#Like the whole book is unhinged but that was a “lets. Let’s move on. Moving on now.” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

comfortless · 11 months ago

Note

The way you write König makes me cry and dry heave cuz you balance his loser unhingeness and his heartbreaking tenderness is✨ ART✨

Now I feel like you would be able to EAT this prompt up but imagine König as Frankenstein’s creature that is this big ass hulking mass of body that immediately makes the town grab their pitchforks but he can DESTROY them in seconds. But inside he is just a little guy who just wants somebody to hold and love (and other activities if ya know what I mean

Keep doing what you do❤️

A Place For Us

Frankenstein’s creature! König x fem! horologist reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. discrepancies!, reader is implied to have anxiety, angst & fluff, non-malicious stalking?, loner/loner dynamic my beloved.., brief mentions of previous murders and religious imagery, codependency, smut; masturbation, unprotected piv.

notes: receiving this ask was so funny to me because @melancholic-thing and i have been bouncing this idea around forever (i simply could not have brought this any justice without ghost’s input— if you see this please know that ily dearly). thank you, anon for your kind words and finally giving me the push that i needed to write it! 💘

wc: 10.6k

You’re good at fixing broken things; tinkering with them with a set of well-polished tools until they begin to tick, or chime, or cuckoo.

Some take longer than an afternoon sat before the wooden desk, weeks or months— a year, once. Oiled parts and small cogs, the three arms that jerk and glide over a face riddled with numbers that all lull you into feeling that your work is not just some monotonous service only the rich buzzards could afford, but as if you were a healer of sorts; a little cleric stationed to bring life into whichever jagged, broken thing has been dropped or kicked at her doorstep.

This one, however… you’re convinced it’s as good as dead.

No matter how many times you take apart the little, gray pocket watch, the arms refuse to move. Its ticking sounds less like that of the beating of the heart and more like the grinding of dry teeth, a corpse begging, pleading to let this attempted resurrection come to an end.

Your tweezers wrench the face free, and all at once it proves too much— bending and warping beneath the metal grip until it cracks, a split right through it, down to its very center.

“How…” Your voice fills the void of ticking, pseudo-silence surrounding you. A word slipped out in frustration and unknowing before you finally toss the wretched little thing onto the desk with a clatter and step aside.

The house is as dark and brooding as always, too large for a woman on her own and a workshop that hardly counts as a proper business. Shelves of broken clocks serve as decor where potted plants and well-loved photographs should sit in their stead. Books of study for modern devices such as these in place of the poetry and worn love letters other women seemed to have in abundance.

This place was starved out of light, even with the flickering glow of candles and the electric humming of the unnatural yellow one above.

The sun is no stranger, either, your curtains neatly pulled aside to allow for it to filter through like an invited guest. Only it doesn’t, not on such a melancholic gray day.

You need a walk, a distraction, or this hungry home would be certain to rip away your work from the shelves and swallow you whole instead.

Isn’t it such a tragedy that, someone who pours her creativity and all of her love into time, all she seems to do is waste it?, the gaudy wallpaper seems to taunt, all the colors of filthy maroon and darkened blue flowers seeming to make it feel more imposing and less of a comfort.

Your hand curls around the handle of your umbrella, a sturdy thing, but just as drab as the rest of the home. Then, the package you’ve been putting off delivering to the elderly woman in town. Best to get it done with now, maybe upon your return the hands that fix could do so once again.

Shame about the clock face though. You would certainly have to patch together another and pray the pocket watch’s owner wouldn’t notice.

The wind is not what you had anticipated.

Outside is different. The howling of it past the windows and shuddering through the attic felt perfectly at home in your shoddy little house, but as the door swings shut behind you, it feels entirely alive. Cold and bitter and angry— the things you keep repressed that nature lacks the tact to.

The trees bend and sway from its invisible yet incessant pushing. The hand containing the package falls down to the lap of your skirt to keep it from flying up just as your other clutches the umbrella ever tighter to keep it from billowing out into the air to be left discarded miles away.

It isn’t a short walk to town, but with the wind and the drizzling rain, it almost seems as though you’re in more tender company than the lumber and the ticking clocks.

The path through the forest is overgrown as always, branches are pushed aside and your skirt is lifted to avoid burrs and thorns.

You should have had the sense to bring along a coat, because when the thunder does strike up and the rain finally begins to fall in heavy, hurried drops, you find yourself shivering terribly with the package guarded against your chest.

Lamplight would have done well, too.

You would have almost happily allowed yourself to toss aside the umbrella and be battered by the rain if you could only see. The forest is dark on days like this, with the canopy of thick branches and their dense leaves blocking out any sliver of light cast down from overhead.

It’s only by sheer luck that you don’t manage to trip, toss your delivery into the shadow of a tree and lose it entirely before you do make it out. When the trees finally part to the barren hill overlooking town you breathe a sigh of relief, a quiet thanks for the grayed light above.

Your steps are hurried as you make your way through the quiet town. The shop windows are all lit aglow with the silhouettes of people inside, strangely dancing like shadows through a fog. A place you can not be, can not touch.

The stares the townsfolk give you make your skin crawl, as though they are so close to being what you are but not, only tied down to your world when they think themselves lofty. Their eyes always seem to question, scrape under your skin with sharpened arms, ticking and flaying, always asking: Why?

You face forward as your skin begins to prickle, not from the wet or the chill but a subdued sort of fear that nestles burning into your chest, sets your heart rushing like a rabbit.

The streets are silent enough, a small blessing; any passing strangers are hurriedly skittering through the rain and muck to hide away in their homes, children ushered with a hand to their back by flustered looking mothers, complaining in hushed voices about the rain. You only smile at them and step aside when your paths cross.

They never smile for you.

It’s why the broken clocks are delivered to your doorstep rather than brought inside, addresses and names from muffled voices calling out beyond your thick wooden door, coins and bills pushed through the mail slot to lie cold on the welcome mat. The bell above the door never chimes, and you only make your deliveries on days like this, when the rain or the dark blanket you up to keep you safe and eternally somber.

You leave the package on the doorstep, covered from the rain by a small, vermillion awning. One sharp knock is given and you’re back on your way, back to the old house, to the simplicity of the ticking, the comfort of the old cobweb on the vaulted ceiling and the drab gray of the bleakness.

There are puddles now, glistening with any light they can suck into their depths, threatening and taunting as the dull stares and that rickety old desk you really should fix. You think for a moment, that perhaps no one would even notice if one of those dark pits of rain water pulled you in entirely, only to splash through it with ease, dirtying the ends of your skirt.

The rain lessens when you crest the hill, the forest less a tangle of clattering limbs and now only a gentle sway reaches the tops of the trees, light filtering through them, as if to guide you on your way. It doesn’t lessen the bushels of thorns, the tree limbs downed and scattered over the path. In some small blessing, you’re able to scramble over them without having to plan a visit to a tailor to repair a ripped gown; scrubbing the mud from it would surely be tedious enough.

The droplets splatter against the dirt and fallen leaves in hushed bursts, the forest alive as always with the cooing of nesting birds in spite of the rain. The only thing that seems out of place is a sudden, soft thud, the snap of a branch underfoot. Just one footfall, and things return to a placid state amidst the sky’s tears.

You raise your head to glimpse in the direction, gaze sweeping over the figure of a man some paces off to your left. Beneath the shadow of a broad, twisting pine layered in thick branches, his details are mostly obscured, a thin trail of silver light only casting aglow the glimpse of a blue eye.

He’s only large enough to notice, shoulders slumped and chest rapidly rising to fall like a frightened animal; as his silhouette shifts just so you even consider that he’s shivering.

There’s something in that stare of somber blue that splinters at the wall of discomfort; it is not accusing, not bitter, worn and cold. Curious. Something akin to your own.

Damn your sweetness, your inability to simply let things be even as that ache twists around in your chest, clawing at a cage of bone and hissing that you keep silent. Be on your way. Don’t look back.

Instead, you extend your umbrella outward, toward him.

“Awful rain, hm?,” you chime.

The figure visibly tenses, seems to shrink into himself for a moment before straightening and giving one solemn nod.

“You can take my umbrella. I’m almost home, anyway.”

That seems to spark something, not much, but the stranger does take a step forward. Your eyes catch on the wet, matted hair clinging to his head, cascading down to shroud a face you still can’t quite make out.

The poor thing stirs something in you, a deep sympathy that clouds even the judgment of that flighty, skittish thing resting deep inside.

Even from such a distance it’s clear that he’s been neglected, likely cast off by the town even less favorably than you have. His scent carries on the breeze, like dirt and wood and misery.

You extend the umbrella again before realizing he won’t come any closer with you being there. So, you lower it to the ground, avoiding the mud as best you could and leave it. If he took it, fine. If not, you travel this path so often it would be collected in time.

The figure mutters something as you rise, a low string of foreign words that you can only interpret as being spoken out of surprise, perhaps even gratitude.

You smile toward him as you wipe fat, slithering raindrops from your brow.

“You don’t want to catch a fever.”

With that, you’re back on your way, thoughts of the rugged stranger weigh heavy on your mind as the roof of your home comes into view, stilted and in the same drab navy as the flowers on the wallpaper.

You could have done more. It had been instilled into you to not to open the door for someone you did not quite know, yet a part of you longed to take care of something not simply fed by oil, something only capable of telling you how much time you’ve sat alone as thanks.

Surely it was best not to let it distract you.

This was good enough.

The key is produced, the door opened, and just like the many times before that you have forced yourself from this place, the house seems less unsettling upon your return.

As what little daylight remains fades away into night, you find yourself seated, toying with the old pocket watch once more. It’s the only one that doesn’t make a lick of sense, a puzzle that can not be solved. For all the polished parts and meticulous tinkering, it still won’t work properly.

It grates and growls as though rusted, the cogs shifting inside with each movement of the arms are well-polished yet seem to do little but hiss and spit.

This is the fourth time you have taken it apart only to put it back together with no improvement.

There was little to be known about the man who owned it, some pompous, arrogant creature that you had only seen in passing. He had turned his nose up to you, you were sure of that, only to deliver this dying thing to your door the following day.

Your work had always been compared to your father’s. Though you possessed a similarity in skill, you were not what the townsfolk had deemed to be respectable. An unwed lady out on her own, biding her time repairing what they had broken rather than feeding hungry mouths delivered from her very womb, how terribly scandalous.

The pocket watch is set aside as you busy yourself tailoring a small sheet of metal for it. The graduations are carved in with a sharp razor, impeccably angled. Then, the Roman numerals, just before it’s slotted back into place.

The likeness to the former face is nearly uncanny, it’s only sturdier and less susceptible to ripping from the mere touch of tweezers. The rust s gone from the casing, and at long last— it ticks; no grinding growl as the second hand begins its revolution. The fickle thing just needed a touch up, you supposed as you flick off the desk lamp and rise to your feet.

The curtains are drawn as they always were when you step into the bedroom. The muddy dress is finally peeled away as you change and slink into the covers, and just for a moment, you almost think that you feel the animal between your breasts begin to settle too.

———

There’s a letter stuffed into the mail slot: crumpled with no postage stamp, scrawled across some scrap of paper that surely was plucked from a garbage bin.

You marvel at the lack of care for a moment before your fingers do find themselves pawing at it, unfurling the worn edges to find the words: Thank you.

Written in thick black ink, there’s a clumsiness to it, the dance of a quivering hand holding pen. You think back to the elderly woman you had made that delivery to only yesterday; had she trudged through the mud and muck just to bring you this?

Her thanks was only needed in the blessing of payment, and she had already generously done just that when she left her little humming wall clock at the door.

You flip the note over, inspecting it carefully. There’s a line there, too, hastily scratched out in the same black ink, the lines crossing and digging leaving little pinprick holes in the paper.

Holding it to the light, you can just barely make out the words: I have been alone.

Your mouth dries at the sentiment, tongue flicking out to try and force a wetness to your lips. The animal begins its keening howl, a chain rattling as claws sink into your innards; the very same agitated fear that starved you out of comfort day in and out.

The man in the forest, perhaps. You were sure that you would have remembered seeing someone so disheveled and tall about town, and if not for a certainty that he had not followed you home, you would have assumed it was him. Gratitude finally said, and well on his way to someplace else.

There’s nothing here for him or anyone else, surely he could see that. Even you could.

The walls around you seem to bulge, the room shrinking once again as every little thing held within begins to taunt and yowl. Safety was only a temporary luxury, it always has been.

The letter is discarded onto a table, as you opt to hazard a peek out of your curtains instead. The gray from yesterday remains as thick clouds crowd above, threatening another storm. The treetops and tall grass dance in the breeze, freeing leaves and breaking flower stems. There’s no one standing there to greet you, to explain themselves for the strange message that they had left.

The town had probably already driven you to madness, picturing things that were not there while old fools jab you with ominous letters and jeering stares to see just how long it would take to watch you fall apart.

Another delivery day it would be, then; best to get it out of the way before the rain begins to fall.

Maybe you could even retrieve the umbrella along the path, discarded, battered from the rain and likely unused.

You don’t bother packaging the pocket watch, choosing to hastily stuff it into the pocket of your coat instead. Courtesies be damned. Tea and a warm bath would do well when the house was sated by your absence, when you were finally given time to breathe.

In your haste, you nearly kick over what’s been left on the uppermost stair leading to your door.

You find a table clock covered in a thick black fabric, a little note attached to it giving the owner’s name and address, and a small bag containing payment.

It’s all securely placed inside, next to the ugly letter on the table.

Your umbrella doesn’t wait on the path, but you’ve hardly the mind to care. Your hand tightens around the pocket watch as you cord your way down the path and back into town, rushing amidst the foliage until the sounds of your footfalls are dulled by the street.

Reaching the house, a towering narrow building that smells like tobacco even from outside, your hand curls to knock at the door in the same breath taken as the chain is plucked to place it on the knob, intent on scurrying away immediately to avoid the disgusted gaze of the man that waits inside.

You don’t quite make it far enough before the door swings open and you’re greeted by a round face, nose upturned and lip curled into a sneer.

That isn’t imagination.

There’s a genuine hate in this man, seeping down into his bones that makes him almost seem to reek like sulfur through the cloud of cigarette smoke that wafts around him. It’s the face of someone who would love nothing more than to see your own damnation, watch the earth suck you in until your wails fall silent and a fire roars upward in your wake.

“This isn’t my watch, dear.”

“Parts needed to be replaced,” you explain, voice tight and keening like a wolf in a trap, “I assure you that I—“

“It’s shoddy work. Any clocksmith up north would have done better for half the price..”

It goes on like this for what feels like at minimum thirty revolutions, but it must have only been five or so. His droning voice makes it hard to keep track, buzzing as he examines your work, hours wasted upon aiding such an awful creature.

He only seems to grow bored of his chiding when you fall to silence. He wants a reaction, not a wide-eyed fretful stare and pursed lips caging in any sound that may bubble up from your throat.

In one final act of detestation, the watch is tossed to the ground, stomped in repetition until the hands snap, the ticking quiets, and you see months of your work brought to ruin in a mere seven seconds.

He storms back inside and slams the door shut as you stoop to collect the little, broken thing, cradling it in your palms. Maybe it wouldn’t be fixed again, but you’ve hardly the mind to let anything be left abandoned like this.

Though the anger builds, white bitter smoke billowing through your veins, it remains tucked away inside eventually communing with the animal, all but entirely snuffed out when your steps lead you to the front door of the house.

The window to the right is open, not broken. The curtains were pushed aside as though to allow a breeze to enter. A muddy footprint, vast and long scales the siding, but there’s no exiting one to join it.

You stare and listen, taking one quiet step towards the open window to strain your hearing. Nothing. Inside, it’s quiet, only the sound of the breeze rattling that note left on the table, the ticking and the familiar creaks and groans of the house settling.

So, you enter.

With the poker from the hearth in tow, the rooms are investigated one by one. Each and every one of them clear of any intruder. Even the attic, for all of it’s imagined ghosts sits empty, stale and silent. There’s no one here, nothing out of place or broken that hadn’t already been cast out from the world and delivered into your hands.

Strangely enough, it’s more peaceful like this; the leaves could be heard rustling outside, birds calling, even the chirps and strumming of crickets too late to flee the onset of chill seeping through this purgatory, filling the mundane void with sounds of life and peace.

You leave the window open.

The pocket watch is left on the desk, the kettle filled with water and placed upon the stove to heat, all before your eyes trail over to that little table beside the front door.

The only thing amiss is there, your intuition roars at you: “Look, look. Just look.”

The table clock from this morning sits there, the wood casing dusty and the hands perpetually stuck to sit at six o’clock, easy to enough to break, and easier still to fix. An overworked battery and a little oil would be its saving grace; if only things could be so simple for yourself, for the thousand or so others that surely must feel the same— clawed, fretful little rabbits.

Your eyes narrow momentarily, vaguely recalling that the damned thing had been covered when it was dragged inside. Something sable and thick, a scrap of a heavy dress shirt perhaps, verily stained. Odd that someone would have broken in merely to steal something so useless, but stranger tales have been told. For all you cared, the perpetrator could keep it.

You entertain the idea of the wild man in the trees, thick and sturdy as one. Perhaps he left the note, stole warmth from your home and found comfort in that useless old shirt after leaving that roughly scrawled note. Though the idea would horrify others, it only sets your ceaselessly racing pulse at ease.

Toying with the idea that someone so very much like you lurks the hills, found a home in your eyes and paid a visit, kind enough to wait until you were in town as to not scare you… and the kettle begins to whistle.

———

You had forgotten to close the window last night. Or maybe it was left as an invitation, a silent offer of your companionship for the unknown thing that occupies your already haunted mind these days. Something in your subconscious dared you to simply forget, see what happens, and you’re not entirely disappointed to find out that yes, something has happened.

There are three flowers laid out there in a row, smushed by the weight of a heavy palm: a daffodil left golden and proud despite the way her petals fray and wither, and two others wild and unnamed with blue and white colors leading to vibrant green stems. And roots. He hadn’t the time to pluck them proper, nor had a sense of gentleness to his touch in doing so.

It’s the first time you’ve laughed in months, a giggling that makes your chest ache from a sudden mirth through all of this wretchedness. Who knew it would only take three flowers and the appearance of someone so disconnected? You take them and place them in a vase in the same spot, careful to add just the right amount of water to keep them living for a time.

Someone brought you flowers— actually brought you a gift, not a job. You remember those eyes, too. His hands may not have been gentle, but that look was.

Though darkness still creeps internally, you’re resolute in what you must do when you prepare for the day. You’ve never really worn this dress— a soft, white thing with billowing sleeves and tight cuffs that brings a swell to your breasts and cinches your waist. One of the women about town had given it to you in lieu of payment for repairing her husband's watch, left a note prattling onward for three pages about how a woman should dress to find a man. Three!

You’ll find him, thank him for the flowers, bat your eyelashes just a little and retrieve your umbrella. That’s all. The rain would be back, more deliveries would have to be made, and if you could manage a friend from all of this well… surely things could work out for you, just this once.

Your steps are less hurried and more tentative this time around. You don’t barrel through the woods like a galloping mare, mindful of your dress as you lift the fabric at the hips to avoid thick, slickened mire. There isn’t much to do about the thorns nipping at your ankles, leaving little scratches like cat’s claws in their wake.

The thought that maybe this was a ridiculous idea only settles in your mind after an hour of searching. You don’t even have a name to call him by, not an idea on just where he may be or what his intentions truly were, all further punctuated by the fact that you’ve found yourself in the midst of a wild orchard, the yellowing grass nearly reaching your knees as you reluctantly allow your dress to flow free. Thick clusters of apples hang above your head, each nearly ripe, some even fallen to leave a fragrant sweet smell in the wake of their rot.

Thunder roars above, distant but loud, cruelly threatening the wake of a downpour that would so easily sully the delicate thing you wear. Your chest aches from exertion, from whichever horrid fear it's settled on today, and you’re nearly fully convinced of your own madness when something does finally catch your eye.

There’s a cabin, nestled between the trees, old and lacking glass panes for the windows. The roof is covered in moss, walls creeping with the old green of vines and nearly hidden away entirely by the tall grass that rises above its face.

You could wait out the storm in the dark there, rethink your steps until you find a way back home and the prospect of actually entering a building that wasn’t the very picture of your own agony stirs something within you.

You don’t bother to knock, only waltz right in and let the door shut softly behind you. It creaks as it goes, whining from the rust laden over its hinges. As expected, the cabin is mostly barren; a set of dust laden chairs sits on opposite ends of a table missing a leg, a large bookshelf housing only a torn copy of Paradise Lost and a journal, a few dirtied dishes are left on the floor, and in the corner…

There are a lot of things that make you feel small.

You couldn’t live up to your father’s name in town. The thought that you were not an equal to the other ladies with their fine jewelry and dresses, rings wrapped around their fingers, that was a sore spot despite the way you refused to admit to it. Even the hounds lurking about the butcher’s shop on lonely night deliveries, baying and growling when your feet carried you too close.

None of those things could even compare to how you felt now.

The rug he lies beneath is large on its own, but your flower-giving, grateful titan seems even more so. It’s as though walking into a bear’s den and expecting a mere squirrel. Even curled into himself in sleep, he seems impossibly huge.

You couldn’t see much of him that first night, but now… where the rags that make up his clothes reveal a series of long scars along his legs, the hairy arms that seem far too thick: all of him, all of him is massive.

Your rabbit heart does not claw or fight you now, it only flutters, placated by the sight of something so… was there really a word for it? The idea that someone so imposing could strike the match of attraction within you. Feelings were strange, each comes sharp and new like the deliberate twist of a knife through a body, soft like warm bread.

You smile as you wander to his side, recognizing the cloth he wears over his head immediately as the one stolen from your house. Your dress is smoothed at your rear as you lower yourself to sit on your knees at his side, quiet and slow.

“Hello,” you whisper, placing a hand on a shoulder that dwarfs it entirely, feeling the bulge of muscle beneath the ripped shirt, the ridge of keloid scars from deep cuts laid into his skin.

The titan’s eyelids flutter for a moment as he begins to stir, staring up at the ceiling, teetering on the edge between waking and dreaming. Then, those cold blue eyes lock onto you. A flash of disbelief crosses them, just for a moment before something flips and from the holes ripped into that makeshift hood you see an expression that seems almost agonized.

