#WORTH IT BUT JESUS CHRIST I WAS LOSING IT A BIT | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sugar-omi · 1 year ago

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I THINK I FINALLY GOT IT TO WORK.... jfc anywayz this is nasty n i love it. so fellow monster freaks, this is for you my loves!!!! <333

DAY FOUR — MONSTER FUCKING

*kinktober masterlist | *ao3

tags : NSFW, fem/afab reader, dub-con just bc y'all are so outta it, (mentioned/implied) dom/sub space, mermaid!cove x human!reader, soft to mean dom cove, biting, scratching, stomach bulging, knotting ment, ignore the kinda scary mer pregnancy bit okay

synopsis : cove finally lets you spend his heat with him, and your mermaid boyfriend is so much different than you had thought...

maybe you should have listened to cove when he said humans couldn't handle a mermaids heat. at least not without fighting for their life.

mermaids are naturally rough during their heats, biting and fighting for dominance over the other.. not to mention the sheer size of them.

cove is bigger than the average merman, "standing" at 12 feet tall.

which is something you should have factored in along with the sharp teeth and claws. because now, you're in a isolated underwater cove, with a horny, giant mermaid who is currently rearranging your guts.

"cove-!" you cry, pushing against his chest. it's fruitless, and you're just asking for more assertiveness, more pain

"stay still." cove growls, his sharp eyes striking through you, urging you to stay still and take it. you whine, your eyes rolling back. you know cove is trying to be gentle, but his mind is clouded.

"i-i can't take more!" you whimper. even though he's proportional for a merman of his size, it's too much for you. you couldn't possibly take all of his dick. "it won't fit-" you drawl, the words straining through gritted teeth.

cove kisses your cheek, licking your tears. "it's okay, it's okay..." he comforts, panting from the effort to control himself. "you can take it... i've prepared you for this.."

you whine when he moves again, the prominent ridges on the underside of his dick stretching you open.

he really did try to prepare you, gifting you a toy roughly the size of his dick and some smaller ones to work up to his size. cove even ate you out beforehand, his fingers slowly stretching you open and making sure you would come out as unscathed as possible.

cove kisses you, swallowing your whines and moans and trading it for his long tapered tongue.

you kiss back, letting cove consume your senses and take away all your burdens.

bitten, bruised, and sore, it's so worth it. to be connected with cove on this level.. it's maddening.

"are.. you okay?" cove pants into your ear, his fingers flexing around your waist as he tries to keep restraint.

you swallow, drool pooling in your mouth. "yes, yes, please move…"

cove fixes his grip on your body to move you the way he wants, his hands are so big they easily wrap around your waist and the heat coming from cove makes you feel like you're burning…

"ah-!" you drape yourself over cove. wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. he's moving your body so easily..

you know you're much smaller than cove, so his strength shouldn't be a surprise. but the way he's moving your body up and down on his cock like you're his personal cock sleeve drives you crazy.

"covee~" you drawl, your eyes rolling back. fuck you're losing your mind.

every part of your body and mind is consumed with pleasure, any thoughts you have melt and reform to think about nothing but cove and his dick.

cove's nails dig into your skin, pearls of blood coming to the surface and washing away with the movements of your hips.

the scratches should hurt, cove's claws aren't for decoration afterall, but it seems that medicine cove gave you helps with the pain you are sure to endure during his heat.

cove groans, "fuck.. you're so tight…"

you pang, blinking away your fucked out haze. "you're… you're just too- ohh fuck- too big!"

cove's laugh is cut off by your twitching cunt tightening around him, "jesus christ, y/n… stop tightening up.." cove growls.

you whine, dragging your nails down cove's scaled shoulders. "i'm-i'm trying.." you whine, "it feels so good."

cove drags his teeth over the exposed column of your throat. his lips trail down to your shoulder, and with much care that most mermaids wouldn't afford, he bites down hard enough to leave evidence of his teeth, and he runs his tongue over it soothingly.

you huff, squirming in cove's hold. "please, please cove! faster!"

cove peeks at you, stopping his assault on your neck and collarbone. "...can you handle it?"

you huff irritably, rolling your eyes. "i'm taking your dick right now aren't i? i'm not going to break."

cove glares, "it took you a week to get up to the toy that was only 2nd to my true size, you shook and cried that you couldn't take it."

his voice is booming, and maybe it should scare you, but something about cove reminding you how you pathetically ran to him to help you with the toy… it turns you on.

"you've trained your pathetic human cunt to take my dick and you still cried that it wouldn't fit." cove stares down at you, his height and gaze making you still and a fire is burning in your stomach.

"if i give you more than you can take, you'll break. aren't you worried about me hurting you?" cove inquires and his gaze is a mix of intrigue and confusion at your eager negative shake of your head.

"as if, you can't hurt a fly." you're testing him, he's already holding back for you and yet you can't help but want to push him over the edge…

cove growls, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest and his gills flare.

he doesn't say anything else, you've said enough after all and if it's more you want, it's more you get.

cove hugs you, one arm around your back and the other under your butt, and uses the power of his lower body to thrust up into you.

you yell, your nails scratching down his scales and to his back, surely scratching off skin if cove's hiss is anything to go by.

with the change of pace, the last couple inches of cove's dick forces itself into you. you can't even catch your breath since with every rearing of his hips, the knot at the base of his dick pop in-and-out of you.

"cove!" you slap his shoulder, shaking at the stimulation.

cove nips at your shoulder and chest, leaving small marks where he pleases. "you wanted more. don't blame me if you end up becoming my pathetic cock sleeve."

you whine, drool slipping past the corner of your lips.

he's really fucking you dumb, leaving you no choice but to think about nothing but his dick.

his fat tip keeps bumping against your cervix, hitting that lovely spot between your womb and your gummy walls.

"ah! ohh fuck!" you cry, cove has taken your nipple in his mouth, swirling his long tongue around the bud and teasing it with his teeth, your other breast in his hands, rolling the bud between his fingers.

you whimper and moan, shaking your hips in return. the sensation is so good, especially since he's keeping you from running with his arm around your waist, forcing you to take the pleasure he's giving you.

as if you would want to run anyway. you've become way too addicted to this now.

sure you and cove have been intimate before, but this is the most you've ever taken of his ridiculously large mer dick and this is the roughest he's ever been with you.

usually he’s the one holding your hips to keep you from sinking any further on his length. but now he's fucking you with reckless abandon, giving into your pleas after all this time…

it doesn't take much to succumb to the pleasure that you've been craving this whole time.

“cove!” you cry, your legs shaking.”i’m gonna, i’m gonna make a mess!”

cove growls, picking up pace, purposefully angling his tip to slam against your g-spot.

a couple solid thrusts is all it takes to have you shaking, your legs wrapped around cove as you squirt.

you're seeing white, your legs shaking and toes curling. you can barely process the groan that comes deep from cove's throat because of your convulsing cunt, you're wrapped so tightly around him that his cock drags against your walls when he tries to pull back.

you whine and shake, feeling sensitive after such an intention orgasm.

"cove…" you weakly call, pulling yourself up by his shoulders to try and get off his dick, that spongy spot inside your walls too tender from the abuse.

"don't pull away from me.." cove grunts, wrapping his arms around your waist tighter.

you pant, blinking and trying to keep consciousness.

you barely register that you're slipping into sub space, you've completely surrendered yourself to cove and obediently swallow the pearls he presses to your lips.

"mm, what.. what was that?" you ask, swallowing several times at the after taste. you know one of them was for breathing underwater, but you've never seen the other before..

"it's a contraceptive."

in this position you feel really small to cove, his body leaning over yours, completely trapping you between him and his nest.

combine that with his feral grin and sharp eyes… you're stuck and absolutely hypnotized.

"merfolk are very fertile, remember?" cove leans down to whisper in your ear. his voice deep and it penetrates your soul.

"we have a lot left to do before i impregnate you with my seed."

you shiver, looking at him with wide eyes. the thought doesn't terrify you, although maybe it should with what you know…

most humans don't survive it. and that's typically because they're not mated… something about DNA and special pheromones to relax and aid you in pregnancy and birth.

cove kisses your cheek, grinding his the tip of his dick near your womb. "don't worry… i know hoe to make it easier, don't be scared."

you nod mindlessly, trusting him.

"fuck!" you curse, the power of cove's thrust nearly burying you in his nest.

you cling onto his shoulders for dear life, your leg kicking out, allowing him to go even deeper.

"cove!"

"shhh, it's okay. just a bit more.." cove soothes, "i'm gonna cum soon…"

he groans, removing himself from your thoroughly marred neck to hold your legs and spreading them open, allowing him to piston into your weeping cunt.

you howl, throwing your head back and fisting the organized mess of blankets and materials of cove's nest, arching your back.

the movement just forces his dick deeper inside you, making you whine loudly.

you flip over, although not without much shaking, whimpering, and cove's nails digging into your skin.

although now that you've made it onto your stomach, weakly trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure, cove tugs your hips back and easily manhandled you.

he presses you against his chest with his hand, the other on your stomach, which he brings something interesting to your attention…

"fuck.. you see that?"

it takes you a minute to respond, too long because cove grabs you by your chin and tilts your head down, and shows you your stomach.

you moan lowly at the sight.

with every deep thrust you can see cove's dick protrude from your stomach, popping up right below your belly button.

cove lifts your head back up, his hand under your jaw, and he can't help but laugh at the tears running down your face.

"look at you, you've become a brainless slut."

you moan at cove's degrading comment. fuck you didn't think he had it in you but he does and you are losing it.

"maybe i'll keep you to myself forever. merfolk already have a bad reputation because of sirens.." cove growls in your ear, "wanna be my cute lil' cock sleeve, y/n?"

all you can do is beg and squirm for more.

"please.." you whimper, feeling cove's knot catching on your entrance. you want to be filled, you need him to cum inside..

cove laughs at your plea and kisses your lips, grinning a sharp toothed, wolfish smirk. "good girl, i'll take care of you…"

#sugar omi kinktober #sugar-omi kinktober #kinktober #olba #our life: beginnings & always #cove holden #cove holden x reader #smut #cove holden smut #our life cove #cove holden x mc #cove holden x reader smut #our life smut

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atalana · 2 months ago

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so i finally got the chance to read the book of bill! and man those journal 3 pages, i could write a million essays on those, but the principle one that i can't get out my head is the new insight on ford's whole fucked up paradigm of what love is

like, neither of the stan twins really know how to experience unconditional love, because they never really had it. their dad was constantly comparing the two of them and really just stamping down stanley's self worth at any given moment. and even for ford who was praised, he's not an idiot, he saw how stan got treated all the time, and their dad was very explicit as to why. ford's praise and attention hinged on him being the family genius who could make them all a lot of money, and he knew very well if he failed to live up to that, he would also lose his father's love

and you see this in stan in his desperate need for everyone to like him, but also how he doesn't really believe anyone ever truly could love him, so whenever he gets the chance with anyone he clings onto that relationship as tight as he can, terrified it's going to disappear at any second

ford, meanwhile. the more direct threat to him was the bullies and the people that made him feel lesser for being abnormal. and no kid likes feeling like that, we know it's a spike buried deep in his psyche, which gave him a reason for the dichotomy he ends up forming.

when he was a kid, people tended to fall into two categories - those who were really impressed with him and his potential, and those who saw him as a freak and wanted to drag him down for it. the love he got and the hate he got are directly related to both.

and as a result ford is constantly looking for people who will give him intellectual gratification (what he thinks love is), and he categorises everyone else as "unimportant obstacles in my way" (because that's how he thinks about those bullies, so their words won't hurt anymore)

stanley was the first category, until he sharply became the second

and splitting the world into those two categories makes him an absolutely horrible person! like, one hand yeah, you do have sympathy for ford bc that is straight up torture bill put him through and no one should have to experience it (and i do wanna make clear this is not a ford hate post, he does have good qualities im just interested in the bad rn)

on the other hand though, god, i'm always struck by just how hateful he is towards so many unimportant things (just one of many examples, christmas songs are fake and stupid bc rudolph didn't burn santa's workshop to the ground as revenge for ostracizing him like jesus christ dude)

or the bit where he sees one of stan's shitty product ads and considers calling him and pretending to be a cop just to scare him, because in ford's mind that's a punishment he deserves for daring to look so stupid while sharing ford's face

and it just drills in how much ford is not willing to see stan's side of this in any way, because what do you think would happen if you went through with that plan? don't you know stan's already scared enough? you saw him get kicked out, you saw the ultimatum that came with it, and hell thanks to the book of bill we know you were also scared to go home until you had something to show for it. he's trying his best, and you understood that once. but then stan throws your journal back in your face and you yell that you're giving him the chance to do the first worthwhile thing in his life.

everything he did to try and make something of himself, to try and prove himself worthy of literally any love at all, you didn't care about that. now he's in a position to help you, so of course he should just drop everything and obey your orders to the letter without question. that's the only way to redeem himself for getting in your way, why won't he take it?

by the time bill shows up ford felt fully justified in going "this isn't about me, and therefore it's stupid and unimportant and should be destroyed". and i know exactly why, it's because again you think intellectual gratification and love are the same thing and you're running low on both right now so you're trying to make up the difference by affirming how right you are in your goddamn diary, but right does not make you good or kind or wise

and that makes it kind of a self fulfilling prophecy, because loving you is hard, and the one person genuinely willing to do so unconditionally you're keeping at a very aggressive arms length. but you fall for bill so easily, because he understands how important you are, which must be love, and all of these other people worried about you just aren't smart enough to get it

and not even realising bill's lies could cure him of that one. hell, 30 years spent dimension hopping didn't cure it. when ford gets back he is still just as self righteous, and still willing to categorise dipper as "will give me intellectual gratification" and the rest of them as intrinsically less valuable

which is why dipper can't take the deal ford offered him. if he had, he would have turned out exactly like ford, stuck in his own echo chamber unable to tell the difference between love and praise

mabel says at one point in the comics that the reason the two grunkles are bad at looking after kids is because they still are kids, and that's a really accurate insight. that old wound cut so deep neither of them had the chance to actually move past their childhood, and discover what it was they were missing

stan never stopped wanting his brother back, but ford didn't realise that was what he needed too, until he saw mabel and dipper working as a team against bill. he's acknowledged his mistake in trusting bill before now, but "we used to be like that" is his first time acknowledging that his whole approach to people is wrong.

you've always had one source of unconditional love. you didn't need to be better than him to be worthy of it. and now you've got an entire new family, hopefully you'll realise that can come from multiple fronts

(and it's okay stan shall have his revenge for how you treated him by commiting just. so much tax fraud in your name)

#i am the tiredsleepy so i apologise if this is rambly but i have Thoughts #gravity falls #stanford pines #ford pines #stanley pines #stan pines #bill cipher #the book of bill

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judasgot-it · 11 months ago

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i would like to request what hunting dogs would do when their s/o has insomnia, a lot of hugs and kisses please🥰

Sorry for the inactivity, I apologize everytime and I feel horrible about it :,(

I have horrible insomnia right now (I can't sleep well no matter what I try, it's hopeless) so I'm 100% using this to cope a bit. Also sorry about how messy reader is in Tecchou's part, I just love messy crying. I'm so weak for it.

