficult movement against your barren throat. Scratchy and harsh.

“I – I’m sorry, I need a moment,” you manage to mutter out, taking a step back in a shadow of defence.

Brows furrow, a question’s asked – you don’t hear, don’t see, because all you can do is turn and bolt out of the room, shouldering the door open and heading down the hospital light-white corridor, the white burning your vision.

Your eyes sting with unshed tears, your chest heaving, the echoing sound of your boots against the floor a distant soundtrack.

“Fuck,” you mutter, palms coming up to rub harshly at your face as you slow, unsure. You just need space, a moment to yourself, a place to break apart with no one as your witness.

A slightly ajar closet to your left seems like your best bet.

Heading for it, you push in, the stale scent of cleaning products hitting your nose. It’s difficult to find any part of you that cares in the slightest.

The door closes, and you just stand, for a moment, your head resting against the wood. Every breath rattles your bones, like your core is falling apart at its seams. Another breath. Two more.

Except it’s getting harder, with every breath, to fill your lungs. They come out harried, shallow and not unlike slices of a knife against your windpipe. They tear from your mouth like coughs.

Your back hits the wall, and you slide down, until you’re sat on the floor, head sat between your bent knees as the first tears finally fall down your cheeks. Hiccups leave your chapped lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut as your shoulders shake.

You haven’t allowed yourself to break down like this in... Gods, you can’t even remember. All you know is that it hurts, at your very core, but it’s also kind of freeing.

It’s as if your world is closing in around you; your breaths doing nothing to quell that intense sense of suffocation, cruel in the grasp your fear has around your throat. Nothing makes sense – everything hurts, your tears leave lines of heat down your cheeks –

The door creaks open.

Heart stuttering in your chest, you look up from your balled up frame with blurry vision, to see who your intruder is. Did Gaz or Soap leave the rookies early? Did Price or Laswell get worried and come check on you?

“Sweetheart.”

The tall, threatening frame of the man fills out the small crack of the door in a way that has your breath catching for a whole other reason.

“Ghost?” You find yourself asking, your voice threatening a whine with the state you’re in. 

He steps in, the scent of blood and some cologne filling the space as he does. You wipe at your bloodshot eyes, curling in closer.

“If you want to kill me, this is probably your best bet,” you bite, posturing, an attempt of goading so your image isn’t completely ruined. The idea isn’t completely unfound, either – he very well could pull out his gun and shoot you clean through the head.

He shakes his head, closing the door – allowing pitch black to envelop you both.

“You’re too cheeky for your own good,” he mutters, and despite all of your notions of the man, he slides into a sitting position next to you.

If you could stabilise your breaths, you would, if for no other fact than your own embarrassment. Your body still trembles, and small hiccups still leave your lips with every shaky breath.

His presence is warm against yours, and when he moves, the fabric of his uniform brushes against your own.

“Why are you here?” You find yourself asking, a whisper under your breath. Just loud enough for him to hear, for him to hear the fragile undertone. The risk you’re taking, sitting beside him in this state. 

He looses a breath – easy, soft. Unlike everything you know about the hulking man. “I understand.”

You can’t help the uneasy chuckle that leaves your lips. “You understand? Mister been-conspiring-against-me-since-day-one?”

“I understand what it’s like to have the weight of the world on your shoulders, with no one you trust there to hold you, too.”

You look to him, but in the darkness, it’s more of an instinctual act than anything. 

“Didn’t realise you were a poet, Lieutenant,” you chide, voice breaking slightly around the syllables. He doesn’t comment; a small mercy.

He shrugs, brushing against you as he does. “Not a poet. Just a soldier.”

“And an asshole,” you hum, and you can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes you when he elbows you in the dip of your waist. You elbow him back, unthinkingly, freely.

Silence fills in the gaps, except for the background noise of your shaky, tight breathing, and the bounce of your knees.

That is, until the man beside you breaks it.

“I asked my dog what two minus two is,” Ghost says, easily. You loosen your posture, just slightly, brows furrowed when you turn your head towards him once more.

“What are you on about?” You ask, incredulous. He shrugs. Nods.

“I asked my dog what two minus two is,” he continues, despite the confusion that is surely emanating off of you. “She said nothing.”

You let out a shocked, lost bark of a laugh at that, turning your body around so you’re facing him in the enclosed space. “Was that a dad joke?”

“I found out why my dog’s such a bad dancer,” Ghost starts once more, continuing despite your elongated groan. Seems to relish in your dismay.

“And why’s that?” You entertain him, despite the anxiety in your gut, the words left unsaid burning your tongue.

“She’s got two left feet.”

You heave a sigh, shaking your head – but the corners of your lips pull into a cheesy grin, and your breaths are lighter. Easier, natural, less harsh against your dry throat. “Do you even have a dog?” You ask.

“Her name’s Riley. She’s my family,” he says, earnestly, and your heart shatters just a bit more.

“What breed is she?”

“German Shepherd. Used to work in the military, till a mission gone wrong left her too scared to work in the field. Saved ‘er from the pound.”

How can this man be the same one who threatened your life? Who – who had made it very clear how little he trusted you, and was generally such a jerk? A complete asshole, of whom you had no qualms hating?

“She’d like you,” he adds, and you blink, “Always did like girls more than guys. Strong ones, at that.”

“You think I’m strong?”

You can tell he rolls his eyes, even without being able to see it. “I’ll bring ‘er in, when this is all said and done.”

“When this is all said and done, we’ll probably never see each other again. Small mercies, hey?” Your tone takes on a joking lilt.

He doesn’t laugh.

And it hits you, then. How fragile this very situation is. How unimportant, in the real scheme of things, your relationship with the 141 is. When Graves and Shepherd have been dealt with, where do you fit in? What purpose will you have?

You don’t, can’t, truly fit in with them. They’re already so interconnected, memories spent together that you’ll never understand, connections you have no place in joining.

Oh, what a stab in the gut that is.

“I can get Johnny or Kyle if you want,” Ghost offers, but you find yourself answering just this side of too soon.

“No.”

You realise, as you sit here beside him, that he is all you need. Soap and Gaz would’ve tried to ramble or make a move on you, Price would’ve tried to embrace you. Ghost just sits, and waits, his presence speaking a thousand words. He’s your anchor, right now.

“What does a bee use to brush its hair?” Ghost breaks the quiet, once more, his words steady and grating with the low timbre of his voice.

You exhale, but go along with it anyways. “I haven’t a clue.”

“A honeycomb.”

You scoff, but the smile on your face doesn’t waver – your cheeks hurting from the way it tugs on the muscles of your tired face. “That was awful, Lt.”

“Johnny laughed at that one,” he replies, head tilted to rest his skull against the wall. His arms rest on the bends of his knees.

“That’s cause he feels bad for you,” you hum, satisfaction weighing on your words.

Ghost elbows you once more, a bit too hard, but you find the movement grounding more than harmful. Like a way for your body to come back to itself, and register the world around you. No need for self-destruction or derealisation.

“They really like you, y’know,” he murmurs, and your breath pauses in your chest. “The Sergeants. Won’t shut up about you when you’re gone.”

“Well, if you’re gonna hate me, some support is nice,” you retort, and he huffs a low breath. Pauses, like he’s thinking something over. Weighing the risk and reward of his next statement.

“I don’t,” he rolls his tongue in his mouth, “I don’t hate you.”

“You’ve had me fooled,” you retort, the cool wall against your cheek a steady reminder of the world. “The whole threatening to kill me thing, and all.”

“If it means protecting Johnny, Kyle – even Price, I’d do it. Still will,” he says, the last statement bordering on a warning. “If you’ve somehow fooled us all, then I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”

You swallow. Scratch at the skin of your wrist.

“I just need to figure this shit out,” you admit, looking to the roof for answers. “Once Shadow Company’s been taken down, and Shepherd’s dealt with, everything can go back to normal. This’ll just be a blip in time.”

“The Sergeants aren’t going to let you go,” Ghost warns, an edge to his words. “What are you gonna do, anyways? Live in the countryside?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, picking at your fingernails. “I’ll figure it out when it comes to it. We’ve got bigger things on our plate.”

With his shoulder pressed against your own, you let your body relax, your breaths finally even. No tears on the verge of falling down your cheeks – and no fear lacing your veins with a thick coat of adrenaline.

However, that short-lived relief is quickly replaced with the all too familiar crash.

Your head pounds, and your limbs suddenly feel heavy. Your eyelids threaten to close, even though you don’t feel the need to sleep.

“Tired?” Ghost asks, low and soft, careful not to startle you. So at odds with the idea you had of him.

Without meaning to, you lean further against him, using his frame to hold your own up. He doesn’t comment on it. “I’m – just need a minute,” you murmur.

His hand moves to rest at the side of your head, pulling you in so your temple rests against his shoulder. It’s warm, comforting – a parallel to the man of which you thought you hated.

Rest comes easy, at the side of one of the men who wants to kill you.

*

When you come to, it’s with the feeling of fingers brushing through your hair, and the scent of cajun.

The gentle mid-morning light filters into the room, casting light through your closed eyes, the faraway sound of bullets being fired an odd comfort. Soft sizzling, too, can be heard, as well as the chopping of a knife against a board.

“That smells bloody divine, Si,” a familiar, Scottish voice calls, quietened by what you can only suspect is due to your ‘sleeping’. “Ya’d be a bonnie housewife.”

“Watch it, Johnny,” Ghost replies, stern, even with the undercurrent of humour in his voice. 

The fingers in your hair continue to card through your strands, pausing to massage at your scalp every now and then. The movements have you melting further into Soap’s lap.

“Ken the other two are goin’ at it?” Johnny chides, and even without vision, you can see the goading smile on his face.

“I ken you should shut your face,” Ghost retorts, the sound of chopping finally coming to a pause. “And, no, you’re a bloody idiot.”

“Rude.”

Fluttering your eyes open, you let out a small huff of air, stretching your tense muscles. They feel sore with lethargy, and stiff from the position you fell asleep in.

“Mornin’, Sweetheart,” Johnny smirks, looking down at where your head sits in his lap.

When you look towards the kitchen, it's to find Ghost, flipper in hand as he stands by the stove, a glass bowl filled with salad to his side. One thing in particular has you looking twice.

“A bit promiscuous, don't you think, Lieutenant?”

Ghost's eyes narrow, but Soap lets out a pleased chuckle. “Like a lad seein’ an ankle, aye?”

Instead of gloves, the pale skin of his hands is shown for the first time, patterns of ink decorating the back of his hands. The small hint of a sleeve has you desperate to see the full thing.

“You're both fuckin’ ridiculous,” Ghost scoffs, starting to swap the contents of the pan into the salad bowl.

As you move to sit up, Soap’s hands fall to your waist, pulling you so your back presses against his chest. His thumbs trace circles into the skin where your shirt rides up, but it’s more out of instinct than anything else.

“What’d you make us?” You ask, rubbing at your weary, sleepy eyes as you deflate against Soap.

“Cajun chicken ‘nd salad,” Ghost quips, serving up a plate for each of you. It smells nothing short of delicious, and you sit up straighter against the Sergeant.

“Lt and Gaz are our personal chefs,” Soap chimes, squeezing you tighter against him. “Bloody perfect at it.”

Ghost rolls his eyes, but comes over with two plates, setting them on the coffee table in front of both you and Soap. It’s a small space, next to the personal kitchen, but it’s nice. Intimate.

The first mouthful of salad is like heaven on your tongue, and you look up at Ghost with wide eyes as you swallow. “This is amazing.”

“You’d better eat it all then,” he jerks his chin towards your plate, grabbing his own before sitting on the chair to your left. Soap, still with his chest to your back, shovels his food into his mouth like a man starved.

It’s quiet, for a few moments, just the three of you enjoying your food.

“What’s the next step?” Johnny asks, around a mouthful. You elbow him in the side, and he feigns hurt. He swallows, before continuing, “Aye mean, what’re we gonna do? What lead do we follow?”

“I think,” you work your jaw around the words, thinking, “I think if we get to the root, we can bring down the whole tree.”

You scan the two men, and it’s Ghost who understands your words first.

“Shepherd. You think we should take him out first,” Ghost leans back in his seat, studying you with calculating, chocolate brown eyes. They shine in the midday light.

Nodding, you swallow around some lettuce, before continuing, looking between the two. 

“If we can find Shepherd, and learn why everything’s happened the way it has,” you rub at your face, “Then we can bring it all crumbling down. Like dominoes.”

“He’s MIA,” Soap furrows his brows, placing his empty plate on the coffee table. “We’ve tried finding the twat – he’s gone.”

You shrug, a plan forming in your mind like the final pieces of a puzzle connecting. A small, pleased smile spreads on your lips, before you’re moving off of the couch, ready to head to Price’s office.

“Where’s you going?” Ghost queries, leaning forward, elbows resting on his spread knees.

You tilt your head.

“Power in numbers, right?” Heading for the corridor, you open the door, before turning back to look at the two men one more time.

“I know two soldiers who’ve been waiting for a call.”

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[cevansbrat0007]

Sweet Tooth

Summary: Ari gets inventive when he finds himself in the doghouse with you. Be sure to check out the follow-up drabble, Sweet Tooth Deluxe!

Warnings: Smut, Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Arch Nemesis', Dominant Ari, Aprons, Arguments, Oral Sex (fem rec mentioned), Spanking (mentioned), Pussy spanking (mentioned), Pet Names, Cursing, Violent Thoughts, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for @honeygngergemini. Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Ari leans back in his chair, one long leg coming to rest atop his knee as he levels a hard look at Officer Milton Foster. He scrubs a tired hand over his face, his mind working overtime to process what the young man had just said.

“But that makes zero fucking sense.” He grumbles, groaning when he sees Milton just shake his head.

“Aye, man.” The dark-haired deputy  throws up his hands. “You asked me where I thought you went wrong and I told you.” He turns in his office chair to spare a quick glance at his computer. “Do not shoot the messenger.”

“No one’s being shot, alright? I just don’t get the logic behind any of the shit you just said.”

Couple that with the fact that you’d been icing him out for the past several days for reasons unbeknownst to him – which had left him in a god awful mood. He missed you. Your laugh, your warmth, your smile. 

All of it.

Not to mention that deliciously curvy body that had been keeping him warm at night. He really missed that. More than than anything he needed a fucking kiss.

But you were ignoring him. And Ari had discovered pretty quickly that he didn’t like any of it. Not one bit.

So, he’d turned to what he felt like was his only ally in this god-forsaken town: the newly minted sheriff’s deputy, Milton Foster.

“So you’re really trying to tell me that the reason my woman is pissed at me is because I ate Charline Marshall’s pecan pie at the town potluck, liked it, and asked for seconds.” Ari smooths an annoyed hand over his bearded face. Trying to understand Bell’s Creek’s local politics could really do a number on a person. 

“And don’t forget that she purposely dropped your lady’s bramble berry pie on the ground.” Milton does a quick spin in his chair. “She tried to pretend it was an accident, but most of us know better. Charline Marshall has eyes for you and I think she might be ready to make it known.”

“I’m pretty sure that I couldn’t even pick that woman out of a lineup.”  

Milton simply shrugs before taking another spin in his desk chair. “You’ve got a lot of admirers, Mr. Bounty Hunter. A man like you blows into town…well, you’re downright exotic. Every single red-blooded woman under 75 wants a taste.”

Ari visibly shudders before crossing his legs at the ankle. He didn’t want anyone else. This particularly surly Bounty Hunter wanted you. He only wanted to eat your food. Enjoy your sweets. Fall to his knees and devour the fuck out of your pretty little pussy.

“Hard pass, buddy.” Your lawman sighs. “I didn’t know shit about the pie incident. I mean, how could I when she was barely talking to me or anyone at that party?”

“Not saying it’s your fault, big guy. Logically, what would you have been able to do if she had told you?”

Ari looks up at him, his piercing blue gaze never once leaving the young deputy’s. “I would’ve taken her back to my place and spent the rest of the night making her feel better. I would’ve done everything in my power to take my girl’s mind off that petty shit.”

“Mmm.” Milton murmurs as understanding suddenly dawns. “I really don’t wanna get too deep in your business, but your lady is like a sister to me.” He leans back in his chair so that he can kick his feet up on his desk. “We used to play on the playground together as kids. And full disclosure, she used to beat my ass.” The deputy chuckles as he begins to recount all the way you used to be a tiny force of nature. 

“I…can see that.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Anyway, I think your original plan was a good one.” 

“Meaning?” Ari leans over to take a sip of his now cold coffee. It tasted like shit anyway, even when it was hot. In fact he longed for you, his BIrd, to make him one of your little caffeine-infused concoctions – preferably while wearing nothing but his shirt. 

So he could also take a bite out of that luscious ass while you refreshed his mug. After all, he was a man who prided himself on his ability to multitask. 

“Meaning, you need to find a way to distract her while making your point.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, you’re a smart fuckin’ guy who set his sights on someone who could easily be the most stubborn woman in the whole damned state.” A smirking Milton offers up a salute with his can of Dr. Pepper. “That’s for you to figure out. All I can do at this point is wish you luck.” 

“Thanks.” Ari grunts, wishing that he had a better idea of what to do with you.

Oh, rest assured that he’d figure it out. You were too important to him not to. He just hoped you’d find it in your heart to take it easy on him for his mistake. 

The Next Day

You wake up to the smell of cooking sausage wafting into your room. It makes you smile as you stretch your arms over your head. Your stomach growls in agreement, subtly reminding you that you’d neglected to make dinner last night. 

Oops. You hadn’t meant to forget, it had just happened. Normally you would end your night with speaking to your Beast of a Bounty Hunter, who always made sure you ate. But lately, you have been both mad at him and embarrassed.   

Because at a recent town potluck, Ari had eaten your rival’s pecan pie. Now, you weren’t children, but this had also been after she’d purposely sabotaged your own dessert by accidentally dropping it on the ground. 

Charline pretended that it had been a mistake. But the way you’d witnessed her laugh after the fact. And then she’d fed your man, reveling in every minute. You’d known her pecan pie was dry, but Ari had seemed to enjoy it. So much so that he’d asked for a second piece. 

Which was fine, except it had hurt your feelings. And you hadn’t been sure how to relay exactly relay that fact either. So you’d clamped down. You’d bottled up. 

And as a result, your poor, sweet man was suffering. Which meant you needed to apologize. But you weren’t quite sure how to go about it. As you sit up, you vow to yourself to give him a call today. As soon as you sat down and enjoyed your breakfast.

And then it occurs to you. You weren’t the one cooking. Which meant someone was in your house. 

You spring out of bed and grab your Louisville Slugger that you always kept nearby. Taking a deep breath, you quietly make your way down the stairs, your trusty bat poised to take a swing at whatever moron who’d chosen to take up residence in your kitchen.

Baring your teeth, you crest around the corner on bare feet, ready to make your presence known. 

“You gonna hit me, Bird?” Ari muses as he adds a dash of salt, followed by pepper to whatever it is he’s got cooking in the skillet. Your flippin' skillet. “Is that really how this ends? You take me out while I’m being kind enough to whip us up some breakfast?”

Momentarily flummoxed you find yourself lowering your weapon in favor of taking in the scene before you. This man – your Bounty Hunter – was currently standing in your kitchen clad in nothing but an apron. 

Your apron. And yet somehow it fit him better

“Wh–what are you doing?” You ask him, letting your baseball bat clatter to the floor at your feet. You wouldn’t need it. You were safe with this man, but only to a point. “And how’d you get in?” You hadn’t given him a key yet. 

That was supposed to be a present for later. 

“Eh.” Ari shrugs, flipping a pancake with surprising skill. “Maybe I saw my gift and swiped it after the potluck. Maybe you weren’t listening to me and I couldn’t get a read on you, so I had to be an asshole and make an executive decision.” He turns away from you to drop a finished pancake on a plate, giving you a fantastic view of his perfectly muscled ass.

“You mad?” 

“N-no.” You respond as you feel your thighs clench. God, how you wished that you’d come down here wearing pants. “I was actually planning to reach out to you today. Can I ask what you’re doing?” You shiver as you feel your thighs grow damp, your traitorous pussy working against you. 

You should be mad that your Beast had broken into your house. Instead you were happy to see him with a much deserved apology ready to fall from your lips. 

“Making you breakfast. Chocolate chip pancakes, eggs, and sausage.” He adds another delicious pancake to the stack. “I’m gonna feed you, and then I’m gonna fuck you, and make you rethink ever ignoring me again.” He purrs, the intoxicating rumble coming from somewhere deep in his chest. 

Fuck you were so wet it was almost embarrasing. 

“I’ve earned the rights to that tight little pussy, baby. And when I make a mistake like I did with that goddamned Charline, I want you to tell me.” Ari turns off the range, pulling the food off the heat and onto a plate.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, both hating and loving the way your nipples pebble beneath the thin fabric of your oversized t-shirts. Actually, it was one of his. A detail he also seemed to notice. “How can I make it up to you?”

Ari studies you for a moment, his handsome face tilting to the side. And then your eyes stray to the sight of his impressive erection. You watch as one of his big hands reaches down to fist his hard cock, pumping it once. Twice. 

“You can start by going back upstairs. I want you naked, on all fours. I want to come up there and feast my eyes on your soaking wet cunt.” His heated gaze bores into your own, making your already drenched core spasm one more. “And you’d better be wet for me, otherwise I’m gonna spank it. And you.” 

“O-okay.” You find yourself taking a step back, your hand clutching at the wall. 

“I’m gonna eat it baby.” Ari growls, his voice filled with a mix of unbridled lust and determination. “I’m gonna make that pussy fucking cry. And you’re gonna fucking take it. You hear me?”

“Yes.” You whisper, resisting the urge to reach down as you stroke your eager fingers over your throbbing clit. “Yes, Sir.”

He takes a menacing step towards you, his body delighting in the way that you shiver. You’d been bad. Which means it was time to pay the price. And what better man to exact that payment than your own handsome, 6”4 Beast? 

“And then I’m gonna fuck you in front of that brand new mirror I bought you. I’m gonna show you who owns that beautiful body and remind you why it’s important to talk to me when you need me.” Another menacing step. “And then I’m gonna feed those delectable curves after I’ve had my fill.”

“And then…” He tilts his head from side to side, cracking his neck. “You’re gonna let me kiss it all better while I make love to you.”

“Y-yes, please.” Right now you were willing to give this man whatever he wanted. Whatever helped you atone for your supposed sins.

“There’s a good girl.” He intones as he unties the apron, leaving him naked and aroused in your simple kitchen. “Now run.”

END

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[thetriumphantpanda]

illicit affairs | joel & tommy miller

Summary | Two attempts are always better than one, right? If you're serious about getting pregnant then you can't just hope that Joel can manage to do it by trying once every month. It might be wrong, but seeing him camped out on the couch gives you the perfect excuse to try one more time this month, without distractions.

Warnings | Joel Miller being a fucking stud as always, breeding kink, size kink, dubious moral choices by both reader and Joel, Tommy getting cucked (as usual), dirty talk, unprotected PiV sex,

Word Count | 2.7k

Authors Note | Well..... this certainly isn't how I anticipated this series going, but it makes sense, right? Can't just fuck once a month and expect to make a baby. I am absolutely feral for how much you guys are enjoying this series that wasn't meant to be a series and I hope you continue to do so in the future. And also, don't worry, Tommy is back next time in full force, I promise! If you've not read parts one and two, you can find them linked below on the series masterlist - this probably won't make much sense otherwise.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

When Joel wakes the next morning, crick in his neck and lower back screaming at him for a night scrunched up on his brother’s couch, it’s the smell of bacon and the sizzling sound of something cooking in oil that hits him first. He pushes himself up slowly, running a hand over his face before his eyes search for the wall clock. It’s just after seven, he doesn’t have to pick Sarah up for another few hours. 

The next thing that strikes him is your voice. It’s quiet, like you’re trying not to wake him up, but you’re singing, or rather humming along to some song on the radio. He doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t care to find out, he just sits and listens for a while, letting the sweet sound almost lull him back to sleep. 

When Joel hears the clatter of plates being moved around, he stands, stretching out his back until it cracks in several places. God, he’s getting old. He slowly and softly makes his way to the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe as he watches you. You’re moving scrambled eggs around in the pan on the hob, two plates on the side that already have slices of bacon on them, and he can see slices of bread sat in the toaster waiting to be made. It’s domestic and he realizes he really shouldn’t like seeing it as much as he does. He shouldn’t be here, this should be his brother, but he doesn’t exactly hate it. 

“You didn’t have t’make me breakfast.” He speaks, you don’t jump which makes him think you knew he was there all along. 

“You didn’t have to sleep on the couch all night,” You counter, looking at him over your shoulder, “I guess we wore each other out, only right I send you off with a hearty breakfast.” 

Joel doesn’t really know what he’s doing when he walks deeper into the kitchen. He’s driven by the fact that all you’re wearing is a large flannel shirt, obviously not one of your own, buttoned up over some underwear. You’re fucking magnetic to him, he knows you shouldn’t be, should be as far out of his reach as possible, but he’s only doing you a favour right? The more he repeats it to himself, the more he might believe it. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” You speak as his hands play with them hem of the shirt, although your voice is teasing, it doesn’t warn him to stop, almost dares him to go further. 

Joel hears you chuckle as his hands palm your ass, “You gonna tell me to stop, pretty girl?” 

“You’re trying to get me pregnant, are you not?” You ask, shifting the pan with the eggs off the heat. 

“That I am,” Joel is now pressed firmly against your back, hands wandering underneath the shirt to rest on your hips, “But you gotta tell me if you want me to stop, just me and you this mornin’, sweetheart.” 

“I’m still good to go,” You murmur, moving your ass into him, feeling his already growing erection in his jeans, “So, give me what I want, stud.” 

He doesn’t need telling twice. Never does. He lets his big palm sink beneath the waistband of your underwear, fingers dipping almost immediately through your folds to sink down to where you’re already soaked. He knows some of that has to be him from last night, but as he drags his fingers up, covered in slick to your clit, hearing how you’re already moaning his name, he knows it’s not all him, this is your slick, mixed with him, and it drives him wild. Drives him wild that he’s marked you like this, that you’re just walking around with a piece of him inside of you. 

He's almost shocked by how quickly he brings you to the edge with his fingers this morning. Clearly, you’re still sensitive from the four orgasms he gave you the night before, something that still makes his chest puff, his male ego boosted that he went one better than Tommy for you. 