“Hello,” he rasps after a long moment, shifting onto his side to prop himself up and raise his head to level with your own.

His breathing is shallow, almost panicked and you finally think to bring your hands to your lap instead, avoid touching him and potentially startling the poor man further.

“I wanted to thank you… for the flowers. They’re beautiful.” You pause as you study what little of his expression you can make out through the mask, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners only giving a glimpse of a smile. All teeth, probably, an excited one that even the imagination of warms your heart. “I put them in a vase. I didn’t want them to die.”

“I should not have…” His voice is softer than you ever imagined that it could be, well-spoken as the words are pulled from his throat. You find yourself transfixed, almost, praying that he continues if only to hear the delicate strumming of his tone, the soft sigh of breath that leaves him afterward.

“Es tut mir leid.”

The apology is followed by a low sweep of his gaze, slowly crawling from the peek of your cleavage to your hips to rest where your hands lay clasped in your lap.

He hardly seems to know what to do with himself, what to say, and all at once the realization dawns on you that no, he isn’t merely paying his thanks and seeking conversation. Perhaps that was part of it then, but now… he seems almost entranced.

You recognize those looks, from men in passing when they leered, but from him… from this weary, haunted stranger. It only seems a silent sort of reverence; as though longing for something he’s been deprived of.

“No, it’s fine, it made me happy.”

“Happy?”

“Yes, it was sweet.”

He falls silent at that, conflicted if the pinch of his brow were anything to go by. Then, sudden, he takes your wrist and jerks your hand toward his face, thumb brushing over the small calluses over each pad of your fingers. There’s dirt beneath his fingernails, even more scaring along those massive hands and you shiver. It’s not fear it’s… something akin to it, opposite by the way it dances and writhes in warmth rather than the cold.

“You have the hands of a maker.”

Strange, sweet Goliath.

His words are spoken somberly, as if there is more to say that he holds back. A part of you warns that you’re not prepared for it anyhow, so you let him continue that motion, brushing over your palm with a featherlight touch until it begins to tickle.

Your giggle prompts him to raise his head, watery eyes threatening tears when he hears that sweet sound bubble up from within you. His hand curls over your own, trapping you in his grasp as though little else matters to him more than the need to touch you in some way.

“You have kind eyes.”

“I am not kind.”

You shake your head at that, flicking your thumb across the top of his burly hand, marveling at the smooth skin of his scars and the rough texture of the hair that dots his knuckles.

“You’re sweet to me, and that’s all that matters.”

It could have been a mistake, how easily you’ve taken to this bizarre titan. Any lady with proper regard for her standing and womanhood assuredly wouldn’t have said something like that to a beast that has the stature and the scent of something wild.

Still, the words leave your lips far too quickly to draw back; he responds with an urgency.

You find yourself pulled ever closer by the iron grip on your hand, tugged into the rug-turned-mattress by this man as he cages you in to meld against his chest. He’s everywhere, warm and burning against the chill of your skin with flesh touched by hellfire.

You only sigh pitifully when his arm wraps around your waist. When was the last time you had even felt an embrace? You couldn’t recall, and even if you had, it would have paled in comparison to one such as this. You breathe him in like a summer’s breeze, tasting a hint of the apple orchard beyond on your tongue when you open your mouth to speak once again.

“See..?”

The tension in his muscles seems to melt away; if your heart is like a hare then surely his must be more akin to a bull. It takes some time before he softens entirely against you, despite his initiation. His breath is almost a pant when his hand trails upward along your back, feeling every ridge and dip and curve, breath catching in wonder as you allow it.

“You are soft like…”

His head dips to press into your shoulder, breathing you in, humming his approval at the mingling scent of clock oil and tea leaves that lingers on your skin. Even from beneath the hood, you can feel the way his lips brush over you, his mouth parted in a voiceless plea.

“… like one of the flowers.”

It’s almost torture really, how someone could be so comforting, so endearing.

His hand trails further, drifting over the backside of your dress to curl against your thigh threatening something if you don’t conjure the sense to stop him. It stokes the fire within you, glowing ember in place of a brain, it seemed. You feel weak, lost in a foreign touch and sweet, clumsily spoken words.

If the townsfolk could see you now, herded up in this stranger’s arms, surely they wouldn’t dare to cast any disapproval your way. Not one of those meek little devils would have a word to say… not now or ever again.

“You’re like… a tree then,” you whisper as you finally will yourself to twist away from the grip, already mourning the loss of warmth as a cold wind filters through the openings in the cabin.

He doesn’t sulk as you pull away, only seems content to have been blessed with that much. That mist remains in his eyes before they shut again, willing himself to rise to sit up just as you do.

“Will you stay?”

You glance over the cabin again, with all of its dust and cobwebs. Your umbrella sits in the corner, propped upright with its handle leant against the wall, out of place amidst the dilapidation prevalent here.

This wasn’t a home at all, just a quiet, cold purgatory. Though the halls of your own may mock your solitude, this place seems to echo his very being: alone, broken, rotting and so, so very cold.

Your heart bleeds as you weigh your options, expression growing sullen and torn. He notices, tentatively takes your hand again in an almost practiced way of providing comfort. Had he ever even…

Your thoughts begin to drift again, and you force yourself to settle on a choice. It’s not your heart that should be damned, but that horrid seed of doubt constantly burdening, stealing from, and clawing at you.

“I should get home, before the rain.”

“Verstanden.”

“You can come too.”

There’s an audible hiss of breath through his teeth, that peculiar look of agony crosses his face again… and finally, he weeps.

———

König, you think to call him.

He teaches you German from time to time, in turn for you allowing him to watch as you work away at the clocks. It feels fitting in a way. Not because he harbors the self-importance of a noble figure, nor his stature; he’s simply become something impossibly important in the week long span you’ve spent together now.

You’ve decorated the guest room properly for him, and in turn he’s brought you firewood, foraged and hunted so that neither of you have had to bother with the town. The fire raged in the hearth as the cold continues to set in, and your walks to town have been enjoyable now. He accompanies you to the hill on some nights, draws you a bath when you come home, even cooks.

So… maybe a king was not entirely appropriate, but calling him a servant certainly wasn’t either. Even with the way he seems to melt and become docile at the slightest brush of your hand, the way you know with a certainty he would die for you if you spoke the word.

And still, you call him König: the king of your heart.

There are flowers at your windowsill each morning, still clinging to their roots. You bake the bread while he cooks stew with herbs gathered from the little garden just beyond the walls of the home, one he’s graciously told you he’s wanted to expand for you. Books you’ve overlooked for years have been read end to end by him, and he especially seems to like those with art of flowers drawn into their pages, always seeking you out to show you, explain their meanings, expressing the beauty that he sees in them and within you.

You don’t know where he’s come from, what his life was like before this, and with the same respect that he gives to you… you don’t ask.

“We’re starting a new story,” you had said the first morning over a breakfast of hastily made apple dumplings. To which he had agreed, with a somber hum, nodding his hooded head.

Though you do wonder about his secrets, his face. Seeing him now is all it really takes to make you smile.

He comes through the door, hauling in the massive grandfather clock that a carriage had left only this morning. The bob and the lyre both appeared broken at a glance, but your heart sinks when you read the name on the note left attached to it.

The same petulant little man that had stomped that poor watch to pieces right in front of you, no doubt he had broken this one too in some sort of tantrum. What was it now? Had the poor clock chimes a bit too loudly during the night? Was that deserving of a foot lodged right into its heart?

“König, do you mind just leaving it there?” You gesture toward the middle of the room, watching as the muscles beneath his shirt don’t even seem to ripple from exertion.

“Natürlich.”

As you set to work, pulling away parts, straightening out bends and replacing what’s broken, he kneels at your side watching with rapt attention. There’s no fixing the pendulum bob entirely, it’s far too bent and scraped, but you wouldn’t be replacing that with work of your own either. The bastard gets what he gets and that will do.

In truth, your work since having König here has only improved, and perhaps you’re showing off a bit, but the way he watches you tinker with the dusty old things as if mesmerized fills you with pride. You could fix anything, yes, with him at your side you wanted to.

The house doesn’t echo wasted time anymore, only that crowding feeling of something buzzing and chirping, budding up in the spaces where shadows should crawl: love. You wouldn’t trade it for the loneliness to return, not ever. A new sort of fear that stings just as much as it does caress.

So you work in silence, only breaking it to answer the sparse questions that he throws out.

When the clock is shoddily finished, you wipe the oil from your hands on a rag, and take König’s own large arm as it’s offered out to you to stand.

“I will carry it for you tonight,” he suggests, delicately brushing a bit of dust from your sleeve. His touch does linger, always lingers, trailing up to massage at your shoulder and cup at your neck. The swell of heat that arrives at your face then, the press of your thighs beneath your skirt… it’s always the same.

“I thought that you didn’t want to go into town?”

Your shoulder meets his chest as you press against him, doing very little to calm your body’s frustrations. The blood within you stirs like a violent wave feeling him this near— cleaned up and dressed in some patchwork conglomerate of your father’s old clothes. He smells like a union between the earth and sea, salt and alder leaf, a hint of thyme and lavender.

His eyes glitter when his gaze roves from your face to chest, hand skittering down to curl at the small of your back. To anyone else, you would look the picture of husband and wife perhaps.

“I would go anywhere with you.”

A fresh normal, like the rise of spring, those words and touches that suggest more: threatening while you plead in silence for him to just give you a push, unlace your dress and finally feel and see him properly.

“Then… yes, let’s get the cursed thing out of here tonight.”

His grip tightens around you just for a moment, fingers curling and flexing into the soft linen covering you, bunching it up just so at your back before he relents, draws away.

“You dislike this one?” König sounds almost hurt, perhaps he favored it, being tall and similar to him in some way. Another odd thing, hard to place, but he’s never seemed to like you talking down about your own work, a habit that needed breaking.

“No,” you begin to explain, curling your arms around his middle as you both stare at the thing, ticking quietly before you, “its owner is just a pain.”

“I can tell. You seem nervous, meine geliebte.”

“You haven’t taught me that one yet,” you point out, not playing coy, despite the look he gives you that suggests you know.

There’s always that ache when his eyes narrow and that playful glint reaches them. How someone could look as though they’ve suffered dozens of lifetimes of pain and still have that look, you did not know, but it excites you. A furious, needy excitement.

“Beloved,” is all that he says.

The stare relents as he heads back out into the garden, leaving you to sort yourself out.

———

“You’re sure that you can carry it the entire way?”

It’s not that you could help, really. The thing must have weighed as much as yourself, strung up over König’s back with a rope he had found lying someplace in the garden.

“Ja, it’s fine.” He’s not out of breath in the slightest either. You realize then that if you put on all your charms bending, arching and delicately maneuvering your hands to fix the clocks, the assuredly this was his way of doing the same. You try to reign yourself in from staring at the damp spot on his shirt, clinging to his broad expanse of chest, the way that his thighs seem to tense with each step forward.

You can’t— you merely trail behind him until you take the lead to bring him right to the other man’s doorstep. Your hands find the ropes that keep the clock saddled to König’s back, carefully untying them as he stoops down to let its wooden legs rest against the ground below. It scrapes, the consequence of being so heavy and forced to stand on those four tiny legs, and only then does it decide to make a cacophony of noise signaling the new hour, a trilling sort of bong that makes even your ears ring as it breaks up the silence of the night.

You don’t even need to knock, because the door flies open immediately. The man stands proud, unperturbed by your giant companion as he shoves past you to inspect his clock. There are no greetings, no pleasantries, and if you were just a bit more careless with your reputation, smacking him would have only brought you satisfaction.

“Not good, but it will do,” the little man huffs, knocking at the glass casing over the clock’s face with his knuckle. “Be a dear and have your friend bring it in for me.”

You’ve no doubt that König senses your annoyance as he cocks his head at you, but when you give a curt nod in response, he does what’s requested. The clock is set in a large den. It’s not as opulent and gilded as you had expected, just a simple home housing a very infuriating man. You watch from the doorway, swaying on your feet as König rights the clock and pushes it where he’s directed. Just a few more seconds and the two of you would be well on your way, and perhaps he would even teach you a new curse for a man like that.

He comes uncomfortably close to König’s side, a smug look plastered over his face that only seems to exaggerate just how greasy and mousy that you know him to be. Something is whispered that you can’t quite make out, a dare, a mocking taunt, something that pisses you off even without the knowledge.

The hood is pulled off by thin fingers, cast aside to the floor beyond the pair.

The man’s face goes pale before you even get a glimpse of König at all. He backs away, mouth gaping as König calmly moves to retrieve the cloth. You think you hear the word “monster” mumbled amidst a slew of incoherent babbling, but when your companion turns to face you, you feel no fear.

König’s face is like patchwork, scars connecting all together. They run like small streams up from his jaw and over his chin, splitting his lip at the corner of his mouth and dancing up to his eye. The nose is broken in places, several times over likely, crooked with a bump that only seems strangely cute. The unkempt hair lining his jaw should be trimmed, but… there’s no monster here. Only a man who has seen and felt pains that you could not bring yourself to imagine.

His head dips when he notices your wide-eyes stare, a sort of shame hidden away behind strands of long, black hair. He shuffles out of the house and shuts the door behind him, standing rigid as he expects the worst, for you to wail and sob and gather a group of townsfolk to herd him far away with fire and stones.

You only take his hand.

“Let’s go home.”

He doesn’t bother to hide himself away again during the walk back, his hand remains in your hold, trembling every now and then and gripping you tighter as he struggles with the thoughts no doubt raging in his skull like a storm. You offer your comfort as you lean toward him, head pressed against his arm even as you turn the knob and step inside.

You warm a bath for him then, a task that is no easy feat. König does not offer his help, resigned to some belief that this is only a temporary pity.

He allows you to peel away his clothes, graze your fingers over his body, over the scars all with a barely contained creature scraping out from inside: the untamed bull that you can not see. You press a kiss there, over his heart, feel it’s beating against your lips, pulling away only when his thumb strokes your cheek.

Each new sight of him is just as wonderful as they have always been. It’s not that you take pleasure in seeing the way he must have suffered; the now healed bullet wound over his abdomen speaks volumes of just what people are capable of when met with the sight of something that they do not understand.

The questions burn at the back of your skull, bitten back as your jaw tightens.

You help him wash with soap and a soft cloth, carefully removing any patches of dirt and dust that have lingered despite his near-daily bathing since living beneath your roof. The rough beard is trimmed in full, until all that’s left is a trail of dark stubble lingering along his jaw, broken up by scars like thin spider silk that make up the entirety of his body.

His hair is a mess, too, matted and clinging to his skull in wild clumps. You’re gentle with the brush as you free the tangles, clipping at what can not be saved with sharpened scissors, and massaging at his scalp as he murmurs his approval. It’s such a subdued, gentle cooing from his chest, a purr almost that shatters your heart and forces it back into place instantly.

Whatever he was or was not, you were certain this stray had never felt a touch like your own, if he had ever been touched by human hands at all.

König seems to settle greatly once you’ve tended to him and it does seem to finally dawn on him that you’re not repulsed, you’ve touched most of his damaged body, and have only brought him the gentleness that should have been commonplace by now. This isn’t some elaborate torture method— it’s only tender.

“Your turn, hm?”

That, however, brings you pause. Your hands rest on his shoulder, carefully trying to loosen a stubborn knot when you abruptly still. As if that were all he needed for encouragement, his hands cinch your waist, pulling you up and over the rim of the tub as you whine your protests in hushed little hisses. All for naught, as you find yourself submerged below the waist.

“I’m still dressed,” you sulk as the water dampens your dress, now seated between his parted thighs.

König only gives a laugh in response as his arms encase you in another embrace, his head resting against the dip between your shoulder and neck as his chest is brought to press against your back.

“And you’re still mine.”

His fingers trail further down to the wet fabric billowing amidst the soft, lapping waves of the water, pulling it up until it rests just above your hips. There’s no tact, only a clumsy sort of desperation rarely seen upon men, especially not of his stature.

You allow him to loosen the strands of lace at your back, bring your clothing up and over your head to leave it resting and dripping over the rim, pooling below onto the boards of the wooden floor. Your undergarments follow to join the flooding pile of soaked linen and lace.

You’re flustered certainly, grateful for the water surrounding that conceals the warmth that echoes your fondness for this titan between your legs.

You even considered that he would be more shy, not… as eager to begin to wash you, and not with the cloth but with his own hands, nimbly moving over every dip and curve coating you in the slick residue of soap, leaving suds in its wake. He starts at your shoulders, breath growing heavy the more you soften and relax against his chest.

It’s only a matter of time before his hands find and cup your breasts, and you swear that you can feel the grin that splits his face as you melt further against him. König gropes at and massages you there, eager fingers deliberately stroking at your hardened nipples until you quiver and sigh.

You find purchase moving your arms to your sides to grasp at his biceps, muscles flexing as he works his way down your trembling abdomen to your mound, kissing at your shoulder as you purr your encouragement.

The praises that leave your lips come tight and barely restrained as a finger trails against your slit, moving up to circle your clit before diving back down to prod at you.

Your head is gently tilted back by his free hand, your face peppered in clumsy, messy kisses as a digit sinks into you. It’s lazy work, trying to find a rhythm with your squirming. He only seems satisfied when it presses further, curling against the spot that makes you mewl sweetest, and finally, he kisses you full on.

It’s delivered as sloppily as his fingering, any trailing thought left in your skull dims, fuzzy with sheer bliss as his thumb begins to pet at your clit in tandem with each push and drag of his index. It doesn’t help that you feel his own growing need, hard and hot against your lower back, throbbing with each sound pulled from your mouth, his hips jerking on occasion to drag his shaft against your backside.

“König, we should get out,” you murmur through a flood of heat that curls and urges and presses at your lower half to seek some satisfaction, have him bed you proper. “We can go to—“

His mouth meets yours again, hungrier and more determined than before, the water rolling with each flick of his thumb. In a mere moment you feel that heat stoke to an inferno, blazing from your stomach to cause your feet to kick out, water sloshing over the side of the tub as you ride out each passing wave of paradise crying openly into his mouth.

When your trembling does subside, he kisses your cheek and pulls you up from the water, wrapping you up in his arms. His stare remains ever burning, pupils blown to a coal black, dreamy in the way he slinks back just to drink you in further. You can’t keep track of all of the places his eyes seem to dart, which touch to settle on and relish as he paws at you from chest to rear, as if mesmerized that you are no mere illusion.

You’re giving him everything; no longer the king of simply a beating organ tucked beneath your breast, but your body, bed, wherever he chooses to conquer next, of all the things that he’s been deprived of.

“We will go to bed, beloved,” he rasps, sounding more present than ever. The nightmares lurking behind his eyes have long past now: all focus is turned to you. You’re the only thing that’s ever loved him in return. “We will… become one.”

“Have you ever…” Your own voice fails you now, the evident want between you two incapable of making this any less… tedious. It was tedious, a flighty feathered thing that seems keen on slipping out of your grasp at any moment. If it were to be his first, surely it should be special, somehow, someway. If it were not… you dreaded that thought, a bitter envy sours on your tongue until it’s shaken off.

“No,” he states simply, shrugging.

Though a sense of relief seems to flood you at that, you dare not show it. You will take him to your bed, climb atop him and show him how these things work, a slow sort of love and the rest could wait.

It was foolish to believe that König would settle for such a thing, wild and only temporarily tamed by your sweetness: he is entirely different the moment you’re herded into the bedroom. The desperation of his touches has faded out entirely, replaced with what feels almost like a rage.

He wouldn’t take out humanities sins on you, no, but he would years of brutal neglect have left him starved and it just so happens that you’re an outlet for it, something to feed from by way of spilling his soul and his seed all into you, taken back with the kisses and praises that would surely come after this union.

You’re unceremoniously pushed onto the bed, lying at your side as he climbs in behind you. He whispers his requests into your hair, even as his hand wraps to pull your thigh up before you can bless him with a nod in response. He struggles for a moment, parting your labia with the obscene, ridiculous thing that hangs between his legs. It drags over you in repetition, oiled like the clock cogs before the head of his cock finally finds the opening his finger explored only minutes earlier.

You almost expect him to break you right then, force you to take what your body— no body- had surely been made for, but he only thrusts the tip inside and gives you some time to adjust, roll your hips down centimeter by agonizing centimeter.

“You are… Does it hurt you..?” His voice is a breathless pant, trying to hold himself together despite the daze he’s found himself in, buried not even three inches into your cunt.

“No… you can move,” you breathe out, eyelids fluttering as you tilt you head to look at him over your shoulder.

König clings to you as he sinks further, grasping at your waist to pull your further down, sharp breaths hissed between gritting teeth as he delights in the way your womanhood grips at his shaft.

Just as before, there’s no rhythm to him, he takes the sounds that leave you as a direction, huffing into your ear words that your mind could not hope to translate. There’s an indulgence to it, shared between you both as his hand curls tighter against your thigh, spread open and accepting of the brutal pace he takes to have just a taste of what it feels to be a normal man.

His words falter at a point, when you feel your body tightening around him, sucking him in, closer, nearer as your head lolls back. The inferno from before pales in comparison to the blaze that overtakes you now, his voice strained with bliss as you begin to moan for him. With each drag and soar of his cock spearing you open, you’re only brought further to a glimpse of Eden. If this were the fall of man, you find you couldn’t question Eve for relishing in it.

“… you gave me a name,” he rasps, “A home…”

All at once that glimmer of heaven crashes down around you, bathes you in the glow of something lofty and holy as he pulls you close and drives himself to the hilt within you. The throbbing and pulsing of his length pulls you over just as his seed spills within, drips thick and flooding as your own sex drools in tandem, sharing a perfect rapture both clandestine and sacred. He gives you another generous thrust, ensuring that he’s carved a space inside no other man could ever hope to fill.

You fret when you find him weeping, quiet tears rolling down his pale cheeks to spill over your shoulder, but the gentle smile on his face is pacifying as you twist around to face him. “And now you have my love.”

“I’ll cherish it,” he murmurs, voice broken and pitiful as you’re maneuvered upward to rest against the feather-stuffed pillows against the headboard.