Scenario: They help you fall asleep (Jouno, Tecchou)

Jouno

893 words

Jouno couldn't tell the time.

Whatever time it was, his body didn't care - it was screaming at him to go back to bed, making his bones feel sluggish with their weight.

Unfortunately, his ears kept pestering him, since no matter how quiet you tried to be, he could still hear you in the kitchen. Doing what? Jesus Christ, who knew.

Whatever it was, it was too damn loud.

It felt nearly impossible for Jouno to make his body move, but by some feat, he managed. He found his feet both on the ground, walking towards the bedroom, out the too-long hallway, and into the kitchen to see what in god's name you could think was worth losing sleep over.

By his guess, it was most probably around 2 in the morning. How horrible.

"Hi."

There was a loud clatter as he heard you drop the dishes in the sneak rather unquietly. Also, you screamed, but that was to be expected.

"Oh my god!"

Is there a God at this forsaken time of night?

Jouno sighed as he leaned against the wall, rubbing his eyes out of habit.

"Yeah. I'm right here."

He gave you a moment to collect yourself, your heartbeat still skyrocketing through the roof. He yawned, nearly deafened by the sound of his jaw pulling at his muscles.

"So."

As patient as he could, he waited. There was noise on your end - a clattering of dishes, and he was sure you threw a towel somewhere, but that was of lesser importance.

"So. Jouno."

"Yeah?"

You patted your bare thighs, popping your lips together. Nervous.

"Why are you up?"

You tried to play your words off with a giggle. He knew he probably looked the least bit pleased, but nothing was going to convince him to go easy on you right now.

"Y/n. You know why I'm up. I'm the one asking the questions here, if I recall."

"Oh, right. Because you're 'the greatest hunting dog' and all, right?"

Jouno sighed, covering his eyes. He took a deep breath in, holding it in. It was calming, feeling his lungs slowly fill with air. His head cleared, helping him realize that the headache he had was I'm part due to the tension he was keeping in his body. In that time, he heard your heart beat skyrocket, your breath slowing as you stared.

He tried not to smile as he let go of his breath slowly. If Jouno wasn't exhausted he would have teased you about it.

"'Don't do this to me. It's 2 in the morning, go to bed."

Your laughter was a nice noise to hear. Just not now. God, not now. His body was dragging him to the ground and your laughter was reminding him that he was standing, awake - as if he were in hell.

Your laughter shouldn't be in a place as torturous as this. Like the hell between staying awake and crawling back to bed, because someone thought baking at two in rhe morning was a good idea.

"Sorry princess, but I need to put these brownies in the fridge. I'm trying out this recipe I saw online and I think-"

You didn't get to finish that sentence, as you were instead kidnapped in Jouno's arms. The man didn't care to hear the end of it - he only wanted it to end.

"No." He sighed, pressing his cold nose against your neck. "You're insane, honestly."

He muffled his words into your shirt collar, still restraining you as you struggled against his hold. There was no point, as no matter what way you fought, you couldn't fight against a super-enhanced human - even a tired one.

"This is so ..."

You paused for a bit, looking for the right words. Your brain was tired, although it hadn't registered to you just yet. Your heart still beat fast enough for you to convince yourself that you were awake, even if your eyes and mind were exhausted.

"So ...fun police of you."

The words that came out of your mouth came out sloppy at best, but they got a lame chuckle out of Jouno.

With care, he took you back to the bedroom - dropping you onto the bed like a pile of unfolded laundry. You practically laid there as if you were dead anyway.

"I have no problem arresting and cuffing you to bed if it means sleep is involved."

You giggled, as much as your tired brain could push from your throat. The bed shifted as Jouno dropped himself on the mattress, pulling up the still warm blanket over the two of you.

"What if that meant something else was involved too?"

Jouno groaned, turning back towards you. He could imagine the stupid smile on your face right now.

"Y/n."

"Yeah?"

Jouno took his hand and slowly, carefully, dragged it across your face. He felt as your eyebrows pinched in confusion, and your eyelids fluttered before he finally set his fingertips on your lips.

"Shush."

He felt you nod against his hand, before finally relaxing. Tiredly, he pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair as he slowly pressed his lips against your forehead.

"Goodnight, sleepyhead."

Jouno felt a smile pull on his face at those words. Like an idiot, he let you roam your hands around his body - when really he should have smothered you to death.

Tecchou

739 words

Waking up before you were supposed to was like a coin toss - depending on the mood it's either a great early start, or the worst feeling in the world. Sometimes the body had gotten it's full rest, or it was forced awake by something talked about in horror stories.

Tecchou decided he was indeed not well rested, and that waking up at what could well be 2 in the morning was equivalent to a horror story. Why would he want to wake up to one of the worst sounds a man could hear - his own partner, crying?

Maybe if he was Jouno, but he didn't want to think about that.

He sat up, listening as he tried to decipher what you were doing.

You were rather quiet, trying your hardest to hide your cries behind your blanket (gross, but he appreciated the effort). Opening his eyes, he glanced over to see that you were enraptured by some sort of video on your phone, the blue light illuminating your face (and probably burning your retinas, from Tecchou's guess).

He shuffled closer, trying to peak at the screen while not disturbing you. Whatever you were staring at on your phone had distracted you well enough to not even notice his presence, was slightly concerning to Tecchou - you were very spatially aware.

Shaking your shoulder, he winced when you screamed - right in his ear, with snot blowing right across his face. He elected to not react to it, considering how red your eyes looked.

"Tecchou!"

"Yea. I'm here." He replied while casually wiping off his face with the blanket he was once sleeping peacefully under.

He stared at you, his amber eyes glowing from your phone screen. You looked back, trying to readjust to the sudden change in brightness.

"M'sorry, did I wake you?" You had finally shut off you phone, resting it on your chest - giving yourself a good chance to see his full face.

"Why are you crying, babe?"

His hand roamed around your stomach, softly pulling at the fabric around it. It made you shiver as you felt his legs press against yours, warming you underneath the sheets.

"Oh...um..." You tore your gaze away from his, staring straight at the ceiling. You fidgeted with your phone, trying to stop your trembling lip.

Carefully, Tecchou reached over and wiped away your spilled-over tears, thumbing your cheek as if your skin were made of glass. He pulled you closer, resting your head against his chest, trying to calm you. Adversely, this had the opposite effect, making you start to cry even more onto his naked skin.

There were muffled stupid and sorry between your sobs, although he elected to ignore them for now. Instead, he waited as your body was racked with tears, shaking and holding onto Tecchou as if he were a lifeline.

"Hey, babe?" Calmly rubbing your shoulder, Tecchou waited as you wiped your snot and tears along your sleeve, sniffing as loud as an American bullfrog.

"Can I ask what upset you so much?"

You lightly smacked his shoulder, still hiding yourself within his warmth.

"You already did, ass."

"Right."

He went back to holding you, waiting for your reply. Eventually, when he thought you would have maybe decided to fall back asleep again instead, with the room still cast in pitch-black shadows, you decided to reply -

"I failed my exam."

Silently, Tecchou nodded.

There wasn't anything he could say to make you feel better, at no words that he knew to say. It was easier to simply pull you closer, to make you feel better through his hold than to say anything more.

"It's fine, you should try and sleep. Maybe you'll feel better in the morning."

Carefully, he pulled your phone from your hand, sliding it onto the bedside table, hoping to stop you from looking at your failure once again.

You didn't need to be reminded of it anymore, not when he could distract you right now.

As gently as a man like Tecchou could, he took to scratching at the soft skin at the back of your neck, gently tapping his rough fingernails along your spine. He smiled as felt you begin to relax, breathing out a sigh as his fingertips brushed alongside your bare shoulder blades.

He watched as you relaxed into his form, waiting until you started to breathe slower so he could allow himself to fully fall asleep once again.

Sorry about the months-long break, I didn't mean to abandon Tecchou. Also btw IRLs of mine know about this account so if I start sounding even weirder on here it's because I stopped caring about my employment opportunities

#the quality is probably dogshit #ive been brainrotten cuz ive deadass be suffering from insomnia too #and also have a severe caffiene addiciton #anyway its been crazy yall #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #tecchou x reader #bsd x y/n #tecchou bsd #jouno x reader #tecchou x y/n #tecchou suehiro x reader #tetcho x reader #jouno x you #jouno saigiku x reader #im gonna make a new end card at some point mr beast stays but i never write for mushitaro #i need tecchou's big juicy yummyness on there but idk im so lazy about everything

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poomphuripan · 5 months ago

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the mingjoe hotel room scene has been running on loop in my head all day. uppoom are just insanely talented people Jesus Christ. i would love to hear your thoughts on it!!

and cheers to no phone throwing—just lots of pushing and biting(?), which is definitely a little bit more palatable. i really enjoy that like with the ep3 bathroom scene, ming’s extreme physical behavior is not being romanticized. like sure some (me) will still find it hot but it’s very.. ugly looking? like the way ming is overly rough with his arm around joe’s neck acting like an animal or in a sleazy outfit like ep3 (😭) that it just makes you cringe more than anything else.

hi nonnie (ToT)/~~~

sameeeeeeeeee. this scene was just incredible. so for anyone that doesn't know, this is the scene from chapter 73 'Underestimating Yan Ming Xiu’s Feelings for Zhou Xiang' of Professional Body Substitute. I will leave a small excerpt with edited names for easy reading experience down here.

Joe smiled sarcastically, “Khun Ming, I am just as baffled as you. I don’t know how I could have offended P'Tong. Your FAMILY is of one mind, if you could help me figure it out, perhaps I could correct my mistakes.” When Joe mentioned ‘family,’ he especially emphasized it with a heavier tone. Ming’s expression became unsightly. He grabbed his cell phone and threw it at Joe’s face, immediately hitting Joe in his cheekbones, making it instantly swollen. Ming responded coldly, “Joe, don’t you have a bit of shame. You keep repeatedly speaking to me with this mocking sarcasm. Even if I was to spend money to raise a dog, it’ll bark nicely upon seeing me. Who do you think you are? If it wasn’t because ….. do you think you’re even worth a few yuan?” Joe caressed his face, feeling the air leaking from his voided heart. But he didn’t feel anything. He didn’t feel humiliated, let alone sadness. He felt that what Ming said is extremely right. If it wasn’t because he looked a bit like Tong, whether it was from before or in the present, how could he have the opportunity to stand in front of Ming? After such a long time, he had finally accepted this fact and was able to fully be at peace. He smiled, “What Khun Ming said is right. I admit that I am wrong. No matter what P'Tong does, he must have his reasons.” Ming raised his eyebrows deeply. The smile on Joe’s face made him feel uncomfortable, not only is it uncomfortable, it was simply glaring to the extreme. He instinctively felt that he had seen this expression before from somewhere, this expression made his heart tremble. Ming didn’t know how he could teach this person called Joe a lesson because this person is too untamed. But at the same time, there are so many commonalities between this person and “that person,” so that he is always subconsciously tolerant of him. He has repeatedly tolerated his words and even gave him the condo he had prepared for his older brother. He knew that he is not “Joe” but because there were so many overlapping details between them, it made him lose his mind. He didn’t know what he is expecting from this fake ‘Joe.’ What exactly was he expecting!! He stared at Joe coldly and ordered, “Undress.” Joe is slightly startled and then nimbly removed his clothes piece by piece. Ming press him onto the bed, separating his thighs. Then, he proceeded to brutally and fervently fuck him. The lines on Joe’s back are painfully stretched, his muscles trembled violently with Ming’s frightening rigorous speeds; sweat dripped along the sides of his cheeks onto the bed sheet. Joe clenched his teeth trying with much difficulty to suppress himself from making any sounds. The moans lodged in this throat instead became smothering sounds. The phone next to the bed suddenly rang. Joe slowly looked up and blankly glanced at it. Ming immediately pressed his head into the blanket and hoarsely shouted, “Don’t let me see your face!” Joe’s face was forced into the blanket. He hated that he couldn’t directly bury himself beneath the bed. Ming picked up the handset; his thrusting movements became a bit stagnant but he was still slowly pummeling in and out of Joe. Back and forth, his hot weapon thrusted repeatedly into Joe’s body. This strange feeling made his entire body shook.

okay so i was crazy excited for how they were gonna adapt this onscreen because for this scene to truly delivered they had to be able to retain the shame joe had to bear to hear those hurtful words from ming while showing ming is lashing out as a result of him being driven up the walls due to the similarity between joe 2.0 and joe 1.0, especially when joe 2.0 associated him and tong as 'family'.

i totally agree with the series' refusal to romanticize any of these scenes. and i think the best adaptation change has been for joe to say all these things back to ming whereas he didn't in the novel.

oh god poom's eye work in this scene was just incredible. i think i prefer this to his resigned attitude in the same scene of the novel. the series has designed joe to be more emotional and vulnerable than his novel counterpart and i think it fits in line well with the comments in the first few episodes of novel readers noting that joe seems more "innocent" and "naive" than novel!zhou xiang.

all gifs courtesy of @jimmysea

and yes as you mentioned, it doesn't feel romantic at all. and i'm sure it's completely intentional on the producers to design this scene as such so we get a remorseful ming the following morning and heightened the tension between the two characters, while building up to the reveal scene at the end of the episode.

like just how can joe 2.0 trust ming saying this when ming is seemingly the same 'guy who lashes out' in that very fight scene they had earlier.

i also like the contrast between the design of that fight scene and the scene where ming ended up not following through with sex when joe 2.0 had reminded him of joe 1.0 (see, he can make good decisions on rare occasions). it's interesting because at that point you'd think ming has changed but then just one mention of joe/tong is such a sore subject for him, as if it's a sharp reminder (from joe himself) that he (and tong) are the reason for joe's disappearance, that it triggers all ming's buttons and he's right back to square one. it's a long journey for ming to prove his love to joe and i like that the series doesn't make it an easy ride for him even if they've 'toned down' to make the characters more palatable and human.

i don't know i'm just rambling incoherently at this point, but i hope that made sense nonnie ಥ_ಥ

edit: linking this weibo post from the msi supertopic which discusses the conversation. why do i hate miscommunication but love this so much wahhhhh. also more praises for this scene here.