“Still all sensitive for me, aren’t you, pretty girl?” He leans down to whisper into your ear as his name falls a mile a minute from your mouth, “Gonna come for me?” 

“Fuck – Joel – ohmygod,” He can feel your legs starting to shake, he makes sure the arm he’s got pressed to your lower belly keeps you upright, pressed against him, “Don’t you dare stop.” 

“Didn’t plan on it.” He chuckles, letting his tongue lick hot stripes to you ear before he sucks the lobe into his mouth and nibbles. 

He feels your legs buckle, but that palm manages to keep you upright as you come for him. The way his name sounds in your high-pitched squeal when you let go for him has his cock throbbing in his jeans. If he was any younger, he could almost guarantee this alone would have him spilling himself into his jeans already. 

He lets you catch your breath for a moment as he undoes his jeans, stepping out of them and his underwear, though he leaves his shirt on. He has to be inside you right now or he thinks he might pass out. He drags your own underwear down your legs, kicking them to the side once you’ve stepped out of them, before he’s literally slamming his cock into you with full force. 

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” You keen, “Fuck, you’re so big inside me.” 

“I know babygirl, I know,” He stills for a moment, letting himself get used to the way your pussy is clenching him, literally pulling him in deeper, “A lot, ain’t it?” 

You let out a sigh as Joel pulls himself out before slamming back into you, “I can take it,” You whine, pushing back to meet his thrusts halfway, “Fuck me harder, Joel.” 

He brings a hand up to fist your hair, pulling your head back so you’re arching into him, “Careful what you wish for,” He moans, “Beggin’ me to go harder, filthy girl.” 

Joel can’t quite believe how good this feels. He thought, when he slid his cock into you from behind that he might feel guilty – bending his brother’s girlfriend over the stove without him knowing anything about it – but the way he’s got his hand tangled in your hair, pulling you back so you arch perfectly for him, his hips snapping into your ass in a way that has his vision blurring, he can’t find it in himself to care. Maybe that makes him a piece of shit, but you asked for this just as much as he wanted to give it to you. 

He uses the hand tight in the strands of your hair to pull your face to the side. He presses a wet kiss to your cheek before he can’t stop himself from asking for it any longer, “Kiss me, pretty girl,” He growls, pulling your mouth to within a hair’s breadth of his own, “Give me that last piece of you, I know you want to.” 

He can see you hesitate. Can sense the flicker of doubt across your face. He won’t force this, but fucking hell does he want it. Wants to feel those pretty lips on his own, wants to know exactly what your mouth tastes like. He grips your hip with his free hand, fingers digging into the skin, sure enough likely to leave bruises there, as he continues his pounding into you. 

All of a sudden, you turn your head fully, your own free hand coming up to tangle in the curls on his head pulling his mouth to yours. The angle makes it messy, more of an open-mouthed mash up of tongues that anything else, but it fucking lights Joel on fire. He pulls away and slips his cock from your tight heat, turning you around so your back is to the stove. He pulls your naked body to his own and attaches his mouth back to yours like his life depended on it. 

He can feel his cock slipping between your slick folds as he focuses his attention on his mouth attached to yours. It’s depraved, the way his tongue melds with your own, licking into your mouth like he’s a man starved. Which he technically is, he can’t remember the last time he kissed a woman, let alone one as perfect as you. 

When he pulls away from you, hands on your ass to lift you up so he can carry you to the kitchen island and sit you on top, he focuses on the string of saliva that attaches your mouth to his. He pulls away just enough that it breaks, settling on the hair on his chin. He almost busts his nut all over your lower belly when you lean across and lick it from his face, grin plastered on your mouth like you know exactly what you’ve just done to him. 

You reach down between the two of you, gripping Joel’s cock in your hand, guiding it back to your spread cunt, “I think you better put this back inside me, huh?” You whisper, looking up at him through your eyelashes, “Think you might be about to come, am I right Joel?” 

“Fuckin’ hell,” He curses, head to the ceiling, “Gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, pretty girl,” He takes his cock from your grip, sliding it slowly back into your slick pussy, watching as you throw your head back in pleasure as he does, “How many babies you want?” He asks, royally pushing his fucking luck now, “Tell me you want more than one, tell me I get to come inside your pretty pussy forever.” 

“You’ll have to ask your brother.” You and your smart fucking mouth, Joel thinks, looking down between the two of you where he’s splitting you open, watching as his thick cock slides effortlessly into your cunt, like you were made for him. 

“Didn’t have to ask him this morning,” Joel growls at you, hand resting at the base of your throat, “This was all you, babygirl.” 

He doesn’t think before he takes hold of the material of the shirt you’re wearing and yanks it open, buttons flying all over the kitchen surface. Joel lets it gape open, those big hands of his gripping the soft skin of your waist as he starts pounding into you again. He leans down and captures one of your nipples in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth, soothing it with the pad of his tongue, before he switches to the other side. 

“Such pretty tits, baby,” He groans, moving his lips up to kiss across your neck, “Even prettier when I put this baby inside you.” 

His cock is brutal inside you. He can see the start of the discomfort on your face, still sore and stretched from last night. Truth be told, he doesn’t think he can hold on much longer, not when he looks down at the sight of you, spread out, dripping slick onto the countertop, legs spread as far as humanely possible, tits bouncing with every hard punch of his cock inside you. 

“Want me to fill you up, babygirl?” He asks, leaning down to capture your lips one last time, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get you alone again, he knows kissing you in front of his brother would probably get him shot, so he’s going to take it all whilst he can. 

“Give it to me Joel, fuck,” You moan, hands gripping his shoulders to keep you upright, “Look at me whilst you do it,” You demands, “I wanna see your eyes when you pump me full of cum.” 

You’re looking up at him, bottom lip bitten between teeth as he stuffs his cock into you twice, three times. He looks you dead in the eye as he lets your name drop from his lips, hand gripping so hard at your skin it’s painful. He does exactly what you say though, looks straight into your eyes as his cock fills your full of his cum. Dark and dangerous, like predator has caught its pray, spread it out underneath him and fully devoured it. 

He lets out the softest of groans as he slips his cock from you, watching as his cum drips from your pussy. It’s depraved, but he takes two of his fingers and pushes as much of it as possible back inside you, curling his fingers up inside you, before he slips them out, covered in his own cum and the slick from your pussy.

He holds them up to your mouth, “You wanna taste, pretty girl?” 

Joel swears he sees the devil when you take hold of his hand and drag that perfect little tongue over his fingers. He thinks he might feel his cock begin to harden again when you take them all the way into your mouth and swirl your tongue over them to get them clean, he’s only a man, he can’t help but imagine what that mouth might feel like wrapped around his cock. 

He helps you down from the counter, passes you the underwear he discarded early and then slips out of his own plaid shirt, offering it to you for ruining the one you were currently wearing. You could very easily wander up the stairs and get another shirt, but you take it from him, wrap it around yourself and do up the buttons. 

“Sit down,” You speak softly to him once he’s got his jeans on properly, “I’ll finish breakfast.” 

Joel watches closely as you pour coffee and reheat the eggs slightly, piling a significantly bigger portion onto his plate than your own. You butter the toast and then sit down next to him, eating in silence. He expects it to be awkward, but it’s the complete opposite. It’s comfortable, warm even, just two people enjoying breakfast together before they must go back to their respective lives outside of each other. 

When you’ve both finishes, you take the plates and stack the in the sink before Joel realizes he’s still got to pick Sarah up. You smile at him when he stands, going to unbutton his shirt to give it back to him when he puts a warm hand on your arm.

“Keep it,” He says softly, “Looks miles better on you than it does on me.” 

Your head dips and then you smile, “Thank you.” 

He doesn’t really know what you’re thanking him for – the shirt? Probably not. But he smiles and kisses your cheek all the same before he’s making sure he’s got his keys and then he’s leaving. 

All Joel can think about on his drive to pick Sarah up is the massive fucking line he’s just crossed. He can paint it in whatever light he wants to – normal couples fuck all the time, at every possible moment, when they’re trying to have a baby, so why should this be any different? That’s all it was, is what he repeats to himself, all fucking day, thinking of the way you begged him to fill you up again, the way your lips felt against his when you finally gave in and kissed him. But there’s still that fucking niggling feeling that he’s fucked it all up, mixed his own feelings in somewhere along the line. He should have never been with you without the knowing stare of his brother, looking out for any signs of concern. 

If only Joel knew that Tommy knew exactly what was happening that morning. If only he knew that you’d padded quietly down the stairs and found him soundly asleep on that couch, first instinct to reach for your phone and sent Tommy that text message. 

Joel seemed to stay the night on the couch. I know you’ll be driving, so totally get if not, but mind if we try again this morning? Might have a bit more luck relying on two instead of one this month. 

You’d waited just moments for Tommy’s reply, standing at the foot of the stairs, watching Joel’s chest rise and fall in his sleep. 

Course not sugar, you can tell me all about it when I get in and get you all to myself. 

#Joel Miller #Joel Miller smut #Joel Miller fic #Joel Miller fanfic #Joel Miller fanfiction #The Last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou #tlou fic #tlou smut #tlou hbo #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller x reader #Joel Miller x female reader #Joel Miller x f!reader #Tommy Miller #Tommy Miller smut #Tommy Miller fic #Tommy Miller fanfic #Tommy Miller fanfiction #Tommy Miller x you #Tommy Miller x reader #Tommy Miller x female reader #Tommy Miller x f!reader #Pedro Pascal #Joel Miller Pedro Pascal

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Elementary, Chapter Two

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x teacher!reader

chapter rating: M (no explicit smut but my blog is always 18+ ONLY, just one steamy makeout but the smut show begins next chapter so strap in 😎 as always, i cannot force myself to reread my own writing so this isn’t proofread)

word count: 4.9k

series masterlist | joel masterlist | joel playlist

It was Saturday afternoon, your book club meeting nearly wrapped for the day. You were delighted to see Sarah’s face, half-expecting both her and her father to forget about the meeting, but she was one of the first ones here.

Joel greeted you with a shy wave and a smile as he walked her into the small room in the corner of the library, his grey t-shirt and jeans fitting him far too well.

“Mornin’,” he greeted, both of your eyes trailing away to watch Sarah make a bee-line for the snack table. “That’s my fault, I forgot to make a grocery run.”

“That’s what they’re there for,” you waved off his worry and fixed your eyes on his again.

“I, uh, tried to keep up,” he held up his copy of Sense and Sensibility, surprising you with how far into the book his bookmark rested, not quite where the rest of you were but not too far off. “I don’t know about that Willoughby guy…somethin’ seems off.”

“Oh, yeah?” you chuckled, shifting your weight onto one hip and crossing your arms over your chest as you eagerly waited his assessment. Joel cracked a charming half smirk and nodded confidently.

“Yeah. No man is that perfect.” You snorted a laugh and eagerly agreed. “So I got it, then? He’s a bad guy?”

“No comment,” you replied with an untamable grin, something about his presence filling you with a girlish giddiness you hadn’t felt in years.

“Sarah!” Sarah’s new friend, Jessie, squealed when she entered the classroom and spotted her, causing both you and Joel to look over with proud smiles.

“This was a good idea,” Joel turned back to you. “Hadn’t realized how sheltered she was. It’s nice to see her have a friend.”

“We all deserve friends,” you noted.

“You know, if you ever need a friend…I’m right here,” he offered with a shrug, busying his eyes by looking down at the book he was holding.

“Would Sarah be okay with her dad and teacher being friends?” you asked, Sarah’s well-being your ultimate responsibility and priority over whatever you happened to be feeling for her father.

“Yeah, we, uh, talked about it…I may have made a comment about how pretty you are,” he chuckled in embarrassment and rubbed the back of his neck. “And she’s been teasin’ me about it since.”

“Pretty, huh?” you smirked and relished in the blush you brought to his face, his eyes rolling as a husky chuckle slipped from his lips. “Well, Joel, if I ever need a friend, how can I go about getting in touch with you?”

“Right,” he nodded, frantically reaching into his pocket to pull out his flip phone, your lip caught between your teeth as you watched him struggle to find his phone number—of course he didn’t know it by heart. “Alright, you ready?”

You clicked your pen and pulled out your post-it note/bookmark, jotting down his number as he read it out to you.

“Are we gonna start or what?” Harriet snapped from her wheelchair, making both you and Joel laugh.

“I’ll be back to pick Sarah up at eleven,” he tapped his book with yours before walking out of the room, only stopping to place a kiss on his daughter’s forehead before disappearing, leaving your heart longing for more.

Taking a deep, necessary breath, you turned to the group and smiled. “Alright, how far did everybody get this week?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look at your phone so goddamn much since you got the damn thing,” Tommy teased his older brother as they walked around their favorite H-E-B supermarket, Joel determined to surprise Sarah with a fully stocked fridge and pantry for once.

“Yeah,” Joel mumbled as he swore he felt a buzz in his pocket, tugging his flip phone out for the twentieth time since stepping inside the store, hoping to see a message or an incoming call from you.

“That the plummer for the project on 15th Street?” Tommy asked as he loaded a case of Gatorade into the bottom of the cart.

“No, it’s, uh—“ Joel was nervous, having gone so long without having a romantic life that he started to feel like a teenager again, too embarrassed by the weight of his crush to tell anybody. “Sarah’s at her book club so I’m just makin’ sure I don’t miss her call if she needs me to pick her up early.”

“And her ‘pretty’ teacher ain’t got nothin’ to do with that?” Tommy teased with a grin, amused by the look of betrayal and embarrassment on his older brother’s face.

“Sarah told ya, huh?”

“Yep,” Tommy laughed and took over pushing the cart. “You ask her out yet?”

“Not yet,” Joel sighed, the idea of going on a first date at his stage in life seeming ridiculous. What would they even do? Go to a movie? Go out to dinner? It all seemed too…cliche. “What do people even do for dates anymore?”

“Take her to Lady Bird Lake or a museum or somethin’. She’s a teacher, she’ll be into all that,” Tommy suggested. Joel nodded at the advice, making a mental note of it before being interrupted by the first actual ring of his phone all morning.

“Hello?” Joel answered the unsaved number with a hopeful heart.

“Joel?” your voice responded, bringing a smile to his face.

“Hey,” he greeted, sounding more like himself. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you chirped, but he could tell there was something you were holding back.

“Sarah’s okay, right?”

“Yes! Sarah’s alright, she’s waiting here with me—“Joel heard his daughter greet him in the background. “The meeting ended a bit early, and I was trying to start my car, but it looks like I have a dead battery. Is there anyway I could get a jumpstart?”

“Oh—yeah,” he mouthed to Tommy that they needed to go checkout, Tommy pushing the cart towards the registers without needing any further instruction. “We’re just checkin’ out at H-E-B, but I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

“Sounds good, thank you,” you breathed a sigh of relief.

“No need to thank me. It’s what friends are for,” he hoped his attempt at playfulness didn’t fall flat, and judging by your chuckle, it hadn’t.

“That and lots of other things.” Joel’s heart sped up as he contemplated the other things. “See ya in a bit.”

“So,” Sarah started as she sat beside you in your well-used Ford Focus, the two of you reading as you waited for Joel to arrive. “You married?”

You laughed at her bluntness, looking over at her only to see her deadpanning. “No, I’m not married. Not anything.”

“Why not?” You laughed again, this time incredulously.

“I’ve been wondering that myself.” She didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, making you shrug and giggle again as you tossed your hands up. “I don’t know, maybe it’s the men I go after.”

“Like my dad?” You blushed and turned back to your book, finally pulling a laugh from the girl much wider than her years. “I think it would be cool if you two started to go out.”

“What makes you think we want to go out?” you challenged with a smirk, trying and failing to erase it from your face.

“I haven’t seen my dad try this hard since…well, ever,” she chuckled. “And both of you always have this stupid smile on your face after you see eachother. I’d say that’s a pretty big tell.”

“You’re too observant for your own good,” you noted as you felt your cheeks creep with heat, embarrassed that she’d caught you.

A few quick honks cut off the conversation, both of you stepping out of the hot car to greet Joel as he and another man pulled up in front of where you were parked. Joel climbed out of the passenger seat with a smile, striding over to both of you with two water bottles in hand, giving you each one.

“Drink up, it’s hot as hell today,” he commanded and both of you obeyed.

“Hey,” his companion stepped out of the drivers side and joined the three of you, giving you a nod. “I’m Tommy, Sarah’s uncle.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you,” you held your hand out for him to shake and he grinned mischievously.

“Likewise.” Your cheeks heated again despite the cold water bottle cooling you down.

“Mind if I pop the hood?” Joel pointed at your car, your head eagerly nodding in response. You watched him closely as he walked over to the drivers side, bending down to find the hood release. His shirt stretched over the broadness of his back, a line of sweat darkening the gray fabric down his spine. With a sudden thirst, you took a healthy chug of your water, hoping it would soothe the fire burning inside of you.

“Thank you guys,” you started as you turned to Tommy, needing to distract yourself from Joel.

“It’s no problem,” Tommy assured, his arm draped around Sarah’s shoulder. “How was, uh, book club?”

“Oh!” Sarah chimed, earning a furrowed brow look from her father as he walked over to the bed of the truck to grab some jumper cables. “Can I go over to Jessie’s house tonight? She’s having a sleepover—“

“I don’t know,” Joel exhaled as he returned. “I need to talk to her parents first.”

“I have their number,” you offered, pulling your phone out of your purse. “If you want it.”

“Sure,” he gave you a tired smile and trailed his eyes over your form properly for the first time since he arrived. Your hair that was once freely falling had now been put up, the sweat on the back of your neck causing your hair to stick to your skin in a way that bugged you. Your makeup was probably well into oily territory, your mascara smudged the last time you checked it in the car’s rearview mirror. The only thing half-presentable about you was the sundress you were wearing, it’s floral, cotton fabric flowing in the warm April breeze. “Uh,” he caught himself staring and quickly turned his gaze back to his daughter as he fished out his cellphone. “Here—you can type it in.”

After giving Sarah the phone number, she and Tommy retired back to the cool a/c in his truck, leaving you and Joel alone. An irresponsible thing for the two of you to be.

“Care to show me how it’s done,” you asked, unable to stop yourself from wanting more from him—more attention, more of his voice, more…everything. Being around him made you feel like you were burning alive, and yet strangely enough, the only time relief came to you was when you got closer to him.

“No one ever taught you how to jumpstart a car?” he teased with a smile, glancing over at you as he clamped the metal prongs onto the negative and positive sides.

“Not really,” you chuckled, pointing at the opposite colors. “So black goes on negative and red goes on positive?”

“Yep,” he nodded before pointing at the inside of the car. “Go on and try to start it up.”

“Just start it?” you asked, worried about messing up.

“Yep, like you normally do,” he encouraged you with a smile, watching you as you sat down in the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. Both of you gasped at the sight and sound of your battery sparking and then smoking. “Shit.” He walked over to the now ruined battery and investigated as you came out to join him. “Wasn’t your fault, my cords must be fucked or somethin’. I’m sorry—just ruined your battery.” He sighed and gave you an apologetic look, but you were quick to brush it off.

“Don’t worry about it,” you placed your hand on his arm and watched as his head turned to look at the contact before locking his eyes with yours. You fought the urge to worship his biceps like your celibate and cavewoman-like hormones were urging you to and pulled your hand away. “I’ll just call a tow truck and have them tow me to an auto-shop.”

“They’ll take you for all you got.” He shook his head and gestured back at the truck. “We can take ya to go get a new battery for almost free.”

“Almost?” you chuckled, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, the only payment I ask for is maybe…a date?” He gave you a bashful but hopeful smile as he tucked his hands in his front pockets. “Maybe tonight?”

You stared at him with a widening grin, pleasantly surprised by his proposition. You hadn’t thought he’d make the first move, at least not this soon. Throwing caution to the wind, you nodded, your stomach fluttering as you watched him sigh in relief.

“Alright, well, let’s work on gettin’ you a new battery and go from there.” Joel waited for you as you locked your car up and joined him again, following him over to the backseat of his truck. He opened the door for you, giving you that warm smile that was beginning to feel like a drug as you climbed in beside Sarah.

Joel remained outside as he unhooked the cables from their working battery to your dead one, shutting the hood of the truck with a firm slam. He ungracefully hopped into the passenger seat, looking over at his brother.

“Take us down to the Autozone,” he ordered, Tommy glancing back at you with a raised brow and smile as he waited for his brother to use his manners. Joel sighed, “Please.”

“That’s better.”

It took under an hour to go get your new battery, bring it back to your car, and have Joel install it. As he bid you goodbye, he let you know he’d give you a call once he figures out a time for your date tonight, and you couldn’t help but beam with excitement.

The entire rest of the afternoon was spent going through your closet, taking the longest shower of your life, and fussing with your hair, wanting to be ready if Joel chose to be last minute with your plans—which normally would thoroughly turn you off, but you were weak when it came to Joel.

Thankfully, Joel called at three, asking if you’d like to join him for a walk at Lady Bird Lake. You eagerly accepted the offer, mildly surprised by the unconventional choice in date but not disappointed with it.

As you sat in the living room, you heard a car approach your house and moved to peek through your window, the same dark pick-up truck from earlier rolling into your driveway. You grinned as you watched him hop out of the drivers seat, dressed in a crisp white t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. He looked so masculine and broad, but there was something in the warmth of his smile, the deepness of his eyes, that showed he was soft, too.

Quickly heading to your front door, you opened it before he could knock, his look of surprise when you swung the door open turning into a smile as he took you in—a sage green wrap dress that fell between your ankles and knees, your makeup soft and complimentary, your smile knee-weakening.

“You look so pretty,” he complimented softly, as though you weren’t meant to hear it. “Uh, got these for you.”

Joel handed you a bouquet of yellow daisies and you gave him a touched frown, kissing your teeth as you pressed the petals to your nose.

“This is very sweet,” you gave him a smitten grin and gestured back into your house. “Let me just go put these in some water. You’re welcome to come in.”

“Alright,” he followed you into your house and down the hall to your kitchen, his eyes scanning the scene as though your home would reveal some hidden secret about you. “This is a nice place.”

“Thanks,” you replied as you filled a vase with water at the sink. “I found it for a really good price last summer, and now the owner’s gonna sell it to me.”

“Take it you like Austin then. You from around here?” He asked, leaning his hip against the counter.

“Nope,” you continued to tell him where you were from. “But I do love it here. Besides, I’m getting older. Seems like a good investment.”

“Old,” he repeated with a smirk. “You ain’t nowhere near old. Me on the other hand—“

“You’re what, mid-thirties?”

“33,” he corrected. “But my body is pushin’ seventy.”

“You haven’t heard the way my bones crack when I get up every morning,” you joked, earning a laugh.

“We’ll just have to be gentle with each other, then,” Joel quipped, not taking much time to think before he spoke. He internally cringed at the way you looked away and chuckled awkwardly, scolding himself for his stupid joke.

“Hopefully not too gently.” You shot him a wink and every worry of his faded into oblivion. “Alright, then, shall we?”

“Yeah,” Joel swallowed his desire and walked you out to the truck, helping you into your side before seating himself. “You ever been to the lake?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “Is it pretty out there?”

“It’s pretty, but you’re gonna give it a run for it’s money in that dress,” he flirted, shooting you a glance and a peek at the smile he was wearing proudly. Your cheeks turned hot at his compliment and you rolled your eyes, grinning like a lovesick teenager.

“You’re a flirt,” you pointed out.

“Me?” He laughed. “I haven’t flirted in…shit, I don’t know how long it’s been.”

“Well, you’re a natural, then,” you nudged his arm with your elbow and felt dizzy by the sparks shooting through your nerves by the simple contact.

“Sarah gave me a run down of things I should and shouldn’t do tonight,” he filled you in.

“Oh yeah? What are the do’s?” you implored with an amused smile, watching his profile as he drove.

“Pay, open doors, and ask questions,” he replied.

“And dont’s?” Joel chuckled and shook his head.

“She said I’m not supposed to kiss you until the second date.” You scoffed and waved that thought away. “You disagree?”

“Strongly,” you answered him with a laugh, Joel laughing along with you.

“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind, then.” He shot you a wink and you felt like your heart was being shocked back to life. “I haven’t been on a date in so long. You gotta let me know if I’m fuckin’ this up.”

“You’re doing just fine, trust me,” you assured. “I can’t tell you the amount of shitty dates I’ve gone on, so the bar isn’t very high for you tonight.”

“Well, that’s sad,” he chuckled and shot you a lingering look as he stopped at a red light. “Hopefully I can break this streak of shitty dates.”

“I think you’ve already done it,” you laughed. “I mean, I can’t think of a first date that sacrificed hours of his life to replace my car battery on a Saturday afternoon.”

“You’re right, I’m setting the bar high,” he chuckled and shrugged. “Gonna have to change your oil next time just to keep up my reputation, then for the third date maybe rotate your tires—“

“Are these euphemisms?” you asked with mischief in your smile, not knowing the way you made his heart speed up with it.

“You make me nervous,” he admitted with a smile, his cheeks flushed pink. When he turned to look at you, he saw a bitten smirk, his head shaking. “That amuse you?”

“A little,” you nodded.

“Callin’ me a flirt,” he shook his head in mock scolding. “Look at you.”

After your leisurely walk in the park—the green of the grass and array of colors from the flowers and butterflies swarming in the air just as beautiful as Joel attempted to describe it on the way over—you and Joel found yourselves outside of an ice cream shop, sharing a chocolate and strawberry sundae.

“How are you not terrified every day? I only have Sarah to look out for and I can hardly manage, I can’t imagine a class full of ‘em,” Joel spoke, watching you as you spooned the last bit of the ice cream into your mouth.

“It’s scary at first, but then you develop this sort of bond with them—it just happens naturally, and it makes you feel responsible for them. You know? It’s just like…I feel a responsibility to show them some peace and understanding, because who knows what they have going on at home. I show up for them because I might be the only person that’s doing that, you know?” You shrugged, trying not to read into the way he was looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky, his posture relaxed as he sat back in the metal patio chair. “You gotta stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” He chuckled, amused by your fluster.

“Like that.” You gestured at his head. “You know exactly what you’re doing, giving me those pretty brown eyes—“

Joel’s laugh cut you off, his head shaking. “I’m just listening to you talk, I have no control over my pretty brown eyes.”

“Mmhm,” you rolled your eyes and chuckled. “Whatever you say.”

“I, uh—Sarah’s away tonight. If you wanted to come over—“ Joel watched as you lifted an eyebrow. “Not for that—well, I mean—but I just meant to continue talking. We have a pool—“

“Why didn’t you start with that?” You stood upright and snapped your fingers at him, earning a grin. “Chop, chop, Mr. Miller.”