You curl against him, head resting on his chest, an arm draped over his waist. He takes your hand into his own, appraising it like the first time you properly met. Hands of a maker. Your mind wanders to significance in that statement, the things that needn’t be told are finding ways to curtain you anyhow when he speaks again.

“Could you fix me?” He asks, tracing over the calluses on your fingertips, still bathing in the afterglow.

The question, though you felt it coming, still hurts to hear him speak it: breathing life into a thought that should have never existed to begin with.

“There’s nothing to fix.” Though you speak true, though you know he feels your sincerity, his eyes are heavy when he looks to you again. “Why would you ask me that?”

The story that he tells you then is one of horror. From his maker down to the things he’s done, seen, felt: hated from the moment he woke into this strange world, the horrible loneliness that pushed and bedded down inside of him like acceptance never would. The people that he’s throttled in some desire to finally have someone like him; men, women, it made no difference. All of it is bared with only one message eternally prevalent: he has only ever wanted to be loved.

In truth, he was a monster. Not because he was given the instinctual urge to be, but because it was all he knew. Gnashing teeth from demons hurling that word out with every stone they threw, every shot and stab at his heart.

You listen, despite the way it hurts, pull him a little closer when he ends his tale with your meeting, how he knew you were the only blessing he would ever receive in his lifetime— however long that may be.

You were good at fixing broken things, but König never needed to be fixed. Only found.

———

“Now you’re supposed to say it,” you hum, as his hands reach to the hem of the hood— his- covering your face. They rove beneath the fabric, curling against the skin of your cheeks, tracing small patterns there, some rotations like the clocks, others the childish hearts scribbled into books.

“I vow to take you as my wife.”

“You’re bad at this.” You giggle when he does finally push the cloth up past your nose, above your eyes and further until it’s pulled back like a veil.

“I will love you endlessly,” he continues, returning your noise of elation with a huffed laugh of his own. “I already do.”

“I love you, too.”

No one in town would ever properly marry you two, not if one look could make a weak man fall to his knees in horror, but here, beneath the roof of a home once echoing the same voice that haunts him… it was good enough. The moon seems to echo your vows with dancing rays, stars twinkling in approval as the calls of night birds carry through the open window.

There are no rings, no written formalities to be stored away with dust-ridden papers, preyed upon by mites. It’s far more sacred, genuine than the flippant affairs and arrangements that go on with those that would so readily cast the both of you aside. In truth— the thought of them rarely comes; doesn’t even rile up that intense fear inside of you any longer.

Everything only seems easier with the blooming garden outdoors, and the man who gazes upon you like he sees divinity itself behind your eyes, in the softness of your flesh.

When you kiss, it’s something from a fairytale, flowers strewn at your feet and the veil removed from your hair by a gentle hand.

Eden doesn’t seem so much like a memory lost to time, after all.

#könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction

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darealsaltysam · 10 months ago

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I JUST GOT BACK FROM SEEING DUNE PART 2 AND HOLY FUCK OH MY GOD HOLY SHIT HOLY FUUUUCK I NEED TO. I NEED TO. I NEED TO TALK SO BAD HOLY SHIT

below the cut because oh boy do i have a lot to say and i dont want my poor followers to suffer when i post this

oh my god okay okay where do i even start

opening with irulan's narration to mirror her notes in the openings of the chapters of the book. oh yeah baby. i ate that right up

watching paul get close with the fremen,,,,, fucking hell that hurts. dune really is a tragedy at the end of the day huh. they go from reluctant allies to friends but the whole time you know the switch will happen any moment now and they will be devotees and he will be messiah and that gap between them will never be as small as it is out in the sand. huddled in those tents. sharing drinks and laughs. im not doing ok

this especially hurts with chani. their love is so genuine and pure and she wears blue for him (which by the way sticks out so much more with how muted the colors of the rest of the movie are... i could talk about this all day) but she can see what he is becoming and he's trying to avoid it for her so hard but there's no avoiding fate. LORD ABOVE!!!!

i loveeee jessica being the manipulator thats pulling all the strings, urging paul towards becoming messiah. rebecca ferguson is such a talented actress she really understands the character so well. also as a hashtag certified alia atreides enjoyer her scheming with her unborn fetus might be the most unhinged thing ever but thats also so fucking funny aka its as dune as it gets. dune is WEIRD and im glad theyre not shying away from that. thank u denis

arrakis looks so much more beautiful in this movie like theres defo been some changes with how its framed and presented it feels so much grander and idk just ??? what it makes me think is that we're not seeing arrakis, we're finally seeing dune. we're seeing the land as the fremen see it as paul becomes one of them. i might be looking too much into it but who cares. god i love this movie

but yes more on the fremen in the first section of the movie. i like how there's this cluster of non-believers almost?? its a nice breath of fresh air. its hard to believe every single person would be just devoted to the prophecy and it adds some depth.

i will say the one thing i didnt like is the way stilgar is characterized?? i dont think he was so blindly devoted to paul in the books, and definitely not alia and leto ii after him as the atreides line went on. he's always been a source of small doubt towards paul but i think they're moving that element of him onto chani, so i think i can let it slide. i'd like to see him question alia more in the future though.

the scene where paul was named muad'dib and usul??? god it was so cute which made it so heart wrenching. all the fremen coming together and welcoming him into their lives. as a brother. as a friend. only for him to turn around and make them all bow before him. ohhhhh i cant do this

OH BOY THE WORMS THE WORMS AND THE WORM RIDING AND THE AHHHHHHHHH OH LORD

jesus christ. what the fuck. how is this allowed on cinema screens how is something so amazing allowed

the tension. the effects. the sound design. the sand rushing past the wind the worm moving forward paul struggling to hold on the fremen all watching and then cheering him on HOLY FUCKKKK HOLY FUCK I WAS HOLDING MY BREATH

all the worm riding scenes were so intense and so well done like. when i first read that stuff in the books i didnt think anything could ever capture how i imagined it exactly and yet. AND YET. DENIS!!!!!!!!

once more dune hits the idea of scale SO well everything is HUGE and they MAKE YOU FEEL IT. that shows especially with geidi prime but ill talk about that in a bit. but yes this applies to the worms too lord above them WORMSSSS ARE HUGEEEE AND I LOVE THEMMMM

rebecca ferguson put her heart and soul into that water of life scene and we all need to thank her for it

the way jessica is so quick to switch up and go all in on the prophecy. it makes me think of leto's "im not asking his mother, im asking the bene gesserit" like. the bene gesserit really come first for jessica and she takes her opportunity to fulfill her duties. to be the reverend mother. to rub it all in the faces of the other bene gesserit. she is the mother of the messiah and by god will she make everyone well aware of that

okay. okay okay. i think i said my peace on the early fremen stuff. i think. okay fuck okay SHIT fuck SHIT

FEYD FUCKING RAUTHA LADIES AND GENTLEMEN

oh my god okay. okay ill admit it. i doubted austin butler. i saw the cast list and i was unsure(tm). i saw him in the trailers and my faith was restored. and holy fucking shit did he DELIVER

stellan skarsgård's baron harkonnen is already such a threatening figure it feels like it would be impossible to make someone even more terrifying and yet. AND YET

just the way he's introduced. killing servants with zero remorse. LICKING THAT KNIFE THE WAY HE DID??? OKAY WHORE. I SEE YOU. GO RIGHT AHEAD. MAKE IT SLUTTY IN HOUSE HARKONNEN. I RESPECT IT

when the arena doors open and that loud ass fucking music BOOMS. makes the room fucking SHAKE. thats a PRESENCE right there. THATS how you introduce your antagonist.

the music playing as he fights being as fucking deranged as he is. chaotic and weird and unsettling. just. oh my god feyd had such a presence from the moment he showed up and he did not lose it for a single second. you could feel him LOOMING over the movie the whole time just as he looms over the whole book from his very first scene. oh my goddddd oh my godd

GEIDI PRIME. THE ARENA. THAT MASSIVE HARKONNEN PALACE. oh my god. once more. that sense of scale. the harkonnens love to flaunt their wealth so ofc they have huge fuck off arenas and castles where everything and everyone feels so SMALL in comparison.

dont even get me started on the black and white. the way it accents those coal black teeth and mouths. the way it makes everything look so much more inhuman and clinical and PERFECT because harkonnen power is so absolute and ruthless.

and the way the baron sits so so high above watching the fighting. literally impossible to picture his elevation above his people above the rest of the universe. the way feyd looks to him for approval after every movement. even as his uncle is trying to kill him they exchange those little looks and feyd knows hes getting his chance to show off while the baron gives him his "gift" what a fucked up family what the hell

speaking of fucked up family! wow! they are SO fucked up! there is something seriously strange being hinted at with feyd and the baron! feyd making his own brother bow and kiss his boot! those constant threats of death against rabban as if theyre nothing! this family is capital f FUCKED up. they hurt each other as much as they hurt everyone around them. theyre made of violence and blood and they could never show each other kindness because they dont know such a thing

what can i say about the feyd/margot scenes that hasnt been said already. like wow just unpack the boy's trauma like that. use him and then throw him to the wolves. once again the bene gesserit make it so clear this is THEIR empire and THEIR bloodlines and THEIR messiah. too bad jessica doesnt see that collective "ours" and instead settles for "mine" when it comes to the messiah

special shout out to dave bautista before i move on. just cause. his rabban doesnt get enough love. he really sells that balance of ruthless power but also incompetency compared to his brother so well. can you guys tell i REALLY like this cast

WE ACTUALLY GOT TO SEE GURNEY PLAYING THE BALISET WE FUCKING WIN Y'ALL

the paul/gurney reunion being the last shred of the old paul. how he gets so happy "i recognized your footsteps, old man" shoot me in the fucking brain stem it would HURT LESS

a bit off topic and it happened earlier (sorry my thoughts are so all over the place) but i like how they actually showed the process of how the water of life is made. it was actually exactly like how i imagined it when i read the books so thats neat !!

anyway. back to the horrors.

i already talked so much about feyd's presence so just another small note. that scene in sietch tabr. he is a MONSTER and i am EATING IT UP

i cant even begin to explain. how much it fucked me up. when paul took the water of life. i knew thats where we were going. i knew it was unavoidable. and yet still. when chani bent over him and screamed at everyone for making him follow this prophecy. when she was forced to shed tears to save his life. when she got him back only to realize she lost him and he wasnt the person she loved anymore. it broke me

chani's utter hatred for the prophecy and what paul is becoming added to it so much. i know some people are unhappy with how much shes been changed from the books but i think its elevated her character and all these scenes so much. and oh my god does zendaya DELIVER when the spotlight is on her. i never doubted her for a moment but all those changes to chani really allowed to let her shine. thats that euphoria acting coming out baby !!!!

SPEAKING OF GOOD ACTING

TIMOTHEE

FUCKING

CHALAMET

listen i hate the fact that he gets cast in everything these days as much as everyone but hes such a talented actor and i cant deny this anymore. the water of life scene really sold it for me.

he was such a perfect paul already in the first movie but this was the moment it really came out. the way he wakes up so calm and collected. lifeless. monotone. theres nothing theres literally nothing

paul atreides the boy who became duke far too young is dead usul who was the lover of chani is dead muad'dib the fedaykin fighter is dead only the kwisatz haderach remains and thats what the prophecy was always leading us to and yet the moment it happens its so haunting

like i cannot say this enough. that complete switch is so sudden but so subtle at the same time. its still paul technically but hes so different

what makes dune's weird concepts so easy to take in once you get into the book is all that internal monologue that really leads you through these complex concepts slowly. and yet in a few shots and a few lines of dialogue timothee chalamet somehow manages to express the idea of "i just learned the secrets of the fucking universe and im about to start a holy war" ???? HOW DO YOU EVEN DO THIS???? HOW ARE YOU THIS TALENTED???? OH MY GOD!!!!!!!! IT WAS A FEW LOOKS A FEW MOVENTS JUST THE RIGHT TONE OF VOICE AND THATS HIM!!! THATS HIM BABY!!!! THATS THE KWISATZ HADERACH AND THE UNIVERSE IS FUCKED !!!!!!!!!

also. anya taylor joy alia. we only had you for a split second but i cannot wait for you. im sure youre going to completely slay the third movie. give us our beloved tragic meow meow. alia is my fave character so i will be JUDGING HEAVILY. she better bring her a-game istg

when paul storms the war council and just completely takes control of the room so easily. thats the bene gesserit conditioning giving him his pedestal and he is making the most of it. he knows exactly what the fuck hes doing. and once more oh my goddddd all that shouting all that emotion and yet a complete lack of it. timothee spare a crumb of talent for the rest of us

also the way in that scene gurney is hesitant about it all until paul proclaims himself the duke of arrakis. and suddenly gurney has house atreides again and he doesnt care what chani does anymore. hes a follower to paul just as everyone else in that room. nothing changes. fuck me man i cant do this anymore

have i mentioned yet im so excited for chani in the next movie. her arc is so interesting. children of dune is defo not happening with the way chani has been set up so i doubt we'll see leto ii and ghanima but. lets hope we still get all the cool stuff wit alia at least. and maybe chani can be the one who leads the charge against her

okay i need to really fucking. get along with it im dragging this post on im so sorry this movie is eating my brain alive

chani still wearing blue during the final fight. im not saying more than that i might cry if i think about it too much

THAT. FINAL. FIGHT. OH MY GODDD OH MY GOD

IT ALL CAME TOGETHER SO SO WELL

THE WORMS

THE SENSE OF SCALE

THE FIGHT CHOREOGRAPHY

THE MUSIC HOLY FUCK THE MUSIC HANS ZIMMER YOU OUTDO YOURSELF EVERY TIME

THE SOUND

EVERYTHING FLOWING TOGETHER SO WELL

the way the fremen fight for their messiah but still fly the atreides banner. the way paul leads them as their messiah and as a "fremen" but always proclaims himself duke of house atreides first. oh lorddd im unwell

every time paul menacingly emerged from fog/sand/smoke my life was extended by like 10 years thank u denis

gurney killing rabban with as much ease as he did cleared my skin and watered my crops <3

the way the baron was literally dying and still crawling towards the throne.......... the way at the same time feyd ignored him completely and looked towards the doors reveling in the fight ahead..... if that doesnt tell u everything you need to know about house harkonnen idk what will yall

i also love how no one intervenes as paul walks in and kills the baron. not even feyd. feyd looks like he was a little TOO into it as paul killed him tbh. feyd u little freak. austin butler you talented talented man. im unwell

i AM sad we didnt get to see baby alia stab him but ah well. we got a bunch of other weird dune shit so ill let this one slide. the psychic toddler may be too much even for denis and everything he did give us. we'll always have our 1984 alia <3

OHOHOHOHOHOHOH. OH. HERE WE GO

HERE WE GO YALL

THE SCENE IVE BEEN WAITING FOR SINCE READING THE BOOK

THE SCENE THEY SHOWED BITS OF IN THE TRAILER AND THE SCENE IVE BEEN NON STOP YEARNING FOR SINCE!!!

THE DUEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

oh my god oh my god oh my goddddd where do i even start

okay so. the way theres no music. no fancy cuts no slow mo no over the top effects. its just the slashing of the blades and those BEAUTIFUL shadowed shots with the setting sun in the background. this really is the sun setting on the peaceful universe. just pain and suffering ahead marked with the blood spilled from the two who were meant to produce the messiah but who both got thrown off this path by the greed and selfishness of their forefathers. guys im normal about paul and feyd. definitely. i definitely have very normal thoughts about how they are foils and yet two sides of the same coin. yes guys

paul making the emperor kiss his ring is already such an insane fucking scene and it translated to the screen so well. amazing performances all around

i didnt talk much about florence pugh's irulan but she really didnt have much time to shine. im excited to see where she goes next and i definitely think shes a great fit but i need to see more of her to really be able to say more

i will say this. the way chani, irulan and jessica are the only ones who dont kneel for paul. the three most important women in his life who give him his power, everything he has. jessica made him and she made him the messiah. chani opened her life up to him, helped him become and in turn control the fremen, and she shed her tears for him and fulfilled her role in the prophecy against her wishes. irulan is his path to the throne, his key to being emperor. and none of them bow before him because why would they bow before a power they are responsible for, a power they own, a power they gave?

but for chani its different ofc. she also refuses to bow because she despises everything paul stands for.

oh my god i could say so much about the last scene being chani. not paul reveling in his victory. paul leaves for his next bloodshed and chani is left behind crying for the person she loves who she knows is gone. crying for her people, again enslaved. crying those same tears that brought the messiah back into this world.

theres a lot to be said about the role of gender in dune and how it hangs over every facet of this world but thats a whole separate analysis post to be had so ill just throw it down here in this little point

another thing chani does very well in the movies is she really makes paul's villainy explicitly clear. SO many people read dune and completely misunderstand it and walk away from it concluding its a "white savior narrative" and nothing more which. yes!! yes it is!!!! but thats not a good thing!!!! its never stated to be a good thing!!!!

this movie is not gonna let you misunderstand the message of the story no matter how blind you try to be to it. paul is not a good guy. hes never been the good guy. hes the protagonist, but hes not the hero. and chani allows that to translate from book to movie very well. have i mentioned yet i love movie chani

chani fills in the holes left behind by the narration and internal monologues of the book and, bonus points, she holds the people who dont understand what dune is about by the hand and tells them explicitly "PAUL IS A BAD GUY!!! DONT IDOLIZE PAUL!!!! DONT WALK AWAY FROM DUNE THINKING ITS PRAISING PAUL'S ACTIONS!!!"

i think thats pretty much all i had to say. i might reblog with additions as they hit me but yeah i. i enjoyed the movie. so so much. i think i might watch it again sometime soon while its still in cinemas.

sorry for being unhinged hope u enjoyed my rants. kiss kiss night night <3

#dune #dune part two #dune part 2 #paul atreides #chani kynes #jessica atreides #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #rabban harkonnen #vladimir harkonnen #stilgar #alia atreides #irulan corrino #im so crazy im so feral holy shit #okay im going to bed now #its 1 am lmao #ive been writing these down for like 2 hours since i got back

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gabessquishytum · 1 month ago

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Hi there! I don't know if anyone else in this fandom is as Unhinged about the 1912 novel Daddy-Long-Legs as I am but it has the PERFECT setup for a Dreamling AU and I need to share. (This got SO long, apologies in advance.)

So Hob's an orphan. Has lived his whole life in a fairly dismal orphanage- normally the kids there get either adopted or kicked out in their mid-teens, but he's been allowed to stay to age 18 because he's been such a help with chores around the building/with the other kids (in other words, he's been used as free labor).

And he's staring down a pretty dismal future- no matter how "generous" the people in charge of this orphanage were letting him stay on, they really can't justify letting a full-grown adult stick around, and he's about to be kicked out into the wide world with no money and no connections.

And then the orphanage hosts a dinner for its trustees, and two of the younger trustees (a pair of siblings) somehow get their hands on a little speech Hob wrote. The speech is mostly making fun the trustees as a group and the "orphanage hosts a dinner so a bunch of children can Properly Express Gratitude and thus earn money for clothes and food and shelter" of it all. It's not terribly polished, mostly just Hob expressing his resentment, but there's a stubborn little current of hope running through the thing.

Death is charmed. Dream is not. Death decides she's going to use the family money to pay for Hob to attend college, and ropes Dream into the plan. Dream ends up agreeing to meet with Hob occasionally (Death pitches it as 'I think you should get to know him before passing judgment', Dream agrees because 'I will meet with him and prove to you that this is a bad idea', and then ends up continuing to meet with Hob because he finds him fascinating.)

Hob knows nothing of this. He just gets told by the director of the orphanage that one of the trustees will pay his tuition, on the grounds that he meet once a month with the trustee's representative. Hob is ecstatic.

(In the books it's letters, not meetings, and the main character writes letters to her benefactor while also getting to know him in person, not realizing they're both the same man. Which could be an interesting angle but I am sticking with closer-to-Sandman-canon for the moment)

So Hob spends his first few months at college having the time of his life, having all these experiences he's never gotten to have like "his own room" and "clothes that aren't hand-me-downs" and "playing A Sport". He meets with Dream the first time and spends it telling Dream how exciting and wonderful it is having heater in his bedroom and playing cards with his dorm-mates. Dream is a little stupefied that he can find so much pleasure in something so mundane. And then Hob starts talking about his work with the school newspaper, just as enthusiastically if with a certain degree of "this will never go anywhere" sheepishness. Dream, reluctantly, is charmed.

They keep meeting over the course of Hob's time at college. Hob is keeping quiet to his new friends about how he grew up, so Dream is the only one who knows, and the only one Hob talks to about how lonely it is not having family to write him letters and see him for holidays. Dream actually finds himself opening up to Hob in turn (although he leaves out the bit where he is related to Hob's benefactor, not just a coworker.)

The meetings become less "Hob gives a progress report about his degree" and more "they're meeting for the sake of seeing each other" as the years go on. It's a very gradual change- the meetings go from mostly just Hob talking, to Dream offering him advice, to more and more of a conversation. Hob opens up about how grim his childhood was and Dream finds himself opening up in turn. They initially meet up in some on-campus meeting room, then move to various cafes and restaurants in the area, and then to Dream just taking Hob to see various museums and plays he never had the chance to experience before. Eventually he like. Invites Hob to stay with him over the summer, since Hob has nowhere else to go.

And Hob thought Dream was gorgeous from the moment he saw him, obviously, and only falls harder and harder as they get closer. But for all that their meetings have started to become more and more like dates, Dream's never once made a move. They have, however, been in situations where it very much seemed like Dream was about to make a move, and then all of a sudden got ridiculously, chaperone-formal. So that's confusing.

Meanwhile, Dream is falling more and more in love with every conversation, but he's convinced himself that His Love Is Poison and Hob deserves better than him. He's not. Good at staying away from Hob, though- at this point he is entirely just meeting up with Hob because he likes him, it has nothing to do with the Mysterious Benefactor thing, and yes, Hob has managed to coax this piece of information out of him.