#msi thoughts #claire replies #my stand in #my stand in the series

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player1064 · 1 month ago

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Footy RPF Fictober, day 4 - that night at the hotel

also available on ao3

been losing my MIND today (and every other day) about michael owen having a massive unrequited crush on carra. so. here's this. enjoy!

---

Jamie’s pretty sure that Mo’s finally lost his mind.

And okay, okay, this is Mo he’s talking about – he’s always been a little bit weird, but ‘a little bit weird’ is not the same as ‘yelling at the new manager in front of the whole team because he’s tried to change roommate assignments’, and that’s exactly what he’d done the other week.

(He’d won that argument, for what it’s worth. So now Jamie’s sat in their shared hotel room watching La Liga coverage while Mo’s taking a phone call in the bathroom. Which is also a little bit weird, now that he thinks about it.)

Except – except. It had been his agent calling him, Jamie had seen the name flashing on the small phone screen. And Liverpool has always been the kind of club where the manager is king.

It’s probably nothing to worry about.

Mo walks back into the room after about ten minutes – shuffles, really – and he stands at the side farthest from Jamie and he stares down at his hands and he waits. He always does this – he thinks he’s being polite, not disturbing Jamie mid-whatever he’s doing, but it ends up doing quite the opposite. Jamie’s never had the heart to tell him.

He sighs and presses the remote to turn the TV off, then he turns to look at Mo. “Go on, then.”

Mo looks at him, and his eyes are sparkling, he’s biting back a smile as he says “Madrid want me.”

They’d just got back from the Euros a month or two ago, where Madrid had felt like a dirty word, like you couldn’t even say it for fear of creating another fracture in the already disjointed United gang.

And Jamie thinks: they bought Beckham when they knew they didn’t need another right-winger and he’s been playing like shit in centre-mid all season. And he thinks: Madrid already have Ronaldo. They have Raúl. They have Morientes. And he thinks: you’re just the shiny new toy they want to add to their collection and never, ever use. And he thinks: you’ll never come home again.

So he says all this to Michael, and Michael’s eyes go dark, and Jamie knows he’s said the wrong fucking thing.

This stupid, stupid boy. Jamie tries to fight his case, of course he does, but Mo – Mo is Mo. And Jamie is Jamie, and Stevie is Stevie, and just ‘cause Liverpool runs stronger in Stevie’s veins than football does it doesn’t mean that it’s the same for Mo. Just because Jamie can argue with Stevie ‘til he tells Chelsea to fuck off doesn’t mean Michael will ever listen to him.

Mo thinks he deserves better than what Liverpool can give him. He probably does. And now he thinks that Jamie thinks he can’t cut it, which means that now he’s going to try and prove him wrong.

“Like you wouldn’t go,” Mo spits out at one point during the ensuing argument, and it stops Jamie right in his tracks because – well – because he’s right.

Jamie and Michael are completely different from each other except for all the ways in which they’re not. Pride, ambition, obsession – never any of the good bits, that’s for sure, but it very suddenly hits him with full force that he has to let Mo do this, even if he thinks it’s a giant mistake. He has to let Mo do this.

He sits back down on his bed and slumps forwards, tries to will his heart rate to slow down, for the red in his skin to fade away. He grabs his water bottle and takes a few long gulps, then he runs his hands down his face and he looks back up at Mo and he says, “Jesus Christ, Michael.”

Mo’s bottom lip wobbles. “Jesus fucking Christ, Carra.”

“Yer gonna be a galactico.”

“Yeah.” Slowly, a tiny little hint of that sparkle starts returning to Mo’s eyes. “Yeah, guess I am.”

Jamie groans. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Michael breathes, and then Jamie makes the mistake of meeting eyes with him and suddenly –

The first thought that forces its way into Jamie’s head is Mo’s a good kisser, and then it’s why the fuck is Mo kissing me, and then it’s why the fuck am I kissing Mo back. Mo’s scrambled onto his lap and has his face cupped in his small hands, and the next thought Jamie manages to string together is eh, what the hell, and then he’s sinking back into the cushions and pulling Mo down on top of him.

His hands of their own accord reach up to spread across Mo’s back, and he leaves one firmly planted there while the other slips down, over his waist, his hips, until it comes to rest on his thigh. Or hold his thigh. Or grip his thigh so hard it’ll probably leave a bruise. Whatever.

Mo shifts his hips, just a tiny bit, but the movement sends a jolt right up Jamie’s spine. And none of this is like Mo, not even a little, and that’s when it finally, really hits him that –

“Fuck,” he breathes against Mo’s lips. He opens his eyes, tries to search for some kind of answer in Mo’s. “You’re really leaving, aren’t you?”

Mo stares right back at him for a long, drawn-out moment, then he squeezes his eyes shut and he nods.

Jamie nods too, more for himself than for Mo (whose eyes are still squeezed shut like he’s scared of what he might see if he opens them again). He takes a moment. He thinks.

He grabs the hem of Mo’s shirt and tugs it up over his head, runs his hands over the smooth skin of his back. Lets Mo get at his shirt, lets him look at him. Lets himself look at Mo. And then he kisses him again, and this time there’s a finality to it that makes it all feel just that little bit more urgent.

#DO THEY HAVE A SHIP NAME. WHAT THE HELL DO I TAG THIS AS.#carra/mo #jamie carragher #michael owen #footyrpffictober #drabbles #blame k-ky for this btw. she's been ENABLING me (sending evil videos and images)

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trainingdummyrabbit · 5 months ago

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ayin. i'm curious

one question in and im already having to pull up the cutscene dialogue. god. ok listen this is the most bullyable man in the whole entire world and he makes it so easy, but also I Do Fucking Love This Guy. i need to study him so bad its unreal.

im always a sucker for characters introduced as a "yeah theyre totally a player stand-in dont worry about it ^_^" and then they kick you in the fucking shins halfway through. and he is no exception. i am Notoriously endeared by characters with any amount of weird identity fuckery going on and Jesus Fucking Christ Dude.

the way that he is so solidly rooted in the core of everything that goes down in lobcorp, and yet how certain bits of his attitude and Personality are Wholly lost. how most of what we know of him is through secondhand accounts and recollections, and yet he refuses to let on anything about himself in his own memory of things. his perception revolves entirely around the people around him to a very, Very stark degree. im not sure if its just a side effect of the genre and execution of this story in particular or if im just making shit up, but.

hes not a loud character. something about that in tangent with how he completely splinters himself over and over in conjunction with the things that happened to them, its all very compelling. the way he tackles problems with this sort of analytical distance, unaware of or perhaps intentionally separating his own mess from what he feels he has to do-- while at the same time having it be so inextricably intertwined with Everything. he feels like the type of character to desperately want to simply point a direction and shoot, yet he gets in his own way time and time again, simultaneously on accident And on purpose. avoidant of And conscious of.

ill be real im just kind of spitballing the vague Idea of him in hopes of reaching something concrete. he's so intent on the straightforward "any means necessary," yet he sabotages himself every step of the way. its fascinating. such a strange form of self-destruction.

i wonder how he really feels about everything. how he felt, and then, what exactly it is that changed in him after the SoL project "completion". what exactly did he come to terms with through the course of ruina? was it something new he hadn't the room to process until then, or was it simply an understanding that he'd had for longer than that, that he'd simply never had the mind to voice it?

and then! the way he feels about the rest of the team-- how little he seems to speak of any particular bond between himself and them, and yet (iirc) he has photos of them all up in his office. how much of him is means to an end, and how much is compartmentalization of what he might actually feel? which does he want to be true?

does that cohere? he's such a messy tangle of things that never get spoken-- on purpose and otherwise-- that it makes him so difficult to Actually Read, and yet... and yet! what im saying is that benjamin saw something in him, and that is something worth studying-- not because of doubt, but because of a desire to truly Understand. something about the metaphor between Sun and Shadow, seeing things in the gaps burned between photos. fascinating specimen. i need to put him into a blender.

also hes one of the few characters capable of making me lose it just by seeing his basic png which has to count for something i guess

#i literally wrote this entire thing and then started reading for like 20 minutes and i dont think this is Accurate but #im not going to spend 3 hours studying for an ask game this is not what was asked of me. ok <33 KJNDKJgn #writing with my heart not my brain nor my memories. ok thumbsup #piktalk #projmoon #anyway he. has such a distinct feeling to him. characters with a spark; he is one of them. its hard to explain.#its going to take me forever to get to him but i NEED TO.... ineed to pick up my reading again so fucking bad man..#POST DRAFT EDIT THAT WAS NOT 20 MINUTES OF READING #what im saying is that the ayingrip.png creator Gets It

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the-chosen-fanfiction · 12 days ago

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Big James | To Die Is Gain | Romantic

Dialogue prompt: “I’ll see you in heaven.”

The cost of following Jesus Christ is high, but it is worth everything, including losing your love.

Requested by J Bart

With a heavy huff, you lift the loaf out of the oven and place it onto the countertop, setting it there to cool. Behind you, five-year-old Rebecca chases her older sister Naomi around the already cramped kitchen, causing you to quickly intervene. “Ah-ah-ah, girls, if you want to play, go play in the living room or in the yard.” They heed your warning as you gesture at the freshly baked loaf. Rebecca hugs your leg as she looks up at you.

“Eema, can I have bread?”

You put a hand on her sleek, dark hair. “Not yet, sweetheart. It has to be a bit colder first so that you don’t burn your mouth and tongue.”

She hums and gives a little disappointed nod before turning to follow Naomi to the living room, where most of their toys are located.

As you turn to wipe down the counters, however, you hear a shrill shriek from the hallway that is hard to identify. When it’s followed with the joyous exclamation of ‘abba’ in a way that can be heard on the other side of the street, you are instantly relieved. Drying your hands on your apron, you head out of the kitchen to greet your husband.

“Shalom, darling.” James greets you, leaning down to kiss your forehead as his daughters cling to his sides. The older son of Zebedee smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Shalom,” you reply with worry in your voice, wondering what is going on. The tension in his shoulders tells you that his meeting with Matthew and Nathanael had been about more than simply catching up.

You move to take his bag from him, but James quickly grabs it before you can slide it off his shoulder. He looks down at you, giving you an apologetic look. “I’m still going to need it.”

Tilting your head in slight puzzlement, you watch how he scoops up his girls and heads to the living room, blowing a raspberry against Naomi’s cheek, causing both of them to giggle with joy. You stand in the hallway for a bit, pondering the interaction before heading after them.

James is just undoing his sandals while your daughters busy themselves with their handcrafted peg-dolls. He looks up and meets your gaze, his form slumping a bit. With a sigh, you walk over to him, crouching down in front of him in order to remove the laces from his footwear. He gives an appreciative hum as you gently squeeze his calves, sensing the tension in his muscles.

“You need to rest.”

“I can’t. I…”

“…Another ministry trip.” you finish it for him as his voice trails off. James nods, his gaze momentarily going to Rebecca and Naomi, who are oblivious to their father having to leave for an extended period of time again.

As his eyes meet yours, something stirs within you. A deeply unsettling feeling blooms deep inside your stomach, a wave of sudden nausea tightening your throat. You swallow away the lump that forms.

Being married to one of Jesus’ Disciples is a blessing in and of itself, that He had called your husband personally as His student to spread the news about the Kingdom of God around the world. The fact that said called pupil had decided to marry you of all women was still sometimes a little bit of a mystery to you. Still, it didn’t make it easy. James was often gone from home. No matter the incredible reason behind it and no matter how proud of him you were, you still missed him greatly.

It wasn’t uncommon for James to leave on a whim, with him throwing a few items in a bag and hitting the road whenever the Spirit compelled him to go somewhere. But now… This time, it was different. Everything in your entire being is on edge, your instincts heralding something… Heart-wrenching. You can’t quite put a finger on it.

Your husband seems to sense something, too. He reaches his hand out for you to take, his fingers lacing with yours.

“Love, I’ll be alright.” he reassures you. “Don’t you worry about me. Just take care of your girls while I’m gone. I just— I need to go to Judea. I— I am aware that my presence isn’t really wanted there, but you knew how Jesus went about these places. We shouldn’t be scared. You shouldn’t be scared.”

Averting your gaze, you try your hardest to not cry. Judea. Herod Agrippa won’t have mercy on him.

You know you can’t talk him out of it, and you know you shouldn’t even want it. Still, you can’t help but want to at least address your sudden concern, share the looming dread starting to take root.

“James,” you whisper, your eyes brimming with tears. “I don’t know about your trip… It is this… This gut feeling that something is going to happen to you.”

James’ face falls into solemnity as he stands from the chair. Suddenly, he looks years older than he is; he has started to look more like Zebedee over time, but now it’s more clear than ever.

“I was hoping that you wouldn’t feel that, too.” You’re not the only one anxious for a tragic outcome of his mission trip, “If only for the reason that you’d remain hopeful for my return and use that energy for the glory of God.”

There is something definite behind his words that makes your throat screw shut. You inhale through your nose and attempt to sound strong. “Ah, Naomi.” The eight-year-old looks up from her playing session. “Go play outside with your sister.”

“Yes, eema.”

The girl fetches her sibling to bring her to the other room of the house, leaving you and James alone.