Joel made a pit stop at your place so that you could change into a swimsuit, throwing your dress back on over it before hurrying back out to the truck. Once inside his house, you found yourself studying the scene much like he had earlier at yours. It felt almost unreal to be in his space, the intimacy of walking the same halls he walked every morning and night turning you drunk.

“Pools out back, I’m gonna grab us some beers.” You nodded at him as he broke off towards the kitchen while you kept forward towards the sliding glass door to his patio.

Pulling the door open, you were surprised to see a rather nice little backyard set up. He draped yellow string lantern lights in zig zags from fence to fence, illuminating the pool and patio table.

“Here you go,” Joel appeared from behind you, handing you a beer before walking over to the table and taking a seat. You joined him, giving him an expectant but playful smirk as you entered a staring match. “What’s got you smilin’ like that?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged, turning your grin towards the pool. “I’m just having a good time.”

Joel’s chest swole with pride at your confession.

“You wanna get in? It’s heated.” You gave him an impressed up and down, making him chuckle.

“Fancy,” you teased as you stood up, avoiding his eyes as your hands found the knot holding your wrap dress together. Before you could move to untie the knot, Joel’s hands rested over yours, his body now standing tall in front of you. Your eyes shot up to meet his and your breath faltered, his lips just a few inches away.

“May I?” Joel asked for permission as he replaced your fingers on the knot with his own. You gave him a quick nod, your lips parting as you waited with bated breath for him to undress you. Joel slipped the knot undone, the dress falling open. His eyes traveled from your face down the front of your body as he slid the dress off your shoulders, leaving you in just your swimsuit. His hands were quick to touch your skin, a soft gasp spilling from your lips at the fire his skin on yours caused. “You’re too beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” you praised, lifting your hand to cup his bearded cheek. Joel’s lips curled up at the sound of your compliment, his hands giving your waist a squeeze. “Remember that rule we talked about breaking earlier?”

“Uh-huh,” Joel nodded, leaning in to fill the gap between your lips until he was crashing into you, your fingers threading into his hair as you accepted the attack. Joel moaned as you tugged on his hair, walking you back against the table and hoisting you onto the metal. “You taste so sweet, baby.”

“I want you,” you whined, earning a growl of desperation as he licked and sucked his way down to your neck, fighting the urge to leave his mark on you.

“Hey, neighbor?” Joel’s older neighbor called from over the fence, interrupted their heated makeout. He sighed and rested his forehead on your shoulder as he tried to gather his composure enough to form a response.

“Yep?” Joel called back.

“Your girl’s locked out, just came knockin’ on our door.” Joel’s brows furrowed and he immediately straightened up, his eyes apologetic as he handed you your dress.

“Thanks,” he called back before placing a kiss on your cheek. “Sorry, baby.”

“It’s okay,” you assured as you tied your dress, the throbbing between your thighs persistent but the sound of him calling you baby was a more-than sufficient distraction, filling your stomach with butterflies.

You sat back down at the table and waited until Joel came back out, your fingers drawing hearts on the dust covering the table. When you caught yourself, you scoffed, disgusted by the cutesy feelings filling you to the brim, and wiped the table with your palm. Walking over to the edge of the pool, you rinsed the dust off and listened as the glass door slid open.

“Hey,” Sarah greeted, her voice nearly making you fall into the water as you weren’t expecting it. “How was the date?”

You stood up and chuckled, ignoring her question by changing the subject. “How was it at Jessie’s?”

“It was good, just didn’t want to spend the night,” she informed as she sat on one of the patio chairs, swinging her feet.

“Where’s your dad?” You weren’t sure what to say to her and desperately wanted Joel to come out to help carry the burden of this awkward tension.

“Using the bathro—“

“Nope,” he interrupted as he stepped outside, mouthing an apology to you as he walked over to her and kissed her head. “Can you go inside for a second?”

“Sure thing,” Sarah gave you a knowing smile as she left the two of you alone, closing the glass door behind her.

“Sorry,” he stepped to you, placing his hands on either side of you face. “Don’t think we’re gonna get to continue that tonight.”

“It’s alright,” you rubbed his chest.

“When can I see you again?” he asked, eyes full of reverence as he looked at you.

“Whenever,” you shrugged, pinching his chin. “I’m free after five every night.”

“I’ll try to talk Tommy into babysitting on Friday.” You grinned at his suggestion and nodded your head. “Lemme grab Sarah and we’ll drive you home.”

“Wait—“ You stopped him before he could get too far, tugging him down for a deep kiss, his arms wrapping around you and squeezing you so tight that you hoped it would last all week until you saw him next, but the minute he let go of you, you already missed him. “One more kiss.”

“One more,” he repeated as he kissed you again, slow, deep, and lingering, the two of you procrastinating. Finally, you gathered the will to pull away, chuckling at your breathlessness. “Alright, if we don’t stop now, I’m just gonna keep on torturin’ myself.”

“Not into that?” you quipped seductively, tilting your head at him as you tucked your hands into the back pockets of his jeans to pull him closer. Joel chuckled and shook his head at you as though you were testing every ounce of his strength.

“I’m gonna have my hands full with you, aren’t I?” he husked, leaning back in to place a feather-light kiss to your lips as you responded with a grin.

“Your hands are already pretty full, wouldn’t you say?” Joel laughed against you and gave your ass a squeeze, his palms having already been firmly planted there.

“Oh, I like you,” Joel hummed, pecking your lips once more before pulling away. “Here,” Joel handed you his keys before pinching your chin. “Start the truck up and I’ll go get Sarah.”

“Sure thing,” you beamed as you watched him start towards the house, stopping him once more with your voice. “Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“I like you too.” You and Joel stood there lovestruck, a chuckle slipping from his lips as he struggled to find the strength to take you back home, not ready for the night to be over. But knowing that the best things come to those who wait, Joel took a breath of patience and smiled.

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fluff #joel miller #joel miller reader insert #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #tlou joel #joel tlou #tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #elementary

[mochirimochi]

Somewhere Safe

William Afton X Reader

I wanna smash the pervy dilf in the rabbit suit ok?

-This is now officially part 1 in a series!-

p1 ● p2 ● p3 ● p4

-----

You just need somewhere safe to hide from your abusive ex. Unfortunately for you, you're about to stumble into the arms of something much, much worse.

18+ Minors DNI.

~3700 words, no use of y/n

-----

cws: abusive relationships, degradation kink, breath play if you squint, smut, rough sex, EXTREMELY dubious concent, a sprinkle of spanking

You can also read on ao3 if you prefer: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51567985

-----

Your arms shake as you push up the rusted steel door that separates the pizzeria from the outside world. Every clatter and rumble of the metal makes you flinch and sweep your eyes over the abandoned side lot. There shouldn’t be anyone out and about to catch you at this time of night, right? Regardless, your heart pounds as you force the heavy door up, inch by agonizing inch. As soon as you’ve made enough space for your body you toss your bag under and swiftly crouch to follow it. 

Breaking and entering is far from your typical Monday night activity, but circumstances have left you with little choice in the matter. You need somewhere you won’t be found, somewhere no one will think to look for you. A dilapidated former birthday attraction certainly fits the bill, you don’t think you’ve ever mentioned the place to your ex before and if you have he probably won’t remember anyways. 

You give the door a tug to close it behind you, flinching as it slams back down into the concrete, and pick your way through the broken glass of the entryway. The smell of mildew is heavy in the air, clawing at your lungs and making your eyes water. This place used to be so vibrant and full of joy once upon a time. You’ve attended many a birthday in the restaurant that stretches out in front of you, even had a few of your own. This place had always been a favorite of the local parents due to its… generous wine portions and the ability to outsource their children's supervision. As a result it had been a kids paradise, the ability to run wild while mom and dad got lost in the sauce on a Saturday afternoon? Few things could rival that sense of freedom for a kid. Ironic as it was considering what had come later, it had always been a place where you felt safe and happy. Maybe that was why you’d chosen the pizzeria when you needed to hide from your abusive boyfriend, well ex-boyfriend now you suppose. It wasn’t like you had any plans to go back to the man after tonight. 

You give yourself a shake, attempting to bring yourself back to the moment at hand. This isn’t exactly the time to be spacing out after all, you’re technically committing a crime. Actually, there isn’t anything “technical” about it, you’re definitely breaking multiple laws right now. You shoulder your backpack and cast a glance toward the stage, it’s concealed behind a dusty red curtain but you can practically picture the animatronics behind it ready to jolt into song and dance just like they did years ago. You wonder if the owner removed them when he shut the place down. If you pull back the curtain will you find the shabby remains of your childhood heroes? You shiver, maybe it’s best not to find out.

If you remember correctly, the staff always entered and exited through a door next to the prize counter, maybe you’ll find a staff room with a couch through there. It seems like as promising an idea as any so you flick on your flashlight and make your way past the dining area and through the arcade. Sure enough, you’re greeted with a “staff only” sign and an unlocked door to boot. 

The hallway beyond is dark, lacking any of the color of the show floor. Interestingly, flickering yellow bulbs hang from the ceiling sporadically. The emergency power must still be on in this part of the building, you reason as you cautiously move through the hallway. You round a corner and let out a yelp as you collide with something huge, brown, and strangely soft. The impact knocks you off balance and you land rather gracelessly on your ass. It takes a moment for your brain to comprehend what you’re looking at as your gaze travels upwards over pudgy brown legs and a round plush stomach.

“Fredbear?!” The exclamation comes out before you really have a chance to think. “How in the world did you get all the way over here?” Your heart, which has been about ready to leap out of your chest, slows as you take in the animatronic. It’s in surprisingly good shape considering the state of the rest of this place. You push yourself to your feet and take a few steps back. “I can’t believe they actually left you guys here, you’d think they’d have moved you. Poor guy, all this time stuck in this dingy old hallway.” 

It’s strange when you really think about it, who would leave him just standing in the bowels of the restaurant? It seems like an awfully strange place to just leave your star animatronic, rushed closure or not. After a moment, a distant memory of the animatronics being wired to wander through the pizzeria comes back to you, in fact now that you think about it you can remember getting a big warm hug or two from the Freddy animatronic. That would explain it, maybe his circuits got damaged over time and had triggered that unique function. 

“Sorry to bug you big guy, I promise I’m not here to cause trouble. I just… needed somewhere safe.” Not for the first time that night you feel tears well in your eyes. “Nope, I am not going to cry over this. Not happening, you didn’t see me cry as a kid and you’re not gonna see it now.” You blink the tears away and the absurdity of your situation finally hits you. Not only are you hiding from your psycho ex and breaking the law for the first time in your life, but you’re also talking to a decrepit old robot like it can actually understand you. You heave a shaking sigh to ground yourself and pull your shoulders back. This might be your lowest moment but you refuse to let yourself wallow in it. With a determined huff you give Fredbear an affectionate pat on the arm before moving further into the building.

Before long you stumble across the staffroom, a long cluttered room with an extended plexi-glass window looking out into the hallway. Maybe at another time the window would serve to make the room feel brighter and bigger but now the dust covered plastic is shot through with a spider's web of cracks that barely allow you to see into the room. The door is unlocked though, and after a few quick shoves the warped wood releases its hold on the frame to allow you entry. Luckily, the room seems fairly well preserved and you spot a few dusty but intact couches pushed up against the wall. Jackpot. The exhaustion you’ve barely been keeping at bay all night hits you like a freight train and you lurch across the room to the couches. You collapse onto the nearest one, sending a fine cloud of dust into the air. You can’t bring yourself to care as you curled into a tight ball, finally letting sleep take you.

–

William watches the security cameras with curiosity as you wind your way through the building. Normally the animatronics would have taken care of any intruders well before they got to this point. This is new, novel even. He leans forward at his desk, squinting at the video feed in an attempt to get a better view. His jaw almost drops when you collapse onto the couch and fall still. Even through the grainy monitor he can tell that you’ve fallen asleep. What in the world is your deal? Who in their right mind would break into an abandoned establishment of dubious repute only to take a nap? He clasps his hands in thought as he watches the slow rise and fall of your chest. This calls for a more… hands on investigation.

–

A tickling in your nose rouses you from your slumber and you begin to sneeze yourself awake with surprising force. You check your watch, barely 4 in the morning. You’ve only slept for an hour at most and exhaustion threatens to pull you back into sleep. It might too, if not for the insistent vibration of your phone in your pocket. You flip the cursed thing open without hitting the button to answer, bracing yourself for what you know you’ll see. 

Unsurprisingly, you’ve got 53 unread texts, 20 missed calls and 16 voicemails. You don’t need to check the contact info to know who they’re from. Against your better judgment you navigate to your sms messages and begin to read through the backlog when your phone finally stops buzzing. Some of the texts are pleading, others threatening. A few texts claim to “love you so much” and be “so fucking sorry”, while others rail at you “you fucking bitch” and “how dare you fucking run off like that?”. The messages paint a grim but unsurprising picture, a picture that’s unfortunately all too familiar. You raise your hand to the tender bruising that you know must be beginning to come to the surface on your neck before you navigate to your most recent voicemail. You flick on the speaker before staring into the green light of the screen. 

“Where the fuck are you, you fucking bitch?” You flinch as an angry voice fills the room. “You think you can fucking run away from me? You think you can fucking end shit? You’ve got another thing coming to you, used up fucking slut. The next time I lay eyes on you you’re fucking dead, you hear me? Run the fuck away from me again and see what happens. I’ll-” You don’t give the voicemail a chance to run its course. With a raw, frustrated scream you launch the phone across the room. It hits the wall with a satisfying clatter. The battery and casing skitter across the floor and the voicemail cuts out abruptly. Not satisfied with just cutting the bastard off you stomp across the room, still screaming, and smash your foot into the body of the phone. It gives with a satisfying crunch and you roar as you kick it for good measure, sending the now useless device across the room once again. All the fear and rage of the last few hours overcomes you and you let yourself scream until you run out of breath.

Suddenly a flash of something yellow through the hallway window catches your eye. You push your hair out of your face as you try to catch your breath, attempting to squint through the aged plexi-glass. A hulking, inhuman figure stands on the other side of the window, seeming to peer back at you. For a moment neither of you move, it seems to be taking you in as much as you’re taking it in. The strange standoff breaks when the figure, still indistinct through the dust and cracks in the glass, starts to move slowly and methodically towards the staffroom door.

Finally your brain springs into action. Shit. Whatever that is, it’s not good. You sweep your eyes frantically around the room, weighing your options. Any windows to the outside are boarded up, and the only door in or out is the one the massive yellow figure is making its way towards. The only viable option seems to be to take the defensive. There’s a tiny kitchenette against the wall, and you rush towards it in desperation. Frantically, you yank open the drawers in search of anything you might use to protect yourself. The best you can come up with is a wooden spoon. In another situation that might be laughable, but you can’t take a moment to consider how absurd you look brandishing a wooden spoon like a sword. The rattle of the doorknob tells you that you’re out of time.

Whatever you had expected to be on the other side of that door it certainly wasn’t a massive yellow rabbit suit. It’s huge, so large that it has to duck to get its ears under the door frame. As it tilts its head to take you in, your blood runs cold. You hold your ground as the thing stalks closer, its movements slow and deliberate as it moves towards you. 

In a moment of desperation you launch yourself forward, attempting to dodge around the looming figure and make a dash for freedom. You don’t have a chance. A pair of strong arms wrap roughly around your waist, jerking you back with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. Your makeshift weapon clatters to the floor. A dark chuckle rumbles from the depths of the suit as a hand drags its way from your waist and up your chest to grab your chin.

“What. Have. We. Here?” The voice that comes from the suit is deep, taunting, and undoubtedly mascuine. He punctuates the last word with a rough but controlled yank, pulling your chin up and your head back into his chest. You whimper as it strains your already aching neck. With your head tipped back you can see the yellow rabbit head looming above you and it tilts to the side again as if in curiosity. “I asked you a question.”

“I-I-...” You can barely get your mouth to move and you lick your lips in a desperate attempt to draw words from them. Your obvious fear draws a satisfied hum from the depths of the suit and the hand on your waist tightens noticeably. The hand on your jaw however, disappears. You pull in a shaky gasp and buck your head forward in an attempt to build up enough momentum to break free. The vice-like grip on your waist is unaffected and your captor grunts in amusement. 

A rustling above your head draws your attention and you look up to realize that the hand that had just been holding your jaw captive is running along the neck of the suit. With a single, deft movement the head of the suit comes off and your captors face is revealed. There’s an almost rugged handsomeness to his mature features, graying stubble covering his cheeks and eyes that in another life may have looked almost kind. The expression he’s peering down at you with now is anything but kind or gentle though. There’s a hunger there, and a barely suppressed rage. He places the head on a nearby table and returns his hand to your jaw. With agonizing languidness he leans forward and presses his lips to your ear.

“Who gave you permission to sleep in my restaurant?” 

You gasp as his stubble rasps against your jaw and his hot breath ghosts across your face. 

“I’m sorry. I just needed a place to stay. I’ll leave right now. I’ll-”

He cuts you off. “A place to stay, huh?” His lips are still brushing against your ear and despite yourself you feel a chill run down your spine that has nothing to do with fear. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with that absolute delight of a man on the other side of the phone, would it?”

“He’ll kill me.” As soon as the words come out of your mouth you know they’re true. Honestly, you’re lucky to have survived him this long.

“Oh, little mouse, what makes you think I won’t?” The grip on your jaw releases for a moment and you hear something fall to the floor. When it returns it’s a very warm, very human hand that takes its place. His other hand briefly lets go to do the same and you can feel his nails digging into your flesh as he presses you against him. 

“Please.” It’s barely more than a whimper as the hand at your jaw dips to circle your neck. “I just needed somewhere safe.”

“And you chose here? Bad luck.” He presses his nose to your jaw and draws in a deep, ragged breath. “But you know, we might be able to work something out.” The hand at your waist begins to travel, burrowing its way under the hem of your shirt before splaying wide across your stomach. His long fingers barely brush the underside of your bra but you feel the heat of them as if there’s no fabric to separate you. “I’d hate to see a pretty thing like you put out in the cold.”

“Anything.”

–

William can barely contain himself. The feeling of your trembling body in his arms is oh so delicious and your intoxicating scent floods his nose, every breath sending a thrill through him. You’re so soft, so malleable, so utterly breakable. It’s brilliant. 

Using one hand to keep you pinned against him he uses the other to work his way out of the suit with practiced skill. Initially he’d just wanted to watch you, figure out the enigma that was your survival after breaking into his restaurant. Normally people don’t last for more than a few minutes. But you’d dithered around, chatted up his ace in the hole, and then taken a nap? He couldn’t contain his curiosity.

The phone call had derailed his plan and given him an idea. Sure, he had planned on killing you once he’d solved your mystery but maybe there were other things you could be useful for. There was something captivating about you, and the perfect leverage had just fallen straight into his lap. 

He makes quick work of the suit, and soon he’s reveling in the feeling of your body against his. 

“Anything?” He asks, stroking his thumb gently over your jugular before giving your throat a controlled squeeze. Your startled gasp is almost enough to send him reeling. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, little mouse.”

–

This is wrong. Everything about this situation is wrong.

And yet, your body seems to have some of its wires crossed because it is not getting the message. The only thing you should be feeling right now is fear, and sure, there’s a very healthy dose of that tying your guts in knots but beyond that there’s an underlying current of heat. None of what’s happening should be causing your core to tighten, and the goose bumps forming on your neck should be from terror.

But they’re not.

His hand drifts up even further, pushing your bra up and out of the way to capture the smooth skin of your breast in his hand. You can’t help it, you roll your hips back into his, pushing against the hardness that’s growing there at an almost alarming pace. He growls behind you, pulling you even closer to grind against your ass.

“So that’s how it is?” His voice in your ear is even deeper now, heavy with lust as he gives your breast a hard squeeze. Even you’re surprised when you let out a wanton moan. “Imagine such a dirty fucking slut falling right into my lap.” His words have you clenching around nothing and you don’t even have the presence of mind to feel conflicted about your body's reaction. He releases your breast and his hand burns a trail down to the top of your jeans, he flicks the button open with ease and slowly undoes your zipper. Then he stops, his hand ghosts over the crotch of your jeans before it stills. You let out a needy whimper that you barely recognize as your voice.

“Beg for it, little mouse.”

You groan, canting your hips forward in a desperate search for pressure. “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Please, fuck me.”

His control seems to snap and he spins you around before shoving you across the room and face down into the couch, barely giving you time to yelp in surprise. He pulls your hips into the air before yanking down your jeans and panties in one harsh motion. The animalistic groan that escapes him at the sight of your dripping pussy sends a shock of arousal through you. He grabs a globe of your ass in each hand, digging his fingers in so hard that you gasp. His nails bite in deep enough that you’re sure they’ll draw blood. 

“God, look at you.” He grunts, releasing your ass and stepping back as if to admire the view. You hear the clinking of his belt buckle and wiggle in anticipation. “What a fucking freak you are, so fucking wet and ready for a strange man in an abandoned building.” He lifts his hand and lands a stinging blow on your ass. You flinch and yelp at the unexpected pain and he does it again on the other cheek. “Dirty slut.” The sting brings tears to your eyes, but it also causes your arousal to coil even tighter in your abdomen. 

Suddenly and without warning he grabs your hips and slams into you, burying himself to the hilt in one fluid motion. You scream as he stretches you, your channel burning around his thick cock. “Take it.” He grunts, slamming into you. All you can do is whimper in response as he sets a punishing pace, thrusting into you again and again. The burn eventually melts into a building and rising heat that threatens to sweep you away. 

Your scalp stings as he tangles his fist in your hair and yanks your head back, changing the angle so that he drives impossibly deeper into you with every stroke. Any train of thought you may have been able to carry is lost as he bombards you with pleasure. Your eyes roll back as your hands desperately grip the couch cushions. A few more thrusts and you’re coming undone, screaming out your release. He follows close behind you, letting go of your hair to grab your hips again. His fingers bite into you as he pulls you back against him, trapping you to him as he fills you. 

“Fuck.” He grunts, his voice raw and his hands trembling at your hips. You both still for a moment and your brain finally starts to realize what you’ve just done. But in the throbbing, warm throes of your afterglow you can’t seem to bring yourself to care how truly fucked up this situation is. When he finally releases his vice-like grip on your hips you groan at the loss of contact.

The chuckle that he gives is warmer than any of the others so far, and he gives your ass a final squeeze that you could almost consider affectionate before he steps away.

“Yes, I think we’ve come to a satisfying agreement.”

-----

I don't know what came over me last night, but this was the result. I've never written smut before, but I sure have read a lot so hopefully it's enjoyable.

#william afton is a pervy old man and that's how i like him #look im not here for the serial killer to be nice to me #william afton x reader #william afton x you #william afton smut #fnaf smut #fnaf #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #springtrap #william afton #matthew lillard #fanfic #fnaf fanfic #mochi writes

[chuluoyi]

UNHOLY MATRIMONY — 08

✩°｡ ⋆ all falls down

- fushiguro megumi x oc/reader - oc/reader's character name is hara sena, pronouns still refer to “you” and i won’t mention it often—just for the sake of aesthetic rather than repeatedly writing "y/n"

in another life, in which fate is still screwing his life over, Fushiguro Megumi finds himself in an arranged marriage―with you.

genre/warnings: arranged marriage au, implied suggestive content, fluff/comfort. if you haven’t read the warnings in masterlist, then please be informed that megumi is aged up in this series (around 24-25ish)

✩°｡ ⋆ unholy matrimony (masterlist) | chapter seven : a longer dream <- previous ✩ next -> chapter nine : all done

The best you could describe this situation was that Megumi dragged you into your shared apartment with slight force.

He seemed to be in a foul mood to have found you with Gojo. You did try to make excuses, but he didn't want to hear it. You were afraid of him misunderstanding the whole ordeal, but the moment the door to his bedroom that was now also yours slammed shut with a resounding bang, and he pressed you against the wall only to devour your lips in a senseless kiss, your mind went blank.

"Me—" You couldn't even manage to say his name as his strong hands grasped both sides of your waist, steering you toward the bed. He practically pinned you down, and before you could fully comprehend it, he crashed his lips against yours once again.

You whined, and there was also this heat inside you that flickered and flamed the more you felt how Megumi did all of this.

His lips fervently and swiftly traced a path down your neck next.

"Ah!" you gasped. In the blink of an eye, he hiked up your sundress.

Gods, you had certainly chosen a fitting outfit for this very activity, hadn't you?

For the next half an hour, he did many things to you with his everything he had to offer and you were left reeling, couldn’t think straight after he reduced you into a total puddle of shivers in his arms.

"Can—" Damn. His voice sounded so deep in your ears, and against your better judgment, it only heightened the heat inside you. "Can I—do this?"

You were sure you would be up in flames if you said anything, so you merely nodded. He went straight for you then.

"Mmgh!" You couldn't help letting out a strangled moan, and Megumi really thought he had lost it.

To hell with everything else. Making you writhe like this—under him, no less—he just had to do it.

You were so freaking pretty in that dress and he didn't like how Gojo looked at you. No, perhaps it was the way he caught a hold on you. No one was allowed to do that. You were his wife. Only he and himself could touch you… like this.

And then there was also your voice... hells. You didn't know what it did to him.

By the end of it all, like a fever dream, you were crying out his name, tugging at his hair, and digging your nails into his back, as he pulled you into a sloppy kiss, washed and drowned in a sense of pure bliss you had never felt before.

When you woke up next, it was still early in the evening, and you were already in your pajamas, tucked into a comfortable cocoon of blanket.

Megumi had one protective arm on your waist. Next to you, he was also already in his sweater. His eyes were pressed shut, and his hair a mess, most likely because of your doing earlier.

So he was the one who changed you into your sleepwear—of course, duh! The knowledge made you blush so hard that your face sizzled, unintentionally squirming.

You had slept with your husband. He had seen you wholly—

“Sena?” his gruff voice spooked you and you let out a yelp, effectively waking him up.

Megumi cracked his eyes open in alarm, but then sagged as he saw how your doe eyes bored into him. “Are you okay?”

“Uh—Megumi…”

“Does… it still hurt?”

You stared at him blankly. The question somehow felt so intimate that your face reddened even more. “O-oh, a bit…”

His eyes widened a fraction at your response and he immediately pulled you closer. “Sorry, I didn’t know what came over me—” His eyes then caught the sight of a small patch of dried blood at the end of the blanket and he immediately grunted.