And as this is going on, Hob's started getting gifts from his Mysterious Benefactor. At first it was just a "his tuition and living expenses are paid" deal, but then after he gets sick and has to miss a meeting with Dream, his benefactor sends him flowers. And after that the gifts start to pick up, a piece of jewelry here, an interesting book there, until Hob is being showered with gifts at all times- clothes, food, supplies for whatever weird hobby he's picked up this month, you name it. It's always something relevant to his interests, but in a vague enough way that he assumes Dream's been mentioning "oh yes, Hob's decided he's into soap carving now" to his benefactor every so often. And Dream is fairly scrupulous about asking, on the benefactor's behalf, if he likes whatever gift, so clearly that's how this mysterious person is getting an idea of his tastes.

(Dream is sending the gifts himself, with his own money. He thought that would be an outlet for his feelings while still keeping some distance between him and Hob. It did not work!)

And then, just after Hob's graduation, he suggests to Dream that they start officially dating/courting/just get married, and Dream turns him down (because Hob deserves better than him, although he doesn't give Hob that explanation, just a refusal).

They each go off to nurse a broken heart.

Hob had only officially met Death, and been introduced to her as his benefactor, at his graduation, but they keep talking afterwards, which means that Death eventually works out that Dream had been spending a lot more time with Hob than she'd ever expected, and apparently? Had been buying Hob gifts? As her?????

So she confronts Dream about that whole deal, Dream admits to her that yes, he's in love with Hob, but Hob deserves better than him, will be happier without him, and she's like "yeah you're very wrong there I talked to him a few days ago he is miserable without you." And maybe, to keep with the book, she mentions that Hob got injured in some sort of stupid accident recently.

Dream drops everything he's been doing to go to Hob and apologize. Hob's got like. A broken arm or something, but Dream was expecting the worst and there is a tear-streaked reunion.

And then Dream admits to who he is, that he's the one who's been buying Hob all the gifts, that he does love Hob, he does want a relationship with him, if Hob can find it in himself to take him back...

He doesn't finish explaining before Hob tells him of course he does, he'd have waited for Dream for centuries.

And they live happily ever after and found an orphanage that actually treats the orphans well the end.

Anon this is adorable 🥹🥹 and you gave me a new story to add to my reading list! I love stories that are made up wholly or partly of letters, I think it's such a wonderful way to construct a narrative and I WISH contemporary authors used the style more often! I think that the letters from Hob’s pov would be so funny, as he experiences all kinds of new things and shows Dream a new perspective on the world.

Keeping with the story, it would be very funny if Hob cheekily addresses his benefactor as "daddy". This makes Dream very flustered, and of course Hob keeps on calling him that after they're together. It still makes Dream blush!

Thank you for telling us this story, anon, I think you've created a delightful little drabble here. I'm so glad that you shared it with us!

#the sandman #dreamling

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elliemarchetti · 3 months ago

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Eris Week Day 6: AU/Retellings

Inspired by one of @foxcort’s unhinged prompts because I couldn’t resist although I’m not totally out of my writing/Tumblr hiatus yet. Hope my contribution to @erisweekofficial will still be appreciated even if it’s in Cassian’s POV.

Disclaimer: I know some of you will see this more as Cassian's self-pitying account of an event that highlights his inadequacy as a mate, but in my eyes it's an excerpt of the happy life that awaits Eris and Nesta once her contacts with the Night Court will be reduced to a minimum, only from the point of view of someone who will remain in the past. Still, and for this I turn to the admins of Eris Week, if you find it inadequate for any reason you have every right not to reblog it and I won't bear you any grudge. You guys are amazing, and when my life will be a little more normal I can't wait to read everything that's been written and show some love to all the wonderful fanarts I'm sure the artists have made.

Plot: The Lord of Bloodshed is having the worst time of his life. The heir of Autumn can’t really say the same. This is the famous scene at the Court of Nightmares reimagined with a totally different plot for the whole last book so if it doesn’t really make sense, I’m sorry.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 1529

When the next song began, its notes lighter, the steps easier than the ones they had just engaged in, Nesta didn’t hesitate to take Eris’s hand. She seemed eager, like her partner wasn’t the monster they all told her about but just a good dancer who instinctively knew her body screamed to do those extra, solo turns that had catalysed the attention of the whole room. Cassian realized he wouldn’t have let her go, too worried about the impractical design of her dress, too apprehensive she was drunk on the music and not paying enough attention to her surroundings to succeed. If he had been in Eris’s place, he would’ve scolded her by the end of the music, dragging her off the dancefloor, while the heir of Autumn studied her with his amber eyes as they chatted amiably, chuckles audible here and there. The General couldn’t hear everything they said, but as they got closer he caught a few scraps, words that made the blood in his veins boil.

“… I didn’t see this side of you…”

He wasn’t smiling, but she met his stare anyway as she responded, suave and flirty. She never spoke to Cassian in that tone, always composed, almost defensive, in the rare occasions their topic hadn’t revolved around training or the thousand obligations they were subjected to due to their roles. Maybe it was because he had never spun her, never murmured sweet nothings in her ear, sentences so refined her mouth twitched to one side. Unable to witness more, he turned to Mor, who watched from beside Feyre and Rhys, her face neutral and aloof. He couldn’t imagine how she was feeling, knowing she was the one who taught Nesta those steps.

“Are you inquiring after my eligibility?” Cassian heard Eris joke, his sharp smile turning into a full-on silky laugh at her reply. As it often happened, he felt inadequate in his vulgarity, in his lack of grace. A brute, as the eldest of the Vanserras liked to define him. There was no room for someone like him by the side of a female capable of carrying a political meeting on her inexperienced shoulders and tear someone’s head from their neck in the same week. That duality, the savage rage and silver fire mixed with a beauty able to bring kings to their knees was too much for him, no matter how many times he had claimed her as his, yet his feet moved instinctively, and he reached the pair at the very end of the waltz, trying to ignore how his tapered fingers had descended into the hollow of her bare back or how her cheeks were flushed.

“Move,” Cassian said coldly, halting their private moment. He stood before them amid the sea of people cradled in black, just another piece of Night, until Eris stared at him down his straight nose, ignoring the burning violence oozing from the warrior’s hazel eyes.

“Go sit at your master’s feet, dog,” he hissed, teeth bared, but Nesta was quick to interject, accepting her mates unspoken offer.

“We’ll play later, Nesta Archeron,” the fireling retorted, putting too much emphasis on her last name for Cassian’s liking, before aiming for the dais. For an instant, really just the time of the song, the General deluded himself that he had won, that he could somehow be the knight in shining armour of the story, the hero who saves the princess from the villain and thus obtains her hand and eternal, unconditional love. Those empty illusions were shattered when he followed her into the dark and suffocating corridors of the Court of Nightmares, when he watched her slender figure enter the chamber assigned to Eris for the duration of his visit, her steps cautious and silent as a cat’s. She barely glanced at the slightly ajar door, too focused on her lover’s eager embrace, and Cassian clenched his jaw at the portrait of carefree happiness.

“You’re tickling me!” she giggled as the snake peppered her neck with light kisses, the sound like a harp strumming high and sweet. From his hiding spot, Cassian saw his nemesis’ half-smile widen as he hooked a finger under one of her dress’ straps and pulled, flooding him with pounding, vibrating jealousy. He had to remind himself to breathe when the silk slid down her chest, briefly exposing one of her breasts before Eris could sweep her to the bed, the impalpable skirt mostly gathered between her parted legs, firmly clutched around his waist. As he feasted on her exposed skin, her body went loose and taunt in so many different places Cassian didn’t know where to focus: she was bent and shaped and directed by her lover, her widened pupils hiding under long lashes thanks to the skill of the fingertips massaging her core. The ghosts of nearly faded love bites revealed themselves on the lower part of her ass as she arched her back in ecstasy and Cassian’s face went slack. It wasn’t him who left those marks on her, the memory of the sleepless night spent together forever imprinted in his memory, so she could only have had other partners, or maybe she had previously entertained herself between Eris’ sheets, protocol be damned. The matter quickly slipped out of his mind when the smell of her arousal flowed and swam around him, clouding his senses as she melted under someone else’s touch. There wasn’t enough space inside him, not in his mind or his heart, for what the situation made him feel, he just knew he was hard under his trousers, his body ready to honour and worship someone he had been unable to keep up with when he had the chance.

He was about to leave to deal with his shame when their gazes met. He would have expected those merciless and cold eyes to pin him to the spot, he supposed she would scream in anger, or perhaps warn Eris with quiet disdain that some beast beneath them was spying on their tryst, but instead her irises glimmered and she let out a moan, her flawless red lips, sin personified, parted to draw a likewise perfect O. As if awakened by that sound, her lover crawled back to her mouth, his hands busy undoing his pompous clothing. Cassian knew what was about to happen, he had watched and performed this dance for centuries, in the frenzy of inexperienced youth and in the blind search for solace when the need was too much. He had fucked females on all fours like some kind of wild animal, knees hurting on marble floors and feet losing their grips in the mud, in a foolish attempt to fill the void left by Nesta, but no one showed on their features the pure, feral delight that crashed on his mate’s face when Eris entered her all at once, like a conqueror of death, glowing as he devoured moonlit skin and shared heartbeats. Between one fast thrust and the next, he lifted Nesta’s arms above her head, their matching rings glinting as if lit by an inner fire. He guided her through the orgasm with ease and they came together, a rising cacophony of panting and groaning.

“I hope you’re with child,” he whispered, his words so shocking they made Cassian audibly gasp. There was no way he hadn’t heard the sound, even lost in his unchecked, dark joy, yet he decided to ignore it.

"Why so?" she murmured seductively, gleaming with wanton desire as she drank in his expression, whatever it was. She didn’t seem to object the idea, nor she sounded eager to postpone it as long as she could.

“It would give us an excuse to speed up the organization of this wedding. I know my father wants it to exude power, to convey all the strength of our family, and my mother wishes for every detail to be perfect, but I’m growing tired of this façade,” he replied honestly, then lovingly erased a smudge of kohl from the corner of her left eye, a remark of the familiarity they shouldn’t have had yet.

“She has no daughters and I have no mother,” she pointed out, amazing Cassian with the nonchalance she used to address her traumatic past. “Let her have fun.”

“I know, and I will never show even a hint of displeasure when she will inevitably take you away for the whole day to pick the best party favours and select the optimal spot to best showcase the sheer magnitude of the orchestra you so wisely selected, but the only thing I aspire to is to finally be able to get away from the intrigues and the backstabbing for a while, to travel wherever we want and show you all the wonders Prythian and the Continent has to offer,” he confessed, and Nesta kissed him again, dangling her love and triumph in Cassian’s face, a silent dismissal to whatever his role had been in her night.

Slowly, the fearsome Lord of Bloodshed retreated in the shadow, engulfed in a cocoon of grief and rage at the Mother’s mistake, the sound of his shattering heart deafening in his eardrums.

#erisweek2024 #neris #past nessian #eris vanserra #nesta archeron #cassian #acosf retelling #kinda

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tswhiisftteedr · 1 year ago

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Gamer ‘Friend’ ☆ Chapter 1: Panty Incident(s)

☆ Pervy!Dom!Idia Shroud x Fem!Reader : On a Thursday night, Ignihyde’s dorm leader, Idia Shroud bumps into a fellow gamer, and that happens to be you, someone that had become infamous on campus. Being new to this world, and having the headmaster stingy with money, you had yet to experience this world’s gaming. But not to worry, after all Idia Shroud the professional gamer that he is, is here to help, in more ways than attended…

(In this version reader eats breakfast alone not with her friends, lol)

Warnings : Mature content, Non-Con, Dub-Con, Somnophilia, Panty Stealing, Masturbating(male), Cumplay(Idia cumming in readers panties), Degenerate Fantasies, mentions of; Choking, Tying up, Spanking, Slapping, Denigration, Humilation, but no actually action. (It’s mention in a book the reader has.) (Okay, it’s my first fic so sorry if tag this wrong). Reader is said to be curvy about twice. IDIA IS CANONICAL 18.

Note: Reader is; a heavy sleeper(or maybe not👀), shorter than Idia, a masochistic degradee, an airhead, fucked up, unhinged pervert. And Idia gets horny very easily around the reader, since they are the first girl he’s ever seen in real life, besides from his family and the S.T.Y.X employees. Things move really fast because Idia is loke an obsessive pervert. Also when y/n is written it only refers to the first name. Idia is a bit/lot occ, not proofread.

Chapter 1 | Next Chapter |

☆ More under the cut. ☆

Idia was walking through the halls of Night Raven College, avidly trying to avoid unnecessary attention. His flame-like hair glowed a light blue, and his yellow eyes darted around the halls. He hoped to reach his dorm room without any issues.

However, that was not the case when he accidentally bumped into you. With his scrawny physique, he was almost knocked over by the collision.

“O-oh, I’m so so sorry! Are you alright? Sorry again I wasn’t paying attention!” You tell him, Idia's eyes widened as he nearly fell over. His hands went out to catch himself on you, grabbing hold of your wrist, leaving faint marks of his presence behind. He quickly let’s go when he realizes he is making contact with you. "Y-Yes, I'm fine..." He muttered softly, trying hard not to sound annoyed. Finally, he gathered enough courage and turned around to face you properly.

"Um- So.. h-hello?" He stammered nervously, unable to meet your gaze directly.

He noticed how small and curvy you were compared to him. Your soft and smooth hair was like a magnet pulling him in, making it difficult for him to tear his eyes away from your features. The way your hips swayed with each step had an odd effect on him; one that made him extremely horny.

“Uh, hi?” You reply, questioning the interaction.

"Umm... uh..." Idia stuttered, unsure of what to say next. His hands fidgeted nervously with his his tablet case. "I-I'm Idia Shroud, the Housewarden of Ignihyde." He managed to croak out finally, offering a weak smile that barely reached his eyes, still unsure of why he was introducing himself. But his brain told him to continue.

"And you are?" He asked tentatively, hoping he hadn't crossed any lines by asking such ‘personal information’ so soon after meeting you. Of course to an antisocial guy like himself, such question was considered personal.

“Oh, I’m f/n l/n, and I guess I’m the prefect of the Ramshackle.” You tell him, with a bright smile. He then remembered the whole story behind the girl who had been summon from another world, apparently she had stop 2 Overblots already, he usually didn’t pay attention to normies so he didn’t look into her. But he does remember commenting to himself how she was like an anime protagonist, getting isekaid into a reverse harem type of world….

“Oh, nice to meet you f/n l/n." Idia said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, feeling heat rise in his cheeks at the mention of being associated with someone so currently relevant, well at least on campus that is.

"So... uh, what brings you here?" He asked awkwardly, hoping it would steer the conversation away from himself and onto something else entirely.

"I was heading towards the library to get some reading material. You would be surprised how many of the books there are not school-related.” You informed him,

Idia blinked a few times, trying to process your words. "R-Reading? That's... nice," he muttered, clearing his throat awkwardly.

"Well, I guess I should get going too then." He mumbled quickly, turning around and speeding away down the hallway, hoping you wouldn't follow him.

“Bye Idia, I hope to see you soon!” You speak up for him to hear,

"Y-Yeah... see you later..." Iida called out softly after you, his voice trailing off as he rushed towards the exit door of the school building. He wanted to arrive at the mirror chamber and reach Ignihyde as soon as possible, in order to return safely to his dormitory. Once alone in his room, he leaned against the door, panting heavily. His heart raced wildly inside his chest, and sweat formed on his palms.

He closed the door behind him, locking it tightly before collapsing onto his bed, burying his face into the pillow. What did you mean when you said ‘You hoped to see him soon’. How could someone like you—so beautiful and confident—possibly find anything interesting about a loser like him? He berated himself internally, feeling more worthless than ever.

Meanwhile, you went to the library and found what you were looking for: smut books. You picked up two books, one with a vanilla and soft theme called 'The White Lily', and another one that was right up your alley - a dark romance novel that contained all hardcore explicit content in its plot. It was called 'The Trap of Mr. Sota'.

Here’s a summary of both of the books.

Title: The White Lily

‘"The White Lily" is an adult romance novel that tells the story of Ella, a successful businesswoman who has everything she could ever want, except for one thing: true love. Ella has never felt a real connection to anyone she's dated, and she's starting to think she's destined to be alone. That is, until she meets Michael, a charming and handsome stranger who shakes up her world in the most unexpected way.

As Ella and Michael start spending more time together, they discover that they have a deep and meaningful connection, and they can't resist the attraction that grows between them. But just as their relationship begins to blossom, past secrets and old wounds from Michael's past threaten to tear them apart. Will Ella and Michael be able to overcome their differences and find their happy ending? Or will their love be doomed to never be fulfilled?’

Title: The trap of Mr. Sota

‘"The Trap of Mr. Sota" is an alluring adult romance novel that delves into the depths of human desires. This captivating story follows Sakura, a young woman on a journey of self-exploration and sexual awakening.

As Sakura explores BDSM, she discovers her masochistic tendencies and finds comfort in the hands of Mr. Sota, a dominant figure who pushes her boundaries.

Sakura willingly surrenders to the degrading words and experiences pleasure through being tied up, spanked, slapped, and choked by Mr. Sota.

But Sakura's desires go beyond that. She enjoys being provocative and being disciplined by Mr. Sota.

In "The Trap of Mr. Sota," Sakura explores her submissive desires, becoming an object of pleasure. As pain and pleasure intertwine, Sakura and Mr. Sota embark on a journey of self-discovery, testing their limits and forming a deep connection.’

As you signed out the books, the elderly librarian gave you a knowing look, ‘they must have read them before-‘.

Afterwards, you left the school building, returning to your dorm, the ramshackle, and followed your nightly routine. This included cooking dinner for you and your magical beast roommate, Grim, taking a shower, doing your skincare routine, completing a bit of school work, and now, the newly added activity before falling asleep, reading a couple of chapters of 'The Trap of Mr. Sora’. And commenting on the books chapters using some sticky notes, after all it was still school property.

The next day..

Idia woke up late, or more exactly, on time, his alarm having failed to go off. He hade made habit of waking up early to avoid interacting with other students at breakfast. Groaning, he rolled out of bed and stretched his stiff muscles before getting dressed in his usual attire: a black t-shirt and his NCR school uniform pants paired with his signature hoodie and shoes. The bayou blue hoodie featured a zippered pocket on the front and a white triangle design on the sleeve, adding a unique touch to its appearance. Its lightweight and breathable material ensures comfort and dryness in various weather conditions and occasions. The shoes, designed with a unique combination of white and blue colors, feature a white sole and a blue stripe.

He gathered his belongings and made his way downstairs to the Ignihyde common area. Stepping through a magic mirror, he arrived on campus and headed towards the cafeteria, where breakfast was being served.

As he entered, he noticed you sitting at one end of the many tables, engrossed in a book. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary before he quickly looked away, feeling guilty for admiring someone he shouldn't be attracted to.

"Morning, Shroud," greeted another male student, an Ignihyde student, one he had encountered a couple of times. "You look like shit today." The students adds on.

Meanwhile you were engrossed in your book, currently reading ‘The trap of Mr. Sota’. As you muched on a syrupy pancake for breakfast, a spicier scene form the previous one begin, the sentence were extremely descriptive, which caused you to get a bit flustered, maybe a hint of arousal.

Idia winced at his dorm-mate’s blunt comment, avoiding eye contact as he grabbed himself something on the sweeter side to eat. "Thanks... uh, yeah, I didn't sleep well last night." He told him, trying to end the conversation quickly. As his mind wondered back to the thought of you, he decided to do something extremely bold for someone like him. After Ortho prestred him last night about not getting your contacts, especially after you had told him ‘you wanted to see him soon’, Idia made the decision to seat with you at breakfast or at least try his best to.

He sat down across from you, his eyes flickering involuntarily towards your exposed cleavage when you lifted your glass of orange juice. You usual wear a bow around your neck, but the days started getting hotter since yesterday, so you had opted for no bow and 2 unbuttoned buttons.

‘Damn it’, he scolded himself internally, forcing his gaze back to his own plate.

"So, umm..." he cleared his throat awkwardly. “How was your morning?" He asked, hoping the question would allow him to steer a conversation away from personal topics.

"Ah, hello Idia! I didn't notice you here. My morning has been going well so far. I woke up on time and caught up on some reading. How about you? What have you been up to this morning?” You told him.

"Oh, uh... well, I guess it was alright. Just another morning at school." Idia mumbled, avoiding eye contact with you as he stirred his meal.

In reality, however, his mind drifted back to last night's encounter with you—your soft voice, your scent mixed with the faint hint of vanilla from your perfume, and those enticing curves that made him ache with desire. He shook his head forcefully, trying to banish these thoughts from his mind before they consumed him entirely.

"So, uhm, have... y-you ever thought about joining any clubs or extracurricular activities around here?" He asked abruptly, hoping to change the subject once more.

"Yes, definitely! While there isn't a visual arts club, which was a big disappointment to me, I'm considering joining the board game club. Have you given any thought to which clubs you might want to join?” You asked him.

"Oh, nope, never really had any interest in joining anything like that. Also I heard that club wasn’t so great.." Idia replied nonchalantly, taking a sip of his orange juice.

In reality, he was lying through his teeth; there were several clubs and activities he wanted to join, particularly ones related to technology, plus he was actually a member of the board game club. The thought of being around people was one he disliked,—but an attractive girl like you—made him break out in cold sweats, how was he suppose to beat Azul if you were around to distract, just by exiting.

"I mean... I enjoy playing games alone in my room," he added quickly, hoping it would end the conversation sooner rather than later, this was already too much for him.

“Oh, really, that’s fun! I used to game a lot in my home world, but now that I'm here, I can't. The headmaster is stingy with money, so I can't buy any games, much less a console or laptop to play on.” You explained, begin excitedly but ending with a pout.

"H-Hey, wait a second. I... I could help you out with that!" Idia blurted out before he could stop himself. His heart raced wildly in his chest as he realized what he'd just volunteered to do.

"I have some old games and consoles lying around my room, that I could bring around." he continued nervously, hoping you wouldn't reject his offer. "We could play sometime, maybe after classes?" His palms grew sweaty at the mere thought of spending time alone with you in his messy abode.

"Sounds good! Let's meet up in the library after class. I gotta go now too, so I'll see you later Idia!” You say, putting your school bag around your shoulder, and taking your leave for class.

But what you didn’t realize at that time, was that you had forgotten your two borrowed books on the cafeteria table, ‘The trap of Mr. Sota’ wide open, right at an explicit scene.