“You aren’t coming back, are you?”

Your voice cracks. James is on the verge of breaking, gazing down at you with tearful eyes. “This is your final ministry trip.”

“I— I might just get imprisoned, you know? I’ll just be out there, which means that I can still return—”

“I think you and I both know that Herod Agrippa won’t be so kind to you.” you whisper.

Certainty shines through in your words, as if you are absolutely sure of what you’re saying. Your husband gazes at you, drinking in every detail of your face. There is fear under the surface, strangely coupled with a sense of peace, albeit barely present. He gulps, trying to not cry as he steps closer to you.

“My love...” he croaks, “I don’t know what to say. If you do not want me to go on this mission trip, I will see what I can do to reschedule, or—or perhaps cancel it altogether—”

“—No.” Your voice is stern and determined, “No. I will not let my own fears and selfish desires to keep you all to myself prevent the Good News to reach them, too.”

James’ heart clenches inside his chest. He cradles your face, a few tears rolling down his cheeks as he holds you. “You have been the biggest blessing that has ever been bestowed upon me, my sweet, faithful wife. Every day, I am so grateful to have a woman like you by my side. I thank Adonai for you every single time I look upon you.” His voice cracks as he lets out a sob. Emotion gets the better of you, too. You sniffle and muffle a strained wail as you bury your head into his chest, enveloped by his strong arms.

“(Y/n), do not be afraid.”

“You know I will be terrified regardless of what you say, right?”

“Do not weep for me. I will either return to you, or I will see Jesus again.”

The sudden image of James coming face to face with Jesus in the afterlife thrusts grief through every fibre of your being for the briefest of seconds, before it makes place for solace. Even if the unthinkable happens, your husband will be right where he needs to be.

“This won’t be farewell,” he reassures you, “It will instead be a ‘see you soon’, hm?”

You smile through your tears. “How soon?”

James can’t help but mirror it, chuckling lightly as he shakes his head. “Oh, here we go again, with ‘soon’.” It never gets old, even after more than a decade.

The two of you meaningfully look at one another in a silence that is only broken by the sound of your daughters playing in the other room. The eye-contact holds an entire legacy. Nearly ten years of marriage, two beautiful girls, a calling to preach the Gospel, the Name of Jesus over these lands, no matter how hostile their rulers.

Your soft smile falls a little as you realise what it will mean for the next few years, at least for you. You try and shake the thought — the feeling it evokes — you don’t want to be egotistical in wanting to keep James close by, fathering your children, being the husband you need to support you. But it’s only human nature to feel the horrific arms of loneliness loom over you like a dark storm cloud.

Something hits you hard inside your chest all of a sudden, knocking all air from your lungs. A simple realisation that hadn’t even crossed your mind before.

“You won’t see them grow up.”

Your legs nearly give way underneath you. You won’t be growing old with him. You will not see the greys in his beard and his hair. His hands come to rest on your elbows as James senses your premature grief. He squeezes, conveying another message by just gazing down at you, eyes filled with love.

That is not all there is to it.

It is not the end of the story.

There will be comfort in little moments reminding you of him. Sunset at the docks. The scent of a fresh catch creeping through your window as the fishermen of the village haul their wares to the market. There will be the roll of mighty thunder in a warm summer storm. There will be cinnamon cakes. His eyes in Naomi’s features and his nose in Rebecca’s.

“You don’t know that yet, (Y/n).” James steps closer, cradling your face between his hands. You relish in the sensation, melting into the familiar warmth, closing your eyes to keep your emotions from taking the better of you. You commit it to memory — as if you hadn’t done so already. “I need you to remain hopeful. Can you promise me? That you will keep praising Him, no matter how tough life gets?”

“I will.” you breathe as your eyes snap back open again, looking up at him. He smiles and nods, bringing his forehead to yours.

“Good.” You slide your arms around his waist and embrace him. You stand like that for a while.

“When are you leaving?”

“Tonight.” he tells you with a wavering voice.

“So soon?”

He gives you a wry smile, swallowing hard as he nods. “I can still have dinner with you and the girls.” he says. “I saw you baked quite the loaf.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, I… You better bring a big piece with you on your way to Judea. We can’t finish all of that in time with just the three of us before it gets stale.”

James exhales deeply. “I… I wish we had more time together before I had to leave again.”

“It’s alright.” you murmur, turning to the kitchen. Your husband follows right away to assist you in laying the table. “I knew what I was getting myself into when I married you.”

In silence, James prepares the table whilst you get the food out, reheating a previously cooked stew to go with the bread. He comes to stand behind you, placing a hand on your waist before his lips find your cheek, then the side of your neck. You can feel his smile against your skin when you squirm a little under his rough beard. “Your stews are the best.” your husband confesses, squeezing your hip affectionately. “Especially when you let the herbs marinate into it overnight.”

Without asking, you grab a small container from one of the shelves and scoop some of the food into it. “For on the road.” you tell him. He gives you a gentle smile and tucks some hair behind your ear.

“You make me the happiest man alive, you know that?”

The girls are pulled back inside by the scent of your famous stew and soon cling to your waist on either side of you, their little faces mushed against your torso and bosom as they watch you cook. James watches the scene with a bittersweet heaviness in his heart, observing the way you explain your process to Naomi and Rebecca who are one day to learn your recipe by heart. The lump that forms in his throat is hard to swallow away.

Following Jesus is not easy, especially not in times like these, when his daughters are growing up and his wife needs him so. But James knows that it is nothing compared to the price Jesus Himself had to pay, that the price of sin was infinitely heavier than any other hardship taken on in favour of submitting to Him. The Son of God has proven so Himself by giving the ultimate sacrifice. James and you would gladly give your lives for Him. Even here, even now, when the two of you had everything you ever wanted and everything to lose.

Naomi and Rebecca sit down in their chairs the moment you tell them to, each of them on their usual spot. Diagonally across from you sits James, already slicing up the bread into equal pieces lest your daughters get fussy over it, as if the loaf isn’t large enough to feed all of you for several days. You place the warm pan onto the table and scoop portions into the plates.

Four of them. Your heart clenches inside your chest at the notion that it might just be the final time that you’re doing this for your full, complete family. You blink away your tears, not wanting to cry in front of your daughters at this very moment. There will be time for tears later.

Dinner goes by way too quickly, but you notice James relishing in the taste of the home-cooked meal. Five, nearly six full years of having dinner with the four of you. Granted, there had been occasional gaps in between whenever James went on mission trips, but still. You had been blessed in and of itself regardless of how much time it covered.

After your meal, it’s time to clean for a bit whilst the girls play in the next room. Your husband insists on helping you out in lieu of packing his bags. The silence between your is pregnant with looming tension. The Spirit tells you that this is no ordinary trip, but at the same time, He brings solace in the moment.

You help James pack a few belongings, a fresh tunic, the food you had prepared for him. Once done, you sit in the living room together, watching your children play, your head nuzzled into the crook of his neck as he holds you near. You relish in James’ familiar scent, locking it into your memory, praying it won’t fade from his tunics and from your home, praying he’ll come back to you to fill your home with love and laughter.

The sun lowers and every passing minute brings you closer to your dreaded goodbye.

Both of you feel it. Rebecca comes over to cuddle her father, as if she senses something lingering, too.

“I need to go.” James heavily breathes against your ear, the emotion tangible in his voice. You swallow hard as you hear the words you hoped he would forget to say.

“Okay.” you respond with equal earnesty, locking away the feeling of being in his arms deep inside your mind out of fear that you’d forget.

“Come here, my darlings.” James beckons your daughters over to his side as he stands, crouching down to their level to face them properly. “Abba has to go on another trip.”

“Nah, really?” Naomi pouts, wrapping her arms around his neck as she sits on his knee. James nods gently and sighs.

“Really. But don’t you worry, I will be thinking of you constantly. Now you two need to promise me something, okay?”

The two girls nod at their father.

“Be good girls for eema and listen to what she tells you. She will teach you everything she knows about life and you better learn from her, because she is the smartest woman I’ve ever met. And whenever eema is sad and needs a hug, you give it to her, okay?”

“Yes, abba.” They both reply in near-unison.

Your vision blurs with tears at his words.

“Now I’m going to say goodbye to eema in the hallway. She will come get you when it’s time to wave at me.”

The two children nod as they go back to their playing, not truly understanding the gravity of the situation. They expect their father to come back home, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The moment you and James step into the hallway, you fall into his arms, sobbing against his chest as the tension suddenly breaks. His lips are on your forehead as he shushes you, rocking you through your premature grief about him as tears roll down his face. “My love.” he breathes, “My love, do not remain in your mourning about me. I am not yet gone. And it isn’t said that I will be.”

“We are both feeling it, James, I—”

“—I know. I know.”

He holds you as you cry. You don’t know for how long you two stand there, but your cheeks are red and raw when you’ve got no tears left to spill. You wipe your face on your sleeve and sniffle before inhaling James’ scent deeply. One last time.

“I will wait for you.” you promise.

“And if it is what the Lord wants, I will come back to you. If it is not what the Lord wants… I’ll see you in heaven, alright?” He thumbs away your tears and looks down at you with affection and devotion. “This life is just a speck compared to what we will receive when we are back with Him. This will pass, too.”

You try to hold onto that knowledge, tuck it away inside your heart and mind. You nod and sniffle, then hug him again.

“We will meet again,” you whisper more to yourself than to James, “No matter the circumstances, no matter the location, but this is not farewell.”

“That’s right.” James hums, “And until then, I’ll think of you and our beautiful daughters. I’m so proud of you. Now… I really need to go.”

You hum and step away, watching how he puts his bag over his shoulder. “Do you have everything you need?”

He nods, cupping your cheek. “I think you triple-checked.” James knows you too well. You smile and sigh.

“Girls? Come wave at abba with me.”

James opens the heavy door. The stars have already come out and litter the sky. Naomi and Rebecca exit the living room and instantly rush over to their father, who hides his tears from them. “I am going to miss you so much.” he whispers with a wavering voice. “Be good, okay? Keep trusting in the Lord.”

The two girls nod before their father kisses each of their foreheads. He then stands again, reaching for the door knob. Rebecca reaches her arms up for you to pick her up, and you hoist her onto your hip. Your other hand comes to rest on Naomi’s head as she hugs your side.

“I’ll see you soon, my love.” James says. You smile softly at him as he crosses the threshold. Plausibly — most likely the final time he ever will.

“Soon,” you emphasise, the two of you holding a moment of meaningful eye-contact.

He gives you a soft look, then looks down at the girls, back up at you, before starting to walk away. The three of you watch him grow smaller in the distance. “Soon.” You murmur to yourself, your heart clenching inside your chest as you feel it start to break with every step he takes away from you.

You hug your daughters a little closer. The price of following the Lord is a heavy one to pay. But Jesus is worth everything. In the end, it will all click into place, just like the way God had intended it to. And all you can do is trust Him in that, unconditionally, without fear.

#the chosen #reader insert #the chosen x reader #chosen x reader #the chosen big james #big james x reader #big james x you #abe bueno jallad

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steddio · 2 years ago

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steddie vegas au part 5

part 1; part 2; part 3; part 4; ao3

(throws angst at you and runs)

Eddie wakes languidly, comfortable and sated. Last night had been far more than he’d let himself dream of when he’d handed Steve those tickets. Performing for Steve had felt like performing for the first time again, every lyric more meaningful, every guitar chord more sensual. Steve was magnetic, beautiful, addicting. Not to mention incredibly hot in bed. This train of thought brings Eddie’s awareness to his morning wood, and he turns, reaching for Steve. Only to find the other side of the bed cold and empty.

His stomach sinks with a jolt, and he sits up, looking around for Steve in the bathroom, listening for him anywhere else in the suite. It’s empty, and Steve’s clothes are gone from the floor. Eddie tries not to panic. Maybe Steve is a morning person, maybe he went for a run. But there’s no note anywhere, and when Eddie checks his phone there’s no text from Steve.

He feels tears well and tries to force them away. This is fine. He’s woken up alone before. There could be a thousand explanations. It doesn’t mean that he wasn’t good enough, that Steve suddenly hates him, that he got what he wanted and left, that–. He interrupts his own catastrophizing, anchors himself in his breath (Sharon should be proud of him for using that CBT shit). He briefly debates letting himself wallow in bed but decides that will serve no one and goes to take a shower. As much as he doesn’t want to wash the traces of Steve off his body, he’s a little bit (ok a lot) gross from performing and sex.

When he emerges from the bathroom, wrapped in a delightfully fluffy hotel robe, he can hear rustling in the living room. He dashes out of the bedroom with a breathless, “Ste-” before he stops in his tracks, realizing that it’s Chrissy instead. She’s in her same clothes from last night and she looks at him with concern and worse, pity.

“Steve’s gone,” he tells her brusquely. She nods, like she already knows this, and touches his arm gently.

“Eddie, honey, there’s something you need to see.”

He tries not to react as his body fills with dread. Chrissy holds her phone out to him and he takes it. It’s opened to a tabloid site, and Eddie wants to scoff, because there’s no way the tabloids could do anything worse than how they covered every step of his addiction, his recovery journey, his messy breakup, and his relapse. He’s basically immune to it by now, just the counterweight to fame. But as he skips past the headline and straight to the photo, his soul leaves his body. Because sure, that’s him, whatever. But in front of Eddie, with his back to the camera, is unmistakably Steve. Dorky dad with a great ass, concierge, regular person Steve. Who never asked for all the shit that Eddie’s lifestyle brings with it.

“Jesus H Christ,” Eddie groans. “Did he see this?”

Chrissy just looks at him. Of course. Of course Steve had seen this. No wonder he’d run, why would he want this, no sex is good enough to be worth losing your privacy.

“I was, um, with Robin last night,” Chrissy tells him. He tries to paste on a smile, to congratulate her, and then realizes she’s not bragging.

“And?” Eddie prompts. “Chris, I can handle it. Just tell me.”

“Well,” Chrissy hedges. “Robin saw the photo and kind of freaked out. I tried to explain that this is normal, that the tabloids always do things like this, but she kept trying to call Steve. I think–” she trails off.