“I’m sorry. I really am.” His fingers reached out to you to gently massage your hips, soothing them in circular motion.

His mind swirled at the remainder of what he just did, and felt himself burn with embarrassment.

“That’s okay…” you mumbled, eyes darting wildly. “It… was good. It was my first time so don’t mind the blood. You w-were good.” The heck am I saying? “So I suppose I should… thank you?”

He gazed at you in utter incredulity, but then his countenance gradually softened, giving way to a faint blush on his cheeks.

“You can’t keep seducing me like this,” he sighed. “You little minx.”

“…why is it suddenly my fault?!”

“You are too defenseless. That’s why Gojo-sensei can have his way with you.”

In the next one good second, your dream crashed and you were pulled back to reality. Right. Megumi saw you with Gojo Satoru, then he made a scene at a public place—in Harajuku, no less.

“About that…” You really didn’t know what plausible excuse that would make sense to him. “He was just… saying hi.”

Megumi glanced at you with disinterest. “I know. But it sure was aggravating, seeing him messing with you like that.”

Despite the guilt, you sighed inwardly that he bought it and didn’t question you further.

You decided to change the subject. “Were you meeting with the curse-breaker?”

"I was. She was quite strange though."

"Strange how?"

"Apparently I've met her before," Megumi murmured, his finger tracing the contours of your body, marveling at the softness of you. "She said I saved her life."

"Ehh?" You perked up at this rather interesting story. "When did you save her?"

"Don't remember." Megumi appeared to be racking his brain. "I really thought she mistook me for someone else tho—oh, perhaps that time?"

"That time, what?"

"Hmm, Gojo-sensei took me to practice my divine dogs as a kid once, and we ended up stumbling into a place full of cursed spirits," he said in a thoughtful manner. "Perhaps Hana was there too?"

You blinked up at him, observing how intensely Megumi was pondering this matter. His description of her as "strange" led you to an extreme conclusion.

"Don't tell me... she's got her eyes on you?"

"Huh?" he stopped tracing your soft curves. His lips pursed into a thin line and a frown formed on his forehead at your quip. "No. What are you saying?"

"A crush on the boy who saved her life many, many years ago~" your voice took on an exaggerated, sarcastic tone, which served to make him shoot you a withering look. "Now that she meets him again, it's just like fate..."

"I have a wife," he pointed out with a roll on his eyes. "Namely, you."

"Hmph."

A smile tugged at the corners of Megumi's lips as he noticed you sulking, turning away from him and wrapping yourself in the blanket. "What's the matter, hmm?"

Gods, his darling little wife. Who would have imagined, on that messed-up wedding day several months ago, that fate would bless him with such an adorable thing such as you?

"Nothing. I'm hungry."

"Hungry? Ah, it's time for dinner," he said, rising from the sheets. You instinctively looked in his direction, wanting to follow suit, but a slight burn between your legs made you pause, your breath catching.

Megumi looked back at you that instant. "What's wrong?" he inquired, and you found yourself wanting to bury yourself beneath the blankets as you blushed uncontrollably.

"...can't walk. Get the food here."

And then, the most melodious sound reached your ears. Megumi chuckled heartily and freely, and perhaps this was the first time you had seen him so joyful since you married him.

You were awestruck. Your husband was so freaking attractive you were at a loss of words.

"I was that good, huh?" Megumi smirked slyly. "Right, wife. You'll have dinner in our bed."

You shot him an indignant pout as he walked away. Once he was out of sight, you finally allowed a smile to creep across your face.

Living an indulging life with Megumi like this, you were blissfully unaware that soon—far sooner than you thought—this life you had known would collapse upon itself once again.

The second hearing to decide the next head of the Zen’in clan took place a few weeks later. You and Megumi didn’t attend the first one because you were still mourning your mother, but this time, you had to be there.

“This place never fails to give me the creeps,” you muttered, gazing up at the imposing Zen'in estate. You had lived here before, but you had never quite grasped what this sense of something more ominous lurking within—almost like a curse—was. You felt a bit sick.

Megumi squeezed your hand that was clasped in his, as if reassuring you. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Your eyes darted at every corner of the place, searching for a certain someone who would lurk in the shadows, but didn’t find her. This only heightened your anxiety.

“You look a bit pale,” Megumi remarked, noticing the tension in your expression ever since you arrived here. “Do you want to go back? You don’t need to be here if you don’t want to.”

“No, that’s okay.” You had to be here. If anything you had to make sure of something.

The main hall bustled with activity as clansmen moved about. You breathed a sigh of relief the instant you laid eyes on Gojo Satoru sitting proudly at the first line of audience with an unapologetic smirk, his blindfold twitching. That was one thing taken care of.

The Zen'in elders made their entrance into the hall, with Zen'in Naoya following closely behind. It had been a while since you last saw him, and a surge of anger welled up within you as he shot you a vicious smile. You clenched your fists tightly in your lap.

You still had a score to settle with that bastard, and you vowed by everything you had that you would end him with your own two hands.

Megumi took his seat next to Naoya at the front, and with bated breath, you waited for this godforsaken thing to begin.

"Welcome," Zen'in Ogi greeted with a nod of acknowledgment to both heirs. "We have assembled here to oversee the second session of voting process for our next clan head. Now, as we can all see, we have the two candidates before us."

Naoya abruptly stood up from his seat. "Before we move forward with the votes, I have a suggestion to make." He swiftly turned to address the gathering audience.

"And what might that be, Naoya?"

"For the third and last hearing, three weeks from now," his grin was screaming malice to you, and you really felt like something was up with him. "I propose a duel."

Gasps emanated from the audience, and you stared at him in horror, while Megumi furrowed his brow in surprise.

"A duel to determine who between us is stronger," Naoya proceeded calmly. "Naturally, it's only appropriate for a Zen'in clan leader to be unparalleled in strength, wouldn't you agree?"

Silence gripped the room, and you desperately wished for someone to voice their objection. Out of the corner of your eye, Gojo unexpectedly raised his hand.

"I agree. Under one condition," he nodded with a genial smile, and you spun towards him that instant, utterly aghast. "Exile for the losing side."

Naoya barked a laugh. "But of course, if the other dies, then the winner takes all."

Megumi found himself at a loss for words, witnessing how this situation had spiraled out of control. He had never desired any of this—he would need to have a serious conversation with Gojo to tell him that he had enough of this nonsense later on.

Zen'in Ogi appeared to consider the proposal for a duel as he nodded. "Does anyone here object to this proposition?"

No one raised an objection and a sickening feeling churned in your stomach. Gods. Megumi. Your Megumi. He was going to face this manic bastard who had been plotting against him all along. This duel meant death.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea washed over you. The mere sight of Naoya's face was enough to trigger this queasy sensation that twisted your insides.

"Therefore, this duel will be held in our disciplinary pit," Ogi added. "Once both Fushiguro and Naoya step into the arena, a curtain will be drawn, and no one can exit until a victor is declared."

You didn't understand. This decaying old man had promised you that he would somehow remove Naoya from equation. So why, all of a sudden, was he consenting to this outrageous proposition?

"While we're on the subject, there's another matter I'd like to address," Naoya said, now rather smug and even more confident than before.

"Regarding how you people do the votes." Suddenly, he locked his eyes with you. Unwillingly, you flinched at his gaze. A sense of foreboding washed over you, that made you realize that he knows—

Naoya's smirk turned into a menacing scowl as he hissed, "You conniving bastards. All of you here—you are all conspiring against me."

Commotion erupted in the room. "What is the meaning of this, Naoya?! You uncouth, ungrateful—!"

"Do you all take me for a fool?" he jeered, before suddenly spun towards Ogi. "And that includes you."

"What are you talking about?"

Now, even Megumi had reached his limit of being in the backseat of his own destiny. It appeared that everyone in the room grasped the implications of Naoya's words. Heck, even you seemed to be aware. Why was he the only one who didn't know?

"Hah." Naoya cast a sadistic sneer at him, followed disparaging snort. "Don't play the fool. I'm well-aware of your machinations behind my back, Fushiguro. You and that whore of yours—"

And then it was like something clicked in Naoya's mind when he saw your horrified expression. "Oho, don't tell me..."

Megumi growled. "What exactly are you getting at?"

"Well, well… This truly is unexpected!" Naoya mused, laughing to himself, his demeanor increasingly erratic. “Apparently you are the ultimate fool here, Fushiguro.”

"Answer me, you unhinged bastard!"

"Well, why don't you ask—"

Megumi could swear he felt a shockwave that made his heart sink when Naoya suddenly pivoted towards you, pointing an accusatory finger, words dripping with contempt.

"—that Hara whore! She is your wife, is she not? Don't you know that she is the one behind this entire shitshow?"

✩°｡ ⋆ next -> chapter nine : all done

🏷️ taglist

@moonmalice @hellothere9597 @qtnfer @firstplaidpeachnickel @waddlingwanderer @chilichopsticks @satorus-slut @dcvilxswish @lees-chaotic-brain @tojirin @bluebreadenthusiast @pandabooster @cole-silas @becsmarvel @giuli-in-earth @fuckimgenderfluid @haitanisrarity @kimura-uzuri @bicchaan @lunavixia @stevenknightmarc @rory-cakes @sushisimp @sad-darksoul @iluv-ace

#jujutsu kaisen #fushiguro megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi x oc #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fushiguro megumi #fushiguro megumi fluff #jjk x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fluff #arranged marriage au #megumi x reader #jjk megumi #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #fushiguro megumi angst #series: unholy matrimony

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

Some things I’ve noticed on my second viewing of “Five Nights at Freddy’s” (2023)

(Some of these are obvious, don’t @ me, I’m autistic and I had work the day I first watched the film so my brain was all over the place)

Once again, SPOILERS ARE UNDER THE CUT, PLEASE DONT READ IF YOU ARE AVOIDING SPOILERS!!!!

On my first viewing I thought that showing the security guard at the very start loosening the bolts of the chair straps was a fake out to make us believe he’d escape, but actually he loosened the bolts which is how Mike was able to escape later on

Just want to say that the opening credits are fucking cool and I love them so much

In my previous post about things in the FNAF movie, I incorrectly said there was no Golden Freddy - Golden Freddy is in fact in the film, he’s the one who goes to the house/kills Aunt Jane/is in the taxi

Following on from the above point, I said last time that I thought the cupcake was the fifth ghost child but I actually think it’s Golden Freddy to be honest - the blonde girl was obviously Chica, the boy with the bunny ears was Bonnie, the ginger boy was Foxy, and then there was the blonde boy and another boy with a top hat on. I originally thought that the blonde boy who wore the brown shirt was Freddy because he seemed like the leader, but now I’m wondering if the boy with the top hat was Freddy and the leader boy was in fact Golden Freddy (given his blonde hair)? I’m interested to hear what everyone else thinks

This is obvious but the doctor foreshadowed the ending because she told Mike that drawings are powerful tools for children to express things and understand things, and that’s exactly how Abby communicated to the gang at the end that Afton was responsible for their deaths

^side note but as an early years practitioner at a nursery/for preschool children, it’s actually true that pictures are used to help children learn things even before they can read, write or talk. I don’t know, it just interested me to be like “oh yeah that’s true!!”

There was not that much focus on Mike’s dad, like he was seen so briefly compared to his mom, which makes me wonder if there’s something to it that might be revealed in a future film. Like maybe his “dad” isn’t his dad or something? Because in the game canon, William is his father, so… I don’t know. I also saw someone else point out that in the training video Mike watched, there was a man working on the animatronics who maybe looked like the actor playing Mike’s dad, so maybe his dad worked there with the animatronics?

The film appears to be set in 2000; I’m 90% sure the security cam of Mike in the careers office showed the date as being in 2000, but if someone else can clarify or confirm the exact date then that would be great. It would make sense though because Garret presumably went missing around the same time as the ghost kids (in the 80s), so the film being set in the present day (meaning Mike would be in his 50s) would make zero sense. Also the mobile phones/computers all seem like they come from the early 2000s

Someone on Twitter pointed out that one of Abby’s drawings on her wall appeared to be a red airplane, which could just be an indication/foreshadowing of her knowledge of Garret’s disappearance (his toy airplane) but also someone else said it could have been 9/11 which….?!?! If this film is set in 2000, then that’s FUCKED

(I think it’s either a random drawing or to do with Garret’s toy tbh but the idea of her having foresight of 9/11 is fucking horrifying)

I’m still not totally sure which animatronic the gang were going to force Abby into, like it’s one with spring locks and at first I thought it might be Circus Baby but it doesn’t really look like her. It looks almost like a marionette or something? And I mean, yeah, it could be that they changed the design a bit but they literally stayed faithful to the designs of all the animatronics in the series so… you know.

Desperate to know if Matthew Lillard is aware of the fact that his DILF status has been multiplied by one hundred after this film like can someone check in on him and see if he’s alright? 💀 the FNAF girlies fans are frankly RABID about Afton

On that note, I wonder if Josh Hutcherson or Matthew Lillard have ever played any FNAF games, like were they fans before being cast or…? I really wish we could have content of them talking about the film or promoting it, but Hollywood refuses to pay their actors fairly so 🤷‍♀️

Listen, I ADORE both Josh and Matthew anyway but in this film I feel like Matthew especially stood out??? Maybe it’s just the character he’s playing but he ATE this role up (so did Josh but still)

I feel like the springlock scene was actually more terrifying upon a second viewing like at my first one I was like “that’s not as bad as I imagined” but this time I was like “holy shit he’s in agony” like his screams were PAINFUL to listen to

Speaking of painful to listen to, Freddy gave this really guttural and pained roar/scream at one point during the ending and it really made my heart hurt, it’s like the child inside of him was reliving the memory of their murder or something??? I can’t describe it but it was such an intense moment

I honest to god feel like I enjoyed it more on a second viewing and I don’t know why??? Maybe it’s just because the other people in my cinema weren’t laughing every five minutes but still.

I now have the urge to rewatch ALL of Markiplier’s playthroughs of ALL the FNAF games so… yep!

Once again begging for people to talk about FNAF because I’m not the most knowledgable on the series but I do enjoy it!

#fnaf #five nights at freddy’s #fnaf movie #fnaf movie spoilers #freddy fazbear #bonnie the bunny #chica the chicken #foxy the fox #springtrap #mike schmidt #abby schmidt #william afton #matthew lillard #josh hutcherson

[hellishjoel]

cherry 

7.6k / pairing: dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

summary: Joel invites you over for a movie night with your parents and Sarah out of town. How are you supposed to focus on the film with his hand on your thigh? 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), NO OUTBREAK, neighbor!joel, age gap (reader is in their early 20s while Joel is in his 40s), cursing, alcohol consumption, use of pet names, softdom! Joel AND dom!Joel (restraint by command), oral sex (m receiving), praise kink, reader titty appreciation, super descript about Joel’s bulging biceps (we all know the picture that came out with him holding onto his luggage and I have not REST)

A/N: I wrote all of this today.. I don't know what's wrong with me. I hope you enjoy! I had a lot of fun writing this, I hope these two are growing on ya'll as much as they're growing on me <33

Joel could sense the shift, his hand coming to gently cup your cheek and bring your eyes back to his. He didn’t look mad like you maybe expected of him.  You could feel his jaw going slack under your thumb, your mouth sucking in the side of your cheek as you sat in awkward silence. You sort of wanted to leap out of his lap and return to the movie. But he wouldn’t let you, he planted you there with his hand on your hip and forced you to look at him. You teetered your wine glass on his shoulder.  “You wanna kiss me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, causing a few syllables to be cut out due to the raspiness. You slowly nod. A beat passes. “Why won’t ya let me then?”

A few times throughout the summer, the lakehouse was yours and yours alone.  While on vacation, your parents always make it a point to go out to dinner and drinks with their old friends that lived in a neighboring town, leaving you in blissful solitude. 

You used to go with them when you were younger, too young to be left home alone. You’d hang out with their son, Nathan, on the tire swing or go swimming in their pool. 

Once you and Nathan both turned thirteen, you found that Nathan was involved in a lot of sports leagues that summer, and therefore he wasn’t going to be around much. Your parents didn’t want to punish you and force you to hang out with four grown adults all day, so they let you stay behind at the lakehouse. 

It was your first sense of freedom, taking care of yourself, having your own routine. You remember breaking into your piggy bank and riding your bike into town with Sarah that day to play at the arcade. You came back home with your lackluster arcade prizes and made mediocre hot dogs. It was a little lonely, the house often bustling with noise from your parents, but it was also serene to be alone. 

Needless to say, you were at peace to wave your parents off this morning as they backed out of the driveway and left you and the lakehouse for the day. 

Your eyes flitted over to the Miller’s. Both Joel’s pickup truck and Sarah’s used and abused 2000’s red Saturn were parked in the shade. Part of you couldn’t believe Sarah could even drive. That five-year-ish age difference felt even more profound as young adults. 

You tried to find ways to busy yourself tonight until your date with Joel. Date? Not a date. Hang out. Movie night. Meet up. Rendezvous. Literally any other word besides date. 

You needed to distract yourself because tonight was a ways away. 

You busied yourself with cleaning your room and bathroom, followed by reading on the dock. When it got too warm, you took a refreshing dip in the lake, followed by some leisurely sunbathing. After a shower, you found solace in jotting down your thoughts in your journal, channeling any residual nerves about the upcoming night.

You found that documenting your summer experiences provided you with a sense of clarity. You aimed to revisit these entries later in life, reminiscing about the intensity of your emotions. These pages held memories of your first boyfriend, the elation of passing your driving test, the ache of lost friendships, and the journey to college.

After the bonfire, before you couldn’t even think about sleeping, you were ferociously writing in your journal. The way your heart raced, the way you were so proud of yourself for taking a leap of faith with Joel. Because it was so, so worth it. 

In the decades to come, the memories you once experienced that felt so fresh would naturally fade. That’s the point of your journals, to document how deeply you felt about your life at the time. Pouring your emotions onto the page felt like tending to a wounded heart. In hindsight, those entries about sadness and turmoil elicited a little giggle. Your mom always told you that it was better to feel anything than not to feel at all. 

You wondered how much Joel felt, like, really felt. On the surface, he was as cold and unmoveable as stone. What was he like with his passions and the people he cared about? You knew he loved Sarah to an unimaginable degree. He would do anything for her. But besides his own blood, what were the things he cared about? 

After putting pen to paper, you shoved your journal under your pillow and started to get ready. You over-dicked-around, and now the clock was ticking.  

You wanted to look somewhat nice. After your recent interactions with Joel, one where you quite literally looked like you just rolled out of bed, you were keen on looking at least somewhat presentable. 

But it was a movie night, after all, and you wanted to be comfortable. You opted to wear something simple, not too date-ey, not too casual. But you did wear Joel’s hoodie. It wasn’t for any overt purpose but because Joel’s house consistently seemed to mimic an icebox. Joel struck you as someone who could thrive in Alaska, content in solitude amid the cold. 

The hoodie still smelled like him, mixed with a little residual bonfire smoke, but his scent was still deeply lodged into the fabric. A navy hoodie with fraying material around the neckline and cuffs. Well-worn and well-loved. He must have loved it enough not to take it to work because it was free of any stains and rips from what you could tell. 

You twirled your finger around the hoodie’s strings, looking yourself over slowly in the mirror. Your eagerness practically floated you over to Joel’s house, Sarah’s car now gone. She must have left for her camping trip. 

After taking cautious steps up Joel’s rickety porch, you sent a rhythmic knock against the Miller’s front door. You heard a few heavy steps on the other side, hearing a lock flip before Joel appeared in front of you.

“It’s about time, I was starting to sweat.” You said as you pulled open the screen door that divided you two before walking past him, catching his subtle eye roll as you did so. 

The house looked like the same as it did ten years ago. Lots of dark wood, a cozy living room with a fireplace, and a lamp in the corner by the window. Joel had the perfect view of the lake. You naturally gravitated further into the room to look at the water glisten as the last hits of sunshine glided over the horizon. 

“You want somethin’ to drink?” 

Your head snapped to Joel, your arms already crossed at the cooler temperature piercing through the material of your clothes. 

“Yeah, what do you have?” Your small steps trekked into the kitchen, finally taking a full look at Joel. Your face faltered at the sight of him. 

Joel had traded in his usual tattered green flannel for a nicer, cleaner denim button-up. He had on his staple worn-in jeans, and for whatever reason, he still had on his work boots. But his hair was sort of run-through, freshly showered and combed back. He looked handsome, clean, like he was trying. 

You slyly smiled at him. He seemed to quickly catch your drift, already avoiding your eye contact with a huff. “I got... Whiskey,”

“Ew, no.” 

“Root beer,”

“Nope.”

Joel let out an excruciatingly long sigh as he ducked his head further into the depths of his fridge, mumbling something about you being a piece of work.

“It’s water, or,” with a groan, he stood up from the fridge, “this bottle of wine. Probably old.” 

Old? The bottle looked nothing but. No dust, fresh label, barely chilled. You didn’t want to call out the poor man for trying to make tonight classy, but you knew Joel had purchased this bottle of wine for tonight. For you. 

If it were any other date or any other guy, you would have pushed his nose into it a bit. Teased them for caring and being so sweet. But this wasn’t any other guy, this was Joel. And if you ever tried to admit that you saw right through him, he would clam up for the rest of the evening out of his adorable bashfulness. So you let it be. For now. 

“Wine’s good.” You say casually with a little nod, trying to relax your cocky smile. Even when he turned around to fetch some old wine glasses inside the very top of a kitchen cabinet, you could tell he was satisfied with himself. Hiding a smile with his back turned. 

You pulled the bottle closer to read the label. You rolled it around in your hand, your thumb tracing the stamped lettering. Cherry wine. 

“Haven’t had a chance to eat all day, got us some pizzas,” Joel said as his head nodded to the side, following the direction to two pizzas still warm and in their cardboard box homes on the counter. 

“Can’t have a movie night without pizza.” Your voice cooed as you set down the wine to take a peak inside, seeing all of its cheesy glory. 

Joel topped off a singular wine glass, your head twisting curiously at just the one. He clinked your glass with his beer bottle, and you rolled your eyes. 

“Thanks.” You murmured, turning on your heel to grab your glass and one of the pizza boxes before walking it to his living room. 

You sat right in the middle of the couch, not giving Joel any excuse to sit too far away. 

“Scootch,” Joel said as he motioned with his beer bottle to make room on the couch. You made a little noise of disapproval toward him. 

“Mm-mm.” You shook your head.

“What?”

Your sneaker tapped the heel of his boot. 

“Take those off. You can’t relax during a movie still wearing work boots.” 

He looked a little perplexed before looking down at his boots. Probably forgot they were even on. They were practically his spare feet at this point. 

“Fine. You too.” He said as his steel toe gently nudged your sneakers in return. You softly nodded, both of you undoing your laces. Sitting on the couch arm, Joel worked to loosen one boot and then the other, hearing the methodical snap of the laces. You slip yours off with ease, picking them up by the upper heel collar and tossing them by the door. Joel just kicked his aside and sat down next to you with a thump into the cushion. 

“We’re watching Pride & Prejudice.” You commandeered the remote out of his hand, his eyebrow cocking to you in disbelief. 

“The hell is that?”

Disbelief tangled your facial expression. “You’ve never seen Pride & Prejudice?”

Joel’s cocked his head to the side, face sitting like stone. Really? 

“Do I look like the type’a guy that watches Pride & Prejudices?” 

You rolled your eyes and huffed. 

“It’s based on the novel by Jane Austen. About... literally so much. The independence of women. Societal norms relating to gender and marriage. Any of this ring a bell?” 

“I know Sarah likes it. That’s about it.” Your smile quips up as you click play. “Perfect.” 

“Do we have to?” His annoyance held no restraint. 

“This movie night is to get back into my good graces, is it not?” You asked as your body leaned away, getting a good look at him. 

Through tight lips, he held back a smile before nodding a little and turning to the opening credits. “Yes, ma’am.” 

It didn’t take long for Joel’s arm to settle around your shoulders, bringing your body into his side. His thumb was stroking the hoodie you wore, his hoodie. 

In his close proximity once again, your senses pick up on his now all too familiar scent; Woody, minty, a little bit of citrus from his body wash. He smelled good, you wonder if he wore cologne tonight or if this was his natural musk. You wouldn’t put it past Joel to naturally smell this good. He was good at a lot of things without even trying. 

A few slices of pizza and two glasses of wine later, you started to feel the weight of Joel’s unbearably heavy arm. You released yourself from him and opted to turn and rest your side against the back of the couch cushions, putting your legs in his lap. 

You hadn’t been watching the movie for the last twenty minutes. Couldn’t stop trying to subtly look at how handsome Joel looked in the flicker of the television’s light from your peripheral. You couldn’t help it. He looked so big and hot, like a lumberjack, his stupid build alone making you fold. 

You bite at the inside of your cheek as Joel’s large and warm palm gently make slow strokes up and down your calf. Your body was trying not to twitch. Your heart was thrumming in your throat. You glanced up at him again, his eyes lasered in on the television. 

“Why’d he…” Joel’s voice trailed off, bringing your attention back to the screen. 

Your eyelashes fluttered, your brain trying to get you out of Joel Fantasy World and back into the film. “Hm? What?” 

“Why’d his hand cramp like that? Why’d they film that part?” Without intention, Joel’s curiosity was evident in his question. It immediately made you smile as you watched the television again, your body slumping into his side. 

“It’s not a hand cramp, he’s flexing it. It’s the film’s interpretation of his like… emotional turmoil and struggle. His feelings are evolving for Elizabeth, though he’s trying to appear all aloof and distant towards her. But their physical connection, he can’t really hide it, y’know? He can’t hide how he feels. So he flexes his hand because he’s affected by her presence and her touch. He can’t help it.” 

Joel’s hanging onto every word you say. You’re not so sure if he’s interested in the film as much as he is in hearing you talk about it. The hand that was messing around on your calf was now trailing higher up your thigh. And flexing the higher it climbed.

Your eyes looked from his amber ones to his lips, your heart racing faster in your chest. With one hand still clutching your wine glass, you managed to swing one leg over his lap to straddle him. You folded first. You couldn’t take Joel’s achingly slow touches. 

His enjoyment was obvious in his movements, his calloused hands slowly pushing up your thighs until they landed on the security of your waist. He was gripping the hoodie in his fists, observing your silhouette. 