Idia's heart had skipped a beat as he watched you leave, his eyes lingering on your figure moving gracefully down the hall. He couldn't believe you had actually said yes to playing games with him.

But before he could savor this victory, his attention was drawn back to the books you left behind. His gaze locked onto the juicy scene described in 'The Trap of Mr. Sora', and despite his better judgment, he found himself unable to look away.

With trembling hands, he picked up the book and flipped through the pages, reading the explicit content with increasing interest. The characters engaged in taboo acts that ignited a fire within him, making his cock throb against his pants.

"What am I doing?" He muttered under his breath, trying to snap out of this dangerous thought spiral. “I can't... I should just put these damn things away." But instead, he continued reading, devouring every word like starved monster.

Idia's heart raced faster as he read through the book, his fingers tracing over your notes in wonder. The way you fantasized about being treated like a mere object, used and discarded without mercy, sent shivers down his spine.

He couldn't help but imagine himself as Mr. Sora, dominating and controlling this perfect girl named y/n. His mind spiraled out of control, filling with images of him tying you up, spanking your plump ass, thrusting into your tight hole—all the things you wrote about yourself wanting.

"No... no, it's wrong," he muttered under his breath, closing the book tightly. Standing up abruptly, he headed back to his room in Ignihyde, pacing the small confines of his room, trying to shake off these forbidden thoughts.

Class was now over, Idia finally managed to calm himself somewhat, although his heart still raced like a wild animal trapped in its cage. Gathering up the courage, he leaves the books on his desk—his mind still clouded with forbidden images of you—and hurriedly made his way to the library.

As he entered, he noticed you sitting at the same table, already engrossed in another book. His gaze briefly lingered on your figure before he forced himself to focus on setting up the old console and games he'd brought from his room.

"Uh, hey y/n," he said nervously, clearing his throat. "Ready whenever you are." He says setting the console in front of you and taking out an old laptop to use as a monitor, or a second control.

“Hey, Idia! Your old console looks great. Also, can you help me familiarize myself on how to operate it? I'm not used to this world's gaming system or games, so your expertise would be a big help. Are you up for a tutorial?” You ask him,

"Oh, it's no problem!" Idia replied eagerly, plugging in the console and turning it on. He selected a simple racing game and handed you the controller.

"Just press these buttons here," he said, pointing to the symbols on the screen. "And use the joystick to move your car around the track." His hands trembled slightly as he demonstrated, his eyes fixated on yours.

The scent of your perfume mixed with the faint smell of books filled his nostrils, making it hard for him to concentrate. "Umm... so, uh, what games do you usually play back home? Maybe I know some similar ones we could try?" He asked nervously, hoping this would engage a conversation.

“Well I like games like open world rpg, where you needed to collect material to craft items, especially the ones where you could choose classes like swordsman, craftsman, mage, etc. But I also enjoyed puzzled games or visual novels type of game!” You state,

"Oh, I know some games like that!" Idia's eyes lit up with excitement. He rummaged through his bag and pulled out an old copy of 'The Ancient text: Cloudium', a game known for its expansive world and flexible character creation system.

"This one fits the bill," he said proudly, handing you the disc. "You can create your own character and choose from different classes like warrior, mage, thief..." His voice trailed off as he watched you insert the disc into the console.

As the loading screen appeared on the laptop screen, he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh, so... uh, do you want me to help you set up your character or should I just... leave?" He couldn't bring himself to watch as you crafted your perfect avatar without asking first, fearful of what it might spark within him.

“Oh no stay! I might need you, after all you seem to already know the gimmicks of the game. Plus I wanted to game with you, sure I like doing it by myself, but I also greatly enjoy playing with others!” You explain, bugging him to stay longer.

Idia's heart raced wildly in his chest as you moved closer beside him, your legs brushing against each other ever so lightly. He forced himself to focus on the game screen, trying hard not to think about how your body felt pressed against his side.

"Alright, well, let's start with creating a new character," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly. "You can choose between male or female... and uh, what race do you want?" His fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to type out whatever you desired.

“Does the gender affect the game experience, like do you get favouritism from NPC if you chose one or the other?” you question, Idia nodded, "No, it doesn't really matter for this game."

“Okay then I’ll go with a female character.”

Idia's typed in your request, his hands shaking slightly. "Alright, female it is," he managed to croak out, “what race?”

“Oh you can choose.”

He decides to select the race of Snow Elf for you due to its ethereal appearance and agility. "And what class?" He asked timidly,

“I want to be a scout.” You inform him.

"A scout, huh? That sounds interesting," Idia replied, typing in the appropriate options. "You'll be able to move quickly and deal damage from range. Sounds like a good fit for you."

He handed you the controller again, his fingers brushing against yours briefly before pulling away quickly. His heart was racing wildly in his chest as he waited for you to continue with the game setup, as you customize your characters clothing.

“Okay, I’m done! Let’s start playing!”

Idia's heartbeat slowed down slightly as he launched the game, and soon enough, you both found yourselves exploring the vast world of Cloudia. Idia guided you through the character creation process, explaining various abilities and skills that would come in handy during the adventure. Than with other laptop he connects to his older game account, and joins your character.

As you navigated through the snow-covered landscape, the two characters interacted with nonplayable characters (NPCs), completing quests, and fighting off fearsome creatures. The atmosphere shifted dramatically whenever they entered dungeons or dark caves, casting eerie shadows across the screen.

"Do you like it so far?" Idia asked nervously, his eyes fixed on yours. He couldn't help but notice how well you controlled your character, effortlessly dodging attacks and landing devastating blows.

“It’s great! Also Idia I got a question for you.” you tell him,

"Yeah, go ahead," Idia replied eagerly, his voice cracking slightly.

“Actually I got two questions, sorry.. my first one is if you know where the book I was reading this morning went, also the other book that came with. When I realized I had forgotten them it was to late and I had to go to class, but when I came back to the dinning hall during lunch they were gone. So I’m wondering if you saw anyone take them when I left?” You ask him.

Idia's heart skipped a beat as you mentioned the book he hadn't been able to resist peeking at earlier. "O-oh, uh... I... ah..." He cleared his throat nervously. "I-I didn't see anyone take them," he lied, hoping you wouldn't press further.

"But I did notice they were left on the table we shared today," he added. "Maybe one of your friends picked them up accidentally?" His mind raced with guilt and excitement, wondering if you would confront him about it later.

“Oh okay!”

Idia's heart was pounding in his chest, as he tried to focus on the game. His mind drifted back to your body moving so gracefully with the controller in hand, imagining how it would feel against his own…

"Uh... what's your second question?" He managed to croak out, breaking the awkward silence.

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry if this is a bit direct.. but..” you turn your head to look at him, “do you perhaps own old copies of more adult-rated games, like explicit and erotic content type of stuff, that you wouldn’t mind giving away. Sorry this is weird thing to ask lol.”

Idia's heart skipped a beat as you turned your head towards him, your eyes meeting his. His mind reeled with shock and confusion at your boldness, but a part of him found it oddly thrilling.

"W-well... uh... I mean..." He stuttered, struggling to form coherent thoughts. "Y-you know, some stuff like that might be in my collection," he finally managed to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper.

"But I-I mean, we're supposed to be just playing normal games here!" He added quickly, trying to deflect the conversation back to their shared activity.

“Oh don’t worry I won’t play those games around you, they would just be for ‘me time’ lmao” you tell him with a chuckle.

"O-oh, uh... well, I guess that's fine then," Idia stammered, feeling a mix of relief and unease wash over him. He couldn't believe you had actually asked him about such things, but it also made his cock twitch in anticipation.

"Uhm, so, uh, do you need any help with the game?" He changed the subject hastily, hoping to redirect his wandering thoughts elsewhere.

In reality, he was already formulating a plan in his mind: tonight, after everyone else was asleep, he would sneak into your room and leave those explicit books on your bedside table, along with some games that fit your request. Perhaps steal one of your panties, maybe even the one you wore to sleep…; He was definitely going to steal that specific pair.

“No it’s alright, I’m just enjoying playing with you!” You tell him with a smile,

Idia' break out of his trance, heart racing as you continued to praise him, his mind whirling with the possibility of what could happen between you later.

"Well, uh... nice playing with you too," he managed to croak out, clearing his throat nervously. "I-I think we should call it a night for now."

Standing up, he gathered his belongings handing you the console, old laptop and two games to keep. He then walked towards the exit, trying hard not to look at your figure swaying in front of him. Once outside, he hurried back to his dorm room, his thoughts consumed by images of you, naked and eagerly awaiting him.

Time had passed and you were already asleep in bed. You were only wearing a t-shirt and panties, as a pyjamas.

Meanwhile Idia waited outside your building, his heart hammering in his chest as he prepared himself for what he was about to do. After ensuring he heard no noise, meaning you were sound asleep, he quietly pick the lock of the front door and climbs the stairs to your floor and crept down the hallway towards your room.

His hand trembled slightly as grabbed the handle of your door, holding his breath as it beeped softly. Slowly, he turned the handle, pushing the door open a crack. The dim moonlight filtering through the window cast eerie shadows across your sleeping form, sending shivers of desire coursing through him.

With practiced ease, he slipped inside the darkened room, closing the door behind him softly. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, honing in on the bedside table. Carefully, he placed 'The Trap of Mr. Sota' and 'The White Lily', onto your desk, with a copy of erotic visual novel game called ‘maiden of the abyss’, a game that would definitely fit your taste.

Then, he approached your bedside, reaching out tentatively to brush aside the covers covering your legs. He paused, taking a deep breath before, with shaking hands, he removed your panties from your body. Leaving your bare glistening cunt in plain sight.

You gasped in your sleep at new and colder sensation with the lack of fabric covering you.

Startled by the sound of your soft voice, Idia froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He hadn't meant for you to wake up! Panic surged through him, but he quickly composed himself and grabbed your panties, stuffing them into his pocket before dashing out of the room.

He closed the door behind him, his pulse racing wildly. Had you heard him? Was he caught? His mind raced with worry as he hurried back to his own dormitory, trying to calm down. Inside his room, he paced nervously, unsure what to do next. But he soon decided that the best course action was returning to his dorm.

He was now in his room, splayed out on his bed with the adrenaline form the thrill still coursing through his veins, and the image of your body still fresh in his mind. He needed to jerk off…

Idia's breath hitched as he slid his hand downwards, running it over the silky fabric of your panties. The familiar warmth and scent enveloped him as he brought the article closer to his face, sending shockwaves of desire coursing through his veins.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the image of you, spread wide open for him, begging for him to claim you. His fingers traced along the edge of the panty waistband, savoring the softness against his skin before bringing it to his mouth, licking it with a soft moan.

"Oh god, yes," he muttered, his voice cracking with need. "You taste so good." With renewed determination, he removed his pants and briefs, freeing his throbbing member from its confines. Gripping the base firmly, he began to stroke himself vigorously, imagining how amazing it would feel to bury himself inside you.

Idia's eyes stayed shut tightly as he continued to pleasure himself, his dick throbbing in sync with each thrust of his hand. The panties now draped over his cock, adding an extra layer of sensuality to the act.

"Oh god... I want you so much," he panted, his breath coming heavy and fast. "I need you." His pace picked up, faster and harder, his hips rocking back and forth in rhythm with his hand movements. Sweat trickled down his forehead, staining his pillow.

He imagined himself inside you, claiming you as his own, marking your body with bites and bruises. He would make love to you slowly at first, savoring every inch of your tight, warm passage. But soon enough, he'd lose control, pounding into you mercilessly, taking what he believed was rightfully his.

Idia's climax hit him like a tidal wave, his cock exploding in his hand, covering the panties with thick, sticky cum. He groaned loudly, his body convulsing as he rode out the wave of pleasure.

His breathing gradually returned to normal, and he carefully cleaned himself up before slipping back into his pants and pulling on a fresh pair of boxers. Tucking the panties away in his drawer, planning to steal a new pair tomorrow and put the used ones in your laundry basket as if he didn’t steal them. He switched off the light and crawled into bed, trying to banish thoughts of you from his mind.

The next day…

Idia woke up feeling heavy-headed and sore, his mind still replaying last night's encounter with you. Groaning softly, he opened his eyes, blinking several times to adjust to the dim light filtering through the curtains.

After stretching, he got out of bed and dressed in his usual uniform, avoiding eye contact with anyone who crossed paths. He knew he had to face the day ahead, hoping nobody would notice anything amiss about him.

As he descended the stairs, he couldn't help but wonder if today would be the day you confronted him about what happened yesterday. His heart raced at the thought, both dread and anticipation warring within him.

Idia's heart skipped a beat as he entered the dining hall and saw you sitting at your usual table, engrossed in 'The Trap of Mr. Sora'. You we’re already there, even though had returned to his early morning schedule. His gaze lingered on your figure for a moment too long before quickly looking away, his face flushing crimson with embarrassment.

"Good morning, y/n," he managed to croak out, trying to sound casual. "Uhm, er... uh... did you sleep well?" He cleared his throat awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.

“Yeah it was alright. Also you know what, when I woke up this morning I found both of my books placed on my desk!”

Idia's falters as you mentioned the books, his eyes darting nervously around the empty cafeteria. "Oh, uh... I-I see," he stammered, trying to sound contrite. "I thought they went missing... er, but I guess they just reappeared, maybe some type of spell..." he lied knowing full well he had broken into your dorm the previous night and put them on your desk for you to find.

His voice trailed off, and he quickly shifted the conversation towards safer territory. "So, uhm, how about we continue our game later today? Maybe after classes?" He cleared his throat again, hoping his proposal would diffuse the awkwardness between them.

“Yeah definitely!.. But there’s also something else that happens to me last night..” you tell him softly.

Idia's heart dropped into his stomach as you continued speaking, his eyes wide with fear. "What happened?" He managed to choke out, his voice cracking slightly.

"I... I think someone stole my panties last night," you begin, getting closer to his ear, lifting off your chair a bit, and whispered to him matter-of-factly, with your lips curving into a sly smile. "They were missing from my body when I woke up. Plus there also was a copy of an erotic game on my desk." You sit back down normally, with a small confused pout on my lips, wondering who was the panty thief.

Idia's heart raced wildly in his chest, feeling a mix of terror and excitement course through him. He forced himself to remain composed, placing a placating hand on yours reassuringly. "I-I... I... well, I-I don't know anything about that," he stuttered, his voice cracking slightly.

"Someone else must have taken them," he insisted, though his mind was racing with the possibility that you had caught him red-handed. "Maybe someone wanted them as souvenirs?" His fingers trembled slightly as he tried to steady them on his coffee cup.

“Chill out, I never said it you lol. Plus.. as weird as it sound I find it kind of cute for someone to do that, it’s like having a secret admirer. But in this case they steal your underwear off of you when you sleep, instead of sending anonymous gifts, we’ll I guess the erotic game counts as one lmao.” You say in an unhinge like some crazy pervert.

Idia's heartbeat calmed slightly, though it was still racing faster than usual. "Well, I... uh... thank you," he managed to croak out, his face turning even paler than its natural hue, when he realized what came out of his mouth.

"I mean, that's... nice of you to say, it’s not like I was that pervert that did that to you!" he added, lying, then clearing his throat awkwardly. “So, about our game... after classes, yeah, let's meet up at the library again." With that, he stood up abruptly, grabbing his tray and carrying it away swiftly, leaving you alone at the table.

As he walked away, his mind raced with conflicting emotions: terror, shame, and an unwelcome desire that threatened to consume him. He couldn’t help but wonder if she would like him if she found out he was the pervert who did that to her. Would she like him to touch her while she was asleep? Would she be aroused if she found herself covered in his cum when she woke up in the morning?

Idia hurriedly moved towards his class, trying hard to calm down and focus on his studies. However, the image of your exposed body and the thought of touching you while you were asleep played like a looped video in his head.

As the day progressed, he struggled to concentrate on anything else but you. During breaks between classes, he finally, in a moment of desperation, he decided to take matters into his own hands (literally). Grabbing his phone, he searched online for tips on how to calm down aroused individuals without resorting to masturbation….

Finally, it was finally time for their scheduled gaming session at the library. He gathered his things and headed over, hoping you wouldn’t mention last night's events again.

“Hey Idia!” You call him out,

Idia's heart fluttered a beat as he entered the library and saw you sitting at your usual table, already booted up for their gaming session. "Hello y/n," he managed to croak out, his voice cracking slightly.

He set down his bag on the empty seat beside yours and pulled out his laptop, trying hard not to stare at your exposed cleavage peeking out from your unbuttoned top. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he opened Cloudium and began loading the game settings. "So, uh, ready to continue our adventure?" He tried to change the subject, hoping to divert his thoughts away from last night's escapade.

“Yeah! Also I got something for you,” you reach into your bag, pulling out a small bag of a double dozen homemade cookies. “I don’t know if you like sweets but I went back to my dorm during lunch, for us to munch on while we game!”

Idia's eyes lit up at the sight of the cookies, his mouth watering in anticipation. “Oh, thanks!"

Placing the bag on the table between you, he took one of the treats, biting into it slowly, savoring the flavors melting on his tongue.

"These are great," he complimented between chews, glancing sideways at you, taking in your beauty once more. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for another cookie, unable to tear his gaze away from yours.

He continued setting up their characters in the game. "So, where do you want to start today? Any particular location or quest?” He asked, trying to keep his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him.

“Thanks, it was no problem, really! And no, there isn’t any thing I wanna start with in particular today. You choose, I’ll just follow your lead!”

Idia nodded, his mind still occupied with thoughts of you. "Alright then," he said, selecting a random location on the map. "Let's head to Greyjog. We need to speak with James Berkeley about joining the Tornadocloths or the Imperials."

As your started their journey in game, Idia's mind drifted back to last night's events. He couldn't shake the image of your bare glistening pussy, and wiggling hips as he stole your panties off of you. His cock twitched in his pants, growing harder against the fabric.

“You okay Idia?” You turn to him, “You look red,” you put one of your hands on his forehead and then your own forehead on the backside of said hand, measuring a possible difference in temperature. Your face inches away from his. “well you don’t feel hot to me, doesn’t seem like you have a fever.” You say then pull back, taking your hand and head away from his.

Idia's heart hammered in his chest, his body on fire with desire. "I-I'm fine," he managed to choke out, clearing his throat nervously. "Just a little tired, I guess."

As they continued playing the game, Idia tried to focus on their surroundings, but his mind kept drifting back to you. He wondered if you noticed how hard it was for him to concentrate today. Would you tease him about it? Or maybe... he shook his head violently, dismissing the filthy thought. No, he couldn't think like that. Not here, not now.

After hours of adventuring and battling monsters together, they finally reached Greyjog. Idia led them inside the castle, trying hard not to steal glances at the contour of your form as you played, making your character followed closely behind his.

“It’s already 7 p.m., let’s save our progress, and return to the game tomorrow. Since tomorrow is the weekend maybe we could game at my dorm or yours! Well, only if you’re down to do so, it’s totally your choice.” You tell him,

Idia nodded, relief washing over him as you suggested calling it a day. "Sounds good to me," he agreed, saving the game before closing the lid of his laptop. Standing up, he gathered their belongings, careful not to let his bag brush against your leg accidentally, savoring the feel of your warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your skirt.

"Thanks for today, y/n," he muttered, his voice low and husky with exhaustion and desire mixed together. "Have a good night." With that said, he turned away briskly, walking out of the library, leaving behind the intoxicating scent vanilla perfume and books lingering in the air.

You headed to your dorm, cooked dinner for Grim and yourself, ate, took a shower and did some skincare, reviewed some schoolwork, read a bit more of ‘The trap of Mr.Sora’. Then headed to bed in your usual sleepwear, a t-shirt and panties, no bra.

Idia returned to his own dormitory, his mind still racing with thoughts of you. Once inside his empty room, he locked the door behind him and collapsed onto his bed, removing his uniform piece by piece as he did so. His body ached from hours of sitting in one position, but that wasn't the only thing that needed relief.

Reaching into his nightstand drawer, he pulled out the used panties from last night, admiring the mix of your sweet perfume and his own musky scent on them. A smirk spread across his lips as he imagined how they belonged to such a perfect angel like you.

Later that night…

Idia waited patiently outside the Ramshackle dormitory, his heart thumping in anticipation. After ensuring you had retired for the night, he silently unlocked the door by picking at it just like he had done the previous day, and tiptoed down the hallway, up your stairs, towards your room. Carefully, he opened the door, peeking inside to ensure you were asleep before creeping closer.

His hands trembled as he reached out, grasping the edge of your blanket to lift it slightly. His eyes locked onto your exposed thighs, ached with desire as he slid his hand underneath your panties, tracing along your smooth, silky-soft skin. Reluctantly, he pulled them downwards, exposing your beautiful pussy to his hungry gaze. He was so entranced by it. The accumulation of his horniness and the fact you had admitted to enjoying the perverted acts he had committed. His mind went haywire and he decided to do something bold; He was going to jerk off using the fresh pair of underwear, while looking at you.

Slowly, he lowered himself onto the bed beside me, positioning himself between my spread legs. He wrapped the newly acquired panties around his cock, and started jerking off while observing you.

As Idia waited for any sign of movement, his heart raced wildly in anticipation. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he heard a soft moan escape your lips. His eyes widened in delight and terror as you shifted slightly, unknowingly grinding your body against the bedsheet.

Pushing aside all rational thoughts, he continued to stroke himself faster and harder, groaning softly as he watched your perfect breasts rise and fall with each breath. Each thrust of his hand matched the rhythmic motion of his cock sliding in and out of the panties. He could feel his orgasm building up inside him, reaching its peak.

Without warning, he erupted, coating the fresh pair of panties with his seed.

He then decided to do something crazier, something even more fucked up then the ones he had done before. Slowly unwrapping the cum covered panties from his cock, he then lifted your hips and legs, sliding the underwear pair back on, slightly higher than intended, causing the fabric to dig into your folds. He observes with a shaky breath how his hot semen made contact with your cunt.

His heart raced as he watched idly, his breathing heavy and labored. He had gone too far this time. Could you ever forgive him? Would he lose everything he held dear because of his perverse desires?