Eddie is on edge, but tries to keep breathing, to give her space. Finally, she continues, “I think Steve’s daughter saw the photo and recognized him. Robin wouldn’t say much, but she was freaking out about that specifically, said that Steve couldn’t afford another, um.”

“Another what?!” Eddie is full-on freaking out at this point.

“Well, fuck-up. Is the word she used.”

Eddie finally gives in and lets the tears that have been building fall. Of course Steve would think of him as a fuck-up. A mistake. Steve was so good, so clean. And it was Eddie who had pushed and pushed, trying to get Steve to drop the professionalism, to let go, to play with him. Of course he had pushed too far. It’s what he does, he can’t leave things alone.

Chrissy stands on the couch, wraps her arms around his neck, and tucks his head against her chest, making soothing noises. He can’t even muster the strength to hug her back, just stands there crying, probably ruining her shirt like he ruins everything. They stay like that for a long moment, Chrissy rocking him gently.

When the tears finally subside, Eddie feels raw and swollen, like an open wound. He wordlessly climbs back into bed and throws a pillow over his face, wanting to lose himself in the obliviousness of sleep. But of course, sleep doesn’t come easily. Instead he lies awake replaying every moment from the night before. The way Steve’s eyes had gone from huge in awe to half-lidded in bliss. The way the sweat on his neck had tasted. The hair on his belly, his large hands in Eddie’s hair, his toothy smile. By the time he finally drifts to sleep, he’s half-hard and more than half-hating himself.

He wakes up to Chrissy sitting on the side of his bed, handing him a chilled bottle of water. He forces himself to sit upright and drinks it all down in one go. His stomach rumbles in response and he realizes he hasn’t eaten since dinner last night.

“What time is it?” he mumbles to Chrissy.

“It’s nearly three,” she tells him. “I ordered you lunch, it should be here soon.”

“Have I ever told you I love you,” he says solemnly. Her soft smile sends a pang through his heart. What would he do without her? He reaches for his phone, hardly letting himself hope, but there’s no text from Steve.

“Do you think I should–” he starts to ask, then stops. Looks at Chrissy with pleading eyes. She shakes her head.

“I don’t know, hon. I texted Robin once I got back this morning, and she says that Steve might just need time.”

“Do you think he’s… okay?” Even hurting like he is, Eddie can’t help but worry. Chrissy is stopped from answering the question by a knock on the door. She goes to open it, then brings Eddie’s lunch to him so he can eat it in bed.

“I’ll be right back,” she tells him. “Eat.”

So he does. He swears a burrito bowl has never tasted so good, and he demolishes it in seconds, delighted when he realizes that Chrissy had also ordered him a churro for dessert. He’s just licking the cinnamon sugar off his fingers when Chrissy returns. Her brow is furrowed and he’s about to ask her what’s wrong when she blurts out, “Steve’s fine.”

He’s about to ask her how she knows when she says in a rush, “He’s at the concierge desk. He’s fine.”

The food he’d just eaten turns to lead in Eddie’s stomach. Steve is… at work. He’s fine, and at work, and he hasn’t texted Eddie. Because Eddie was a fuck-up. He wants to cry again but he feels numb, empty.

–

The numbness follows him through the next week. Through three video calls with Sharon, where they talk through breathing exercises and affirmations and mindfulness techniques. He’s numb through Saturday’s performance, through the massage appointment Chrissy set up for him on Sunday morning, and through five AA meetings.

He’s numb until he checks his phone on Tuesday night after their show and sees a text from Adrian, and is flooded with feeling, as if the dam holding back all the hurt and betrayal and anger and sadness finally broke. Adrian, his last boyfriend of nine months, who’d wanted so badly to be a fashion influencer, and who’d used Eddie as free exposure. Adrian, who three months ago, had gotten a contract with Dior and had promptly broken up with Eddie, telling him that Eddie was holding him back, that he wanted to follow his career, that he didn’t need Eddie anymore. Adrian, who had triggered Eddie’s relapse into drinking after eight years sober.

He almost deletes the text without opening it, but the masochist in him lets curiosity win.

Adrian: I see you’ve downgraded to someone who thinks light wash jeans are still cool. Pathetic.

Eddie hurls his phone across his dressing room. He feels pathetic, because the first thought that comes to mind is about how good Steve’s ass looked in those jeans. The second is a wave of self-loathing because Steve is anything but a downgrade. Steve is too good for Eddie, better than he deserves, a shooting star in the night that he was lucky to have seen.

It’s self-loathing that has Eddie jumping up, sliding into his shoes, and bending to scoop up his phone from the floor, relieved that it’s only cracked a little. He’s marinating in it as he leaves the room, steadfastly not thinking about when he had Steve pressed against the door, and he’s relishing in it when he starts making his way over to the lobby bar.

–

Steve opens and then closes his draft resignation letter for the fifth time in the last hour. He’d written it in a drunken blur on his day off yesterday, punctuated by crying bouts and skinny girl margarita straight out of the bottle. He loves his job, but if he has to spend one more day standing at a desk across from the elevator where he ruined his life he’s going to lose it.

He tries to mentally backtrack. It wasn’t the elevator incident that had ruined his life. Despite his initial panic about his family seeing the photo, they had been wholly accepting if not slightly amused that after so many years in Vegas, Steve had finally been caught in a mild celebrity scandal. No, the elevator incident had been a high point, an undeserved moment of bliss. What had ruined his life was Steve’s stupid fucking overreaction.

After leaving Eddie’s hotel room last week, he’d managed to drive himself home while dissociating and immediately called Nancy to apologize. She hadn’t picked up, and the longer he waited for her to call him back, the more he became convinced that the event that had driven him to Vegas, that had lost him his chance at a nuclear family, was happening all over again.

By the time his phone finally rang, Steve was curled in the fetal position on the floor. It had taken Nancy an hour to convince him he had nothing to apologize for and to coax him into bed, and she must have texted Robin, because he woke up in the early afternoon to Robin in bed next to him, stroking his hair. They’d facetimed Max, who, in her classic teenage way, had spent only a minute teasing Steve for the photo before rattling on about high school drama, reminding Steve that sometimes what feels like the end of the world is actually a minor, solvable issue.

He’d gone into work that evening determined to make things right with Eddie, but when Eddie finally came down to the lobby, he didn’t even look in Steve’s direction. When it happened again the next day, and then the next, Steve had resigned himself to the fact that Eddie wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe he’d even been glad that Steve had left in the morning, that he’d saved Eddie the trouble of asking Steve to leave. Who wouldn’t be embarrassed about their dirty little hotel secret getting out to the public?

He opens his resignation letter again. Changes the signature from Regretfully to Sincerely and then back again. He’s about to send it to the printer when the desk phone rings.

“Caesars Palace concierge, this is Steve, how can I help you?”

On the other end of the line, there’s a slight gasp and then silence. Steve waits a polite amount of time before repeating himself. When there’s still no answer, he breaks form and whispers, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

The only response is a hitch of breath. Maybe he’s delusionally hopeful, but Steve takes a chance. “Eddie?”

He hears a broken whisper in response. “Hi sugar.”

“Eddie, hi, sweetheart, are you okay? I’m so sorry I left, I freaked out, and then I wanted to talk to you, but I couldn’t get your attention, and–”

Eddie cuts him off with a pained “Stevie” that has every one of Steve’s parental instincts on edge.

“Eddie, what’s wrong?”

He hears Eddie take a deep breath. “I’m at the bar.”

Steve’s stomach drops. “Oh. Okay. Did you– Did you order a drink?”

There’s a long silence. Then, “I did. But. I didn’t drink it. I think–” Eddie stops. Steve wants to scream into the phone, to run to the bar and grab the glass, throw it on the floor. But he forces himself to wait, to let Eddie take the lead.

“I think I need to go to a meeting,” Eddie finally mumbles, and Steve is launching into action, pulling up the AA meeting list, the document that had started it all.

“Okay, absolutely, I got you.” He scrolls frantically to the meetings on Tuesday and miraculously finds one starting soon. “Okay, Eddie, there’s a meeting in half an hour. We’re going to get you there.” When there’s nothing but silence and background chatter on the other end, Steve asks, “Are you there, sweetheart?”

“I’m here,” Eddie says weakly.

“Okay, Eds, do you want me to walk you to the meeting? We can go together.”

“No! No, I can’t–” Eddie hesitates. Steve wants to smack himself in the face. Why would Eddie want to be seen with him? After all the embarrassment he’d caused already.

“Okay, that’s fine, no problem. I’m going to give you directions over the phone, is that okay?” Steve barely catches a quiet “yes” in response.

“Alright, Eddie, I need you to stand up. I need you to walk away from the bar. Can you do that for me?” Steve hears rustling on the other end, and then Eddie’s voice comes through clearly. “I’m walking out.”

“Great, sweetheart, that’s great. You’re doing so well, that was the hardest part.” Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees a black-clad, curly-haired figure enter the lobby. He watches as Eddie makes his way slowly toward the front door of the hotel, looking determined, eyes never straying from his goal. His heart clenches in his chest like it does every time he’s seen Eddie from afar over the past few days, and it takes all his willpower to not run over to him.

“Okay keep going, Eddie, you’re going to go out the front door and turn left, and then walk two blocks.” Steve watches as Eddie follows his directions, listens to his quiet breathing over the phone.

“I’m outside,” Eddie tells him.

“How is it out there?” Steve asks to keep him talking. “Is it still hot as hell like earlier?”

Eddie tells him about the weather, about the slight breeze that’s picked up between the buildings now that the sun has gone down. For a moment his voice is drowned out by a siren, but when the noise fades Steve can hear his steady breathing and footsteps.

“Tell me where you are, Eds,” Steve probes gently. When Eddie tells him the cross street, Steve asks him about his surroundings, makes Eddie describe what he’s seeing to keep him grounded.

“Almost there, I need you to cross to the opposite corner and then turn right.” Steve can practically feel Eddie rocking nervously as he waits for each light, but he dutifully follows Steve’s directions, tells him about the older couple dressed like they’d walked out of the 1960s, about the mom pushing her crying baby in a stroller, about the glimpse of the moon he can see as he looks down a side street.

“You’re doing great, now we’re just looking for the rec center. It should be three blocks down on the left.” Eddie goes radio silent for a few minutes and Steve tries not to panic, listening to Eddie’s breathing to reassure himself.

Eventually he hears a quiet, “Steve? Are you there?” Steve tries to keep his relief out of his voice when he answers, “Yes, Eddie, I’m here. I’ll be here as long as you need me.” And he’s struck by how true that is, how he wants to be the person Eddie calls when he doesn’t want to be alone.

On the line, Steve hears a squeaky door open and then echoing footsteps. “I’m at the rec center,” Eddie says. “I see signs for the meeting, I’m going to follow them.”

“That’s, that’s good, sweetheart.” A moment later, Steve hears someone greet Eddie and usher him inside. He’s about to hang up, thinking Eddie no longer needs him, when he hears a sharp inhale.

“Sugar?” Eddie whispers into the phone. Before Steve can answer, he continues: “Thank you. Thank you so much.” And then hangs up.

Steve takes a moment to just stand there, still clutching the phone and holding back tears. Eventually he comes back into himself. Takes a deep breath. And drags his resignation letter into the trash.

continue to part 6.

read on ao3.

tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed! and sorry as always if tumblr eats your tag): @knightofthieves @exhibit-no-restraint @zerokrox-blog @nelotegreitic @samthemissfit @impeachy @mentallyundone @n0-1-important @xxbottlecapx @ameliajwho1993 @abstractnaturaldisaster @hellomynameismoo @epiclazershark @dogswithforks @i-less-than-three-you @aveys6 @anaibis @sofadofax @sunswathe @paperbackribs @questionablequeeries @scarletzgo @mad-h-w @sherrylyn628 @the-redthread @harringrovefansblog @wearelosersyoudumbfuck @throwbackthrowaway @oxidantdreamboat @grtwdsmwhr @jamieweasley13 @raisedbylibrarians @bleach-the-kitten @estrellami-1 @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @introvert-even-on-the-internet @awkwardgravity1 @mads-clarkson @huskysarelife @beckkthewreck @trikigirl271 @bejeweledbaby

#steddie #stranger things #steddie vegas au #i promise there will be a happy ending #we're almost there!#i hope you enjoy!!! ur nice comments keep me going #A writes

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akamaru01 · 3 months ago

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I have a desperate need to scream into the void or be validated for my frustration today and I'll put it under a read more

Took my car into the shop monday where they said it should be done by close. Did not hear back on Monday.

Called Tuesday morning, they said they had some issues and it should be done in time for me to go to work. I went in, they said they were having major issues and didnt know when it would be ready.

Got a call tuesday night saying issues continued and it SHOULD be done by 2pm today (Wednesday).

I'm not mad at the auto shop really, they're doing their best (i assume) and I was promised some sort of compensation although that hasnt been sorted yet.

I work as a delivery driver though, using my own car. I told my boss yesterday I wouldnt be in even though I thought I would, admittedly a bit late. I told her last night after my call that it should be ready this afternoon. Today is the day I usally work from 11am to almost 10pm as closer. She said I would need to bring in a reciept or note or whatever similar to a doctors note.

Two hours ago I texted her and all the drivers that I should get my car back today but idk so just in case could anyone cover. My fucking boss says that if no one covers I am still expected in at 2pm, despite the fact I dont have my car and after looking up prices for a rental car I would likely end up LOSING MONEY getting one to go to work. The ONLY reason to go into work at that point is For The Company/Boss. Which is bullshit.

The 2-5 is now covered but once again i have absolutely ZERO incentive to go into work today UNLESS i get my cat back.

Like jesus christ my boss is being unreasonable right?????? Am i wrong???

Additional note: She fucking sorta snapped at me in the group text saying it's hard to find someone to cover when i never cover for anyone else WHICH IS A FUCKING LIE. Like i don't do it often but I have covered for people before.