“This mine, too.” It wasn’t a question, he was pointing it out to you. Joel giving you his own clothes to wear was by no mistake. It was a way of marking what was his, even if it was just in his mind. 

“Mine now.” Your words were whispered, leaning down and kissing at the hook of his jawline. 

“Like you in it. Wear it a hell’uva lot better than I do.” The shift in his voice was clear, huskier, and a little touch drunk. The film’s volume seemed softer now, playing as white noise and falling abandoned. 

His words made your stomach flip, your teeth purposely grazing against his skin. The motion made his hands trail down lower to the globes of your ass, humbly squeezing the flesh with the spans of his palms. A weak moan left your lips against his ear as he planted kisses on the inner side of your neck and on your shoulder. He was so fuckin’ greedy for you. 

“Joel,” you whispered between kisses along his jawline, lips coming up to his chin as one of your hands gently cupped the side of his neck while the other clutched your wine glass for dear life. 

As soon as your lips came close to his, you faltered. And Joel could tell. 

Suddenly both of your eyes were open, soft, and holding contact. Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The only thing that actually came from you was a little sigh of disappointment, your eyes shyly flitting away. 

Joel could sense the shift, his hand coming to gently cup your cheek and bring your eyes back to his. He didn’t look mad like you maybe expected of him. 

You could feel his jaw going slack under your thumb, your mouth sucking in the side of your cheek as you sat in awkward silence. You sort of wanted to leap out of his lap and return to the movie. But he wouldn’t let you, he planted you there with his hand on your hip and forced you to look at him. You teetered your wine glass on his shoulder. 

“You wanna kiss me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, causing a few syllables to be cut out due to the raspiness. You slowly nod. A beat passes. “Why won’t ya let me then?”

This was Joel’s second or so attempt to kiss you. The first time was on the tailgate of his truck, you didn’t even think about letting him kiss you in his woodshed. 

You weren’t trying to remain mysterious or aloof, something he managed to do so naturally. You shifted in his lap uncomfortably, your eyes drifting to the window behind his head and watching the water shift in the black of night. 

“It’s not that deep, Joel. Just don’t want anyone to get attached.” You shrug and shake your head. “I don’t know, who cares?” 

“I care.” Even blasted on movie pizza and beers, he was as quick as a whip. His care wasn’t soft, it was strong. He cared like a fiercely loyal shield. 

You exhaled a deep sigh, your chest reflecting your breath as he slowly brought you back to him.

“I’m scared that I’ll like it.” The movie’s distant volume was comforting white noise to your nerve-wracked conversation with Joel. This was perhaps the most you’ve talked with him in one sitting. And about something so deeply personal, too. 

He took in what you said, slowly beginning to shake his head as his hand cupped more seriously against your jawline. 

“”t’s just a kiss.” His tone was seductive, sincere. Whispering like no one else in the world could hear. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t feel pressured, Joel was looking at you like he genuinely cared about what you had to say. About the movie, about the kissing. He bought you wine, he got pizzas, and he’s suffering through a period drama to sit beside you on his couch. Damn you, Joel Miller. 

You felt your body relax into his again, no longer cold and rigid. Your bodies meshed as you fell into the front of his chest, your hand on his neck moving up to cup his jaw. You tilted up his face and received no resistance. Just kiss him. 

You met his lips, soft and sweet, delicate and gentle. Your hand slipped from his jaw and landed absentmindedly on his chest, feeling his thumping heartbeat against your palm. 

You didn’t pull away. It was impossible. 

He tasted like mint and whiskey, with hints of residual smoke from a cigarette earlier in the day. You wouldn’t know he smoked unless you were tasting him like you were right now. 

Joel was encouraging something out of you, deep and primal, as you let the kiss deepen. He took the lead with a heady mix of softness and urgency. 

He set a scorching fire between your legs, purely drunk on his lips alone. It sent a shiver down your spine how intense this stone-like man could be. Your mouths moved with desire and rhythm, feeling an electric spark that sent your senses ablaze. 

Goosebumps had sprinkled across the skin of your arms, your once soft hand on his jaw now clutching him there and tugging lightly at his curly tendrils. You weren’t letting him go. 

Your sounds filled the room, hot and wet kisses punching the air from both of your lungs. 

A breath was shared, your forehead on his as both of your chests rose and fell together.

His eyes caught yours. More?

You gently nod. Please. 

He was back with you in a hot heat, both of you wanting, no, needing more of one another. 

He balanced a tantalizing fusion of passion and longing, a magnetic pull that had you grinding your hips down into his lap. 

The world around you faded into a blur as you felt his tongue glide across your lower lip, asking permission. Your lips easily parted, tongues dancing and melting, your hands shaking a bit in excitement. 

Joel was consuming you. His tongue marking his territory as he explored your mouth before kissing you heatedly once more. You realized that the kiss wasn’t an exploration of feelings at all, Joel wanted to languish in your taste, stake out the claim of your mouth. Taste and territory. 

 A low grunt left the depths of his throat as your hips ground over him with desperation now. You could feel his dick swelling against your ass. 

Your lips quirked up in a smirk against his, you liked that you could feel his facial expressions, and he, yours. 

Without thinking, you went to cup his face in both hands, your wine glass dropping onto Joel’s chest, and what little wine you had left was splashing his denim button-up red. He didn’t even notice. 

“Joel--, wait,” you were breathless as you pulled away, his lips moving to the open expanse of your neck instead, his arms tight around your lower back. He could care less about his shirt, or the wine, or the spare glass rolling around between your stomachs. 

You laughed breathlessly, closing your eyes as you kept your chests apart, careful not to get wine on his favorite sweatshirt next. Your head fell back, your hair fanning out as you grinned at the ceiling. 

“Joel, your shirt is stained.” You tried to point out, both of your hands clamped onto his shoulders weakly to keep him at a distance. But his lust-filled lips had a taste of you that he couldn’t replace. His teeth grazed the soft skin of your neck, wincing lightly as you let out a broken little whimper. 

“Don’t care.”

Oh my god. Fuck. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, desperate for more, but you weren’t going to let him stain one of maybe three decent shirts he owned. And with wine, you had to be fast acting. 

“Come on,” you said weakly, not even convinced yourself to break away.  “Joel, your shirt-”

“Don’t. Care.” He growled through gritted teeth, eyes hungry as you felt him lick a hot, slow stripe up your neck to your jaw. Fuck, he felt so good. 

Despite his clear lack of empathy for his shirt, you felt bad because it was your spill, your accident to try and make up to him. 

You rolled your eyes playfully and shook your head. He didn’t stop until you planted both palms against his pecs and pushed him back with little force, watching as he fell into the cushions with a lazy smirk on his face as he looked over you. Joel was drunk off your kiss. 

You found your footing on the hardwood floors, grabbing his hands and attempting to pull him up and off the couch. He playfully resisted, just kept sitting there as you weakly tried again. 

“Stop bein’ such a dick.” You huffed. His laugh filled the room, nearly startling you. It was always quite the opportunity to hear him laugh so big like that. 

“Couldn’t pull me up no matter how hard ya try.” 

“Shut up. Stand up.” You ordered with little follow-through from Joel.

He yanked his hands from yours and planted his palms onto the tops of his thighs, pushing himself off the couch and following you aimlessly to his master bathroom. 

“Do you have some hydrogen peroxide? Dishwasher detergent?”

He stayed silent but looked at you quizzically. You rolled your eyes and started looking through different cabinets. 

“Baking soda?” Cocking your head to him, he nods and disappears before returning to you with the little orange Arm & Hammer cardboard box. 

You cleared your throat and looked at him expectantly. 

“Joel, I can’t clean the shirt with you wearing it. Take it off.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you shouldn’t have been surprised to see his lips upturned in a cocky smirk. Sometimes you just wanted to smack it clean off his face. 

Fine. With a sense of ferocity, you began to take him down button by button. He lets you. He even steps closer to your body, and you try not to get distracted by him. 

“I don’t wanna be the one that messes up your nice shirts.” You murmur. 

“t’s fine.” He cups your cheek again and tries to divert your attention once more. He’s not even actively trying to kiss you, he just wants to get a rise out of you now. You’re trying not to smile at him in the reflection of his bathroom mirror. Your elbow jabs into his bare abdomen after you’ve peeled the wet material from his torso. 

“Quit it.”

“Quit what?” 

Forcing yourself to turn away from him wasn’t enough. Now he’s behind you planting kisses down the side of your neck with his hands on your waist and toying with the hem of your sweatshirt.

You had to admit being on his lap like that got you hot and bothered to the tenth degree. Now you were nursing a stained shirt and the ache in your core. 

“‘lright, fine.” Oh, thank god. You could breathe again. You were this close to caving, and caving to Joel was a losing game. 

He found a towel and wiped at his chest and torso while you blotted away with a paper towel the excess wine in his shirt. After getting out what you could, you sprinkled the baking soda over the little splashes of red and added a few drops of water to make somewhat of a paste. Now you just had to wait for it to dry and toss it in the laundry. 

You hoped you didn’t ruin the denim shirt, you quite liked how he looked in it. The blue denim complimented the soft silver in his curls, and the cuffs rolled up accentuated his biceps.

Speaking of biceps. Your eyes innocently watched him move around the bathroom shirtless. He was somewhat toned, a handsome mix of dad bod and muscle. Like a sexy lumberjack. He was big and broad, wide in the shoulders and smaller in the waist. With all the summer log chopping, his biceps were toned.  

A shaky breath left your mouth, his eyes catching yours in the mirror before you quickly looked away, washing your hands of the baking soda paste you had made. 

“It’s uh… It’s good now. Just let it dry and put it in the washer. Alone. Without anything else in there.” You quickly nodded, over-clarifying again. You braved looking at him again in the mirror. Mistake. A smug little smile that beat up your guts was laced on his lips. 

Your hand was quick to reach for the door handle, but his hand was already on your other wrist and pulling you into his front. 

“Get back here,” Your name drips off his lips, and it’s drenched in lust. 

Fuck it. 

Your arms quickly wrapped around his neck, feeling his raised trap muscles under your forearms as your lips reunite with Joel’s. 

Getting that first kiss between you two out of the way was a blessing in disguise because now you knew him. You were acquainted with his lips. You liked his taste, you liked how soft he was, you liked the stubble of his beard, and you liked the way his warm palms were on you as soon as you entered his space. He embraced every inch of you, his kisses were feverish, and they left your mind in a tailspin. No one had ever kissed you like this before. 

You ducked your head down before he could stop you, kissing over his wine-spoiled chest. You kissed lower and lower before licking a slow stripe up his sternum, tasting residual cherry and sweetness from the wine. 

Your lips parted as you looked in the mirror, realizing now that he had pinned both your wrists behind your back and planted them at your tailbone. 

Your doe eyes innocently looked up at him, his face masked in desire and an appetite for you. 

“Get on your knees.” 

A breath hitched in your throat, your eyes trying to focus as you looked over Joel’s face. Your eyes fluttered down to his biceps, strong and defined with veins lining like rivers coursing along the curves as they held your wrists back. You didn’t hesitate to drop down to your knees. 

He had let go of your wrists, so you brought your hands up to undo the button of his jeans, but he tsk-ed you. 

“But I-”

“But nothing. Put your hands behind your back again.” You pouted but obeyed. You wanted to touch him. 

Your lips parted as you watched Joel pop open the button of his jeans, his thumbs lining the hem of his jeans and boxers at his hips before pushing them down to his thick thighs. His cock was already half-hard from when you were grinding on him back on the couch. 

Your breaths grew heavier, you couldn’t manage to stay in his hoodie. You peeled the heavy navy sweatshirt off, leaving you in nothing underneath, which earned sweet praise from Joel as soon as you laced your hands once more behind your back.

“So fuckin’ pretty.. Look at you.” He lightly leaned over and cupped one of your tits, massaging it in the heart of his palm and rolling your taut nipple around with his thumb. A quiet whine was elicited from your throat, face crumbling as your hands fought hard not to release themselves behind your back. 

You wanted to touch him, cup his face, hold his thighs, wrap your hand around his dick that was flush against his stomach. 

A harsher tug to your nipple left you moaning, watching as he leaned down and let a long, long dribble of spit connect from his lips down onto your chest. Your head fell back at the cool sensation, feeling it aid the heat of your breasts. 

He stood up tall again, broad and towering, as you glanced over to the mirror. The dynamic was almost charming. You on your knees for Joel, his blushing cock swelling against his happy trail. He was so handsome, so greedy. 

Without thinking, you released your hands from around your back and moved to steady yourself on his thighs. 

“Not gonna tell you again, pretty girl.” You paused and looked to Joel. “No usin’ your hands tonight. Just that dirty mouth a’yours.” His accent was drenched with lust, dripping like syrup. 

You whined as you assumed your position with your hands away, not knowing what to expect if you tried to use them again. 

You attempted to crawl closer to him, your knees practically between his slightly parted legs. 

You kissed up his inner thigh, grinning lightly at the slight taste of his sweat. Your tongue kitten licked at his balls, hearing him seethe in a breath through gritted teeth. Sensitive, a little wrinkled, lightly groomed just for you. It made you smirk that he cared enough to trim. 

You tested the waters, letting your warm mouth coat him in saliva, going from one ball to the other until they were both practically dripping. His cock was twitching for your attention, but Joel was above begging and groveling. For now. 

With devilish eyes, you looked up to him as you suckled one of his balls. He didn’t stop you, just cursed a little under his breath as his chest moved faster. You picked up the suckling from him when he nursed your sensitive, throbbing clit between his teeth and tongue. Now, it was your turn to repay the favor. 

Your lips released him with a pop, and you watched as Joel let out a breath he was holding in. His hand loosely fisted your hair in a loose ponytail atop your head, a little moan leaving your mouth as your scalp tingled with his tug. 

Your eyes closed as you worked over the other ball, suckling and licking and doing it all just to watch his cock grow angrier and more jealous of the attention. Your own spit was falling down your lips and chin, coating your breasts in a glistening sheen. 

Working without your hands, you used your core to balance yourself against Joel. Your knees dug uncomfortably into the floor. He liked watching you work to suck him off. 

You had to look to Joel for assistance, his shaft so hardened now against his stomach that you couldn’t reach. You sat up as straight as you could, Joel smirking down at you and watching you struggle for a few brief moments. “Come ‘ere, pretty girl.” He used the free hand not tangled in your locks to guide his tip down to your open mouth, your lips wrapping loosely around the head.

You made the mistake of releasing him out of habit, whimpering as your knees scrambled on cold tile to get him back to the warmth of your mouth. He opted to help you again, guiding his tip onto your red, wine-stained tongue. 

This time, you learned not to release him. Your tongue salivated his tip, swollen and sensitive. You could tell by how tight Joel clutched your hair and nearly pulled you off. 

You smirked lazily around him as you took him deeper, your watery eyes on his as you interlocked your fingers by your tailbone. 

You were slow at first, little nods back and forth, up and down his shaft. You blinked through any residual tears, slicking him up with your spit and proceeding farther down his shaft. You clenched your eyes closed and choked lightly as you took him to his base, a low groan of praise leaving Joel as his thumb stroked up your cheekbone. 

“Fuck me, so fuckin’ good for me, darlin’.” His words were broken by his rasp, but the praise sent you into overdrive. 

You bobbed your head at a good pace, Joel guiding you by your hair up and down his shaft, slicked by excess saliva that was dripping onto your tits and your stomach. You had to take a breath, but you learned from earlier. Your head came to rest against his thigh, head foggy as his tip sat plump against your cheek. You looked at the two of you in the mirror, and it was quite a sight. 

Joel’s body was planted by his heels, his toned torso and biceps protruding with hints of sweat. You had black-smudged tears on your waterline, and your face was filled with warmth. Your hair was a mess, Joel gently stroking it back from your sweat-glistened forehead as you breathed through your nose. You liked watching you work in the mirror. Watching him get ruined in the mirror. Watching yourself get ruined in the mirror. 

You started your rhythm again, this time your eyes locked loosely on the mirror in your peripheral. Joel’s cock made you choke each time you took him deep, but you didn’t let it stop you. He was so close, you had the heady taste of his precum on your tongue. He liked it messy. 

“Fuck- can’t,” Joel let out a rugged moan, it felt like it vibrated the tiles under your aching knees. Your wrists were throbbing from keeping your arms back, hands clenched together tight as you followed his rules. “Can’t hold on when you take me so-- so goddamn good.”

You whimper-whined against his cock, hollowing your cheeks as you moved with intent up and down his shaft. You opted just to take what you easily could now, focused on keeping the pace and working towards his orgasm. You thought about Joel fucking your mouth, but he wanted you to feel some sense of control since you had your hands back. Maybe you wanted to lose all control. If it was Joel you were losing it with. 

Joel was close, he couldn’t hold back how messy he had gotten. He had a steel-tight grip on your hair, and his breaths were laced with broken moans and grunts of your name. He kept wiping away any tears that slipped past your eyes and onto your cheeks, despite being devastatingly close to an orgasm you knew he was drunk on. 

“Yeah, fuck me,” He murmured under his breath, his cock twitching deep in your throat now. “Take me so well... The fuckin’ best, babygirl.” The best. 

You watched through blurry, head-dizzy vision as Joel’s ab muscles contorted. “Gonna cum, baby, stay with me.” He panted, eyes locking on yours as you nodded on his shaft and continued your sweet rhythm. 

You whimpered as his tip pulsed against your tongue, going down on him as deep as you could and clenching your eyes closed, waiting for Joel’s impending climax. And he kept you there as he painted your throat white. 

His cum came out in hot ropes, moaning lowly against his shaft as you focused on tasting him and breathing through your nose. He was salty, little beads landing in the back of your throat as you swallowed around him. 

Joel’s moans were glorious, breathy, and aching to say your name. His eyes had fallen closed, his stance still tall and broad. You wanted to touch him, kiss him. You decided to lay your head against his thigh, still breathing around his dick as you watched yourself in satisfaction through his mirror. 

“Fuck,” he murmured low, pulling you off of him with a pop. Your jaw lightly throbbed, but god, you felt like you were in the clouds. 

“Hands?” Your raw voice whimpered. He gave a silent nod of approval, and with his permission, you released your interlocked hands and lightly toppled back on your ass, leaning against the door to his linen closet. 

Joel observed you for a few moments, making sure you were okay before he grabbed a spare washcloth and ran some lukewarm water over it. Your eyes peeked open when you heard his zipper go up on his jeans, seeing he had straightened out his bottom half. 

You tried to focus your vision, seeing him squat down beside you and lightly press the cold washcloth to your temple, cheeks, and up your neck. It helped, you were settled, safe, and with Joel.

“Holy fuck.” You finally said once you had come down from your high. Your eyes met Joel’s, seeing both of your mouths were quirked up in lopsided smiles. 

“Too much?” He asked, the washcloth now delicately cleaning up the saliva on your breasts. 

You slowly shook your head. No, never too much. Just new. 

You looked around, feeling an ache in your knees and in your wrists. You rolled your wrists in circles to relieve some pressure on the joints before you pushed your palms up and down your kneecaps gently.

“Hey,” Joel’s words caught your attention, turning to him as he lightly cupped your cheek. “You were fuckin’ perfect, darlin’.” A weak mewl left you, a tired smile on your lips. 

“You said the best.” 

“Was perfect. Was the best. Did a perfect job.” His praise punched excitement through your veins, regaining your strength to stand back up with Joel’s honorable assistance. You murmur a thanks before you make a grab for Joel’s hoodie. As if he was going to steal it back from you. 

Joel excused himself to go clean up the kitchen, leaving an attentive kiss on your cheek before he left you alone. 

You took a few minutes to rinse some water around in your mouth and try to brush your fingers through your knotted, matted hair. 

“Need to get yourself a brush, Mr. Miller.” You murmur as you pass him in the kitchen, seeing he pulled on a new t-shirt and that he had put some of the leftover pizza in spare Tupperware containers. 

“Can’t eat it all by myself, and Sarah won’t be home for a few more days.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. He could so totally finish that pizza if he wanted to. He could do it tonight as soon as you leave. 

Reading your mind, he shoved the container into your hands. “Just-- fuckin’ take it, why you gotta make things so damn difficult.” 

You smirked and patted the container softly. “My specialty. Irritating old grouchy men.” 

He rolled his eyes and shook his head at you, picking up the wine bottle next and figuring out what to do with it. Your eyes softened, watching the gears turn in his head for how he was going to handle this situation. 

“Do you care if I take the rest of it home, actually? I know it’s yours, and it’s been yours for a while, but it was really good.” Lame excuse. Joel leaned into it though, nonetheless. You were at Joel’s side now, looking to him with gentle eyes and a tender smile. He teetered on his feet for a moment before he nodded and handed it over. 

“Yeah, you’re doin’ me a favor so it doesn’t just keep sittin’ in the fridge.” 

You nodded softly and tried to jam the cork back in as well as you could, Joel swiftly taking the bottle from you and popping it back into its home with ease due to his sheer strength. 

You turned to the television and huffed, seeing the credits of Pride & Prejudice roll. Dammit.  

Joel joined you at your side, crossing his arms and giving the television a once over. “So did they, y’know, end up together?” There was Joel’s pure curiosity again. This time, he didn’t hide it so well. 

“Guess you’ll have to watch to find out. Don’t forget to throw that shirt in the washer.” You said with a cocky grin, holding up the wine bottle and pizza leftovers in gratitude before walking to the door. Joel followed you out, and you looked at him curiously. 

“Gotta make sure you get home safe.” 

Your head rolled to the side, watching as he shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “What?”

“Joel, I’m staying right next door. You could see me go inside from your living room window.” 

He just shook his head and looked beyond you to the water. 

“t’s dark.” 

Your chest fluttered with warmth, a smile on your lips growing past one you could deny. Let him have this one. 

“Thanks, Joel. Thanks for the pizza and the wine and… stuff.” Now it was his turn to let you have this one. The stuff. The kiss. The multiple kisses. He didn’t make it a big deal, just rolled with the punches. You appreciated it. 

You wanted to know what was next for the two of you. The feeling of your cores grazing one another set a fire in you that only Joel could put out. 

You pondered whether or not to kiss him goodnight and find a lame excuse to try and thank him again for the wine bottle when you saw two pairs of headlights coming down the road. 

“Shit,” you murmured under your breath, looking to Joel with a pained expression. He looked disappointed. 

You didn’t say goodnight, you didn’t kiss him before you left, you just… left. You moved down Joel’s rickety wooden porch steps with haste, sneaking into the lakehouse through the garage door as your heart thrummed at a face pace. You felt like a child getting caught by your parents. 

You didn’t know what to do with Joel’s pizza container and the wine. You could figure out an excuse for the pizza later, so you shoved it into the fridge, but definitely not the half-drank bottle of red wine. You double-checked that the cork was in there tight, and of course it was because Joel pushed it back in, but you couldn’t help but check because it was going to be stowed under your bed for safekeeping. 

You changed out of Joel’s hoodie and into an oversized band tee, walking out of your bedroom with a book when your parents returned through the door. 

“Hey, kiddo. You’re still up? ‘t’s past eleven.” 

You try not to roll your eyes, biting down on the inside of your lip as you tightly nodded. “Yeah, I know. I stay up late a lot at school and stuff, working on papers or out with friends. Staying up past eleven isn’t that weird for me.” 

You didn’t mean for there to be so much venom in your comment, but you weren’t a baby. Nearly every day at the lakehouse so far this summer has elicited a few don’t call me kid, I’m an adult, I make adult decisions, comments from you. 

Your parents looked too tired to care, which somehow stung worse. 

“Okay, sweetie, we’ll see you tomorrow morning. Your dad and I are headin’ to bed.” 

Now you felt bad. You pursed your lips and nodded, putting your hands behind your back and resting them on your tailbone absentmindedly. This was the same pose Joel had you in tonight. You already wanted to go back there. 

“Sorry, goodnight.” You whisper, seeing your dad give you a tired smile before patting your shoulder. 

“Hey kiddo-” He paused at the nickname and took a breath. “Sorry.” You playfully smiled and shook your head. Go on.

“Do me a favor, grab the steaks out from the freezer and put them on a plate in the fridge. Wanna have Joel and Sarah over for dinner tomorrow night. Feel like I haven’t seen them all summer.” 

Your face went ghastly blank, feeling yourself fall hollow like a collapsing building. If it weren’t for how tired your dad was, he would have seen right through you like a ghost. “You- Oh, you want to have them come by for dinner? I don’t think tomorrow’s gonna work. Sarah’s camping and-”

“Oh, well, Joel can still swing by for dinner. Need to eat up those steaks. Every time I open the freezer, they stare at me. They’re beggin’ me to eat them, it ain’t fair.” 

You forced out a laugh, but of course, your father couldn’t tell. Just thought he made one hell of a zinger. 

“So-So Joel over for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, kiddo. And don’t forget to take out the steaks. Love you.” He turned the corner down the hall, and then he was gone. 

You sighed and lightly chewed at the skin around your thumbnail. Great. One big happy family dinner. And Joel. 

---

here's my masterlist!

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@jrrmint @gracieispunk @macfrog @strang3lov3 @notjustjavierpena @bastardmandennis @joelslegalwhre @brittmb115 @casa-boiardi @nostalxgic @cool-iguana @chim-cham-blog @joeldjarin @unsteadyimagines @pattwtf @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @schnitzelwnoodles @flippittygibbitts @turtles-all-the-way-d0wn @cartoon-garbage04 @lunarxeclipse @alltheseperfectimperfections @sunnywithachanceofjavi @kyloispunk @hopplessilse @keeponlivinmanl-i-v-i-n @toxicfics @angelicnotifs @iquitedislikeithere2 @livingdeadmaria @emmalandry @worhols @radsanchez @pedritoferg @lucyeyelesbarrow @airalihmarylu @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @suzmagine @pastawench @crazedquilter-blog @kaitangatatacos @amanitacowboy @loveisacowboyyy @kittytiddywinks @slut-for-bucky-barnes @mendessi @aphterthoughtt @chyannealaniz @pedrotonin @barbieratogabx-blog @chicville03

(idk why so many of my tags aren't working. Might make a notifications blog instead where you'd follow it and turn the notifications on and I'll only reblog my work on that account. ugh a problem for another day, okay ily ttyl I'm gonna go watch twilight)

#joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal the last of us #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #therapist joel #tlou #tlou fic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #hellishjoel #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller #dad's best friend #neighbor!joel miller #joel tlou

[noneorother]

The grand unified theory of Good Omens S2, Hangs on a double meaning - Answering why .5 + .5 = 25 lazerii *The end?*

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 l Part 5 l The end?