Without giving himself time to think, he hurriedly got dressed, he quickly throws takes out the panty pair he stole yesterday from his pocket and throws them in the laundry basket in the corner of your room. Carefully, he tiptoed out of your room, closing the door quietly behind him. As he headed back to his own dormitory, he wondered if today was finally the day he complete lost his sanity and any sort of moral compass he previously had.

©tswhiisfttedr. dn translate, or plagiarize.

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casually-slips-into-coma · 7 months ago

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spoilers for iwtv s2e5!!!

initial thoughts throughout:

dubai armand in this ep specifically seems a lot happier than normal. very smiley and kind of excited? like more energy than usual. mans was ready to eat

this fucking turtleneck

loumand library dates

hypnotized security as one does

i like that armand likes to hunt his kills. thought it was a cool detail

made me think of when armand tells daniel to run in the book

daniel was there for gay sex the drugs were just a bonus

he barely registered the coffin. he was like ok ig

the zodiac killer lol

daniel struggling to get the tape out of the plastic lmao

some coke for the gums just in case

you were lonely louis (gagged him)

the extreme change in vibe from daniel shitting himself about louis being a vampire to him laughing along while louis complains about his ex

book quotes!!

daniel validating louis complaining about lestat. theyre just gossiping at this point

BIG time asshole

daniel making A Point and then going sorry and louis saying no,,,,,that🫵was astute🗣🗣

“can u do the fang thing again? i love that, man” hes just like me fr

dangerously unstable psyche ((clocked))

im kinda with her get off that bench brother😭 [about claudia leaving]

jacob the actor you are

ok this whole argument between louis and armand was insane and i replayed it like a million times

kinda love louis coked tf out

being called boring fucking hurts thats a wild argument

he called you a soft beige pillow suffocating him girl u gotta stand up

armand really locked on to the word fascinating

louis said lick my boots😝

gremlin sighting👀

“chop my hands off”👀👀👀👀

picking LINT❓❓off the sofa⁉️ ⁉️

armand mocking him “oh its so hard to be me, its so hard to kill humans, i can feel her feelings as i drain her, louis de point du lac, everyone i know wronged me!”

imitating each others accents

my vampire daddy groomed me into a little bitch holy fuck when they go low i go lower

THE NAME!! the name!! unuttered in our home for 23 years said over and over again until it was pounding in my brain like a hammer!!!!

assad deserves every award my man was actiiiinnggg

she didnt love you/i know

louis :(((

“can u hear her? shes calling me…” ok what if i kms

and then louis runs into the sunlight🙃

hello loml: practical effects

sidestep the big picture get the story straight first daniel said lets lock the fuck in rn we gotta focus

“you said the worst things youve ever said to me” hes just a sopping wet cat

hes fine youre fine this is fine youre all fine

finally seeing unhinged armand ive prayed for times like these

i stand by my cancelled wife btw

small detail of different memories: in louis’ version he apologizes to armand and armand says “meaningless word” and then moves on to talk about the slanted floor. in daniel’s version he remembers the dead guy and the same scene plays out except armand explains he killed the neighbor in between “meaningless word” and how the floor is slanted

vibrating eyes

LOVING how this episode is shot. all the different angles and the camerawork and the fucking MUSIC

canon that louis fucks guys and then kills them fic writers get to it

“128 boys hes brought here—“ “he said it was 5🥺”

daniel basically saying look man ill suck ur dick if u let me go

and then armand making him kneel

armand so unnerving <3

i know its kinda dumb to point out but i love small details of vamp power. specifically how armand picked up that table like it weighed nothing and when he picked up louis

love the idea of louis being like ok just put your feet in the rocks itll help

sopping wet cat armand!!!

but also he really let louis suffer for days instead of just giving him blood to ease the pain😬

lestats voice caught me off guard genuinely

interesting that armand knows where lestat is. i wonder how the show is gonna go about it. is he in the ground??

and refusing to pass along the i love you message……….theres layers here

u left me for death :((

have i atoned for my part of paris👀👀

the armand daniel bite was very do u know what it means to be loved by death

itty bitty armand fangs

need him alive as a testament to our companionship wtf are we even talking about anymore

arun/maitre😵‍💫

the fucking sunglasses im pissing😭😭

he got that shit on tho

welcome back trinity from the matrix

also just the fact that armand came back like yum i had so much fun on that hunt😁 anyway what are you two up to😇☺️

and louis and daniel just had a harrowing 2 hours trying to recover lost memories and coming to the realization that theyve been mega gaslit for decades

armand saying exactly what louis told daniel word for word

a hunch🫢

i love this show

im so excited for next weeks episode this story is unfolding so beautifully. im even more curious now about why and how this second interview is happening. ((also am very confused/curious about what looks like a protest in the promo??))

#iwtv spoilers #iwtv s2e5 #louis de pointe du lac #the vampire armand #daniel molloy #the writers were fucking COOKING with this episode #thank you iwtv for being a bunch of freaks #this is exactly what i wanted #we are so back #vampterview

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nwheregirl · 1 year ago

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My content is usually for Keanu Reeves and his characters, but @gea-chan96 requested some Mads Mikkelsen’s characters as yanderes and, being one of my favourite actors, I couldn’t say no! So…

P.s. I apologise for the delay, but my personal life kept me away from tumblr. For this reason, I will close requests and just write whenever I feel like it.

YANDERE MADS MIKKELSEN CHARACTERS (DARK CONTENT, ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, MAYBE TYPOS!):

-Would marry you, then show you their yandere side:

I imagine them being very elegant, old-fashioned men. Yes, they are still violent but they would never show that side to their lovely wife. Being rich, and having everything always ready for them, they would probably court you and take you to dates until you naturally fall in love with them. After your marriage, they would start to show how possessive and jealous they can be. They would probably make you move into an isolated house, with all the luxury of course… kept away from the outside world, like a bunny in a cage. They would spoil you like a princess and if you dare to show sadness towards this lifestyle, they would make you feel guilty. The only time they give away their true nature, is in the bedroom.

A little bonus: with Le Chiffre, 007 would notice the toxicity of your marriage… it’s up to you to decide to stay with your husband, or run away with James Bond.

-Would kidnap you:

These two are both very carnal and violent man: the only difference is that, while Nigel is completely unhinged, do to being a street mob boss, Hannibal has to keep a certain type of composure. The cannibal who take the whole kidnapping process very slow: making you trust him, becoming your therapist, even. And only then, he would tie you up in his cell… keeping you close to the meat… just to scare you even more.

Nigel doesn’t need all of that: he stalks you, tries to understand your routine for a few weeks and then, when you’re finally walking home alone…it’s over, baby.

-Would use black magic on you to make you fall in love, be completely obsessed with him, adore and serve him:

I mean… I’m not sure if in the universe of Dr Strange doing this type of magic is possible… let’s just pretend it is. He’s a sorcerer, right? And a villain, so an evil one. He doesn’t need anything but his Book of Shadows and his hands to make you fall in love with him. And that’s exactly what happens: you were supposed to be Dr Strange’s apprentice… but for some reason, you betrayed him and teamed up with Kaecilius. When Stephen understood why, and what had happened… it was too late, you had already made a blood path with your “lover”.

#mads mikkelsen #mads mikkelsen characters #kaecilius #le chiffre #nigel #hannibal #duncan vizla #jürgen voller #yandere #nwheregirl made this #x reader #reader insert

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reve-writes · 2 years ago

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—you bury me; leon kennedy.

ʚ leon kennedy x reader | resident evil | 1,1k words. ʚ leon and reader finishes a mission. | can be read as a continuation of rotten work. ʚ injuries; zombies and stuff; fluff (no one dies dw). ʚ a/n more of my attempt to write slightly flirty banters between reader and leon. i learned the phrase "you bury me" aka "ya'aburnee" and my life has never been the same.

There are times when you think Leon is invincible, like he has come alive straight out of the pages of a comic book. He barrels through the undead like a machine—all tough exterior and deadly shooting accuracy that has your jaw dropping with awe.

And then, there are times when you are reminded he isn't. He is no untouchable otherworldly alien born with diamond-hard skin and superhuman strength. He's just flesh and bone knitted together and he bleeds. Despite his might, he's just one bad day away from an infection just as everyone else.

“Fuck,” he curses, face all red and chest heaving. “Goddamnit. Fuck.”

Your hands are trembling as you reload your magazine. The scene replays over and over in your mind: rotten jaw unhinging so close to his neck, teeth within biting distance and you think your entire world is coming to a halt.

Leon swivels out of the way just in time.

You're not a religious person, but for that one split second he avoids the death sentence, you think you should sing praises and grateful prayers.

“Are you okay?” You ask over guns blazing. Your magazine finally clicks in and you start opening fire to the growing hoard of zombies around you.

“Never been better,” he replies through gritted teeth. It was a dumb question to ask. You know he's not faring well—he is limping across the field, left foot practically being dragged behind him. He uses one hand to shoot, the other has an open gash through his short-fingered glove down his palm. His sweat-slicked forehead is also red with blood from a cut just over his eyebrow.

“Lean on me,” you tell him, moving to hoop his left arm around your shoulder. He's not a small man—what with trained muscles over his bones and a figure that slightly towers over you. “Let me help you, Leon.”

He tries to shake himself off of you. “Just get to the extraction point.”

“We'll get there quicker if you would—”

“Just run!”

“And what? Leave you here to be their dinner?” You protest, forcefully pushing yourself under his arm. “No way. I haven't even gotten a taste.”

Leon—even with the miserable situation you are in—chuckles. “Really? Is this the right time?”

He relents and lets you hobble him along. The field stretches long—somewhere off of a rural village whose residents are now nothing more than grotesque-looking undead. You've made it two-thirds of the way.

Bullets fly left and right, both from you and Leon. “Shut up, Leon. Walk faster.”

“Told you to run, didn't I?”

Your breathing is laboured from the Sisyphean effort. “Out of the question. I can't have your death on my conscience.”

“Not dying that easily, don't worry.”

He better not.

The helicopter engine roars in your ears as you step closer, dusty air stinging your eyes. You hear gunshots from your rescuer, covering you from nearby zombies. Your whole body is burning when you're finally hauled into the chopper with Leon. You finally let your muscles loosen, tension melting away as the engine roars to life under you.

The rest occurs in quick motion blurs. The usual mission reports and check-ups and then you're walking out the door with a patched-up, healthier-looking Leon by your side.

“Shouldn't they keep you on bedrest?” You ask. “Can't have anything happen to their golden boy.”

“They tried to.” He shrugs. “I'm fine, though.”

You stare at him, disbelief apparent in your wide-eyed expression. “Fine? How are you fine?”

You gesture to the walking stick he tucks under his arm and his splined foot. He waves a hand dismissively. “I've had worse.”

“You were so close to getting bit.”

The words echo into a drawn-out silence as the meaning truly sinks into him. It is strange, the numbness he has developed to the thought of dying. Constant exposure to mortal peril has desensitised him, he supposes.

“I watched it almost happen and for a terrible moment I thought that you were going turn into... into—”

“I didn't.”

He's right. You find comfort in knowing that he is still standing, that he's not going down so easily, but even Leon Kennedy is merely human.

“You know, if things ever go to shit, I hope I... go before you do.”

He's not following. Not exactly. “How come?”

“Don't worry about it.” You don't elaborate, but you know you mean it. A world without Leon Kennedy sounds like a world you don't want to be a part of. As much as he makes you want to tear your hair out, he's the only person who understands and shares your burdens.

He hums thoughtfully, frowning, but ends up chalking it up to your usual rambling. “Okay, then. I'll catch you later.”

He starts walking to the car they've provided for him—chauffeur and all. Must be nice to be the golden boy. Before he has even walked three steps away, you grab his wrist with a slight tug and he halts.

“Go home,” you request. “You better not go and get wasted in some bar. Rest, Leon. You deserve it.”

“I wasn't going to.”

The look in his eyes says that he is most definitely going to drink his sorrows away.

“You're so unbelievably stubborn.”

“Look who's talking.” He holds up his wrist that you're still grabbing, wriggling it out of your grasp to press his palm on yours, fingers interlocking. “Also, if you wanted to hold hands, you could've just asked.”

“You—”

“I seem to also recall you saying something along the lines of wanting to have a taste—”

“Leon,” you interrupt immediately, not wanting to drag out the embarrassment that he's oh-so-generously giving you. “I mean it. Get some rest.”

“What are you? My parent?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You need to recover well. The world needs saving and I need my mission partner.”

His hand is still warm over on yours, now hanging low by your side and the two of you look almost normal. Just two people holding hands waiting for their ride.

“You're cute when you worry about me.”

That has an involuntary smile to bloom on your face as you've used the same line on him before.

“Only when I worry?”

“And on other occasions.” This has you dizzy.

“Well.” He drops your hand and it twitches, already missing the spaces between his fingers. “I better get going.”

He gestures at the impatient-looking driver who has been sitting there the entire time. You shake your head at him. “Poor guy.”

“I'll call.” He gets into the passenger seat. You're standing just a step away from the rolled-down window.

“I might pick up.”

Before he has a chance to retort, you gesture the driver to go ahead and the car speeds off at once, leaving you to spend the rest of the day constantly checking if your phone has rung.

[ ]

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #—ki writes 🍯

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yallthemwitches · 2 months ago

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The Storm, The Aftermath

A smutty, fluffy continuation of my jilytober fic 'The Storm' ( Rated T: Link Here) though it is not necessary to read them together. Also a portion of this is based off a @blvnk-art comic which I posted previously.

NSFW Warning! AO3 Here

“James…” Lily watches him from the bed, his shoulders tight, hands moving flustered as they search for some unknown item of clothing. Even from behind she can tell he is trying to regulate his breathing. “James,” she repeats, taking a small pause, “I wasn’t planning on needing anything to sleep in.” She feels her whole face flush.. If implications were heavy before, all nuance is now thrown out into the storm.

“If your mum or dad ask, we fell asleep working on the assignment,” Lily murmurs, a hand curling deep into his hair while the other brushes a thumb over his bottom lip.

“Right…assignment.” He pushes their bodies flush together and propels them backwards towards the open door to his room. His teeth nip at her thumb, sending her nervous system rampant.

“We can say I suggested we keep at it—you know, since I had to stay the night anyhow.” Her voice turns into a sigh as James skims his teeth against her cheek, grazing to her chin with an open mouth.

“Had to,” he teases, eyes fighting to stay open. His hands find where her shirt allows entrance to the skin underneath and he presses in.

“Plus,” she sighs at the feel of his rough hands on her back, “ I didn’t quite like the look of the guest bedroom anyhow—too sterile.”

"Are you calling my room dirty, Evans? How rude.”

Their bodies push their way into the open door. Despite the efforts of his hands to erase all thought, Lily can’t help but relish in entering his personal space. It’s a rarity—she has seen his four poster bed back at school in fleeting moments from before they started hooking up, but even then that was a shared living space, marked by other boys past and present. This was his territory, completely unfiltered by anyone but himself.

He makes a small noise of dissent as she untangles herself to get a better look at the room: his broom leans against a much too large mahogany bed and the static eyes of The Beatles stare back from the walls while quidditch heroes zoom across posters. Books are stacked on the floor at the bedside and a large bay window opens out to the gardens next to the house, now darkened by the incoming storm.

With a shot of confidence, Lily turns to give him a coy smile before bounding over to the foot of the bed, taking a seat on the edge. James watches her go, barely capable of keeping his jaw from unhinging as his heart rattles in his chest.

“Nice room Potter.” She leans back on her hands. The bedding feels expensive, higher quality than the stuff at Hogwarts and certainly the ones she has back in her room in Cokeworth. She imagines James curled underneath it, lying awake before another day of messing around with Sirius or practicing quidditch out in the field which flanks the Potter Estate, maybe just maybe also thinking of her…

They watch each other for a moment, sizing up the scenario. The wind from the snowstorm rattles the window, serving as a gentle reminder that they aren’t suspended outside of reality. It has been months since they started snogging in secret, but it isn’t until this moment they have actually achieved true, comfortable solitude.

It’s an understatement to say that James can feel the implications of her presence. His whole body is burdened by the fact— years of imagining her sitting exactly where she is now are catching up to him, mixing with all the other fantasies that include words such as Lily, bed, and alone. She watches him with a smirk as he fiddles with the ends of his hair, shifting his weight to hide the feeling of arousal taking over despite his best efforts.

“Uh…let me find you something to sleep in–” he says, becoming red around the cheeks. He turns towards an ornate dresser against the side wall and rips open a drawer, sticking his hand in to fish through the fabric before closing it and repeating with another.

“James,” she repeats, taking a small pause, “I wasn’t planning on needing anything to sleep in.”

She feels her whole face flush. If implications were heavy before, all nuance is now thrown out into the storm.

“Oh?” His hands tighten around the knobs. The wood groans underneath and he grips onto it as though it is the only thing holding him back from lunging at her. He turns around slowly, eyes burning with something feral and raw.

“Yeah.”

Her thoughts scramble as he takes slow steps towards her and she knows she is too close already to drowning in him. The smell of his room, the feel of his bed, him looking at her with that stare and hands capable of completely unwinding her—she doesn’t want to give in. She was the one who planned this all out, not him. She can’t let him take over so easily.

He stands in front of her and lets his fingers skim across the tops of her shoulders, eyes searching her face. She takes a breath, mustering months worth of desire into one single moment of bravery. She reaches for his belt.

It isn’t something they haven’t done before, but it feels reckless out of the context of fumbling moments in broom closets. James lets out a strained breath, eyes fluttering closed with his fingers now pressing into her shoulders, willing her to not move from against him.

“Is this ok?”

He responds with a groan as her other hand slides over the bulge that appeared long before they had entered the room. She can feel how turned on he is already, and it occurs to her that this is the first time they have ever been able to fully explore each other with the patience and dedication they deserve.

“More than ok—-eons better than ok.” His eyes are glassy and wide, watching her like someone in the midst of sleepwalking.

“And you don’t think your parents will—”

“Evans.” James groans out, “Can we not talk about my parents at a time like this.” He makes a small choking sound when her hand adds more pressure. “They never come over to this part of the house anyways.”

It isn’t the most satisfying answer, but she is in no state to complain. Moving her fingers around him, she feels every hard line of his erection straining into the fabric. She stares up at him with wonder as his face changes with her movements, his heart visibility erratic. She has to admit, it feels powerful to be like this—to watch as his jaw drops open and breath goes ragged and deep just by her fingers on trousers alone.

“I have to admit something to you,” she murmurs, her other hand still working on his belt, “I didn’t want to come to your house just for the assignment.”

He lets out a strangled laugh and tries to help her with his belt but she swats him away.

“I figured when you lied to our parents about needing to stay over,” he mumbles, eyes fighting to stay open. “Though I’m very interested in what excuse you would have come up with if there hadn’t already been a storm coming–”

His breath hitches as she gets his belt and pants undone, hand now edging around the waistband of his underpants.

“That's the thing-” his skin feels scorching under her hand as it dips farther down, slowly crawling to the base of his erection, “I planned to come today, because of the storm.”

She wraps her palm around him and he hisses, body arching forward as she gives him a small tug. They have only done this a number of times, but he always reacts in the same way: like his soul is leaving his body for some greater plane of consciousness.

“Didn’t realize you had it in you,” he groans out, hands finding her neck and thumbs rubbing circles there.

“What?”

“Mischief.”

She pumps up his length and he lets out a soft string of swear words.

“What can I say, you’ve been a bad influence.”

She lets him go and he gasps in disappointment. Flashing a smile, she pushes herself farther up the bed until she reaches the headboard. He crawls after her, reaching her legs and pulling them apart at the knees, easily flipping up the skirt that has pooled down by her waist. Looking up at her through skewed glasses, he begins dotting kisses into her inner thigh, each one more lavish than the next.

“So what did you plan to do Miss Evans? Seeing as this is all your orchestration?”

She doesn’t answer, instead melting under the heat of his mouth. He is relentless, giving open kisses up her thighs, letting his tongue slide over her skin as he goes. She isn’t used to being able to watch him do it—more attuned to the dark shadows of shifting bodies against boxes of cleaning supplies. Here, she can clearly watch every movement, finally putting a visual to the sensation.

“Sleep, I suppose.” She finally gasps out and he chuckles against her thigh, sending a shiver up her body.

“I think we’re past the point of sleeping, Evans.”

He’s moving painfully slow, but she tries to savor it. His mouth nipping and teasing as he gets closer to the apex of her legs. It’s the one thing she yearns for more than anything else they have already done: his mouth on her center. The first time he ever did it, he fell to his knees as though in prayer in an empty classroom and she thought she was going to explode from the feeling—his mouth, his tongue, his fingers moving in complete synchronicity against her. Ever since, she didn’t care if they had five minutes to spare or if Filch was just around the corner— she wanted him between her legs, making her whimper by the softness of his tongue. She wants it so much and so often that it worries her to think that she will feel just as insatiable about another part of his body when the time comes.

“Is this ok?” He breathes into her inner thigh. Both of them can see the result of desire pooling between her legs and James stares shamelessly, wonder etched across his face.

“Merlin— you are so wet…because of me?”

“Don’t be arrogant.” Her voice turns into a moan as he bites down against the uppermost part of her thigh before licking over it to ease any pain. The newfound sight of her arousal awakens an urgency in him and his hands and mouth are moving more erratic against her, trying to take as much of her in as he possibly can.

“Lily, you have no idea. No idea how many nights I’ve thought of you in this bed.”

She can’t help but giggle at the teenage lust of it all. It’s not like she is any better—before they started hooking up she would wake up with her hand already between her legs, body covered in sweat as she broke from the dream of his mouth crawling its way around her chest.

“Is it better or worse than you imagined?” She quips and his mouth stills. She looks down to catch his gaze burning up at her, a hand hovering dangerously close to her center.

“Don’t even joke Evans.”

She plans to make another cheeky remark but it’s cut short by his mouth making contact with her knickers. He kisses her through the wet fabric, running his tongue into the grooves of her flesh that he already knows so well. Her back arches for him instinctively and he uses it as leverage to hold her body in a hovered state, fingers circling at the top of her ass.

“Christ Potter.” She can feel him smile against her as he continues his ministrations, teeth pulling back the side of her knickers and slipping his tongue onto slick skin. The feel of his raw mouth makes her gasp and he lets out a small chuckle, pleased he is capable of making her react so viscerally.