I was SO CLOSE to getting into an argument with her right there being like "Bitch I dont have my car and a rental isnt worth it and i HAVE covered for people what the fuck more do you want from me"

Needless to say we'll see if I still have this job by the end of the week

#tldr bosses suck #i just needed to vent

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malimangle · 2 years ago

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Pilgrim Aiden + Sentient Volatile Crane

AKA: I have a VERY long and convoluted explanation for how Kyle Crane could be a father-figure to Aiden that I shared with my two buddies, and I am now deeply entrenched in + committed to the bit. So I made father-son content, naturally. It’s mostly senseless gjfkdg

For this story, imagine that we open with Crane’s backstory. His perspective—this whole deal traces his life from Harran and upwards, his various fights and how terribly lonely he is as he travels through the slowly deteriorating world, searching half-heartedly for some half-baked cure for what he’s been reduced to. Like every other man on earth, buddy.

All the while, yes, he’s a Volatile that goes into a fit of what can only be described as insistent monkey brain at nighttime, but he’s still a man, dammit. He craves human connection, and as he always has, he wants to protect + help people. Unfortunately, he can only achieve the latter half. It’s a half-rate substitute for the foremost desire, but that doesn’t change that it’s better than nothing.

As we go over his backstory, we view as he tries―and fails― to save a settlement. They didn’t listen to his warning about approaching Volatiles, and as a consequence, they get slaughtered, with many dying entirely and a solid third becoming infected. The lot of the survivors become Virals. He sorta leaves them alone after that, counseling the Virals as they, over time, begin to lose their human minds to the virus (there’s some INTERESTING world building where human facilities don’t fully shut down til at least a couple weeks into the virus, and Crane gets to talk people through the transition and watch them OFFICIALLY die.)

Well. Some days later a kid comes LITERALLY falling into the settlement, provoking all 21 Virals, and Crane has to put them all down prematurely as they wail at him to just kill them so they don’t hurt this kid.

Aiden initially tries to run from Crane and actually gives him a run for his money, but Jesus, this kid can’t be older than 14, so when Aiden finally thinks he’s lost this ‘weird infected motherfucker’, that’s when Crane springs at him, lifts him by the scruff of his shirt, and--immediately uses his weird telepathy to essentially strip Aiden the fuck down for being completely fucking unattended in the wastes at ‘his age’ and demand that he goes back to his Settlement IMMEDIATELY.

(” Listen, kid--stop screaming, dammit, I get it, I know--LISTEN. Jesus Christ. I know I’m some monster to you but the real problem is the reason why your sorry ass is out here ALONE! What the hell are you doing, kid!?”

“...What the fuck are you????”)

Just imagine Aiden hanging there, mid-air, goggling at this fucking Volatile-adjacent man who is standing in broad daylight and chastising him after chasing him several hundred meters.

“I don’t know what fucking girl you were sweet on here, but I guarantee she’s dead now, and I guarantee that going to have a fucking booty call with her in this day and age is NOT worth your goddamn death. Go HOME.”

Eventually Aiden scrambles together some brain cells thru the shock and he ends up squawking, the picture of baffled indignance, “What the hell are you--I don’t fucking BELONG ANYWHERE, let GO of me, asshole!”

Yeah. Crane initially finds that very hard to believe, but eventually as their conversation continues, he’s forced to accept that, no, Aiden’s fucking serious. He sorta…bluescreens over it. What the hell, he thinks. This 13 year old kid only comes up to my fucking elbow, and he’s out here alone??? Trying to ‘find his sister??’ You must be joking. No way in hell am I leaving this little guy to his own devices.

So, obviously, Crane wants to take Aiden to a settlement to settle in and not be in the wastes anymore, because he knows trying to find anyone in this day and age is a Fool’s Errand, especially someone you haven’t seen in a solid decade.

He feels a bit bad about it, but mostly has zero qualms about telling Aiden so, to which Aiden is like “fuck you no” but either way, Crane eventually “succeeds” in cajoling Aiden into talking to a Settlement. Problem is--Crane didn’t actually succeed. Aiden KNOWS this Settlement is Hostile to Pilgrims. Crane didn’t accept Aiden’s claim that they’d be mean to him because he’s not REALLY a pilgrim (yes he is—Crane doesn’t believe it! The fucking nerve!) and like…”wHoS gOiNg To Be CrUeL tO a KiD, AiDeN??”

Yeah, I’m sure we can guess Aiden’s plan, here. Crane, however, is blissfully unaware of the can of bullshit Aiden’s about to open. This is not going to be softened at all by the fact that, during the travel to the settlement, Aiden and Crane kinda become grudging pals (grudging in that Aiden is softening to Crane over time and VERY angry about it, and Crane is endlessly exasperated by Aiden’s teenagism but also unwillingly(!!) amused by it.)

Soon enough, we’ve got our day of Reckoning. They reach the bigger Settlement. As we and Aiden both expect, they are immediately hostile to Aiden when he reveals he’s a pilgrim—and our poor, previously unaware Crane, in turn, immediately realizes Aiden wasn’t being dramatic, actually, and tries very hard to get Aiden to get the hell out of there and come back over to him without revealing himself to the settlers, because showing himself would cause a panic. Guess who isn’t aware of that because he’s a dumb thirteen year old and the novelty of Crane wore off, like, a week ago? Ding ding ding. It’s Aiden.

Yeah, so, with rising hysteria Crane is trying to get Aiden to bail. Alas, the teenager in Aiden is coming out HARD and, wanting to REALLY prove his point to Crane, who has NOT been listening to his judgment at ALL, Aiden is very showy about calling out to the settlement guards and basically begs for a crossbow bolt between the eyes while Crane literally screams at him mentally.

Right, so. Consequences, here we come. Aiden is so busy being a jerkoff thirteen year old that he’s completely blindsided when one of the Settlers does, indeed ACTUALLY shoot Aiden, right in the front of the shoulder.

A stunned silence. The Settlers look amongst each other, wide-eyed and quiet, but then--as one--almost immediately they decide to commit to the bit. Ohhhh FUCK.

Crane doesn’t even hesitate once that group-decision becomes clear— with some unholy shriek, he leaps into action, and not only swipes the guards off the wall, but flings himself off the wall and seizes Aiden by the middle, loping both of them off into the distance while Aiden screams and shouts for multiple reasons, kicking his dumb little feet.

They have an argument as Crane runs from the Infected he’s accidentally sent into a frenzy between his sudden energy and the smell of Aiden’s blood, and Crane doubles down—he’s like, kid, some people are just assholes, not everyone is like that and no one’ll turn away a KID--especially not one who’s bleeding profusely from the shoulder, now, Jesus Christ, we got to sit down and take care of that soon--and Aiden tells him once more, this time with incredulous insistence, that no, he hadn’t been kidding before and wasn’t kidding now, EVERY fucking settlement this way is hostile as hell to Pilgrims, and after the scene HE made, they were probably going to be on the lookout!

Crane doesn’t want to believe it, but now that truth is starting to actually dawn on him, and he’s just not ready for it. Instead, they eventually lose the Chase and Crane props up Aiden on a car to help him clumsily patch up as best as he can with the materials he’s got on hand from previous finds in hospitals and clinics along the road.

Obviously, it’s a pretty hackneyed job―especially since Aiden botches the fuck out of pulling out the arrow and he can’t give himself stitches. Unnoticed, while Aiden thrashed in pain over the arrow removal, he scrapes the fuck out of his shoulders on the rusty ass car door and gets some minor abrasions—IMPORTANT LATER.

Story marches on. Crane tries to prove Aiden wrong about people being jerks to teenage pilgrims, but it’s pretty obviously a doomed venture when they reach settlement after settlement, and one by one, all of them box Aiden out. Crane gets increasingly frustrated, which comes to a head when he comes raring out and YELLING at the guards who won’t take Aiden in despite his injuries after the twelfth turn-away, which results in a BIG conflict that ends with Crane breaking in, wrecking some shit, and carting Aiden away over his shoulder.

Well, Crane’s meltdown is just the precursor to Aiden blowing up on him, because Crane has only JUST understood what Aiden’s been telling him the whole fucking time! Listen--Aiden’s not sure WHY Crane has been so obstinate about getting him into a settlement, but what he DOES know is that he’s in pain, he’s thirsty, his shoulder and head are killing him, he hasn’t eaten in days, and he’s VERY pissed at Crane. So. While Crane tries to find them a place to hole up for the night and check in on Aiden’s shoulder, they get INTO IT.

This is The Fight. Where Aiden hammers home his goals, and how Crane can’t change his mind. This is the broad strokes of how it goes—this is NOT the dialogue, but essentially what is said:

“It’s not my fault you think it’s stupid, and it’s not my fault you don’t have a Fucking goal.”

“You don't think I have a goal? What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time!? Fuck, kid—I’ve been traveling with you for over a month, you think I’ve just been doing that for the hell of it? I want you to be SAFE!”

“and I’m TELLING you that I REFUSE to be safe until I see this through, and there’s JACK SHIT you can do about it! Either you’re with me, or against me, and there is zero fucking in between. So save yourself the trouble and just LEAVE already! I know you’ve been dying to get rid of me anyway! (stroke of abandonment issue—Crane trying to foist Aiden upon settlements has come across, to him, as an adult he grudgingly trusts trying to abandon him. He thinks Crane is eager to get rid of him)”

“I’m not—what?! Aiden, I’m NOT fucking leaving you, you’re injured and I happen to give a shit about you! You think I want to up and fucking dump you somewhere, that I’d just leave you for dead like this?! Are you joking?! (Crane has misunderstood, a little, but he sounds so earnest here that it throws Aiden off)”

“Well—! If you really gave a shit the way I NEED you to, you’d know just how fucking important Mia is to me, and you wouldn’t tell me over and over again that my one goal in life, my one reason for LIVING, is STUPID. You’ve been nothing but an asshole about this the entire Fucking time and I’m sick of it!”

“… (Crane, being the adult, realizes Aiden is right and accepts ownership of his relentless, though inadvertent assholery) …You’re right, kid. I HAVE been an asshole about this. But fuck, man, look around you. EVERYONE is dead. I have lost so many people, people that meant the world to me, and if that’s pain I can get you to avoid—especially when pursuing it might KILL YOU, I just…I wanted to try.”

“And I want to know what happened.”

“(Crane realizes getting Aiden to give up on this is going to take a lot more time than a single month, and uneasily settles into ‘agreeing’ to help him, because this is stupid but he cares enough about this punk ass kid to want to stick around.) Okay. Alright. Fine. Then I’ll help you find her. For real, this time.”

With that cleared, they finally chill the fuck out. Crane awkwardly leaves Aiden to mope it out while he goes and gets them dinner, because Aiden hasn’t eaten in awhile and he needs sustenance. He goes and manages to take down a couple rabbits, raids a nearby settlement for veggies bcus they pissed him off, and Crane goes back to Aiden to find the kid miserably dozing in the big master’s bed, smelling like he’s in pain. He clumsily makes a rabbit stew and brings it to Aiden, who says in a surly tone, “I’m not hungry.”

Initially Crane assumes Aiden’s doing that classic teenager thing and—since he’s still feeling like an asshole about earlier—he’s gentle with it. He’s like, “Aiden, listen, dude. I know you’re probably pissed off. I would be pissed, hell, I’d be fucking livid if I were you. But even if that’s true, in this day and age, it’s never a good idea to refuse hot food. You can glare daggers at me the whole time, but please just eat something.”

To which Aiden says, with appropriate shame and a much softer face, “Yeah, you got me, I’ve done that before, but I’m not being a hardass for funsies right now.” He sounds a little troubled as he admits, “I’m actually not hungry.”

“Aiden, you’ve barely eaten these last couple days. I want to believe you, kid, but you’re a teenager--there’s no way in hell you’re not hungry, unless somethings wrong.” The rising anxiousness in Crane’s tone prevents Aiden’s hackles from going up entirely, so he just snips,

“Didn’t we just argue about you not fucking listening to me? I’m serious, I really don’t want to eat right now.”

Crane’s heart hammers a bit, “…Do you think something might be wrong?”

“My head just hurts, and my stomach’s in knots, probably over the argument.” Crane feels a distinctly hard twinge of guilt. “I just don’t like fighting. This is probably nothing special. I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning.”

Crane eventually cajoles Aiden into eating—he pushes the stew around and manages to get down like half of it, which just worries Crane more. He puts it up in the miraculously still-working fridge and goes to settle for the night. Well. Some hours later—when it’s 2am and Crane’s still in stupid-mode (remember: that’s how he is as a Sentient Volatile—he doesn’t get bloodlust. Stupid Insistent Monkey Brain because I can’t handle violent Crane), he’s woken by the sound of his kid hurling over the side of the bed.

He lopes into the room in a hurry like “!!! What ! The fuck ! hurt?!” and Aiden tries to wave him off like “I just don’t think the rabbit sat well with me.” But he’s trembling, sweating, listing a little bit, and pale as fuck. Crane immediately feels his face—he’s sodden with sweat, and boiling. Oh fuck, he’s feverish. He goes to manhandle Aiden out of the blankets and curls his hand carefully around Aiden’s injured shoulder, avoiding the front—but when he grabs the back of Aiden’s shoulder, the kid nearly Fucking convulses.

Oh fuck.

Remember that scrape he got on his back from the rusty car door when he pulled the arrow out of the front of the shoulder?

Yeah. Turns out one of the scrapes was a proper cut, and it got infected with bacteria. Aiden missed it because he doesn’t have eyes back there and, yknow, the front of his shoulder was in such overwhelming pain, and Crane missed it because he was so fixated on the front too. But now there’s visible pus in it and even though Crane is still in stupid-mode, he’s still got the faculties to think to himself a very emphatic, “Fuck.”

He’s like “we need! Pills! Medicine!” and Aiden’s like “so long as it’s not penicillin it’s fine” and Cranes like “?!?!? WHAT.” to which Aiden explains that, for some godforsaken reason, he’s allergic as hell to the one (1) antibiotic that is still around in abundance—penicillin. Cranes like “where! The fuck!! Am I gonna find an antibiotic that’s NOT ! Penicillin! Fuck!”

They start with the first Crane finds—Doxycycline hyclate. It was manufactured in 2022 — it’s 2032. Unfortunately, they don’t really do shit. They went over the expiry for them, and though SOME might still be effective, ultimately they just barely make a dent in the infection. Things are starting to look dire, and the area is starting to clog up with migrating infected and bandits, so they gotta move.