Welcome to the end of the Bonkers Meta Series featuring your favourite Art Director/Clue detective. This is it! I'm going to wrap up this series as well as I can with what I think really happened, the final 15 and why Crowley says the things he says. Meta, Spoilers, Beware! All that. “Armageddon only happens once, you know. They don't let you go around again until you get it right.” 

If you've read my Metatron post you'll know that I thought there were *at least* two time loops with tweaks to achieve different outcomes, seeing as we seemed to be presented with two versions of events a lot of the time, two similar lines of dialogue, double meanings for lines etc etc. If you want a really good recap of a lot of the Clues that have already been compiled already you can go through them here. Yesterday I added my own : The columns in front of the bookshop get stained by a demon, and the stain stays and goes. But why do we care?

Here's my final thesis using the context I'll put together below :

The Metatron is changing the past and the present on earth using the book of life. He's forced a time loop of the last few days at least 50 times over a period of (realtime) months to get the outcome he wants : the separation of Aziraphale and Crowley to allow him to complete the second coming. It only worked once. Let me explain.

1) Not time skips, but stitched loops

My theory about the columns goes like this : a demon touches the right column in the attack on the bookshop, and dirties it. The problem is, in every episode we get multiple versions of the column that are dirtier or cleaner. Why? Because a demon has been touching that column in *more or less* the same place and getting it dirty over time, but the effects on the bookshop only layer every loop and reset, instead of being erased. The layering aspect is super important and I'll get back to it. For now, if we take it that the column gets dirtier over many loops, we now know what we are seeing : a bunch of different time loops stitched together to create a sense of time moving forward in a way that we can understand the story, but that skip forward and backward through the loops. Cleaner column = earlier loop. Here's discussion about clock hands if you want evidence, some even saying the hour hand seems to be going backwards in the first episode or the last, or even that the minute and hour hands must be backwards to make sense. If we think of time skipping ever forward and actions getting deleted (as some have said), then clocks going backwards makes no sense. But if we think about it as a time loop where things and actions are ever being tweaked and changed, then OF COURSE the times won't make sense anymore. People don't show up at the same time if they don't do the same thing they did before. The biggest time discrepancies I've seen in a single scene are A) Crowley's phone and watch being an hour apart in S2E1 and B) Inside the bookshop between Gabriel's fly flashback in S2E6 and him and Beez holding hands, there's an hour difference on the clock. I think that by the time we get to very late loops, some things are happening up to an hour later in the day. A simple example we are shown up top is the Eccles cakes. They are there in the first part of S2E1, but then they are no longer there somewhere along the way. In the first loop we see an ordering action/receiving Eccles cakes action, which takes *longer* than just not doing that and going straight to the shop, so that loop will be slightly later. It gets infinitely more complicated the more loops you are looking at, and we have at least 50 of them. How do I know that?

2) A 25 lazerii miracle

If we know that effects on the bookshop are cumulative and don't reset (because columns), then let's try this idea on for size : Aziraphale and Crowley have been performing the same half miracles on the same spot for 50+* loops, and each times they are layering and getting stronger. .5 demon + .5 angel = .5 angelic miracle x 50*ish loops = 25 lazerii miracle goes off in heaven on the latest loop. Shax then confronts Crowley in his car about a mighty miracle, so we're in a loop here where we've layered quite a lot, but not the last loop because he still has the original glasses/ *but also* Crowley's sideburns are long. Compare it to the scene directly after, and how sunny and bright it is. We're in a later loop and and earlier loop simultaneously.

3) Crowley's been testing So I've been searching for a *reason* that Crowley wears a turtleneck in S2E2 and thren new glasses and changes sideburns, and he seems to be up to some pretty crafty spy stuff, seeing as 1) he seems thrilled by it, and 2) he won't shut up about it (How will our hero cope? Jane Austen, nasty piece of work, master spy) There's also this Clue :

Crowley has a secret, as we know everyone with their hands deliberately in their pocket does in the series. I think Crowley knows before Aziraphale that something is wrong, because he's getting little snippets of memory and feeling, and so he's going off to try and change things about himself, the Bentley and the shop to remind himself in the next loop and leave himself clues or change outcomes if he fails to escape. In the early loops it seems like a fun spy mission, but by the end he's pretty tired and jaded that he doesn't seem to be making any headway on his own.

It *also* explains him throwing books and canapés on the floor in the bookshop to see if it changes in other versions. The problem being that Gabriel keeps cleaning everything up and reorganizing the titles to Crowley can't tell if it's his system or not. (lolsob)

It makes this line seem like he can't fit the loop pieces together anymore, and is trying to make headway without any information, rather than a pre-fall reference.

And this line probably much later in the loops (New sunglasses, long sideburns) :

Okay so! To recap : Everyone gets reset every time, and they make different choices because of past and present edits. But, most heavenly and hellish things don't obey earth laws, and therefore things like miracles start layering, and memories start seeping through the loops. (Point 4 is optional but absolutely hilarious, so I'd like to think it's worth speculating about)

4. The flaw in The Metatron's plan

There's a huge flaw in The Metatron's plan however, and it's that Heaven and Hell don't work like earth does. He's spent so many loops trying to get the result he wants, that he doesn't know that something crazy is *also* happening in hell. Every loop, Shax is emptying out the legions of demons until they barely have enough low level lackeys to go up at all. Hell is understaffed because no new people come into hell in the loop from earth, and they're sending all the demons that aren't subject to the reset into battle. This isn't a negotiation, it's a montage.

So the attack on the bookshop isn't one attack, but waves, and the waves get less powerful each loop. Stitched loops would also explain why Shax now hands Crowley his mail again in the last attack after *just* handing it to him on the park bench, like, 4 days ago in an earlier loop.

I don't have evidence for this directly, but if The Metatron put Maggie together with Nina successfully only in the last few loops, then she's fighting in the bookshop only a few times, and doesn't invite the demons in any other times, which might be why the only evidence is the column, and not books being ruined. But, it might also explain why the demon Eric gets discorporated a bunch of times in a row, he's doing it later and later in each loop. (These are kind of contradictory thoughts, I know.)

5. Aziraphale realizes too late. When I wrote part 4 of this series I was pretty awed by the fact that Aziraphale managed to figure out the Metatron was rewriting things after only hearing him say ONE LINE of dialogue. However after more thought, I think that he's been getting close to the truth a bunch of times by communicating with Crowley in previous loops. In each successive loop he tells Crowley later and later, and it's been getting them reset as punishment each time they figure it out together. By the end they barely communicate at all, because they can feel the danger. Watch his reaction here, in what we can assume is a *very late or last loop (because of the time on the clock)*

He stops himself from interrupting and telling Crowley something important he's just realized : that he's seen Gabriel and Beez get together before. "I know what this means..." 6. Saraqael is helping both sides without them knowing We see Saraquael helping Crowley immediately with the trial when she finds him in heaven. Why would she help Crowley without having ever met him before as a demon? The exchange of "Crowley I remember you, we worked on the Hosehead nebula together" and "I meet a lot of people, (*he doesn't say* I don't remember you)" is a code. They are both trying to communicate what they remember like spies on a bench in St.James park. Who recognizes who, who's trying to stop this madness. Maybe once Crowley gets to heaven this time he's seen multiple trials with multiple endings, and Saraquael has seen them too, I don't really know. BUT she's also communicating with Aziraphale at one point. Look at Saraqael in this scene again about the 25 lazerii miracle. She *remembers the book slap* and then the *looks* at Aziraphale in regards to Gabriel.

Yeah Gabriel, IT NEVER F*&?%ING WORKS IN ANY LOOP SO STOP DOING IT. - Saraquel, probably. Are Saraqael and Aziraphale testing later/earlier in the loops as well? Is this when the miracle was weaker? Who knows! 7. The Metatron job offer was many, many offers

It's really hard to tell with all the pieces of the puzzle moving around, but I think I can count 7 job refusal loops by Aziraphale in the last fifteen minutes. Here's a summary 1) Chinwag with Crowley in the room 2) We should go for a walk instead, here's a coffee 3) You don't have to answer immediately 4) Go tell you friend the good news (This is the important one), it's the last one where he tries to convince Crowley to come with him 5) I need to take care of my bookshop 6) The Metatron puts Muriel in charge of the bookshop, but Aziraphale wants to take something with him 7) Aziraphale straight up runs out to Crowley with "I think I-" 4, again) The Metatron takes him out of the bookshop. "Ready to start"?

Trying to screenshot all that would be insane, so just go rewatch it with all this in mind, and look at how the lighting changes inside of the bookshop and the jump cuts to different angles, and how his face resets every time. It's HEARTBREAKING. 8. The argument

I'm so blown away by the acting and writing (as well as the art direction) in this show, and it all comes to a head in the final argument. Many important lines have double meanings in series 2, because everyone is trying to speak in secret code to not get caught. Especially in the final loops.

In the last loops, we have an Aziraphale who is moving ever closer towards accepting the Metatron's offer, with the straw that broke the camel's back being he could restore Crowley as an angel**/save him; and Crowley who is moving ever farther away, by having to hide all of his Clue gathering, and confiding less and less to Aziraphale in each loop.

Check out the double meanings going on in this whole exchange if you consider that they are trying to save each other using secret codes neither one of them can hear. It's so shattering. Especially when you consider they've probably made it to this argument at least twice, and Crowley convinced him the first time. Why do I say that, you ask? 9. No Nightingales

Because I think Crowley remembers a loop where A Nightingale Sang was playing when they kissed, and Aziraphael didn't leave, but he knows they aren't in that version anymore. 10) I'm a demon, I lied. I'll probably post more abut the secondary characters because Shax, Furfur, Michael, Uriel and Nina etc all have roles to play, but for now, this is it.

----------------------------------------- Thanks so much for reading the gigantic post. If you disagree with my thoughts, or think this is terribly wrong, that's totally fine! I won't be offended. Without a real season 3, everything is just ether. Fingers crossed. I'd also like to thank The Ineffable Detective Agency, @embracing-the-ineffable, @cobragardens, @indigovigilance, @yowlthinks and more for inspiring me and feeding my brain with posts. *Loop numbers could actually be 25+ if you think that .5 demon mircales + .5 angelic miracles pour register as 1 whole miracle in heaven, I just didn't want to go into that in the main review. **The Metatron's meddling in the past seems to me trying very much to highlight to Aziraphale how *good* and righteous Crowley is, despite being a demon, in order to convince Aziraphale that joining him in heaven is a real possibility, and he should push for it.

#good omens meta #art director talks good omens #go season 2 #good omens prime #good omens season two #go meta #go2 #good omens 2 #good omens season 2 #go3 #good omens spoilers #stitchedloop #good omens season 3 predictions

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 8.5 K Warnings: None Prompt: Who said potions class was meant to be boring? This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 32: Come A Little Bit Closer

You groaned the second your alarm went off, placing a pillow over your eyes as you winced from the light being extremely harsh to your rather sensible senses. You checked the clock, you were pretty sure you had half threatened Sirius with making his life miserable through Moony last night and blinked a couple of times to force yourself awake. 

After checking the time one last time, trying to convince yourself that the clock said 4:30 instead of 5:30 so you could sleep another hour, only to realize it wasn’t, you raised yourself until you were sitting on your bed “fuck,” you whispered as you felt the ache on your legs and back. You had rolled yourself into a ball, and while initially, the pain had been drawn out by the stress of the water spirit and the euphoria from the party, it wasn’t anymore. Just when I had started to feel fine, you thought. 

You yawned and went to change, rolling your shoulders a couple of times, at least the shoulder wound was a lot better now, and the painkiller potion for that one would also help for the fall, which meant, by the time you were ready, and the meds had kicked in you felt a lot better, except for the fact that you were half tempted to wear a pair of sunglasses even if it was cloudy outside. When you walked down, Sirius and James were already there. 

Sirius gave you a look, taking in your demeanour in an instant and smirking, “You sure you still want to fly, Vix?” 

You gave him a look and huffed, “Very.” 

He chuckled as he walked towards you and placed his arm around your shoulder, “If you say so then.” 

James, who had no idea you had threatened Pads but had gotten a threat of his own in the morning from Sirius, to not go hard on you because of the fall –that he still had to speak his mind to you about– was a little confused with the interaction, but decided that it was probably something to do with being in a relationship. And since he had barely gotten Lily to go on one date with him, he really wouldn’t know. 

Once you got to the pitch Sirius pulled out a small notebook from his pocket and opened it, handing it over to you, “Memorise this.” 

You frowned, trying to figure out why Sirius would give you a notebook, but then you read some of the words and understood, it was the counterspell he had mentioned the previous night. You smiled, at how neatly he had written it down, at how he’d separated his cursive more than normal and paid attention to adding the extra dots and lines he sometimes left out.

Sirius had written it for you, and he wanted you to pay attention so he had been extra careful with it. And you, being as naturally curious as a fox, decided to snoop around the notebook a little more. There were a few silly doodles and for a minute you worried that he had given you his sketchbook, but it was definitely not it, that one was a little wider, and the cover was black, this one, on the other hand, had a wine red cover, a very Gryffindor notebook. 

There were lists of songs, with names for mixtapes at the top on some pages, and a few movies some muggle friends had recommended, including some you and Remus had told him about. On some of the pages you spotted your name written on the edges, and you smiled, you didn’t know boys did that too. 

“You done?” He asked as he turned to you, he had been pulling out some stuff from the shed with James. You quickly changed the page to the one you had to be on and smiled. 

“Almost,” you said before trying to fully focus on the page and the words. They weren’t tricky, in fact, it was kind of a combination of protection spells you already knew, but it was rather long. His thick and delicate handwriting occupies the entire page and then some of the next one. 

After a few more minutes you took a deep breath and nodded “I think I’m ready.” 

“Good,” Sirius said, “Take your broom and hover for a bit.” You did as told. “Not so high silly, what if you fall?” he asked as he saw you float a few feet above his head. 

“I won’t fall,” you said confidently. 

“Vix, lower,” James said rather sternly, it was his captain’s voice. You were a little angry at his demanding tone but after a huff, you did as told. They were right anyway, you weren’t looking forward to falling again. You had enough bruising and soreness for the rest of the fucking year. Scratch that, for the rest of this one and the next one, you only had like thirty days left of 1976 anyway.

“Ready?” Sirius asked, you nodded. And then he started mumbling something, at first, there was nothing, you just continued hoovering peacefully, but then you felt it, a soft yank to the side. Slowly the movements got worse and worse and you felt like you were on a mechanical bull. Sirius looked at you concentrated, a small frown on his soft features as he did. Like he didn’t want to push too hard, but he knew whoever kept trying to push you off your broom –Barty– wouldn’t be merciful so he pushed on.  

That’s when you started muttering the counterspell, tightening your grip on the handle and focusing your magic on your palms, letting it flow through your body and onto the item that was being jinxed. It wasn’t easy, wandless magic always held a small degree of complication, especially the more advanced it was, and counterspells were no easy feat. 

Eventually, you lost the battle and ended up on the floor. Sirius rushed to help but you shook your head, raising your hand to indicate that he stayed in place, and then took a deep breath, “Again.”

“But…” 

“Again,” you insisted “I have to master this one,” you added as you mounted your broom and nodded for Sirius to start again. James was watching attentively and allowed it to continue. Even after you fell over the second time, gritting your teeth and whispering “again.” 

After a couple more times, it was James the one that stepped in. “How about we call it for today and continue trying tomorrow?” he suggested. You had just fallen from your broom and were sitting on the floor looking impossibly tired. 

“But the spell…” 

“James is right, we can practise more tomorrow, we’re not playing until next year anyway, we’ve got enough time to master it.” 

You sighed but nodded, not even attempting to move from the floor for a bit while James and Sirius batted the bludger over each other a couple of times. You took Sirius’ notebook out of your pocket and went over the spell again, recalling if perhaps you had missed some words on the incantation or maybe it was the execution that wasn’t working properly. So you went over the words, reading them in your head and practising the spell as many times as you could. 

“Hey Vix, let that go and come over, I need you to practise this,” James said when he noticed your overly concentrated stance. 

It took you a second to pull your gaze from the paper but you nodded, feeling thankful that you’d get a distraction and then guilty for feeling thankful over it. Either way you pocketed the notebook, grabbed one of the beater bats and mounted your broom, flying towards them. After a while of beating the iron ball with as much force as you could muster, and using exclusively your good arm, you felt a lot better. 

When you were done, you helped the boys with the equipment and walked alongside them all the way to the common room, where you parted ways to change into your respective uniforms. The entire day went by rather uneventfully, McGonagall had paired you with Remus on the transfiguration project and you were still going over crystal ball reading on divinations, although a bit boring, at least it was something you hadn’t any particular talents with. 

Although, and you didn’t want to think much about it, there was definitely something dark surrounding the Ravenclaw tower. You decided that maybe you’d ask Sybil about it later, she had been taking extra classes with Spellman, so she’d probably know if something was up. You considered asking Spellman directly, but you were scared he’d end up blowing it off proportion and decided to just pretend you had seen a field with colourful flowers. 

“What colour?” 

“All the colours,” you said, knowing that if you said a particular one he might end up finding a deeper meaning behind your lie. 

November 30th, 1976 

The following day, you also woke up in time for morning practice, this time around you managed to stay on the broom for longer, but fell either way, and James didn’t allow you to practise as much as the previous day since he wanted to focus on dodging that morning, which had ended up on a very fun practice. 

Sirius had almost gotten a bludger in the shoulder before you pulled him to the side and James barely managed to dodge one that had flown straight to his head. You were all laughing merrily by the time you were meant to go back to the dorms for breakfast. 

Once you reached the common room you spotted Remus on one of the couches and plopped beside him, Sirius doing the same on the other side. “Ugh, you’re both sweaty,” he complained. 

You pouted, “It’s magically cleaned,” you said dismissively as you sank a little deeper, neither you nor Sirius were actually sweaty since outside was so freezing cold. Well, perhaps just slightly. And Remus wasn’t bothered by you sitting next to him either, if anything, he loved it, he had to keep up appearances regardless. 

“The couch is, I’m not!” 

Sirius leaned his head on Remus’ shoulder, “Aww come on Moony, you’ll smell like your two favourite people all day. What’s there to complain about?” 

Remus almost pushed the boy off him when Prongs intervened, “What do you mean his two favourite people, where does that leave me?” 

Remus frowned at James, clearly interested in where the conversation was going, but it was Sirius who spoke, “On the armchair.”  

James gasped, “Yeah, I don’t think you’d fit in here,” you teased further, a tiny smile spreading on your lips while you pointed at the little space of couch there was left. Now, if you and Sirius had been sitting like normal people, and Remus hadn’t had his legs spread wide, perhaps you could’ve found a way to fit Prongs in, but none of you seemed interested in changing position. 

“I refuse to be left out!�� he said with a frown. 

“So what? You’ll use engorgio on the couch?” 

“Too much trouble,” James said as he walked towards you and let himself fall on top of the three as if laying on the couch but using your legs instead. 

“Oi, watch where that elbow goes,” Sirius complained. 

“When was the last time you washed those?” you said with a frown as you stared at his murky-looking socks. 

“They get washed every day!” James complained, “That’s their original colour.” 

“No way in hell.” 

“No,” Remus said as he shook his head. “that really is their original colour, we’ve been teasing him about them since he got them.” 

You leaned over to look at James’ face, it was lying on top of Sirius’ legs “Why did you keep them?” 

James went red, and Sirius responded, “Lily gave them to him, last Christmas I believe.” 

“Yeah,” James said proudly. “They arrived at my house by owl mail. She even wrote a note that said they reminded her of me.” 

You threw a side glance at Remus, clearly seeing the irony in Lily’s note, that seemed to completely slip past James, back then and even now. 

“We’ve got potions,” you sighed, leaning back just a little and allowing James to accommodate his feet better. They were a bit heavy, but at least they weren’t crashing against any bruises. 

“Thought you liked potions,” Sirius said. 

“I like hanging out with Rem at potions, but the potion we’re working on is so tedious I swear you need to add another gram of something new every couple of minutes.” 

“At least it hasn’t blown up on your face,” James said with a shrug, remembering the way it had exploded on Tom the previous class, and Tom was actually good at potions. Thought, perhaps he had been a little distracted that day.

“We could skip…” Sirius offered. 

“No, we can’t!” Remus said, “She’s lost enough classes with last week’s drama!” He then turned to you. “And don’t you dare leave me alone with the veritaserum!” 

You took a deep breath and nodded “I wasn’t thinking of skipping,” you defended. “I was merely informing.” 

“James Fleamont Potter!” You heard Lily’s reprimanding voice from the stairs. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” 

James seemed a little confused, leaning up just a little to try and spot the redhead, “uh… Resting?” 

“On top of your two freshly injured friends?!” 

Both you and Remus started a chorus of “I’m fine” and “Oh… It’s okay Lily, I’m healed now, it doesn’t hurt anymore” but she took none of it. Walking all the way to the couch and forcing James to roll off of it. He fell on the floor and turned, looking at the kneeling figure with his charming little smile, like she was the only witch in the world. 

You could tell Lily was fazed by it, especially when a little bit of red started to spread over her cheeks, you smiled, raising an eyebrow towards Remus who clearly had noticed too. 

“Enough of that!” She told him with a slap on the arm. “Let’s get some breakfast, you must all be starving.” 

“I second that,” you said with a nod. 

“Yeah, me too,” Remus agreed. 

“Hungry beasts, that’s the kind of people I surround myself with,” Sirius joked. 

“If anyone’s a hungry beast here Sirius…” you started and threw him a look that had him gasp “Anyway… breakfast.” 

All of you stood up and started walking towards the Great Hall, Peter was fast to catch up with you and Lily told you the girls were already there. Breakfast was as delicious as always, and you were so hungry you even took an extra slice of toast with jam and peanut butter to munch on on your way to potions. 

“Pass me the Stewed Mandrake Root, would you? Sweetheart?” Remus asked as he stared at the cauldron with a bit of a frown.

“We’ve already added that,” you responded, leaning forward to look as well, the potion was a weird murky brown colour, not the mossy green that the book described it would be. “Did we measure wrong?” 

“Maybe we spun it the wrong way around?” Remus said, just as puzzled as you, “You measured that one, you never measure wrong.”  

“Yeah, I checked twice,” you agreed, that was something you had learned from Remus near the beginning of the year. And you were especially careful with longer and more tedious potions like this one. 

You saw Snape snigger from the side as he stared at your cauldron, and you were about to flip him off with two fingers when Remus placed a hand over your forearm and gave you a look. You gave him a reproachful stare in response but he just raised an eyebrow at you and tilted his head a little. You huffed in response but held back the insults you had in store for Snivelus. You understood why Remus did it, getting in petty fights with the Slytherins had already gotten you almost killed once.  

You sighed and went back to look at your potion, suddenly remembering, “There’s a troubleshooting guide at the end of each chapter, perhaps we can find something there?” you suggested and the two of you went straight to look through the book. 

“I think… the only thing that could’ve happened is someone sabotaging the potion…” Remus said with a frown, “If we had added too much of any ingredient the result would be different colours. It would be red with too much Mandrake root, blue if we had undercooked the Syrup of Hellebore, and purple if it were because of the Bicorn Horn powder, but none of these mention brown.” 

You bit your lip as you analysed the situation and looked around, if someone had actually sabotaged your potion, you’d have to figure out exactly what they had used to do it, to attempt and revert it, if it was even possible.

You started looking at people’s tables and the ingredients they had placed on them, Alison Prewet and Archie McMillan had a few ingredients that didn’t go in the recipe but neither of them was particularly good at potions so you couldn’t be sure it had been them.

Tim Klum also had some suspicious-looking ingredients, but by his nervous stance and recent rash, you assumed he was trying to brew something to counter it instead of sabotaging anyone else. Besides, you had barely crossed words with him, and you were certain he didn’t have anything against Remus, regardless you wrote down all the ingredients he had on his stable, identifying them by texture and looks. 

Then you spotted something mysterious by Sirius’ table. Of course, Sirius would never sabotage you or Rem, but Severus? You wouldn’t put it past him, he could be a jealous little snake, although he had never done such a thing, and you weren’t sure why he would be sabotaging you now, the fact that he had Shivelfig, which was normally used for draught of living dеath made no sense. Unless he wanted to steal it for himself that is. 

You turned to Remus “I have a hunch of who might have done it,” you mumbled, almost inaudibly, but he heard, and you knew he’d be able to hear it. He gave you an attentive look, “But I want to test my theory before we make a mistake.” 

“What do you need?” 

“Just a bit of someone else’s potion, that’s at the same stage as ours.” 

Remus nodded, “I can do that, you?” 

“I’ll get some Shivelfig.” 

Both you and Remus nodded as you looked attentively at the other, he grabbed a small vial and started walking towards James and Lilly while you walked towards Sirius’ table. 

“Hi Pups,” you said with a smile. 

“Sod off,” Snape said when he spotted you. 

“You do it.” 

“This is my table.” 

“Argh, c'est un idiot, comment tu le supportes?” You asked, looking at your boyfriend.

“I’m intelligent enough to know you’re calling me an idiot,” Severus said impassively.

"Très bien, casse-toi alors."

Sirius laughed at your crassness and Severus just rolled his eyes, not understanding what you said but figuring out you were either telling him to fuck off or piss off, which wasn’t that far from the real thing. “How come you’ve come to visit, Kit?” Sirius asked. 

“Missed you,” you said simply, Sirius saw the mischievous smile you gave him and knew instantly you were up to something. 

“Aww, you did?” he asked as he placed his hands on your hips and pulled you slightly closer to him, Slughorn was near the back of the classroom helping some Slytherins with a fire they had accidentally caused, which was enough distraction for you to be able to be all over Sirius at that moment. 

“Oh, please, I’m going to puke…” Severus said as he rolled his eyes and turned to the side. 

You forced yourself to hold back a laugh, Sirius, whose back was turned to Severus, and who had the least serious face you’d ever seen, wasn’t helping. “Devrions-nous lui donner un spectacle?” You asked in a low voice, trying to make it sound like you were flirting rather than just asking Sirius if you should annoy Severus further. 

Sirius bit his lip, looking at you with a small frown before nodding, “Mh-hum,” he replied before leaning in to give you a kiss. 

“Ugh please, we’re in class!”