“You are so lovely, so lovely .” He’s breathing straight inside her and his air makes her body feel feverish. “I don’t know how I deserve you, but I will never never let you go if I can help it.”

A finger slides into her and it takes everything to not let her head fall completely back. She doesn’t want to look away—completely mesmerized by how his tongue works her clit while his fingers twist inside her. He adds another finger and she lets out a cry, happy that his parents are presumably on the other side of the house.

“James, wait, I—” The feeling builds faster than she can fight it. With one last lick, she is sent over the edge, grasping onto his hair and her legs squeeze around him.

“Oh fuck—Lily—” his eyes are wide, watching as she shudders through the last of her climax. She pulls at his shoulders and he rises back up, wiping his mouth with his shirt.

“That was incredible—Lily, you taste…I can’t even describe it—” He genuinely looks dumbstruck, sitting beside her.

She watches him catch his breath, a hand caressing his leg slowly as he smiles back at her. It’s the place they usually stop: where one of both of them is sated by a mouth or a hand before they put their clothes back on and go their separate ways. But tonight, they have nowhere to run off to, no reason to leave things just short of full completion.

“Lily—” He starts in, but she is already ahead of him. Sitting up, she pulls her jumper over her head and the rush of cold hits her bare breasts. Anything he was about to say gets stuck in his throat at the sight of her.

“Dear sweet Godric–” he breathes out, eyes jumping from one breast to the other.

“Don’t act like you haven’t seen them plenty of times.”

“But I haven’t,” James gives her an incredulous stare, “Between my glasses and the near black of those bloody closets, I might as well be experiencing this for the first time.”

“Well—” Lily stammers, “Seeing as you just, you know, licked me out , my tits are hardly something to—”

James lunges at her, knocking her fully back on the bed. He slots himself between her legs and she can feel his arousal pressing through the fabric and into her waist.

“Don’t you ever, ever undermine your body like that,” he growls out. A hand slides from her cheek, down her neck, to her clavicle, circling just under one of her breasts but not making contact.

“Can I—”

“Touch them? Yes.” Lily cuts him off. She’s surprised he is even asking, seeing as he has done it hundreds of times before.

“No—can I take off my clothes too?”

Another wave of vulnerability enters the room. They have seen each other in various levels of undress, but never fully and never together .

“I don’t want to push anything—and I know we agreed that this is all just for a laugh, but I just—” He lets his voice get away from him, insecurity getting the best of his thoughts.

“Is that what you think?” she says quietly, “That I came here, lied to your parents and mine…for a laugh?”

James makes a coughing sound, eyes darting around her face, waiting for an elaboration.

“You’re right, I have worries about telling our mates for various reasons–” He opens his mouth to interrupt her, but she silences him with a hand on his mouth.

“-But that doesn’t mean that this isn’t real for me. That I don’t want you just as much as you want me.”

He looks down at her, feelings shifting on his face faster than she can read them.

“Lily, I really fancy you,” he whispers, strained. “And if—if we do something, y’know more , I don’t know if I’ll be able to go back.”

She reaches her hands up to his cheeks and rests them there, fingers catching falling hair out of his face.

“You say that like I don’t feel the same way,” her pulse quickens, “you say that like you don’t already know that I don’t want to go back.”

His eyes blaze raw and hopeful, and she feels the blood rush through her body, giving her the bravery she needs to move her hands back to his unbuttoned trousers and tug them down. His lips crash onto hers, and she can feel the hard line of his body pressing into her chest as he cups her face with one hand and helps ease his pants off with another. Just as quick, he removes his shirt, letting their bare chests slide together, his skin burning.

“Lily, Lily, Lily.” He says her name like a lullaby, kissing down the column of her neck until he reaches one of her breasts. Taking her nipple into his mouth, she arches up as his tongue swirls around it, him somehow finding new ways for her to feel impossibly good.

She can’t get enough of him, the feverish heat of his skin, the sturdy pulse of his body. She knows she is breathing yet it feels like there is not enough air for the two of them, the sound of the storm just adding to the fervent nature of their movements. He is as close to her as he has ever been, but she wants him closer still .

Pulling off of her slightly, he dips a hand down to unbutton her skirt, pulling it and her knickers down with a tug. Now completely nude, he rises up to look at her, his eyes brimming with awe.

“You are so beautiful.”

It’s something she’s seen people say in movies, but she can tell the words hold all the sincerity in the world. His eyes are wide, trying to commit every part of her to memory, hand lightly grazing her hip as he takes her in. Satisfied, he drops down to capture her mouth in a searing kiss, a smile evident on his lips.

“Lily, I meant it, he gasps out when he breaks for air, “What I said earlier—I don’t want anyone else. I never want to lose you.”

“I know,” she breathes against his lips, “good thing you aren’t losing me.”

He closes in for another kiss, his lips soft but urgent, tongue begging to twist with hers. Through the haze she senses some shuffling at their waists until she can feel the bare skin of his arousal pressing in against her, warm and throbbing.

“Wait, I want to see you too.”

She wiggles her way out from under him and he obliges, falling onto his back. It’s her turn to regard him—she thought she knew his body so well already but in the light it takes on a whole new meaning. He is muscular yet slim, something she always thought made him look so effortlessly fit in comparison to his bulking teammates, and she holds back a gasp when she finally sees his cock, hard and erect with the smallest bit of liquid crowning at the tip.

“I did that?” She says, knowing how childish it sounds.

“Look who is arrogant now,” James teases, squeezing her thigh, “You’re killing me, Evans. C’mere.”

She puts a leg over his hips and settles down against him. His cock slides easily into her folds and both of them hum in approval, now realizing how much better it feels without the barrier of clothes.

“Are you sure?”

She doesn’t need to respond, instead rolling her hips forward until she can feel his tip lining up with her entrance. His head falls back, but his eyes refuse to leave hers, the question still hanging between them.

“Let me lead,” she says, not waiting another second to slide herself onto him.

A gasp escapes as her body stretches around him, learning to accommodate the new sensation. She stalls, rocking her hips slightly to let the smallest bit of him slide in and out of her, testing the waters before daring to continue further. He grabs onto her thighs, following her rhythm as she moves back and forth, eyes wild and adoring. Deep sighs leave his throat with each small movement, reassuring her to keep going.

They continue like this until she has pushed him fully inside and their bottom halves connect. Her hips move more languorously now, waving up and down the length of him in steady movements. Her mouth hangs open, trying to take full breaths between the noises that keep pouring out of her mouth with every thrust.

“James— Christ.”

He leans upwards and takes one of her breasts into his mouth, and she cries from the over stimulation of it all. It feels better than anything she could ever imagine—not even the added pleasures of all their cupboard trysts would equate to the sensation occurring at that moment. They are utterly complete, moving as one.

James grabs hold of her torso and carefully flips them over without slipping out of her. Now with the upperhand, he is able to press deeper, hitting a ball of nerves tucked deep inside her that makes her stomach clench in ecstasy.

When he is not moaning hot kisses into her breasts or neck, he is watching her—keeping a steady gaze on her face to make sure that she is enjoying every single moment as much as he is. Strings of words chant out of his mouth—some affirmations, some swears, some just her name over and over until it sounds like a foreign language.

“Lily, I won’t last much longer, I want you to come for me.”

It’s instinctual. She reaches one hand between her legs to rub the tip of her clit while the other cups the curve of her breast, jutting it outwards as an offering to his mouth. His eyes grow impossibly wider, ducking down to take her tit between his teeth.

Her second climax is more violent than the first. She can feel herself squeezing around him, her whole body seizing up until it feels like a rubber band in mid snap. He holds her against him, mouth breathing onto her chest as he continues his rhythm through her release.

“So beautiful, so good, Godric Lily, I can feel it.”

It sends him over the edge. His hips snap forward, now erratic and urgent. Slick with the sweat of her climax, she grabs both of his cheeks and forces him to look at her. His eyes drowning in desire and anticipation.

“Come for me James—you can come inside me, it's ok.”

“Lily—” He looks unsure, but he’s losing time. She can feel his body quivering over her.

“I took the potion, I want you to come inside me. Please James.”

“ Lily—-ah.” She feels his release instantaneously. She remarks that it’s weirdly warm and comforting despite it being such a carnal act.

With a sigh, he collapses on her, hands dancing across her collar bone as he catches his breath into her shoulder.

“Incredible. You’re just—” he doesn’t finish his thought, opting to press his lips gently into her neck.

She wraps her arms around him. He’s sweaty and heaving and hers. She had never felt like that about him before even in their most intimate moments, but now it is solidified, maybe not in words but in action.

Snow makes pattering noises against the windowpane, the wind too slow to dust it off before another blanket appears. They lay in each other’s arms, feeling their heart beats go from wild to steady, hands lazily tracing the other’s skin until they halt into calm.

“Are you sleeping now?” He whispers into the crook of her neck, his nose nuzzling into her skin.

“Not yet,” she smiles, a laugh already bubbling up, “Why? You keen on working on that Charms assignment?”

James laughs and the sound cuts through the night air.

“Not quite.” He raises himself to hover back over her, mouth skimming hers.

“But I am keen on working on something else.”

~ ~ ~

She awakes exactly how she fell asleep, tangled up in him. At some point in the night he had pulled the blankets over them, and their bodies radiated heat. Her face is pushed into his chest, and one leg is hitched up against his thigh, his fingers contracting in sleep against her ass.

He must have taken off his glasses at some point in the night, because when she looks up at him, his eyes are unobscured. He has eyelashes much longer than she imagined and his hair falls in unruly tangles around his face. A warmth rises in her chest as she watches his mouth hang slightly open and a moan drift out.

She doesn’t want it to end. They might be melded together now, but their time is coming to a close—soon she will have to go back to Cokeworth, Sirius will return from his uncle’s, and he will stay in this room with only the memory to keep him company.

They need to talk about what will happen when they return back to Hogwarts, but she lets the thought drift away as he stirs. Blinking his eyes open to look down at her, a lazy, irresistible smile pulls at his lips.

“Morning.”

“Morning,” she echoes, giggling at the absurdity of it all. “How did you sleep?”

He leans in and gives a kiss to her forehead, his arm tightening to keep her leg from unwinding around him.

“Brilliant because you are here…but terribly because every time I woke up I was randy for you all over again.”

She knows he isn’t lying, she can feel the proof of it pressing into her pelvis.

“Poor you,” she teases. “Sounds like you should do something about it.” She gives him a smile and his face goes alight with happiness. He rolls them over so he is back over her, their lips pressing together with already panting kisses.

“JAMES DARLING! BREAKFAST IS READY!”

He doesn’t stall, his hand already teasing at her breast and Lily gasping into his mouth.

“JAMES! YOU AND LILY CAN’T ROLL AROUND ALL DAY— BESIDES I’VE MADE THE POTTER SPECIAL...”

James' eyes rip open and they share a mutual look of embarrassment and horror. Lily can feel her whole body turning red, burrowing her face into his chest.

“Er—Thanks Dad.” James calls out, voice cracking a little. He looks down at her and lightly brushes some knotted hair out of her eyes.

“The Potter Special?”

“You’re going to love it,” he pulls her chin up and gives her a soft kiss on the mouth, eyes still dreamy.

“Before we face death by utter embarrassment at the hands of my parents, can we—”

She threads her hands in his hair, an act now as familiar as blinking.

“I’m not going anywhere, Potter.”

His face nearly breaks in two from a grin and he swoops down to catch her in a fierce, desperate kiss. Around them the room spins, and everything beyond the bed starts to melt away again.

“Fuck it—I’m not hungry,” he gasps when they part to catch their breaths. Lily's laugh transforms into a moan, feeling his body already lining up against hers.

“Me either,” she sighs. He presses into her she tugs him closer, savoring him for as long as possible.

“It can wait.”

#jily smut #jily #jily fanfiction #first time fic #james potter #lily evans #a little treat after halloween #fic continuation #marauders era #yallthemwitches #james x lily

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penelope-kat · 1 year ago

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So I'm a little dissatisfied with the ending of F&C (btw totally fine to disagree, this is just my opinion. Also it's just a show ok let's all be mature here).

Let me be clear: I don't hate the ending; I think the rest of the show is amazing, AND while I LOVE the message of Simon and Betty moving on from each other and being able to be ok without each other, it felt really disingenuous for the show to say that Betty was more obsessed with Simon when they're clearly both complete freaks for each other?

Simon's whole thing in the original show whenever he was lucid was about how much he missed Betty, how fixated he was on her, and how he'd do anything to get her back, or at least be able to talk to her one more time. Marceline is always talking about how Simon was constantly obsessed with finding Betty again when she was little, and Ice King's whole character and obsession with kidnapping princesses stemmed from Simon desperately wanting to find Betty again.

All relationships have flaws, but I feel like this wasn't the right flaw to give their relationship. Simon and Betty's relationship was flawed because they were super obsessed with each other, not because Betty was more obsessed with Simon than Simon was with her. I guarantee that Simon would have done all the same shit Betty did if the roles were reversed and Betty had put on the ice crown instead, like I have not a single doubt in my mind.

It also makes Simon look a lot less emotionally intelligent and empathetic, which is like yeah, people don't always see how they hurt their loved ones, but you're really telling me he NEVER ONCE did anything Betty wanted to do? Never?? And Betty is a strong-willed woman, we always see that. She's unhinged. I love her. I feel like Simon would have picked up on her wants, too, especially since they were implied to have been together for a long time given, you know, they've co-written books and explored the world together and all. Simon ADORED Betty, and he's always been shown to be very empathetic and insightful, even at his worst during F&C! I highly doubt after all that time with Betty he would have never even considered doing her stuff. Do you really think Mr Semen Peggtricock over here, the final-boss of pathetic submissive twinks, took the reins on every aspect of anything they did together? I know that man gets his bussy destroyed three nights a week by Betty's 12 inch strap and whimpers under her weight m'kay there's no WAY he never ever once listened to what she wanted to do.

I do appreciate that the show doesn't make Simon or Betty out to be monsters or bad people or anything, and I do think in the context of Simon and Betty's stories, them going different ways makes the most narrative and thematic sense since their obsession with each other did end up severely negatively-impacting both their lives. Also, it was heavily implied that Betty reincarnated after blowing Simon sending Simon back to Ooo, so she won't be fused with Golb for all eternity in infinite loneliness. Uh that also makes me feel way better about the ending too lol.

But the specific point of "Simon didn't appreciate Betty enough".. it just doesn't sit right. That man spent collective decades mourning the loss of Betty, his princess, and all he really wanted was to be with her. He understood how brilliant she was, he loved her for it. Yes, he almost gave up her sacrifice that made him Simon again, but can you really blame him for that? He was super depressed and genuinely believed it would be the best thing to do in order to protect the little gay people in his head. He wasn't doing it to punish Betty, he'd never do that. Tbf I haven't seen many people claim he did it to punish Betty, I can just see that being a reachable conclusion for someone watching who already wasn't too keen on how their relationship had been portrayed thus far.

Betty was right: they did make their choices. And that means her choices too, choices that she literally took ownership of in the same breath, so it's weird for the show to imply only she would have gone to the lengths she did in their relationship.

Honestly the topic of overcoming obsession makes perfect sense to explore for BOTH of them. Betty having had time to think about it for 12 years as a chaos god, and Simon still being hung up because he blames himself for everything that happened. They were both equally obsessed with each other, and that mutual obsession destroyed both their lives. Now they need to be able to move on and, in Simon's case, keep living, even though Betty isn't around anymore, because his life as Simon Petrikov MATTERS.

Also before anyone brings up Temple of Mars that episode SLAPS it's GREAT and yes it is about Betty's obsession with Simon, but I always found it to be more of a "wow things became so screwed up. It's a shame Betty didn't go on her trip but the happiness she had with Simon was clearly worth it to her, it's just crazy how something like her missing a trip to be with him evolved into her time traveling into the future and losing her mind trying to save him". It wasn't really an episode about how bad Simon was for her in the beginning, it was like "holy shit girlie we need to get you on mood stabilizers ASAP cuz this shit is CRAZY".

Yeah I dunno how to wrap this up. Didn't mean to make anyone upset: I'm still shaky about how I feel on all of this and just wanted to get my thoughts out there. Opinions are valid! Even if you don't agree, I hope you can see where I'm coming from :)

Have a good night!

#long post #adventure time #fionna and cake #fionna and cake spoilers #simon petrikov #betty grof #petrigrof #text #critique #stop!!! being mean to him!!!!!#my favorite little guy!!!!#im like that meme “he would not fucking say that” lol #feeling r weird about this one gang. why everything gotta feel so weird?#F&C was great i just think it had some problems here and there

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clueless-fan-critic · 4 months ago

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Deadpool and Wolverine: The Prequel to the Mutant Saga

Here's How the X-Men Could Be Part of the MCU

If you're catching up on comics, the X-Men recently are experiencing one of the worst events in their history as mutants in comic book event Fall of X. Long story short, the "mutants being hated" status quo is in play and pulling the entire Marvel Comics Universe into it. With recent success of Fox's most successful leading mutants in the MCU, the audience is now asking the question... What will this mean for Mutants? In this theory article, I'll explore possible directions that the MCU may take with its cast of incalculable mutants.

X-Men Vs X-Men

What I noticed in X-Men media is that it's basically mutants against mutants. I mean, unless you singularly focus on one goal like the Krakoan Era, there's a chance that a mutant will either defect to another team, fight over leadership, or straight up leave because their feelings were hurt. Seriously, the Umbrella Academy can stay more cohesive than the X-men and those guys are a dysfunctional family. Even with legit reasons for leaving or defecting, it just gets tiresome by the fact they'll probably come back with no hard feelings.

My idea for this issue is that the people will only see the X-Men as the problem rather than mutants themselves. Think of a larger scale Civil War scenario with neutral mutants, like civilians, in the conflict getting hurt because of the X-Men's actions. This can also add themes of security or freedom, profiling, and the abuse of power by the government.

Speaking of themes, let us move on to the overall idea that mutants are always associated with. The exact reasons that were explored in a show with a recent mutant in the MCU.

X-Men and Proud

What might be addressed in the MCU is the prejudice and bigotry of mutants compared to people of color, the LGBTQ+ community, and so on. I know that mutants are allegories for minorities, but that's the point. They're allegories. The one thing that I want discussed is whether the hatred is earned by mutants. Because think about it, mutants are called Homo Superiors and considered the next step in human evolution. Those ideas can seriously give you an ego and be generally disliked because of it. They also manifest crazy dangerous superpowers as teenagers, like if Hulk and Thor were emotionally unhinged boys who trashed a city over a taco. That's a more definite reason for people's hatred: constant destruction with no accountability or responsibility. But now we're getting the idea of mutants as a whole being treated as minorities and I feel that wouldn't exactly fit as well if the MCU introduced clearer examples of prejudice and culture.

Another example is the confusion of prejudice for mutants being the same as other kinds like racism and xenophobia. For example, basically Emma Frost, a blonde white mutant, is less likely to experience the same struggles as a black woman or an immigrant from another country. A discussion between her and Kamala Khan, aka Ms. Marvel, really exploring what it means to be an outsider and struggling to be accepted would combine both real-world and mutant issues.

But with the Mutant Saga coming, are we going to follow a new cast of X-Men or reintroduce old ones from the past?

The Old and the New

One advantage of the Multiverse is reintroducing old actors from previous Fox X-Men properties into the MCU. You could have The Gifted's Emma Dumont aka Polaris or Legion's Dan Stevens aka Legion. If you bring back characters as cameos, why not use them as much as possible to really build the MCU Multiverse. This would also give some closure to cancelled shows or movie franchises and maybe those characters to the MCU.

False Hope or Idea Generation?

Now, whether these ideas get any light in the upcoming Mutant Saga or just get shoved randomly into projects for no rhyme or reason, I have no clue. I guess it's good to have that kind of expectation with recent X-Men projects like X-Men 97, but I'm not holding my breath.

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shewhowas39 · 3 months ago

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Juniper & Starlight - Chapter 34: "Behind Blue Eyes"

rating: Explicit pairing: Astarion x f!durge (June)/OC fic summary: Between the nightmares, prophetic visions, and violent hallucinations, June is losing grip on reality, but she has enough awareness to know that Astarion's flirtation is part of some sort of con. He barely even likes her, after all. When she decides to call his bluff and play along, thinking he'll back down, she's surprised to discover that she and the vampire have more in common than either could have anticipated. And his touch might be the only thing that can keep her sane.

chapter title: "Behind Blue Eyes" chapter summary: in which Shadowheart and Lae'zel wanna fight each other, June and Wyll find the owlbear cub, and Astarion has an unhinged request. content warnings: intrusive thoughts, sad animal (but unharmed), eyeballs

A/N: sorry for the delay on this one! things have been busy, but i'm back! i hope you enjoy the unhinged bit in the last part of the chapter lmao

***

PREVIEW

“I’m sorry - you let that ignorant buffoon do what to your eye?!”

Astarion stares at June in horror. Her eyes - her beautiful, remarkable, unforgettable eyes - tampered with by the stupidest man on the Sword Coast. And now one of them has been removed and replaced by an inferior fake, this one with a pale blue iris with an eerie, silvery sheen to it. It’s striking, sure, but he loved her real eyes.

He’s going to kill Volo for this. Drain him dry. Toss the body into the river. The world would be better for it.

June, for her part, seems fine. In fact, she seems frustratingly calm about the whole thing. Despite the fact that one of her bloody eyes has just been removed.

They’ve set up camp outside the temple tonight. They haven’t finished going through every room of the place in search of things that will help them move forward, but the stench of the place had both Astarion and Shadowheart declaring that they’d rather sleep outside this time. It was a rare moment of agreement that Astarion suspects will never happen again.

So Gale and June had taken the time to cast a few wind spells to blow the remaining stench in the air away from the area outside of the temple, and it was back to camping. Now, with tents set up, the group were mostly just chatting and doing various pre-rest activities. It was just as Astarion was on his way to pick up a book from his tent that he got close enough to June to notice the change in her eyes.

She hadn’t even told anyone what the bard had done to her. Just continued on her evening as if nothing strange had occurred. The mad woman!