Crane ends up rigging together, basically, a baby carrier for his back to keep Aiden hoisted securely on him using bungee cords and other materials he raids from a hiking store in a Volatile Hive mall. By this point, Aiden is so feverish he can barely speak, much less travel. So he gets Aiden secured, grabs their shit, and in a last ditch effort makes it to a Very large hospital-turned-hive, and basically sets Aiden up in a room, secures it, and fucking destroys all of the Infected in there while staying in tune with Aiden’s struggling heartbeats and deteriorating mind.

Eventually the hospital is secure, Crane reboots the UV lights to keep the nasties out, and rifles through what remains. Blessedly, he finds not only proper I.V needles and fluid, but ALSO Ciprofloxacin, which can last 142 months after expiry before it really is dangerous. It was made in June 2024– it’s February 2032. Only 92 months, well within the limit.

He sets Aiden up with the IV, and with the antibiotics―which he very carefully coaxes the boy into swallowing. By the time Aiden takes these, he’s dangerously close to death’s door, and not altogether there. So at some point he wakes in a hospital room, with shit shoved in his arm, very disoriented, woozy, and hot.

So. Very understandably he loses his absolute fucking shit. Which gives me the opportunity for some VERY heart-wrenching whumpy bullshit wherein Crane gets to cradle a very-nearly wailing Aiden and calm him down from, essentially, a post-traumatic meltdown. Just like I wish my parents woulda done with me, hahaha.

Jesus Christ.

Well. Anyway. Between the IV keeping him hydrated, the antibiotics finally working to fight the infection and compounding on the mild effect the previous ones had, and the comfortable bed, Aiden’s condition does rapidly improve. By the time two days go by, the fever finally diminishes enough for Aiden to be fully coherent. He’s still absolutely miserable, but at least he’s back with it, right? Mmn. It would be nice if he didn’t have to contend with Crane’s deep and almost frantic doting concern, which was exponentially worsened by his flip-out over simply being in a hospital bed.

Eventually: “So you, uh…I didn’t want to bring it up too fast, but I don’t know if you remember―you had a pretty strong reaction to being in a hospital bed, buddy. What uh. What’s going on there?”

Aiden puts down his comic book and squeezes his eyes shut. Fuuuck.

So they’re having this conversation. Awesome. Well. Crane just saved his absolute dick and ass, and went above and beyond to care for him. And like…the guy’s alright. He’s clearly in this for the long haul, so Aiden guesses he sorta owes the dude the full explanation. So he gets into it. Talking about the experiments Waltz was running on the GRE’s dime for some fucking reason, and all the awful shit he was put through.

Crane is.

AGHAST.

...I’m not even going to comment on,, all of THAT, because there’s jack shit I can say to--well. Y’know. Just, holy fuck. Holy fuck. But uh. Make no mistake kid―not your fault, I don’t judge you for that―I mean, look at me, how am I gonna judge someone?--and--and those people fucking suck. I hope you know you’re getting babied forever now though. Fuck, dude.”

“...”

“ᴺᵃᶦˡᵉᵈ ᶦᵗ”

“Ur not my fucking dad, Crane.”

“Yeah, I’m glad! I got a bone to pick with that dude.”

“Jesus. Whatever, look―is babying me going to involve that weird baby carrier thing you were doing the other day?”

“...Holy shit, you remember that?”

It does, indeed, entail the baby carrier thing, though admittedly it’s more for the hell of it. They both come to realize that Crane can travel a helluva lot faster than Aiden can, and if they can trade off on who’s leading, they can travel way farther and waste less time. So they develop a routine―during the day, Crane helps Aiden scavenge―goes where Aiden cannot―while Aiden works on gathering info on his sister and Waltz, does errands, and basically does life maintenance.

By the time sunset rolls around, Aiden and Crane pack up, strap Aiden to his back, pad him a lil bit, and essentially just let Stupid Brain Crane jettison through the night and get his zoomies out with Aiden secured to him. Aiden comes to sleep exceptionally well whilst having the Fuck shook out of him, and only really sleep good when Crane’s there.

Aiden pretends to hate the baby carrier--he tries real hard. Crane figures out pretty quick that he's full of shit. He lets it alone tho lol

Wintering is kinda cute―they make, essentially, a gigantic soft nest to appeal to Crane, and they essentially hibernate together. Just like that, Crane acquires the human connection he craves and like, a weird quirked-up whiteboy of a son. And Aiden gets an adult who protects him and loves him like their own, giving him a parent. So cute. Wow. Love it.

So obviously this gets a little fucked up once they get to Villedor almost nine years later. Aiden’s 21 now, going on 22.

Crane has to make a very tough call―he’s not…going into the city with Aiden. At first, Aiden’s really betrayed―he came this far, just to leave him behind here? What the fuck? Crane quickly explains that he’d love to stay with Aiden, but this is a city full of people. There’s no way in hell Crane can fly under the radar here, and…Aiden has finally found where Mia is. But he won’t find her without acceptance from the locals. And the thought that Crane could fuck that up for him without even trying? Hell no. Crane couldn’t bear it.

And, well…Aiden can’t really argue with that. He wants to, desperately, because Crane’s been by his side for like, a third of his life! The thought of being apart from him after all this time feels weird, wrong, and anxiety-inducing. For BOTH of them. So Crane’s quick to assure―

“Don’t worry, kid. I’m not going to up and lope off into the fucking sunset. You know this radio station we’re in, right now? I’ll just roost here. Make a nice nest and everything. And when you find her, and when you’re ready to either leave or stay, you can just come visit whenever. I’ll work on clearing the metro and putting in UV lights if you leave me any, just so your path out stays open, alright?”

“...And you’ll stay on the radio?” Aiden asks in this small voice.

“Kid… you know I can’t actually talk, right? All I’ve got is this weird mind-link shit, and once you’re out of range, well…”

“But I can talk to YOU. And you―you can do clicks and stuff, yeah? I’ll just ask yes or no questions―two clicks for yes, one for no.”

And hey, that works. They get Crane set up, and while Aiden sets up the bed and gets ready to sleep for the night, Crane scopes out the metro at sunset and goes apeshit on the Volatiles in there. Sets up some UV lights and secures the area, if only so his boy doesn’t get his ass handed to him. Heads back. Now they usually share the bed―Crane’ll be a warm wall of flesh behind Aiden, cover his back and all. They usually reserve the Whole Ticket for winter when it's too damn cold.

For this last night, they indulge in the winter cuddle. Aiden curls up straight in Crane’s lap, head tucked into his neck, and basically sleeps sprawled across the guy’s chest.

As Aiden sleeps, Crane actually cries a little. Softly, with tear ducts that don’t work anyway. He’s really going to miss this kid, and the reality of not seeing him for awhile―possibly not ever again, if Aiden’s unlucky enough―is really starting to hit the dude.

It’s hard to let him go the next day, but he knows this means the world to Aiden, so he doesn’t say a word to stop him. He watches Aiden head towards Villedor the next morning after one last hug. His slowly heaving heart fills with dread.

---

I'm not quite sure how I want to approach Villedor in this one: I DO want Aiden to go thru the story and all that, but I'm not sure how or when I want him to get Infected, nor how often I want Crane to come into play.

I DO want there to be a consistent subplot of Crane befriending a shitload of feral cats and becoming the ultimate catdad whilst he mopes about missing his kid.

I do also really want Aiden to employ diplomacy and get the PK to retreat from Old Villedor without extensive bloodshed since being around Crane has given him the (in Dodger’s words, coconut-sized) balls to defy authority (especially because not being able to try diplomacy in the canon game makes me very sad--so many human lives wasted!)

And I DO want Crane to swoop in and save Aiden from Waltz at the electric car factory and basically scream something to the effect of, "GET THE FUCK OFF MY SON YOU FUCKING ANIMAL." @ Waltz before bailing and forcibly seizing Lawan in one arm, Aiden in the other, as Crane jettisons them to the Central Loop.

(Lawan flips the fuck out over this random Infected, and it is utterly, comically side-burnered by Aiden reuniting with his 'dad', Crane, despite the objective insanity of the happenstance)

Aiden, sobbing: so much terrible shit has happened, a random man broke my heart, I fucking hate this city, I missed you so much, this sucks

Crane, soothingly: If you want to bail for now, it's okay, you can come home with me and the cats for awhile and try again later. We have time.

Aiden: Wait, cats? Cats, plural?

Lawan:

Last but not least I ALSO know that I want Crane to eventually give up on totally behaving himself and instead venture into Villedor regularly--initially 'just to find cat food' but eventually just to sweep the Infected off the streets, throw useful shit into strongholds, and save as many people as possible.

An urban legend starts to thrum thru all of the city--there is a talking Volatile man who eats other Infected, throws antibiotics at people, and gives absolutely fuckall 0 shits about UV light. Apparently he is usually toting around cat products--toys, litter, kibble, nip, etc--and is very friendly. People are terrified out of their wits at first, but the more he talks about his alleged four cats and doesn't rip people into ribbons, the more the fear fades.

Aiden hears about this and, with a very amused nose-exhale, thinks to himself, 'oh man, wonder who that could be. what a mystery. so intriguing. Ah, good on you, old man.'

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banannabethchase · 1 year ago

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Hurt Me So Good - also on AO3

Matt wants angry sex with Adam. Adam has feelings. That's it. That's the whole fic.

For bingo square G4 - PWP! Title from Do Me by Kim Petras, which is my always Matt Jackson song.

Kenny’s getting checked out by medical and Nick is meeting up with Tony after Bucks’ match, so Adam is alone when Matt comes into their locker room. He’s sweaty and frowning, with exhaustion in the back of his eyes Adam knows he’s been hiding from everyone else.

“Hey,” Adam says, reaching out to take Matt’s hand. Matt grabs his hand, swings it, then lets go, staggering the tiniest bit. “You okay?”

Matt nods. “Good. Tired.” He shoots a smile at Adam, then averts his eyes. Adam tries to pick up what’s happening, and decides to wait until Matt uses his words. “You’re not, like, mad at me, are you?” Matt asks after a few moments. He fiddles with his fingertips, won’t meet Adam’s eyes.

Adam waits a few seconds before answering. “Why do you ask?”

“I – because you’ve been weird, ever since All In. Like you’re mad we all lost our matches.” His eyes flick up to Adam’s for the briefest of seconds.

“I’m – wait, do you want me to be mad?”

Matt bites his lip and looks up at Adam, and the puzzle pieces click together. “Only if you’re really, really mad.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “Jesus, you want me to hate fuck you like a couple years back again, you just have to ask.” He reaches out and wraps a hand around Matt’s throat, who lets out a strange, relieved little gasp.

“Harder,” Matt demands. “Make me feel it.”

“Matty, if I choke you any worse, you’re gonna die,” Adam says, hand settling on Matt’s hip like it was sculpted to fit there. “Christ, you’re the worst. Lean into the fantasy, not the near death experience.”

“Maybe I like the –”

Adam crushes his mouth to Matt’s, shoving his tongue in Matt’s mouth. Matt moans around it, slumping against the wall. Maybe he should dislike these moments, when Matt flashes them back to 2020. He doesn't always. Sure, they remind him a little bit of some of the worst parts of his life, but the look on Matt’s face when he fucks him without mercy, the way they two of them curl around each other afterward, is more than worth it. This way, they get to indulge in the emotions without devolving back into their worst selves from back then.

And Adam’s terrible at telling Matt no when he gets all pouty.

“Please,” Matt says, gasping. “Adam, please.”

“Beg harder,” Adam growls, nails biting into Matt’s skin where his hand had slid up the front of his shirt. “Not gonna give it to you unless you earn it.”

Matt laughs, a little frantic, and his hip buck like he doesn’t mean to. “Hanger, please. I need it. I need you.” He shoves a shaking hand into his front pocket and presses a tube, already warm from his body, into Adam’s hand. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Maybe I will,” Adam says, diving in to work a bruise into the soft skin of Matt’s neck. “Maybe I leave you here begging for it, let everybody else come in to see you fucking yourself desperate on the couch because you didn’t earn it.”

Matt’s eyes straight up roll back in his head. Adam always forgets how into it Matt gets when the moment is right. He figures, as he shoves a hand into the back of Matt’s shorts and grips his ass, that it’s a natural response to the stress of the week. Between All In, Dynamite, Collision, and All Out, Matt’s probably exhausted. And Adam is always happy to indulge Matt in his fantasies of getting wrecked to the point where he loses all control.

He's getting really into the moment when he’s interrupted. Matt taps Adam on the shoulder. “Not mean enough.”

Adam pulls back. “Seriously? I can practically taste pennies on your neck, babe.”

Matt pouts. “Scratch?”

Adam sighs. “Insatiable.” He pulls his hands from where he’d been kneading Matt’s ass and slides them up Matt’s back under his shirt. He briefly regrets trimming his nails earlier, because he doesn’t catch the way he knows Matt really wants it dragged down his skin. But Matt lets out a keening sigh, so maybe it’s close to enough. “Yeah?” he asks. “That mean enough?”

“Uh-huh,” Matt says, voice high. “I – I need you – in – please.”

His words are a slurred mess, which suggests to Adam that the rest of him is, too.

He grabs Matt’s hips and walks him backward. “How do you want it?” he asks, biting at Matt’s earlobe.

“Don’t care,” Matt says. “Just now, please.”

“Gonna have to wait either way,” Adam says, trying to pretend like he isn’t dizzy already, “gotta open you up before I wreck you.”

Matt’s giggle is frantic and delighted. “But I want it hard.”

Adam turns him to press against the back of the couch, right in eyeline of the mirrors so Matt can watch them. He slides a hand up Matt’s back and presses him to lean over the couch. It’s a sight Adam can’t seem to get sick of, Matt squirming and needy for him, little noises coming out of him like he can’t control it.

If he could, he’d bottle the moment and take a dose any time he’s feeling down. But Matt is here, now, and his, and that may be even better.

He digs his nails into Matt’s ass as he rubs his lube-coated fingers together, sure to warm them fully before tracing Matt’s rim.

“I – oh, my god, please do it,” Matt says. “I – too long. Can’t – now?”