“Go be jealous elsewhere, Snivelus,” Sirius pulled himself from the kiss just for a second to say that, going back and deepening the kiss a second after. Severus looked at the two of you in disbelief and then back at Slughorn, but he was way too busy with the fire in the back. Who would have thought adding a little bit of dragon breath to the potion would cause such a complicated mess? 

You deepened the kiss, pushing Sirius back just a little and his back crashed against Snape’s shoulder, Snape pushed back and Sirius had to tighten his grip on you so you wouldn’t fall. You could feel he was about to laugh because of Severus’ reaction and you squeezed his arm just a little to get him to focus and he did, even let out a small, rather performative grunt, just to piss Severus further. 

Severus was about ready to go get the teacher, or a prefect, or someone to get you to stop snogging in front of his face when you leaned in again, this time pushing Sirius’ arm strategically so it pushed their leftover Syrup of Hellebore, it wouldn’t do any harm to him since it had been cooked, but it would make his uniform stink after a couple of hours, and you knew he knew about it. 

“Ugh!” he complained, “You pair of dimwitted animals!” 

You pulled back from the kiss, just to give him a side glance, looking only mildly apologetic “Oops, sorry…” 

Snape gave you a disgusted glance and stood up. “I’m off to clean this up, Black,” he glared at the boy, Sirius turned to him with an uninterested glance. “Please, for the sake of our passing grade, make sure our potion stays boiling at a steady temperature while I’m gone.” 

“Sure Snivelus, I’ll make sure,” Sirius said with a rather indifferent shrug just to piss Severus off a bit more. Severus gave him an untrustful glance, but stood up and left. While he was leaving you went back to kissing, which seemed to piss Severus off even further, which made both you and Sirius smile in the kiss, you were half still kissing, half using each other’s mouths to hold back a laugh. 

When you finally stopped, Sirius was biting his lip to hold back a grin while you were looking at him with lips pursed, still trying to hold back a laugh. 

Sirius cleared his throat “Now that the crow’s gone, would you care telling me why you’re really here?” 

“What? Kissing you passionately in the middle of class is no good excuse?” 

Sirius raised his eyebrow “Oh no, I think it’s an excellent excuse, but I’m waaay more likely to use it than you are.” 

You gave him a small smile, “I think Severus might have sabotaged my potion,” you admitted, “and I think he used this,” you took a hold of the jar with Shivelfig , “to do it.” 

“We should ruin his potion then,” Sirius said instantly. You gave him a look, he raised an eyebrow “What?” 

“Sirius, he’s your partner. If we ruin his potion…” 

Sirius frowned, “Well, it’s not fair if he gets out scot-free.” 

“Remus and I are trying to fix it.” 

“And you can do it?” 

You shrugged, “If he really did use shivelfig, we could try and find a way to counter its effect, or at least neutralise it.” 

“So you came to get some.” 

You nodded, “The kisses were a great bonus though.” 

“I can give you many more bonuses, darling,” he said and leaned in again, but you felt a hand on your shoulder and turned around to see who was there, thankfully, it wasn’t Slughorn.  

“You got that?” Remus asked. 

“Yeah,” you said as you pulled a small flask with shivelfig from your cloak.

“Hold up! When did you even…?” Sirius asked, confused. 

“I’m a girl of many talents,” you told him with a wink. “See you around, Puppy!” You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and walked back to your table alongside Remus. “You got the potion?” You asked Remus, who seemed tense for some reason. He had seen the whole thing happen, and his head had started going haywire with so many thoughts running through his head.

“Yeah,” he responded, “James and Lily.” 

Once you were both on your table, he poured half of his little flask on a crystal vase and you used a pair of tweezers to add the tiniest bit of shivelfig to the potion. Nothing happened and you frowned. “Maybe it wasn’t Snivelus in the end…” 

“No wait,” Remus said, placing a hand on your forearm and taking a small stick, sipping it in the flask and turning clockwise three times, the potion turned the same murky brown as yours in an instant. 

“Remus, that’s brilliant!” you said with a smile “The potion didn’t go brown until we spun it, and Severus probably knew, he could have added the shivelfig a while ago, that way we wouldn’t have noticed, and we would have just assumed we did something wrong.” 

Remus nodded, “He’s an asshole, but he’s a competent one.” 

“So now we know what he used, how do we neutralise it?”

“I’m not sure,” Remus said as he bit his lip. 

“Sopophorous bean?” you asked. “Isn’t it used on draught of living dеath to neutralise the shivelfig’s poisonous nature?” 

Remus shook his head “Yeah, but combined with Mandrake Root it can be dеadly, our veritaserum would end up being Baneberry Potion instead.” 

“Shit, you’re right,” you said almost in a whisper. You frowned, racking your brain trying to find a solution only for it to clash against the rest of the ingredients. Your face started to fall when you started running out of ideas. No matter how much you thought about it, it seemed like there was no solution, which left you dejected since even if you had figured out exactly how they had sabotaged you, you wouldn’t be able to fix it.

“I might have an idea,” Remus said then, he had the same face he made when he was focused on a task, preparing a complicated potion or working on the details of a plan, it was that of absolute concentration. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed, his lips pressed tightly against the other, causing one of his scars to move along with his mouth. He looked cute. 

“Wait… really? How?”

“I’ll go get some Moonstone… Do you have the charms book with you?” He asked. 

“We… don’t have charms today…” you said. You used to carry it around all the time but after your shoulder wound carrying as little as possible was a lot more manageable, even with the floating spell you had placed on your bag. 

“It’s fine, it’s somewhere in my bag, look for it, will you? Find the magnetism spell.”  

“The magnetism…” you started with a slightly questioning look and then gasped. “Remus, that’s… has it even been tested before?”

Remus shrugged in response, “It’s either that or we do it over. Besides, we could test it with this,” he said as he pointed at the little vial that you had used to see if it really had been shivelfig what they had used to ruin your potion. He then leaned down and placed his bag –that he had carelessly thrown on the floor– on the table right in front of you. “Just be careful, there’s an extending spell inside so I can keep all my stuff. Might take you a while to find it,” he added right before he walked towards the ingredients cabinet. 

He hadn’t been exaggerating, his bag was absolutely filled with things. You dug inside and could feel several books, you pulled them out, one by one, he had some books for classes, some library books that had gone overdue, the copy of The Godfather he had been reading you and Sirius, the copy you had given him of The Portrait of Dorian Grey when you discovered he was a Werewolf. 

You’d told him he could keep it one time he mentioned he wanted to get a copy to annotate, which made you wonder if he had annotated the sides and you opened it, you had written some notes on the pages, notes he hadn’t erased, writing around the edges and under your own handwriting. And on ink, it was absolutely clear who had written what, and he’d even responded to some of the things you had annotated. You smiled, you’d have to ask him to borrow it to you one day, just so you could see what he wrote. 

As you flipped the pages, something called your attention. Sirius’ name was written on one of the corners of the book, you frowned and looked at the page, there were a few highlighted quotes here and there, but there was something about Sybil calling Dorian prince charming and you chuckled. Yeah, you too would have considered Sirius a Prince Charming. You closed the book and placed it back on his bag, completely missing how Sirius’ name repeated over and over through the pages, how your name was doodled alongside his too. 

How in one of the quotes from Basil, he had pointed out that Basil was just like him, fallen in love with the impossible, but that Basil had been lucky enough to only find one of those people rather than two, how miserable would Basil be if he had loved not only Dorian, but Sybil too? Perhaps half as miserable as Remus felt sometimes. 

You continued to rummage through Remus’ bag, and you felt a small plastic bag, you assumed it was chocolate and took a hold of some of them out to ask him for one when he came back, you knew he would say yes anyway, but when you pulled your hand out, you were met with a strip of condoms instead.  You quickly put them back in, trying not to think of the fact that they were size L or the fact that he had so many of them. Does he not know about the potion? No, he definitely knows about the potion, I mentioned it at the Quidditch party. You swallowed thickly, you were sure you had flushed at least a little when you felt a hand on your back. 

“You found it?” Remus asked. You were startled, and had to cough a couple of times to compose, Remus felt a lot taller to you at that minute, as if the size of the… nevermind, erase that thought, erase that thought. 

“No, I– you keep a lot of stuff in your bag, Rem.”

“You didn’t find anything weird, did you?” 

“Weird?!” you were sure your voice had gone an octave higher by that point. “No,” you coughed again, “Nothing.”

He looked at you as if he wasn’t convinced, “Cause if you did it was probably Sirius’ he leaves a lot of stuff in my bag.” 

The idea of them being Sirius’ instead of Remus’ made you gulp, you were sure your cheeks would warm if you didn’t change the subject immediately, so that’s exactly what you did, “Found the moonstone?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, “back pocket,” he added as he dug his hand through his bag, “On the left, my left,” he added then, “where you’re standing.” 

“Oi! I know where the left is!” you argued as you went for it. 

“You didn’t know last time.” 

“Though we settled on the fact that I just wanted to grab your ass.” 

He chuckled, “You really can’t lose, can you?”

“I jumped off my broom to get the snitch, what did you expect?” 

Finally, he pulled out the book, one of the condoms falling on the floor. He looked at it, and then at you, you were also looking at it “That’s…” 

“I know what that is,” you said. “Spent last summer on muggle London, remember?” It had been pretty hard to forget the safe sex campaigns all over the bus stops near the biggest schools as you walked past them. And of course you, being naturally curious, had gone and read all the details they offered. At least you had learned a few things in the end.  

“Alice gave them to me,” he said as he leaned down and grabbed it, placing it back in his bag as fast as possible. 

Remus seemed genuinely flustered about it, which is why you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease him. “Oh, so you’re definitely having fun,” you said with a teasing smile. 

“What?! That’s–” 

“Hey! I don’t judge,” you added with a shrug, “I told you when I found your stash.” 

“That wasn’t–” 

“It’s fine Rem,” you said as you placed a hand on his arm. “You deserve to relax every now and then, if anything, you should use them up before they go bad… Although you do know the potion exists, right?” 

“Please stop,” Remus said as he placed both hands over his face and leaned down on the table. He was flustered over you insinuating such things, more because he always thought about you when he did them with Alice than because you insisted on teasing him about her. If only you knew, heck, you would probably break off your friendship with him. As if anything Remus did would make that happen. 

You only laughed and placed a hand on his back “All right big boy,” you didn’t say that on purpose, but it did make you think back on the size of the… no. “Back to the potion…”

“Yes,” Remus stood, the flush on his cheeks fading away slightly. Although the bits of red still made him look adorable, you almost wanted to get a picture of it. And then you wondered what he would look like if he were looking at a person he liked, little did you know that was exactly what he was doing. 

All the while, Remus was flipping through the pages. “Here!” he said and pointed at the page, leaning closer to you so you could see the book, “So… the idea is to use the spell on the moonstone, but somehow make it attract just the shivelfig.”

“We could do it by combining it with a locating spell?” 

“It was my idea too, but… how?”

“Hold up,” you said as you pulled a parchment from your bag, he pulled the quill closer to your hand and you dipped it in some ink before drawing some runes inside a small triangle. It looked a lot like what the muggles thought whichcraft looked like, and it was a little archaic, inexperienced wizards would say it was dark arts -it wasn’t- and regardless, it was still the easiest way to combine spells. 

“Are you drawing a Nimueh diagram?” 

You nodded, and he stared as you continued to add symbols and runes and lines around your paper. Once it was done you placed the stone on top. “You’re better with location spells, how about you say that one and I go for the magnetism one?” 

“Have you ever done it?” 

You shook your head “But I haven’t done a location spell either, you have,” you added with a shrug. 

“Okay, let’s do this,” Remus said with a nod and offered his hand. You gently placed your hand over his and gave it a soft squeeze. “In three… two… one…” 

Little did you know that while you chanted the spell, and almost with the whole previous interaction, Sirius had been looking at the two of you with absolute fascination. At the incredible team you made, at how cute Remus looked flushed and at how much fun you seemed to have around him, teasing him.  It was in those genuine, carefree smiles that you managed to pull out of his best friend, your best friend too, he remembered. It was in the chuckles he pulled out of you, in the way you moved around the table to get the ingredients, in the way you grabbed your parchment and he passed you a quill. 

Sirius was so enthralled by the two of you that he didn’t notice Severus returning to his sit right next to him, “I told you to check on the potion you stu-” 

Sirius turned around to look at the boy, annoyed. “The potion’s fine,” he said carelessly. “No one messed around with it while you were gone. Vix would never stump as low as that.” He said that last bit with venom, looking straight at Severus who narrowed his eyes. There was no way Sirius could’ve known, and yet…

“Do you think it’ll work?” You asked Remus, you had just finished chanting the spells, your hands sliding off each other a little too fast for his taste and the moonstone -that shone as you infused it with magic- seemed to be slowly fading into its natural state. 

“There’s only one way to know,” Remus said as he took the small milky stone and dropped it straight onto your cauldron. You peered in, and slowly, the murky water took back the mossy green colour it should have had initially. Both you and Remus smiled relieved. 

“You did it!” you said almost jumping in joy, placing your hand over his arm and squeezing lightly, “You’re absolutely fantastic!” 

 Remus turned to you, his expression mirroring your own, “We did it,” he remarked “It was a team effort, you guessed what they’d used to sabotage us.” 

You were both smiling brightly at each other when Professor Slughorn approached the two of you, “Are you finished with your potion?” he asked, “You seem rather thrilled.”  

“We had a bit of a setback,” you admitted, “but we’ve managed to fix it, the veritaserum should be finished before the class.” 

“A setback? Of what kind?” 

“We got sabotaged, Professor,” Remus explained. 

“Outrageous! Who would dare do such a thing, to such brilliant students?” 

You were about to speak but Remus intervened “We do not know, but (Y/N) managed to figure out what they had used shivelfig, we used the knowledge for a spell on the moonstone and magnetised the unrequired ingredient to it.” 

You gave Remus a look but decided to follow along, whatever reason he had not to rat Snape out, must have been good. You used your wand to pull the moonstone out of your cauldron, it was no longer white and seemed to be covered with a murky slippery substance. The shivelfig clearly had reacted with some of the other ingredients. You levitated it closer to your face to give it a look before letting it fall back down on the table. 

“And you used a Nimueh diagram so that the shivelfig would adhere to the moonstone, clever!” He said as he pulled out the paper from the table and inspected it. He could see it was your handwriting, which is why he looked at you when he said it.

“Thank you, sir,” you responded, “But it was a team effort.” 

He turned back to Remus as if just remembering he was there too, you narrowed your eyes at him, “Of course, of course,” he said dismissively, which pissed you off a little bit too much. “Please stay after class is over, I need to have a word with you.” 

You looked at him, frown deepening but nodded. “Of course, Professor.” 

“Excellent, so.. get on with it. I want to see how your potion comes out in the end,” And with that, he was gone, off to talk to some other students. 

“The hell was he going on about?” 

“It’s probably about the slug party,” Remus said with a shrug. 

“The what?” 

“His exclusive Christmas dinner, he only invites the best students.” 

“You must have gone several times then,” you concluded. 

Remus tensed, “No. Never been invited.” 

You turned to him with a frown, “What but that doesn’t–”

 You were cut off by James, “You done, kids?” 

“Almost,” Remus said, you passed him the last ingredient you had to measure and he placed it on the cauldron, stirring the potion three times to the right, finally the colour was transparent. 

“You think it worked?” 

You shrugged, “Only one way to find out,” you said as you grabbed a pipette, dipping it in the liquid and placing your finger on the hole at the top, moving it to your mouth and releasing your finger, allowing just a drop to fall on your mouth. You didn’t want the effect to last overly long. “Go on then, ask me something.” 

“How many fingers do I have up?” James asked, raising his hand. 

“Six,” you responded, “that was a stupid question, Prongs.” 

James gasped at your reply “Rude.” 

“What did you get on your transfiguration mock quiz?” Remus asked with a teasing smirk.

You groaned, not wanting to respond to this one. “I got a Dreadful,” you said, despite yourself.

“Wait, really?! Is that why you wouldn’t show it to me?” James asked as he leaned a little closer to the two of you.

You nodded, “I couldn’t transform the pot into a swan, I made something close to a chicken.” 

“Close to a chicken?” James pressed.

“That was actually a dreadful animal,” you replied, trying to find a bit of humour in the situation. 

“Well, our trickery worked, the potion’s great,” Remus said pleased as he pulled out a vial to place it in and hand it over to be graded. Pulling out a tag he had previously prepared and lacing some string on it to attach it to the top of the potion. It had “Veritasetum” and then both of your names at the bottom. All in a perfectly elegant-looking handwriting, he’d used caligraphicus to make it extra neat. He always did like the way your names looked beside each other. 

You pulled a flask from your bag and also served some inside. “In case it comes in handy,” you told the boys, who both looked at you with rather impressed expressions as you placed it back inside your bag, now filled. 

Lily called for James and it was you and Remus alone again, he leaned over, you might be pissed after what he was about to do, “Hey little witch,” he said softly. You were cleaning things around but turned to look at him, his expression unreadable. “Are you really not scared of me?” 

You gave him a look, something between a frown and a comprehensive sigh. You took the pipette and let a few other drops fall in your mouth, more than you had done initially, “In case you thought that perhaps it had already worn off,” you said. “And no, Remus, I’m not scared of you, or Moony for that matter.” The boy seemed apprehensive, “Must I drink the entire cauldron for you to believe me?” 

Remus sighed, a relieved chuckle escaped from his mouth. He knew you weren’t, you had been reassuring enough at the infirmary when you cuddled him as Vixen, but he needed to make sure. To make sure you weren’t lying just for his sake like he had discussed with Sirius the night before the prank. He smiled, diverted and decided to tease further, “So you definitely still want to be friends?” 

You smiled. “Best friends,” you replied, “You couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried.” 

“I have, it didn’t work, remember?” You hummed in response. And then he looked at your shoulder, biting his lip, the next question might actually piss you off, “Does it still hurt?” 

You thought your answer through, “Less than before,” you replied eventually, it was true.

“But it does hurt.” 

“Yes.”

“How much?” 

You looked at the side, not wanting to answer, closing your eyes and sighing when you realised you wouldn’t be able to hold back. “I don’t know, like getting clawed at by a huge wolf, I suppose?” 

“Do you resent me?” 

You frowned. “Of course not! And I don’t resent Moony either, before you ask,” you said that last bit with an accusing finger towards him.

“And the fall?” 

“More scary than painful.” 

“Scarier than me?” 

“You’re not scary!” You turned to him. 

“Scarier than Moony?” he corrected. 

“Yes.” There was silence. “The water monster… it was… nothing like Moony, frightening, hungry, unreasonable. Moony’s different, he– you are beautiful.” 

There it was again, you calling him beautiful, you kept doing that over and over, and he thought it was just your protective nature, you wanting him to feel better about it, but with veritaserum, it was impossible to lie. Remus cleared his throat, looking to the side as he felt a flush going up his neck and you smiled, pushing him just a little. “Now stop asking me questions that make me sound all sappy!” 

“Does it bother you?” 

“Does it bother you?” 

“That’s not an answer.” 

“Told you to stop making me sound sappy, how would you feel I had you drink some and ask you questions?” 

“I never had you drink anything!” he replied, offended. 

“Right, you only took advantage of the fact that I had drunk it to ask your silly questions.” 

“They were legitimate.” 

“Most of them I had already answered Remus.” 

“Only half answered,” he corrected. “You’ve said time and time again that you were fine.” 

“I AM fine!” And that was true, again, you couldn’t lie. Did everything hurt? Yes. But other than that, other than the pain, other than the soreness, you were perfectly fine. 

“And you truly believe it,” Remus said, surprised. 

You smiled and pushed him again “No more questions,” you warned with a smile on your face. 

“And here I was thinking of asking you if Sirius was good in bed,” Remus joked.

“I wouldn’t know,” you said before you could stop yourself. 

Remus looked at you surprised, “You mean you haven’t–” 

“That’s none of your business Moony,” you said as you started to flush. “We said no more questions.”

“Oh, but you’re always teasing me about things like this,” he said as he poked your arm with a sneaky little smile. “So you really never have?” 

“Remus!” You reprimanded again and then sighed. “No, have not. We haven’t gotten there yet, okay? We’ve been busy with other things, if you can tell. Now do I have to go into details for you to stop it or…” 

“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry.” 

You huffed, “you’re too curious for your own good.” 

You were right in more than one way. “If that isn't the cauldron calling the kettle black.” 

You smiled and shoved him to the side again, he enjoyed the feeling of your hand on his shoulder, he was wondering how much he could tease you before you actually got pissed at him when the bell rang. 

“I’ll take this to him and see what he wants,” you said as you grabbed the potion you’d finished. 

“I’ll tell Nightshade why you’re going to be late,” he said as he placed the rest of his books in his bag, “I’ll take your bag too,” he said as he picked it up from the floor.

You frowned, “I can take my own bag, Moony.” 

“I know, but it still hurts, doesn’t it?” he asked as he pointed at your shoulder. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, he knew you’d have to tell him the truth still, you had taken more drops than you needed, you huffed out a “Yes” as you rolled your eyes, “But I’m perfectly capable of–” 

“I know, and I don’t care,” he interrupted as he slung your bag on his shoulder. “I made that,” he said as he pointed at your shoulder, “Now I carry your bag.” 

You scoffed, now diverted at your friend’s resolution more than anything, you were about to say something when Sirius shouted from the door, “You coming Moons, Starshine?” 

“You fill him up, yeah?” You asked Remus just before you gave Sirius a wink, he blew you a flirty kiss in response. 

Remus nodded when you turned back to him, and you gave up on fighting for your bag, after one last sight. “See you in class,” you told him with a wave and walked straight to talk to Slughorn, potion in hand.

“You’ve demonstrated to be a remarkable student the few months that you have been here darling.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“And not only in potions, you were brilliant at the Quidditch game and I’ve heard good things from Professor Bins and Seraphina. Flitwick also speaks highly of you.” 

You tilted your head slightly, a small “hum” escaping your lips, you were sure  Slughorn wasn’t done with whatever he was about to say. 

“And you’ve demonstrated time and time again to me that you are more than well-trained on potions.” 

“It’s only been thanks to my pairing with Remus.” 

“Ah… yes, your pairing with Mr. Lupin,” he said. “The way you switched the papers was undoubtedly clever.” 

You gasped, “You realised?” 

He just smiled, as if it had been obvious, “I picked the partners for everyone, of course, I knew. I just wasn’t sure how you’d managed to outmagic my spell. All at Potter’s request, I believe. He must have convinced you, that boy has been madly in love with Miss Evans for a while now.” 

“But you didn’t say anything then.” 

“If you had been smart enough to switch my charms, I assumed you’d be able to cope with Remus’ speed at potion making.” 

“So you know he’s good.” 

“Of course, Remus has always been remarkable.” 

“Then why has he never been invited to the–” 

“So you know why you’re here.” 

“He might have mentioned something like a Christmas dinner.” 

Slughorn nodded, “Yes, this is my cordial invitation to our dinner on the 20th of December. I know there’s still some time, but I thought you might want to know since you are always welcome to bring a guest along.” 

“Could I bring Remus?” 

“You may bring whomever you want.” 

“But why isn’t he invited?” you pressed. 

Slughorn gave you a look, you didn’t want to press too much, you had the suspicion it might have been due to bIood status, either that or Slughorn knew about his lycanthropy, either way, it just didn’t make sense to you that he wouldn’t invite Rem.

“For reasons that you are not and will not be aware of, I’m afraid,” he responded eventually. 

“But I could bring him as my guest?” 

“Yes, although I expected you to bring Mr. Black.” 

That got you to pull your head back just a little, you had been so defensive over Remus, you had forgotten that the most logical person for you to bring along would be your actual boyfriend. 

“Think about it,” Slughorn said with a small smile. “And tell me when you’ve made your choice. Now I don’t want to keep you for too long, it’s time to get to your next class.” 

You gave him a courteous nod and left. You’d have to talk to Sirius about this. 

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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[intrulogical]

🍊: The Semantics of The Orange Side

Explaining his function, understanding his role in the narrative, and debunking/dissecting common notions about the Orange Side.

To be honest, this essay was inevitable. I've had thoughts about Orange brewing since 2020, but only recently has it developed into something more concrete. For the longest time, most meta surrounding Orange began with theories about his role as a side, then extended towards narrative and side mechanics later on. I, for one, have been a victim of this pattern. 

Then, I realized that asking who Orange is is a terrible opener for theories.

There are many important questions glossed over if we start that way. For example, what is Orange's role in the overarching theme of combating black-and-white thinking? What does it mean for Orange to be a side? Who is he in the context of the Dark Sides? There are many crucial things to consider when it comes to predicting who Orange is, and I feel like concrete theories can only be made if we can establish the semantics of how Orange works.

This essay definitely won't be perfect— this is literally my second draft— but I will try my best making it in a way that flows, somehow. Some sections will discuss general ideas I have, some will try to dissec popular preconceived notions to reorient our logic surrounding Orange. As always, I'm open to discussion! My words aren't gospel.

Important notes: All mentions of Thomas refer to him as a character. Moreover, I acknowledge that Remus is a flawed depiction of intrusive thoughts. Technically, he acts more of a mix of intrusive thoughts, forbidden creativity, and impulsive thoughts. Because of this, when I talk about Remus in the context of his role, please be assured that I am talking about all his functions at once, not just intrusive thoughts. 

(Full essay under the cut! I worked hard on this, so I'd definitely appreciate the read. <3)

i. Orange as a Dark Side

The ways fans have characterized and defined Orange has always seemed to be rooted in their perception of what being a “Dark” Side is. That is— they are edgy, and somewhat suppressed. They are more “morally questionable” compared to the rest. More fics would even go as far as depicting Orange as morally black, in that he has no role in the narrative other than being a stirring force of conflict; a villain that needs to be defeated.

It is unfortunate to see such a surface level perspective on who the “Dark” Sides are and what they mean as an oppositional force to the “Light” Sides.

My stance on the “Dark” and “Light” sides has always been the same (if you read my past essays, you'll know). Like what Logan said in CLBG, the labels are arbitrary because no side can be argued to be “good” or “bad”. Although, it would be a complete lie for me to say there's no distinction. Rather, Thomas’ black-and-white thinking literally created one. But the distinction does not lie within the sides’ morals, rather it lies in how big their influence is on Thomas. Because the “Light” Sides are welcomed, Thomas will entertain their contributions more than the sides Thomas considers as “bad” or “taboo”.