“He thought he could get the tadpole out,” she says, as if this isn’t an insane explanation.

“With an icepick?”

She shrugs. “The needle didn’t work.”

Astarion buries his face in his hands and groans. He doesn’t uncover his face before asking, “Did you honestly think this would be successful? You know the man is a self-aggrandizing moron, right? Not a bloody doctor?”

He’s glad he can’t see the nonchalant expression he’s sure she must have or the shrug she must give of her shoulders when she says, “No, but I was curious.” If he did see it, he may have been tempted to kill her, too.

“Of-fucking-course you were curious.”

#astarion x durge #astarion ancunin #astarion x female oc #astarion x oc #astarion fic #astarion fanfiction #astarion bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #durgestarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #juniper & starlight

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koshkamartell · 1 year ago

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No One But Me

masterlist

previous chapter

chapter warnings: Joel has a panic attack, degrading language, descriptions of injuries, possessiveJoel!, unhinged!Joel.

You stared at the drain, watching the swirls of water and soap suds circle around its rim before disappearing down into darkness. You stood under the shower head and let the warm water cascade over your back. It was soothing, comforting. Until the water hit the throbbing and raw skin of your ass and your wrists.

You bit your lip and grimaced in pain. You had to endure it if you wanted to be clean, to wash away the physical evidence of the shame and degradation of what Joel forced upon you. Using a washcloth you gingerly wiped away the cum that had dried on your backside. You had not been brave enough to assess the damage in the mirror just yet, but when you grazed your fingertips over the area you had an idea of just how bad it was.

Your body felt so weak, so tired. When you were finished washing away Joel's cum you moved the washcloth down to your vulva. You whimpered as you carefully cleaned yourself, the minute tears at the entrance of your vagina stinging. Your walls ached.

When you were done you leaned your forehead against the tiled wall with your eyes closed. You were sure you could fall asleep standing where you were - and you probably would - if not for the shower gradually turning more and more cold. You turned off the taps and stepped out of the shower to dry yourself with a towel, mindful of the angry raised welts on the cheeks of your ass.

Instead of dressing into a new set of pyjamas, you slipped naked into your bed and under the blanket. You positioned yourself on your side so that nothing was touching your back, scared to aggravate your injuries. You pulled your pillow into your stomach and curled up like a ball around it and cried. Eventually you succumbed to the fatigue and fell into a heavy sleep.

••••••

The following morning you somehow managed to wake up on time, get dressed, eat an apple for breakfast, and then arrive for your teaching lesson five minutes early. You appeared fresh faced and energetic, but inwardly you felt as though you were close to dissociating, teetering between numbness and hysteria.

In the classroom you avoided sitting down. You stood for the whole lesson as you taught the children about the lifecycles of insects, utilising the chalkboard and the book Maude had found you at the library. And even though the cuffs of your blouse were rubbing against your hidden wrists and irritating the skin there, you tried hard to focus on the lesson and be present, to adopt the calm, nurturing persona that the children knew you by. It wouldn't be fair to them if you cracked now, if you showed them a chink in the amour, not when they trusted you and loved you as their caretaker and teacher. This job gave you a purpose and sense of stability and you were adamant not to let Joel ruin that for you now.

When it was time for lunch and the school bell rang in the corridor, the children all scrambled out of the classroom to go eat their lunches and play outside. As soon as you were alone in the room you let out a heavy sigh of relief, grateful for the opportunity to unmask.

You tried to sit down in the chair at your desk, gingerly positioning yourself on the edge, half off the seat. You hissed at the dull pain thrumming in the meat of your ass and gripped onto the desk for support. Fuck, you wouldn't be surprised if you were bleeding right now.

You hesitantly leaned forward to rest your elbows on the desk, then cradled your head in your hands. You sighed again and let the muscles in your body sag a little.

You were unable to fully relax as your mind began to project flashbacks of last night; images of Joel's face, the sensations of his body, the sounds of the whip cracking your flash, of his hips smacking against yours, all burned into your memory.

The depth of pain you felt, both physically and emotionally, was unprecedented in your relationship with Joel. Yes, he had always been rough, at times uncaring of your comfort, but the hurt he had inflicted upon you last night was the first time he had ever genuinely frightened you.

You were well aware that he could be ruthless, that he was capable of great cruelty - you'd heard the rumours of his past as an infamous raider. And although Joel never talked about his past you quickly surmised that he had committed some acts of unspeakable violence.

You had heard the snippets of gossip about his barbaric pragmatism as a patrolman, too. The ways he would execute raiders and kill infected without a sliver of hesitation, the sniper like precision of his marksmanship, his ability to kill someone with his bare hands.

His violent reputation was justified and had earned him the respect (and even a bit of fear) of every person in Jackson, including yours. Perhaps the foreboding mystique surrounding Joel added to the allure you felt for him. Maybe you were even drawn to the sense of danger he exuded.

But despite this attraction, you couldn't ever have imagined him directing an ounce of rage or hostility towards you. You had never witnessed the extent of his dark side first hand. Not until you were confronted with his icy glare in your bedroom and the subsequent punishment of his belt. The depraved rage you saw in his eyes last night was now seared into your very core. Your splintered heart was wounded and fearful.

Joel had never been overtly considerate or encouraging of your emotions. He never really asked you what you were feeling or what you wanted (unless he was fucking you in that moment). Early on in the relationship, or whatever it was that you and Joel shared, you had accepted that he was not as expressive or emotionally open as you wished. But you understood it was just who he was, either through natural temperament or from the years of struggle and survival in this world, or both.

There were times when Joel had been tender and affectionate, though, especially in the beginning. Sacred moments that you both dare not openly acknowledge. Like in the middle of the night when you were both snuggled under the sheets and he would pull you close to his chest, wrap you in his strong arms, and kiss the top of your head. The blissful pockets of physical affection were enough to placate you for a while, until your heart could no longer repress it's hunger for more. The yearning for unconditional love, a family of your own, someone to share your life with.

You didn't know if he ever loved you or truly cared about you. But if he had not, why was he so possessive?

You had discovered the jealous streak of his personality quite quickly. The subtle displays of displeasure - the flare of his nostrils, the hard set of his jaw, the flash of anger in his eyes, whenever a man even looked your way. You used to find it sort of endearing. It made you feel wanted.

In a public setting no one would guess that Joel would be stealthily watching you and taking note of who you were interacting with and your body language. No one seemed to realise that Joel was an expert at appearing nonchalant while observing and absorbing every thing in his surrounding environment, constantly vigilant. Protecting what was his.

If he saw a man, regardless of age, had struck up conversation with you at the Tipsy Bison or the cafeteria, Joel would be sure to chastise you later on. It didn't matter that you weren't interested in anyone but him. It didn't matter that you only politely responded in a way that indicated you weren't interested. That wasn't enough for Joel.

As you became more attached to Joel and more expressive with your affection, it seemed Joel became more aggressive with your body. What started as light dirty talk during sex progressed into an exercise of control and sacrifice, with Joel fucking you mercilessly and covering your body with hickies and bruises with an almost obsessive need to stake his claim.

He hated anyone being too close to you. He would have preferred you to be completely isolated from everyone else, focused only on tending to he and Ellie. He dislikes your dedication to your duties and your preoccupation with your friends, who he disapproved of. Joel criticised them for being too loud or opinionated, accusing them of being too promiscuous. You knew he genuinely considered a couple of them to be bad influences just because they talked about sex and dating.

But how could Joel be so jealous when he didn't want to make your relationship official? Was it just sex to him? Why did he want to control you so much yet refuse to publicly assert his ownership? His greed only reinforced the validity of that tiny niggling belief that had been buried inside your heart since the day you lost your family. The notion that you would always be alone. That you did not deserve to be happy. That you were worthless.

And what was worse....you still loved Joel. Despite the agony he had inflicted, you still fucking wanted him.

Maybe you were just fucking broken. Irretrievably broken.

The flurry of thoughts and questions circulating in your mind was making you feel dizzy. You groaned and dug your palms into your eye sockets. You willed yourself not to start crying again.

Fuck fuck fuck I feel like I'm going crazy.

Then a knock at the wooden classroom door suddenly shattered your thoughts. Your head snapped up, startled to find Oscar standing at the door. He was wearing jeans and a slightly tattered dark blue sweater, a hand clutching the strap of a satchel slung over one shoulder. His eyes peered at you behind his round spectacles with a curious concern, his thick eyebrows knitted together.

"Hey," he cooed. "Mind if I come in?"

"Hi," you nodded and cleared your throat. "Yes, ofcourse."

You winced slightly at the croakiness of your voice and hoped Oscar didn't notice how fragile you sounded. You looked away and smoothed your hands over your blouse before sitting up straighter in an attempt to appear more composed. Oscar approached your desk with cautious slow steps, one leg limping slightly, the soles of his boots thudding across the floor.

You braced your hands on the desk and rose up from your chair, your lips pursed with anticipation of the painful sting of your flesh. You saw him open his mouth but you spoke before he could.

"Why are you here? How can I help you?"

"Well," Oscar came to stand at the desk but stayed a few steps away from you, a clear attempt to respect your space. He swung his satchel off of his shoulder and plonked it ontop of your desk. "I found something for you, actually."

You looked at him with an eyebrow raised quizzically. He looked back and grinned, his brown eyes shining with warmth. Your eyes flickered down to the bag as Oscar flipped open the satchel and reached in. From it's confines he retrieved a hard cover book. You instantly recognised the tiny pictures of different insects decorating the spine of the book, and your mouth fell open in surprise.

"Oscar, is that--"

"Kids Bug Science Volume III," Oscar announced proudly with a chuckle, holding up the book with both hands for you to see the cover. It was the next installment of the insect series you had been using to teach with, a resource you hadn't thought you'd ever be lucky enough to find.

"Oh my gosh, no way!" You laughed, a hand shooting up to cover the large smile you were unable to hold back. Your eyes looked from the book to Oscar in wonderment. "Where did you find it?"

"Well, I was rummaging around the storeroom crawl space, trying to fix a wire, and I found a bunch of books up there." Oscar held the book out for you to take. "This was one of 'em."

You accepted the book and held it in your hands, your thumbs tracing over the cover. "I can't believe it,' you whispered.

"I'm sorry I couldn't wait until your next shift at the library," Oscar said, sounding slightly sheepish. "Got excited when I saw it and wanted to give it to you straight away."

You looked up from the book and met his gaze. There was a gentle expression in his beautiful brown eyes now, a mix of shy affection and sadness.

"Thank you," you said softly as you clutched the book to your chest. "Really. I appreciate this so much."

Oscar nodded once and looked down before adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"You're welcome." He collected his satchel and hitched it back over his shoulder. "I know it means alot to you. And for the kids."

You put the book down on your desk and chewed your bottom lip, unsure what to say next. You were worried that he could somehow detect what had happened with Joel, like there was some visible sign on your face that announced how much of a slut you were, how Joel made you cum so hard after abusing you, how disgusting you were to still have feelings for a man who degraded you. Your cheeks blushed involuntarily.

Suddenly the thought of Joel somehow seeing you right now, alone with Oscar in your classroom, pierced through your mind and filled your stomach with dread. You tried to swallow but your throat felt so dry. Oscar noticed the change in your expression and leaned in closer towards you immediately.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked, his tone soft but serious.

"Yeah, I'm okay," you replied in a small voice, avoiding his gaze. "I'm just a bit tired."

"You can tell me anything, like if something's bothering you," he said quietly. "Only if you want to, ofcourse. I'm here, if you would like to talk."

Oscar placed a tentative hand on your shoulder. The unexpected contact made you stiffen a little and your face turned up to look at him. He was looking down at you, his hooded brown eyes studying your face, both his orbs shifting between yours, as if searching for something. The tender concern in his expression made you feel like lunging into his arms to feel him hold you and comfort you.

"Okay," you whispered. "Thank you, Oscar."

You remained staring at one another with Oscar's warm hand on your shoulder, the silence between you feeling increasingly intimate as each second passed. You were sure Oscar felt it too; it was evident in the way his eyes bored into yours, how his mouth opened slightly and his tongue darted over his bottom lip.

Without warning a loud knock at the classroom door came crashing through the private bubble surrounding you and Oscar, making you both step back from one another with instinctive haste. It was one of your students, a little boy, who suddenly began to ramble loudly about one of the soccer balls deflating again.

"Whoa, slow down little man. I'll be there in a minute with the pump," you replied.

He nodded enthusiastically and then ran back outside to the yard. You and Oscar glanced back at each other and breathed a small laugh together, the tension relieved between you.

"I better go," he ran a hand through his curly black hair. "Sorry for interrupting your day."

"Why are you saying sorry?" You turned your body to face him and smiled. "Thank you. For thinking of me and coming by and to give me the book. It'll be so useful in my next few lessons."

Oscar returned your smile. "Anytime. Well then...I guess I'll see you at the library sometime?"

His thick eyebrows raised and there was a slight inquisitive lilt to his voice, as if he was wanting confirmation that he would actually see you again.

"Yeah, ofcourse. My next shift is in two days," you replied, reaching up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

He turned on his heel and you watched him walk back to the door, his limp slightly more prominent now because he stood taller, his posture more straight, prouder. When he disappeared through the threshold you looked down at the book and traced the cover with your fingertips. Although you had only spent a short time with Oscar, you had never known a man to be so considerate, so caring.

"Great," Oscar said, his eyes roaming over your face and hair for a brief moment, his own features unreadable to you. "I'll see ya then."

It was new. And it felt good.

It was only when he was gone that you realised you could still smell the faint cinnamon scent around you, the smell that you would eventually come to associate with Oscar.

After finishing at the school that afternoon you walked across the townships to visit Maude at her cottage. You sunk into the cushion of an armchair in her loungeroom while her housemate, another elderly lady, served you cups of tea. You spent an hour listening to them detail Maude's sickness and the type of medicine the doctor prescribed her, how her housemate tended to her day and night, and how caring Tommy and Maria had been. It was close to dinner time when you said goodbye and left to go home.

You tucked the science book into the crook of your arm as you strolled through the back streets toward your cottage, consciously avoiding the busier sections of the streets in order to reach home quicker.

You weren't in the mood to eat dinner in the mess hall this evening. You did not feel energetic enough to socialise with anyone or to continue masking the force of emotions plaguing your insides. You had no appetite, anyway. The girls would probably wonder where you were but that didn't matter. They knew you were more introverted, more content with retreating into your own world than socialising unnecessarily, especially at meal times.

You could visualise yourself curled up in bed under the comforting weight of your blanket with a favourite book in your hand. It was exactly what you needed.

When you arrived at your home you were surprised to see Ellie sitting on your porch, her legs crossed. She was tossing a pocketknife into the air and catching it in one hand with practiced ease. You always secretly enjoyed seeing her relaxed like this, so carefree and youthful. When her face was pulled into her large, charming smile and her eyes sparkled mischievously.

"Hey," you greeted her, trying your best to sound upbeat as you trudged up to the porch. "What're you doing on my property, kiddo?"

Her heart flooded with great affection for Ellie when you were reminded of just how soft she was inside. She could always make you laugh with some silly joke or her vulgar humour. You were always pleased to see her, except today was different. She reminded you too much of Joel.

"Hey!" Ellie grinned at you. She scrambled to stand up and jammed the knife back in her jeans pocket. "Wanted to know if you wanna get dinner together. I needa pick your brain about some comic ideas I got going on."

You pinched your eyes shut and sighed.

"Oh El," you murmured quietly. "I'm not really up for hanging out tonight, I'm sorry."

You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat immediately after the words left your mouth. You should've known this was coming. The inevitable first time you would disappoint Ellie because you couldn't face being reminded of Joel.

"Oh," Ellie mumbled. "You okay? You look kinda pale."

You looked at her and mustered a weak smile.

"Yeah, I'm just super tired. Busy day at school."

Ellie puffed her cheeks and exhaled a breath of air then looked down. Her disappointment was evident.

Seeing Ellie look so dejected made you feel even worse. You knew she had struggled for so long - struggled to fit into the community, to adjust to life outside the QZ, to grow into a young woman without the guidance of a mother. You understood that she craved connection and acceptance more than she would ever willingly admit. Ellie had come to trust you and respect you enough to let her vulnerability occasionally peek through. You couldn't let her down like this, not when she wanted to share something or part of herself with you.

"'Kay," she kicked at some sawdust on your porch. "Maybe next time, I guess."

You sighed and reached out to grab her hand. Her eyes shifted up to meet yours.

"El," you squeezed her small hand gently. "I'd love to. Just let me put this book inside first."

Ellie's face instantly lit up.

"Cool." She glanced at the science book you were holding and scrunched her nose. "The fuck is bug science?"

******

As you walked side by side through the mess hall doors, you were attentively listening to Ellie describe the new character she had created for the comic book she was working on. It was only after collecting a meal tray from the serving counter that you noticed the group of rangers already seated across the hall.

Their loud conversation, which was occasionally punctuated with booming laughter, compelled you and Ellie to turn and look in their direction.

"Geez, who the fuck is being so loud?" She muttered in annoyance.

You spotted the five men sitting at a round table near the back of the hall, their broad shoulders and thick arms occupying the space with You recognised them as being the senior patrolmen of Jackson, including Troy, Tommy and Joel.

Joel.

When your eyes found Joel you saw he was already watching you and Ellie, chewing the inside of his cheek, the expression in his eyes unreadable. He was the only one of them not talking or joking as he absentmindedly poked at his food with a fork.

"Ugh, nevermind, it's just Joel and his girlfriends." Ellie said with a roll of her eyes. She jerked her head towards a free table nearby. "Come on, let's sit."

Your pulse began to race and your cheeks flushed. You gripped your fingers around the dinner tray tightly and quickly lowered your gaze in submissive humility, the depressing mixture of shame and fear once again engulfing you whole. You wanted so badly to run away and hide. But you knew you couldn't. You felt frozen, like a deer in the headlights. You shouldn't have given into Ellie so easily, you should've just run inside the house and--

When you didn't move, Ellie bumped your hip with hers playfully. "Hey, hurry up, before someone steals our table."

You suppressed the panic induced bile rising in your throat and followed Ellie to a table, the cutlery on your tray clanking from the jittery shaking of your hands.

••••••

Goddamn, you look pretty today.

Joel watched you take a seat at one of the tables with careful deliberation. You were positioned sideways from his line of vision, your face obscured by a section of hair that had fallen loose from the purple ribbon you had tied around it. He could see how your body tensed up, your back stiff, as if bracing for pain.

A sense of pride then bloomed in his chest and he wished he could see your face clearly. The memory of you positioned on your knees below him, your wrists bound, your whipped ass jiggling as he assaulted you, flashed through his mind. It made Joel's cock twitch in his jeans.

Well, you must be in pain, after what he did to you last night.

Fuck, he wanted to have you again, right now.

Troy leaned forward into the table and clicked his fingers quickly to get the attention of the other men. Joel and the others looked at Troy.

"Hey," he hissed, "see that pretty little mouse with Joel's daughter, over there?"

Troy nodded his head toward where you sat with Ellie. The other rangers, including Joel, shifted their gaze over to you. You toyed with your fork, your head nodding at something Ellie was saying. You were totally oblivious to their stares.

"Estrada was eatin' with her the other day." Troy murmured slyly. "Ya think he might be screwin' her?"

Always so innocent.

The lewd question caught Joel off guard, making his breath catch in his throat. Hearing someone talk about you in such a crude way provoked a boiling rage to course through his veins. He clenched his jaw and flexed his fist under the table discreetly. He was ready to punch Troy in his stupid fucking face.

A few of them sniggered before they all turned their attention back to their trays of food.

"Estrada?" One of the patrolmen, Harry, scoffed. "I thought he was gay."

"He ain't gay," Tommy interjected, rolling his eyes. "Fuck sake, man."

"Since when does Estrada get pussy like that?" Harry grumbled.

Joel listened closely to what was being said while stabbing his food with his fork, feigning disinterest. The muscle in his jaw ticked. Tommy glanced at him.

"Since he stopped workin' patrol, I guess. He must have more time to waste chasin' tail now," another of them guffawed.

"Hey now, enough of that talk," Tommy ordered firmly. "They just work together, is all. So give it a rest."

Troy held up his hands in front of him in a pose of surrender. "Alright, alright, el capitan, just shootin' the shit is all."

Joel couldn't take it anymore. He dropped his fork down onto the tray with a clang, then pushed his chair away from the table and stood up unceremoniously.

"Hey, where you--" Tommy began.

He stalked out of the mess hall without another word, shoving the door open and stepping out into the starry night. Joel shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and trudged down the street away from the mess hall. His senses felt heightened, as if he were close to imploding, as the fury seethed throughout his body.

"Finished," Joel grunted.

He fucking hated anyone talking about you like they did. Like you were some piece of meat. Like you could ever belong to anyone but him. It pissed Joel off so much that he had to leave; he couldn't trust himself not to beat the shit out of Troy or Harry or any of the others. Tommy would kill him. Joel stormed on towards his house with his chest heaving from impotent rage.

Fuck what anyone else thought. You were his. He knew it, and you knew it. He had made sure of that. That's all that mattered.

And he was giving you time to come back to him on your own accord, to get over this little phase of insolence. You would learn your lesson and realise where your rightful place was. You would come crawling back to him - willingly.

Wouldn't you?

You couldn't just leave. No fucking way.

Yes. Ofcourse. You needed him. Just as you needed Ellie and she needed you.

He was almost home when Joel became aware that his heart was pounding and his breathing was becoming more rapid. His throat felt dry and his chest felt constricted. He managed to make it to his house in time to lurch against his front door and let his weight stabilise against it. His eyes screwed shut and he pressed his forehead against the wood. He inhaled a deep breath, then exhaled, then repeated the step, all the while waiting for the panic to dissipate. He was grateful for the dark of the night, the privacy it allowed.

After a few minutes Joel was able to regulate his breathing and calm down. The tightness in his chest loosened. He calmly unlocked the door and ambled inside the living room. He had already decided he was getting drunk tonight. And he would be paying you another visit.

taglist - @sofiparallel @harriedandharassed

#joel miller #joel miller dark #the last of us #joel miller dark fic #dark!joelmiller #joel miller x reader #oscar isaac

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