“Not too fast, Matty,” he says. The next part comes out before he can stop it. “I don’t – I won’t hurt you.” The implied because I can’t make myself do it again hangs in the air, and Matt’s eyes meet his in the mirror.

“Hey,” Matt says, stilling and reaching back to grab Adam’s hand. “Stop that. I don’t know where your head went, but I don’t like it.”

Adam shakes his head, gets back in the moment. “Sorry. Just – thinking about –”

“Revolution 2020,” Matt says, shaking his head with a little sigh. “We’re not there anymore, Adam. This is right here, right now. Do you need to stop?”

Adam takes a deep breath and takes inventory of himself. He’s not shaking, or scared, or panting. None of him feels like he’s about to run, like the adrenaline is poison over excitement.

“No,” he says. “Just – I don’t think I can go all mean right now, if that’s okay.”

“Of course it’s okay,” Matt says, smile sweet and still a little dazed. “I think it’s kind of cute that you sometimes can’t be mean to me. It’s sweet, you know. Reminds me you really do love me.”

Adam slides an arm around Matt’s chest and pulls him back to line their bodies up. Matt turns his head and they kiss, sweet and soft.

“I love you,” Adam murmurs, as Matt leans forward over the couch.

“I love you,” Adam murmurs, as he slides a finger into Matt and watches in the mirror as Matt’s mouth drops open and he pants in anticipation.

“I love you,” Adam murmurs, burying himself to the hilt into Matt.

“I love you,” Adam pants, picking up the pace with his hands on Matt’s hips.

“I love you, too,” Matt gasps. “God, harder, please, you’re so good at this.”

Adam laughs, and can only do as Matt asks. He grabs Matt’s thigh and adjusts the angle, leading to Matt letting out the kind of delighted scream Adam would kill to earn but is lucky enough to get it now.

“That – yes!” Matt yelps. Adam can tell he could come untouched like this, could shoot over the couch and cost them an awkward meeting with Tony and around two thousand dollars in cleaning feels. But he’s not willing to reach that level of stupid so he pulls Matt back against him, leveraging so Matt sinks farther onto his cock. “Adam,” Matt gasps, strangled, and he comes across his own belly and Adam’s hand where it’s splayed across Matt’s chest.

Adam whimpers and buries his face into Matt’s hair as he fucks up into Matt a few more times, coming so deeply he thinks he’s marked Matt for life. He reaches up to swipe a few errant tears from his cheeks, but he can tell Matt caught them with the way he strokes Adam’s arm.

“I’m here,” Matt says quietly. “Not going anywhere.”

“Why are you taking care of me?” Adam laughs, pressing a kiss to Matt’s head. He meets Matt’s eyes in the mirror. “Isn’t that my job?”

Matt shakes his head, then shifts so Adam slips out of him. He turns in Adam’s arms, getting come and lube everywhere, but Adam doesn’t mind. He loops his arms around Adam’s neck. “Nobody’s ever taken enough care of you, Hanger. I’ve been the worst of it.” He goes up on his toes to kiss Adam’s nose. “I’ll do better, now. Forever.”

“That a promise?” Adam mutters, walking the two of them backward toward the shower.

Matt nods, eyes honest and kind like they only ever get around him. “Yes.”

Mini Playlist: Line of Fire - The Veronicas Do Me - Kim Petras I Want It - Two Feet Numbers - The Cab

#wtf i like wrestling now???#in which sara writes #HangMatt #anxious millennial dreamboat #Matt Attrackson #Here have a thing

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fathertaurus · 1 year ago

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A Dance - Owen Hendricks

A/N: This was written very much spur of the moment and hasn’t been edited so bare with me but there is no Owen Hendricks content on here and i couldn’t live with that so here ya go!

If you like it feel free to send in more requests for him or The Recruit in general cause it’s my current hyper fixation :)

Hope you enjoy!

pairing: Owen Hendricks x Fem!Reader

"Do you want to dance?" Maybe it was bold of him to ask under the circumstances—“fornicating with the competition” as Kitchen would put it were he around. But Owen simply could not help himself, not when she looked like that. The white silk adorned with ivory feathers, it was all an ode to her cover name (Dove) obviously given that they were on a mission but even if it wasn’t, even though she didn’t have the ability to fly or the voice of a songbird the outfit suited her well. Its resemblance to an angel was uncanny and so was hers.

Their OP tonight was to find Sam Douglas, the politician’s son who was rumored to supposedly have a connection to the person who leaked the newly revealed (potential—as far as the public knew) database of covert undercover agents spread out across the globe.

All they were supposed to do was find him at this charity gala event, do a bit of interrogation, and then when he inevitably spilled his guts bring him in to Homeland’s base of operations for some “routine” questioning.

But Owen didn’t count on Y/N showing up dressed like that. And when she looked him in the eyes, when those lips curved into a smile that only spoke the word “trouble” he knew he was in for it one way or another.

Leaning off the table she stood with all the grace left in the room before ever so slowly stepping towards him.

“You talking to me?” Such a coy tone to her voice, she oozed sweet amusement so thick Owen felt his own insides go sticky. Sticky and hot and bothered—the young man thought he might be harboring a honey bees‘ nest beneath his ribs.

His throat went tight, clammy hands squeezing over and over again to bring him back to reality. ‘Jesus Christ relax’ his brain tumbles.

Doing only what he thought he could manage he sucked in a breath, smiled back and stepped forward.

“You’re the only one here worth talking to,” his eyes glided all over her form, “Or dancing with.”

Teeth prodding through her lips in that smile that only she could give Y/N simpered—now standing dangerously close until there was no space left for Owen to sit idle in. Her head cocked to the side but her eyes languidly traced the room behind him, “You sure your friends over there wouldn’t mind?”

At her words he almost instantaneously glanced over his shoulder even with the knowing in his mind as to who she was gesturing too. Though what he didn’t count on was both Violet and Lester staring dead on at the two in bewilderment.

Owen didn’t even stop himself from the hefty sigh that slipped between his pursed lips, instead raising his hand above his head and sending a casual wave their way.

The pair ducked down at the acknowledgment, both now spinning in mutual 180s back to the table of free champagne before them.

“Dumbasses—“

“I don’t think they like me very much.”

And now he was back, staring directly into those chocolate brown eyes he quite literally made an oath to not look at with rather..inappropriate implications. But they were so perfect and bright and still had a sense of life in them that he craved and adored—

Okay he was definitely losing his train of thought.

“What? Those guys?” His lips blew a raspberry, waving off her very true observation. “They’re just two uptight assholes that’s all.” Owen smiled half-heartedly. Y/N’s brows (and lips) raised into a smirk.

“Sure. But you CIA guys have always had your own disdain for Homeland, that’s why you couldn’t stand me the first few weeks of us working together.” She cocked, the scent of challenge rolling off her tongue and down Owen’s backside.

He hesitated but laughed, fingertips now finding the side of her arm and tracing it ever so gently like if he pressed too much something would break, but if he didn’t touch her? Then he would be the broken thing.

“I suppose I jumped the gun on that one,” Owen gleamed, fingers and eyes gliding their way down until paused at her wrist, only to then clasped it in his grip.

Without another word the previously stammering gentleman raised her hand between both of his and pressed it to his lips.

He had to resist the urge to allow himself to bliss out by the simple pleasure of being this close to her.

“I just didn’t know you yet.” Words light as the feathers adorning her gown, his aperture releasing it all as molasses against her skin. Owen’s eyes craned opened and his heart took a moment to skip a beat to see Y/N already staring at him.

He beamed.

“But,” he began, relinquishing her hand from his kisser all the while keeping it encased and never too far, “It’s not like you were very welcoming.”

Bells rang as laughter echoed from her throat as she shook her head, “I suppose you’re right I definitely had my fair share of suspicions about you Hendricks.”

“And now look at us.” He whispered.

Maybe it was cheesy to interpret the moment as such but Owen could swear he felt time slow and sway around them. The building once filled with busying politicians and government officials seemingly now empty—so long as he stood here, and she stood before him. The 20 something kid thought long and hard of this engagement as an overwhelmingly new experience. It was too early to call any of this love, he knew that. But he would be damned if he couldn’t admit to how fucking smitten he was..at least to himself. Owen’s fingers laced tighter around hers, pulling her by the digits until their chests brushed against each other. Under the purple and pink hued lights he could see something tellingly shift in her eyes. His heart nearly kept out of his chest.

“So,” leaning close his lips neared the shell of her ear, “You gonna dance with me or what?”

The brunette drew back, gleaming bright and unabashedly at his supposed enemy and waited—all the while continuing to search her eyes and mouth and face and body for the words she was too afraid to speak.

But Y/N simply smiled.

“If you insist.”

#owen hendricks #owen hendricks x reader #owen hendricks imagine #owen hendricks blurb #the recruit #the recruit imagine

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beatricehawthorne · 3 months ago

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Hey! It’s me again! I notice you like Code Geass too!

Actually in my Narnian/Ransom Trilogy fanfiction multiverse and I have a reimagined Code Geass AU as well

Code Geass: Lelouch of The Knighthood which is mostly inspired by Prince Caspian

It exists as an alternate earth which like the D.Gray-Man world shares a singularity which is The Birth,Death, and Resurrection of Christ which redeemed all worlds

In it Suzaku was framed for his parents assassination and his memories rewritten as a child, this was the work along other political figures throughout the world getting assassinated(including Marianne along with Lelia and Empress Tianzi’s parents) in a satanic conspiracy of The Geass Order lead by Vincent(insert Freemason joke here) under their service to “The Usurper of Geass” who’s implied to be Satan/Tash/The Bent One

Soon this leads to Charles own death when he regrets what he’s done and finds out about Mary’s death being part of the cults plan and is about to tell the public and Schnizel taking over with a satanic mockery of Geass with the aid of V.V. to continue the scheme

Here Aslan/Christ appears as cloaked and masked figure “The Master of Geass” son of “The Infinite One” and through whom “The Geass Specter” proceed through

And the Keeper of Space Time is the Oyarsa of this world if your familiar with The Ransom/Space Trilogy

Geass in this case is the configuration of “Deep Magic” of This World and given how C’s world works, it can kinda be how the communion of Saints manifests itself in this world and tragedy befalls only to those who try to bend it to their will rather than submitting to the Master, kinda was inspired by The Magician’s Nephew

Basically Lelouch and Co make better choices(there’s still drama and conflict mind you!) and their major goal is to get Nunally seated as Empress and stop The Ragnarok Connection which is far more demonic in this AU

I’m just thinking how Aslan would get to Lelouch, Suzaku, and Kaplan with their bitterness and sorrows. Lelouch definitely needs work with the wounds of betrayal, and hoo boy is Jesus not unfamiliar with betrayal and suffering

That's a lot information to digest so I took my time thinking and answering this ask. I must say you put a lot of mind and efforts into this fanfiction of yours. Such enthusiasm is admirable, so keep up with it and don't let what I share next be a guide to your brainstorming and world-building. I believe one remains a better judge for one's own writing, for good or for bad.

I have zero knowledge on the Ransom Trilogy, so little can I contribute on details related to it. I do love Code Geass, though; so I can share a bit.

In my opinion, Code Geass is a story about the battle of philosophy and ideologies which ends with the triumph of the protagonist's, Lelouch's, idea, which bears the closest resemblance to Christianity. Unlike his father Charles or his brother Schneizel, Lelouch chooses the role of a villain to be slain instead of the role of God (funny, as the Son shows Himself to us not as the dominating Lord, but chose to follow the will of the Father to be the sacrificial Lamb to take away the sin of the world). He offers himself as a sacrifice to give the world a chance to embrace the future and puts his trust in people's perserving wish for happiness, and death is also his way of atonement. Despite all his lies and faults, Lelouch is quite a romanticist who never gives up his belief in hope and dreams, who treasures his loved ones, who, to quote Chesterton, "hate it [the world] enough to change it, and yet love it enough to think it worth changing." For such a character, I don't think it's hard for our Lord to reach to his heart. The only issue is whether he will accept our Lord's will, which asks him to entrust everything to the Divine Mercy.

Suzaku is the obstinate one here. While I also love him as dearly as I love Lelouch, after losing Euphemia, he acts like a jerk (partly justified), and only after committing the irreversible crime of robbing the lives of over 10 mil people that he accepts Lelouch's method and wholeheartedly works with him for the greater good. Still, I understand why Suzaku stubbornly clings to his idea, and he's right in thinking that the ends cannot justify the means; though frankly I think his means are also controversial and contradicting to this particular belief. Anyway, how God touch his heart depends on at which point Suzaku is at that time (the naive suicidal boy before meeting Euphy, the man full of anger and resentment after her death and betrayal to Lelouch, or the massacrer of millions).

Lelouch and Suzaku make the best choices with what they have to deliver a good story; not necessarily the wisest, but most appropriate given their personalities and surrounding circumstances. Now the thing with stories and fanfiction is that I love them because while they are somewhat similar to the real world, they need a bit of naiveté and idealization to let everything fall into its place and bring about the wanted outcome. You have chosen the hard task of bringing God to your fantasy universe as the only thing equal with such experience is our real life, which will last till the Day of Judgment. Best to quote Tolkien here:

“... Actually I am a Christian, and indeed a Roman Catholic, so that I do not expect ‘history’ to be anything but a ‘long defeat’— though it contains (and in legend may contain more clearly and movingly) some samples or glimpses of final victory.”

(JRR Tolkien, Letters, 255)

I object to the idea of a masked and cloaked figure. That reduces Jesus Christ to a mere symbol while unlike Zero, He is the Way, the Truth and the Life, the Word in flesh and blood. To have Him hide behind any kind of mantle seems tasteless and defies His nature.

I'm also not comfortable with the idea of Lelouch doing his best to put Nunnally on the throne. While she is more than capable, I doubt Lelouch would place such a heavy burden on his dearest sister's shoulders. It's one thing that the situation forces him to let that happen or her to take on the responsibility by herself; it's totally another thing for him to treat it as his original goal. Lelouch loves Nunnally too much to do that.

Hope you find my answer helpful.

#code geass #my asks #ask #lelouch vi britannia #something to consider as to why Tolikien despised allegories #nunnally vi britannia #suzaku kururugi

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