In my opinion, Orange being morally black makes no sense in a series that is a.) thematically focused on dismantling black-and-white thinking, and b.) a man vs. self conflict. The villain is the problem of Thomas not being able to cope with his mental struggles properly. It would be odd to blame a portion of his brain as the evil of all evils. Although, I'd like to clarify that while Orange most likely wouldn't be morally black, it wouldn't be a surprise to me if he is just as dubious and mischievous as the other “Dark” Sides. After all, if they are the most suppressed sides, they would have to stick to unconventional tactics (aka looking scary) to get Thomas’ attention.

I'll explain more later when I get into what I think Orange actually does as a side. For now, I want to focus on Orange in the context of the “Dark” Sides, because I genuinely think it's an overlooked idea! While nothing is explicitly confirmed, the “Dark” Sides are implied to know something the other characters and we, the audience, don't know about. 

Janus and Remus share this sense of meticulousness. They always feel like they're scheming something. Janus, for example, took his time from CLBG to SVS.R to successfully impart to Thomas that acting out of self-interest isn't the worst thing in the world, especially if your mental health is crumbling. Remus is even in on this plan, although his motivations for assisting Janus aren’t actually explicitly expressed yet. Even if Remus wanted to challenge Logan's self-restraint in WTIT to prove how much it was harming Thomas’ long-term mental health, we still don't know if Remus is doing it out of care for Thomas, or just… ‘cus. Either way, it's important to know that whatever Remus is doing seems to point to the same direction Janus is going, which is to break Thomas’ black-and-white thinking.

Assuming Orange is another “Dark” Side, it feels crucial to understand who Orange is in the context of this undisclosed plan. More than anything, because the “Dark” Sides want to be heard, it would make sense if they unionize to achieve that goal together. If they dismantle Thomas’ horrid perception of them, then all three of them would benefit. Thus, it would make no sense for Orange, if he were not morally black, to act solely out of individual interest. Yes, the “Dark” Sides seem to be introducing themselves one by one, but I feel like that's because a.) narratively, it's to pace, b.) it would scare Thomas for three strangers to pop up to him only for them to be shunned as a collective by the “Light” Sides, and c.) Janus and Remus seem to be performing specific roles in this overarching plan, so while they work separately, it's mostly for the same cause.

So, what does that mean, exactly? Like I said, the “Dark” Sides have an overall goal of being heard, strengthening Thomas’ mental wellbeing, and breaking his black-and-white thinking. If my theory is correct in assuming each “Dark” Side has a specific role for this plan, then pinpointing Janus and Remus’ roles may help us factor out Orange's role.

Here's what I deduced: Janus is there as some kind of soft launch, to set the principle. Janus mirrors Patton in that sense, although in the opposite direction. He breaks apart Thomas’ preconceived notions of the world and bandages it with better, more nuanced foundations. On the other hand, Remus somewhat acts like an alarm clock. While not all his contributions are worthwhile, his mere presence is a reminder that something has to be done. In the series, it's to cater to his deteriorating mental health. He checks if the principles Janus provides aren't being followed, and makes a good fucking clamor about it if it doesn't.

Orange, I'd argue, serves as a means for Thomas to externalize these principles. It would make sense that the last thing Thomas would need to do is to put everything into action. Janus points out how one can be disenfranchised, Remus points out when he is being disenfranchised, and Orange ensures Thomas can express his discomfort when he is disenfranchised. Makes sense, right?

Speaking of externalization.

ii. Personal and Narrative Purpose

If you’re a fan that pre-dates the release of WTIT, you're well-acquainted with the idea that Orange represents Rage or Wrath. This theory came about in cahoots with an old notion that each “Dark” Side needs to have a “Light” Side counterpart, especially if you share complementary colors. Thus, many people assumed that Orange is Logan’s foil. Consequently, most interpretations of Orange depict him as emotion-centric, specifically Rage, as that’s what most people assume is an oppositional force against logic. Moreover, because a portion of Logan’s arc revolves around accepting one’s emotions, it would make sense if Orange, as an emotion-centric side, would be part of that. We’ve gotten two hints from the series itself that confirms this: 1.) a fight sequence in SVS.R showing “Blinding Rage” as one of Thomas’ attacking options, and 2.) the infamous orange eyes in WTIT that appeared when both Thomas and Logan felt angry simultaneously. 

What’s funny is, if you really think about it, we literally only have two pieces of evidence that point to this widely accepted fan theory. Although, unlike the previous section, I’m more inclined to actually believe these theories because it… does make sense! Especially narrative-wise. At the moment, miscommunication amongst the sides are at an all-time high. This is mostly because each side refuses to express their thoughts, especially since they’re at the midst of a complete paradigm shift in terms of morality and principles. Everything’s just a little too fragile, and it does not help that Thomas’ mental health is also at the brink. After SVS.R, the sides have acknowledged Thomas is on edge, but they’re still doing nothing concrete to actually fix it.

WTIT is my favorite episode of the series because it encapsulates the entire conflict so well. While Logan isn’t perfect, much of the useful suggestions he provided since DWIT never last past the moment he suggested them. Did Thomas ever see a therapist? Not really. Did Thomas find someone to talk about his issues with? Doesn't seem like it. Is Thomas taking his time with his mental health recovery? Nope. More than anything, the “Light” Sides and Thomas are very reactionary towards their problems. It’s even worse when you consider that Thomas is opting to pursue a relationship in the middle of this mess. WTIT showing us Thomas getting irrationally angry at Nico for not replying to his texts is… an interesting Chekhov’s Gun for future episodes, lemme tell you that.

Now, why am I relaying all this? It’s mostly to prove that something, or someone, needs to snap. There are grievances between the sides and Thomas that they are consciously suppressing that need out. Roman, Logan, and Thomas, specifically, need some sort of outlet for their frustrations— a way to justify them, in a sense. Logan’s eyes glowing orange while he snapped at Remus speaks so loudly of what Orange may offer. Externalization, justice, “cathartic release,” as my friend Orb (@orbmanson7) put it. Presently, Orange as an externalizing force is needed so they can actually do something about this damn issue! 

And if not, I also see Orange’s role similarly to Remus’. As I’ve explained earlier, Remus’ presence acts as an alarm clock for Thomas to be aware of his deteriorating mental health. If Orange isn’t there to assist in an all-encompassing externalization of a side or Thomas’ deepest grievances, the mere presence of Orange as an emotional force can act as another kind of alarm clock. What I mean is, if we’re feeling mentally low, for example, we don’t need to express our grievances in the most eloquent way possible. Sometimes we just need to get angry. To cry, to shout nonsense. And that alone would be enough to prove that we need help. We need to do something about this. 

To summarize, I think most depictions connecting Orange to emotional externalization are not off. There’s a lot of objectivity surrounding it, both when it comes to the narrative and his semantics as a side. We need a driving force that can topple the sides and Thomas over the edge to fully process the depth of Thomas’ mental health issues. 

But, how does he, a supposedly, emotion-centric side, differ from Patton?

iii. Orange’s True Identity

Now that we laid our foundations, I think it would be a good time to entertain the question of: well, who is Orange?

Truth is, I have my own guess on what I believe Orange to be, but I cannot say my opinion is conclusive. My theories on Orange literally change every two months. So what I'll do, I suppose, is first, explain what makes a side a side. Then, I'll explain my own current predictions about Orange. Lastly, I'll list some popular fan theories I've heard about Orange and give you my thoughts.

a. What is a Side?

First— what constitutes a side? To me, there is no real basis in the conception of a side. Like what my friend Orb once explained to me, the interactions between sides are mental processes personified. This doesn't mean we should simply view the sides as metaphors, by the way. They're a hundred percent characters in their own right. But what I mean by “process personified” is that if we view one of Thomas' conflicts on its own— as in, without the sides— can we imagine the mental processes he's undergoing? To make it clearer, let's use an example. In WTIT, we see Remus and Logan battle out on who gets to influence Thomas more. If we saw this without the sides, we can think of it like— imagine you're having a bad mental health day. You wanted to do a list of chores but your mind is in the gutters right now. You feel guilty because of your demotivation. You try doing what you planned, but you still suck at it, and now you're spiraling, thinking about every insecurity you have, but you're also trying to combat that by rationalizing it.

I'm not gonna say that this definition solves who Orange truly is, but it does help when it comes to understanding how the sides work. Another characteristic of a side would be their multifacetedness. No side embodies one thing alone. They can have roles that are adjacent to each other, but not the same thing. For example, Roman embodies both the ego and creativity. Not the same thing, but it works in tandem in Thomas’ context. Same goes for Remus with intrusive thoughts and dark creativity. It is important to entertain the idea that Orange can encompass more than one role. 

The last thing to consider would be the technical difference between a “Light” Side and a “Dark” Side. The division was created for Thomas to compartmentalize and suppress sides of himself that his Catholic upbringing taught him to believe is bad. If we assume Orange is a “Dark” Side, he must be embodying something typically thought of as taboo. 

b. Who is Orange?

This brings us to our earlier question of, how does Patton differ from Orange if they both embody emotions? In DWIT, Logan confirms Remus was born from the categorization of certain thoughts as good or bad. I think it wouldn't be farfetched to suggest the same happened to Orange if he did embody emotions at a certain capacity. One of the biggest arguments I hear against this suggestion would be, if Patton already represents Thomas’ emotions, why do we need another side who does? The answer, again, lies in the themes of black-and-white thinking and compartmentalization. If Remus embodies the thought of committing a “sin”, Orange could possibly embody the actual emotions of wanting to do so. Anger is merely one possibility in Orange's roster of emotions. There are other emotions as well deemed “sinful” by Catholicism— pride, jealousy, hatred, greed, grief, etc. It would make sense that Patton would try omitting these out of himself when he was younger because he viewed them lowly.

So, what is my actual guess on who Orange is meant to embody? Well, I mean, I think my stance is pretty clear from the past 2500 words written literally before this. Simply put, if Remus is meant to embody forbidden thoughts, then Orange embodies forbidden emotions. Anger is merely one of many. He aids both Thomas and the other sides in externalizing strong emotions that seep past their efforts of suppression.

This is, of course, under the assumption that Orange is his own separate entity. I'm more inclined to believe this because Virgil confirms in CLBG that Janus has “Dark” Side friends (as in, plural). It also just feels more balanced this way if we consider the forbidden thoughts vis-a-vis forbidden emotions parallel to be true.

c. How could Logan be Orange?

But, of course, I've also considered the possibility of Logan being Orange. It's not my theory of choice but as someone who was balls deep in this theory a few months ago, there's definitely some merit to it. Here's the link to the post if you want to read my theory in full. It's pretty lengthy, but to summarize: This theory operates under the assumption that Thomas’ suppression of certain sides (ie. making them a “Dark” Side) makes them develop an additional role— the role Thomas perceives them as. 

To explain better, let's use Remus as an example. Logan explained that, originally, Remus separated from Roman as Dark Creativity. Because Thomas refuses to entertain any creative thought he deemed bad, any suggestion provided by Remus was immediately labeled as intrusive. Thus, he became intrusive thoughts via Thomas’ low perception of him. Same goes for Janus, but to a lesser degree. As a side, he mostly acts out of the interest of Thomas, somewhat like self-preservation. But, because Catholic upbringing teaches that selfishness equates to evil, Thomas perceives Janus’ role of keeping things hidden as deceitful.

Thus, if Logan is Orange, then that means Logan’s role as logic is warping due to Thomas’ low perception of him. It’s no secret that Thomas views Logan as a “strict” side. In this scenario, I wouldn’t exactly say his additional role has something to do with externalization. Moreso, it has to do something with assertion or strict discipline. Think of an authoritative figure, like a teacher. Usually, when an authoritative teacher isn’t being respected in a class, they resort to meaner tactics like passive aggression, manipulation, etc. to impose their power. Logan doesn’t really transform into anything opposite to who he is as Logic. Rather, he has an additional role that coincides with Thomas’ perverted perception of logic. I’m not actually sure what this role is, but if I were to guess, it has something to do with restriction, discipline, or conformity. 

Narratively, Logan becoming a “Dark” Side makes sense when you realize that his entire character arc is about him losing his sense of self-assertion. I made an essay last year that explores this if you want something to read later. To explain, WDWGOOBITM establishes how it’s important for Thomas to balance his practicality (needs) and aspirational desires (wants) for him to function as a human being. At the same time, we get LNTAO where Logan realizes that he failed to contribute to the discussion as usefully as the other sides. This creates a scenario where Logan concedes a lot of the decision-making to Patton and Roman’s hands. The result: Logan’s presence is minimized. Even in the episodes where he “saves the day” (DWIT and the Frozen episode), Thomas refused to consider his suggestions until the latter halves of the episodes. WTIT emphasizes this even more when we see Thomas prioritize his date with Nico to keep himself happy instead of focusing on the chores he promised to do. Even if we don’t know if Roman had anything to do with this, it’s obvious Thomas is naturally more inclined to do things Patton and Roman would prefer than something Logan does.

Thus, it makes sense that Logan becomes a “Dark” Side. But, and this is an important but, I don’t really agree with depictions of Logan suspending his role as logic to become a “Dark” Side. Logic is such an integral part of who we are as people, that even if you’re an intuition-focused person, you’d still have logical facilities in your head that connect one thing to another. Basic knowledge and all that. I can only see Logan be a completely new role if someone takes his place as Logic. Personally, I don’t like that idea, but you can make your own takeaways on this.

How “Dark” Sides are conceived would still be a mystery. The closest we’ve gotten to an explanation is Remus’ origin story, where he and Roman originally started as one creativity until they separated. In this sense, becoming a “Dark” Side didn’t really uproot Remus’ original role. He just changed a little. I’d like to assume the same for Logan, because if he is literally born as Thomas’ Logic, then he as a “Dark” Side would still have similar roles, just with minor changes.

d. Other Theories

Now with the main theories out of the way, let me speedrun through other theories I’ve heard and give my thoughts on it:

Procrastination: I feel like this is too surface-level for a side. As in, hHow would Procrastination justify itself to Thomas as a side that wants to help? Yes, Procrastination would be a good foil to Thomas, but Thomas’ inability to work doesn’t stem from Procrastination. It stems from bad solutions to his mental health crisis. Anyway, too cheap.

ADHD: This feels like… it’s prone to problematic territory. For real, ADHD is so multifaceted in itself, and is literally a disability? I think it makes more sense to have ADHD traits sprinkled amongst the sides rather than one character representing it as a whole. To make it its own guy is like suggesting the other six sides are divorced from Thomas’ ADHD characteristics, which feels wrong to me.

Hatred and any other suggestion that relates to “taboo” emotions: See my argument on Orange encapsulating forbidden emotions as a whole instead of Rage/Wrath on its own.

Justice: I actually liked this idea and sort of incorporated it with my idea of Orange as a means of externalization! To enact justice means to externalize your deepest desires— cathartic release. 

Regret: See: the last two points, since it’s very similar.

Repression: Your heart’s in the right place, but most theories that subscribe to this literally just describe Janus. Keeping things secret because you think it’s unbeneficial? That’s one of Janus’ roles. 

Insecurity: That is literally Remus’ role. While intrusive thoughts shouldn’t be viewed as meritable, intrusive thoughts base itself on a person’s sensitivities and insecurities. I also have an essay detailing how Remus is incredibly perceptive about everyone’s insecurities here.

That's about all the other theories I can recall, but if anyone else has other suggestions, send it to my inbox and I'll give you my thoughts. 

Now that we understand Orange's fundamentals and who he is as a side, the question to ask next is what is he capable of as a side?

iv. Powers and Influences

Now we get to the part where I am! The most unsure about! As of the time I'm writing this, I literally just had a conversation with Orb trying to understand how Orange “possesses” Thomas and the sides, and nothing conclusive came out of it. Even if we are shown one instance of how Orange influences the others (ie. Logan's orange eyes), we actually do not know how that works at all. 

I suppose we can start by asking ourselves how Orange embodies forbidden emotions. I see his insistence for Thomas to perform a certain emotion similar to how Patton would do it. It's impulsive, reactionary. They undergo a situation, then they make Thomas feel an emotion they deem apt for that situation. The only reason Orange isn't utilized as much as Patton is because, of course, Patton is who Thomas is more familiar with. I'd also like to argue that the emotions Orange would possibly encapsulate aren't ones that are constantly expressed. Most of the time, we are in a state of happiness or contentment, emotions covered by Patton. If not, we experience sadness, another common emotion covered by Patton. I would imagine Orange's roster of emotions are only experienced rarely, or if put in a continuous dire situation. Immense anger, for example, would pop up if you feel continuously disenfranchised by something. See: Thomas’ mental health crisis.

Ergo, Orange allows Thomas to feel “taboo” emotions when the situation calls for it. Pretty straightforward. But we're not done yet, because we have to consider what it means that Orange also assists other sides in externalizing their own emotions. We can't use the same argument we gave to Thomas because the sides… aren't each others’ sides. They're Thomas’. If Orange assists in the externalization of the other sides’ repressed emotions, then it has to work differently.

A widely accepted theory or headcanon I see in the fandom is that Orange “possessed” Logan to make him get angry. Or, Logan made a deal with Orange, and now he has angry spurts he doesn't understand. While I appreciate the efforts to make juicy angst, I'm not fond of the idea that these theories basically imply that Logan's anger in WTIT was not his own. In reality, it was. Logan suppressed his frustrations about everyone ignoring his suggestions, and now he snaps. Making it seem like he can't achieve these emotions on his own volition implies he has no frustrations about his predicament to begin with.

The real question is, then, why did Logan's eyes glow orange if his emotions at that moment were genuine? Well, like other segments of this essay, it's hard for me to say something conclusively. We literally have nothing else to work on, guys, pardon me if I can't be a hundred percent certain on my assertions. But if I were to guess, I'm inclined to believe that Orange cannot make the sides feel emotions that they don't already have. Rather, he's responsible for enhancing it. In Logan's situation, for example, his frustration is completely his own. But when you submit to something like, let's say, blinding rage, sometimes you lose your sense of control and simply act. In this case, Orange possibly assists the flow of emotions the side in question would be experiencing.

I'll admit though, I literally have no clue how Orange does that, how he assists the other sides to feel their repressed emotions better. Again, we are working with practically nothing here. Although, one thing we can entertain is the idea that Orange has something to do with a side's state of being. Just like how Janus causes the sides to cover their mouths when expressing a lie, the sides’ eyes could possibly glow orange just because they're feeling an intense, “taboo” emotion. If you don't want to imagine Orange as its own side, you can also factor in the popular fan theory that Orange is simply a state of being the sides experience, no additional side required. Either way, while we cannot dive deep on the semantics of the glowy eyes thing, we can at least confirm there is a link between a side externalizing repressed or “taboo” emotions and Orange himself.

v. Relationships With The Sides (Especially Logan)

Another thing I wanted to discuss is the relationships Orange shares with the other sides. The most accepted depiction of Orange shows him distanced from the “Dark” Sides, while also having a crude fascination with Logan. We've discussed enough of how I view Orange in the context of the “Dark” Sides, so I'd like to focus more on what it means for Orange to assimilate with the “Light” Sides, especially Logan.

Because Logan's first to be seen with these orange eyes, many are quick to assume this is an isolated case. Fair enough— we don't have other examples to compare this with. At the same time, I think a lot of people aren't considering the idea that, if we go by the assumption that Orange is connected to states of being, then any other side can also experience the orange eyes. I won't even be surprised if it happens to Roman in this coming season finale.

But is the much entertained idea of Logan being specifically targeted by Orange unfounded? I would say no, not necessarily. The “Dark” Sides and Logan have always had an interesting relationship. Logan in particular is shown to be the side most unbothered their presence. Again, he's the side who argued that no side can actually be categorized as “good” or “bad”. He's the most sympathetic to the “Dark” Sides, but also… isn’t. 

There's an explainable contradiction here. Even if Logan is nicer to the “Dark” Sides compared to the others, he also has the reputation of being able to easily and successfully shut down their suggestions. He completely opposed Janus’ side in SVS out of Thomas’ interest. He shut down Remus not once, but twice, to protect Thomas. But that's the thing— he does not shut down the “Dark” Sides’ contributions because he disagrees with them. Moreso, he does it because he thinks that's what Thomas’ wants. For example, he admitted in SVS that even if he wanted Thomas to attend the callback, he still preferred if Thomas attended the wedding instead because he thought that was what Thomas would have wanted.

And, well, we saw how Janus responded to Logan's decision— he was confused. It's like he had trust Logan would vouch for his side. Let's remember the main goal of the “Dark” Sides: to be respected, to break Thomas’ black-and-white thinking, and to get him out of his mental slump. This goal can only be achieved if they restore the balance of want and need lost partially due to Logan's diminishing self-assertion. They know Logan can do something if he lets himself loose. That's why Remus and Janus teased him in the Secret Santa gift exchange about wanting to express his frustrations. That's why, after Logan's outburst in WTIT, Remus says, “Gee, Logan, now you're speaking my language.” 

They want Logan in on their plan. For that to begin, they need to make Logan in tune with his own emotional wants and needs, to make him more assertive. Thus, Orange would have to step in. There is merit when fans joke about the “Dark” Sides wanting Logan to go apeshit— it's because it's true. It's because it benefits them.

I can only provide things to consider when it comes to the other sides:

With Patton, think of the point I made earlier about Orange being “bad” emotions divorced from Patton, in a similar way Remus and Roman were created. The main difference between them would be that Patton has more faculty over principles, since Janus has that covered for the “Dark” Sides. While Patton, influenced by Catholic morality, thinks emotions and morals are intertwined, it would make sense for the more cynical sides to view them as separate.

Roman, as aforementioned, may also be susceptible to Orange's influence as the other side tends to hide his emotions from the others. With how the narrative is building up, I won't be surprised if Roman's frustrations with the whole debacle about morals heightens in the finale, especially if something Interesting happens between Thomas and Nico. You can't use Nico as a distraction forever, Thomas. Remember Thomas’ anger at Nico not responding to his messages, remember Chekhov's Gun.

Virgil is an interesting case because he would be more familiar with Orange compared to the others. That begs the question of, is he aware of the “Dark” Sides current goals and plans? My idea is, yes, but only to a certain extent. This can go down many paths. There's the possibility that Virgil was the first part of the plan, but accidentally grew closer with the “Light” Sides before he fully completed it. This explains why he hasn't disclosed the plans to the others, especially since it may incriminate him as someone who was part of that plan. There's the possibility that he knows nothing of the plan, but is familiar with the “Dark” Sides’ antics. Thus, he can't do much but stay suspicious of the sides. Either way, we still don't know enough to conclude how much Virgil knows, but I doubt he would get along with Orange.

I pondered about Janus a little because, if Orange is meant to embody externalization in some form, what does that mean for him, the embodiment of self-preservation and secrecy? I don't have the answer, but while we know the “Dark” Sides have to work with each other, we don't actually know how close Janus and Remus genuinely are with Orange. To be fair, Janus and Remus are complete opposites and they get along fine. I'd definitely prefer it if all of the “Dark” Sides were actually close because it creates such a perfect juxtaposition to the “Light” Sides’ crumbling family. 

I also thought Orange and Remus would make interesting parallels as two forbidden versions of feeling and thinking respectfully. Like I said earlier, Remus can only suggest, but he never actually embodies the emotions of wanting to do taboo things. Orange, however, could. No other points except for the ones I mentioned about the “Dark” Sides in the previous bullet.

vi. Long-Term Presence

Originally, this essay would end here and already be posted. I even went through at least half of it for beta reading. Then, Orb started a discussion where they asked what I thought Orange's purpose was, especially since most theories (even the one you're reading right now) are more centered on Orange in the context of the current conflict. There was actually a part I wanted to write during the second segment where I disclosed what I thought Orange would contribute in the grander scheme of things, but I omitted it because it felt too out of place.

I replied to Orb what I was going to write; I thought that Orange was going to be the final push for Thomas to go to therapy, and make Thomas stand his ground more instead of asking the sides for advice every time he has an issue. I've always thought this, especially therapy, was one of the ways the series would end as a whole, because it means Thomas would stop talking to his sides. Or at least, in the way we see him do it in the show. That sounds a bit cynical, I know. Why would I suggest that Sanders Sides end by Thomas cutting ties with the sides?

Well, I'm not. Not entirely. I'm not advocating Thomas does. What I mean is, an underlying conflict to the current conflicts we have now is how Thomas internalizes his problems. This is literally how the series functions. Thomas has a problem, then consults himself about it via the sides. Even c!Joan mentions it in CLBG. This issue of the problem aversion Thomas has would be fine in the former parts of the series, as the things he consulted the sides about were small. But as the series progresses, we're facing issues that call for an entire paradigm shift in morality. Of Thomas putting himself and his friends in the infamous Trolley Problem. Of Thomas facing horrible intrusive thoughts he opts to combat alone.

I once called Sanders Sides a psychological horror because we see how a normal dude's mental health crumbles as he deals with life-changing situations alone. To find a solution for this main, underlying conflict means the show has to end— internalization IS the series’ foundation!

And so Orb suggested the most batshit idea— what if Orange was Thomas’ foil? Not in a sense that confirms the Opposite Sides theory. Rather, Orange, if his role is externalization, is literally the antithesis of how the sides work. As Orb put it, Orange is there to “completely wreck the format”, making Thomas realize that consulting the sides for help has its limits. He has to literally go out and touch grass, talk to his friends about his moral dilemmas, consult a damn therapist. That is what I think Orange's true purpose as a side is.

vii. Closing Statements

In the end, I can't say that everything I've stated in this essay is pure fact, but this is the most educated guess I can give considering what we're given and what we can expect to happen in canon. While most theories I've seen easily pinpoint different issues the sides and Thomas are facing in the series, these theories would then guess that Orange would be the cause of these issues. That's where theories like Procrastination, Repression, Regret, etc. come from. More than anything, I want you to see that Orange acts in response to these issues rather than in tandem with it. 

The best advice I can give you when theorizing about Orange is: ask yourself what needs to be seen in the series. Remember, Sanders Sides is a narrative. Episodes will continue to happen past Orange's inevitable reveal. Think of Orange in this context, as his own character with motivations and wants for Thomas. Only then you can make educated guesses about him.

Anyway, thank you for reading my incredibly extensive essay on Orange! Again, my words are not gospel, so if you want to discuss anything further, add onto this post or send me an ask! Please read this post though before you send me anything. And If you enjoyed this, PLEASE reblog, I'd definitely appreciate it! If you want to read more stuff from me, here's a carrd masterlist of Sanders Sides meta I've done. Happy reading!

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #orange sanders #orange side #sanders sides meta #logan sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders