#alas still missing eleven | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

starlightazriel · 2 months ago

Text

bee 11

desc: modern bestfriends > lovers (femreader) (tattoo artist az)

warnings: 18+, drug/alcohol addiction/recovery, reader overthinking/insecure/depressed, jealousy, archeron sisters have entered the chat, angst, fluff, co-dependence(and all the trauma that comes with it),

wc: 4.2k

a/n: wow i'm so sorry this took so long as some of you know i been going through some things anyyyway we've come so far since the beginning myyy goodness, as much as I love sober az I already miss the az who was doing a line before a tattoo, but alas after all the drama last time I hope this makes up for it <3 kisses xoxox

other parts on my az masterlist

eleven

Sixty days.

Sixty days of loneliness.

Sixty days of an empty house.

Sixty days of overthinking.

Sixty days of gut wrenching anxiety.

Sixty days of no contact.

Sixty days of not hearing his voice.

It had been my idea, the whole no contact, and now, it felt like it had been the worst fucking idea in the world. Facing him now seemed impossible. Would he look different? Would he be different?

Fucking idiot. Do you know how much can change in sixty days? Sober Ariel won't even want you.

It had been maybe a week in when the seed of doubt had blossomed in my gut. The regret for the dumb idea that space was the best thing for our relationships, time to figure ourselves out so we could add to each others lives— instead of depending on each other. Him, needing me, me needing to be needed.

It was such a fine line between give and take and I had offered every last piece of myself to him without a hesitation. With him gone, with him healing, getting better... What would he need me for? What was I supposed to do with myself? School was hardly distracting, and finals coming up should have helped but only made it worse.

Rhys and Cass had visited him, a few times, they had also gone on another Vegas trip, without him obviously, apartment hunting. That did nothing to soothe my gut either, that was real. It was happening in mere months they were moving to Vegas. Neither did the way they all stopped talking about him when I was around, did he tell them something? Did he tell them he was going to break it off with me for good when he got home? Or did my friends really think I was that fragile? That I couldn't even handle hearing about him?

'I would let Rhys sue me for breaking contract before I would leave this city without you.' his previous words echoed in my mind, I had been so sure he meant it when he'd said that to me, so sure that I would never be alone again.

And of course I wanted him to get clean, but somehow, everything felt different now. I wasn't so sure of anything anymore. Would he still feel the same way?

I hadn't even looked into transferring schools. He had told me to, before he left... But doing that made everything more real, and what if he changed his mind when he saw me again?

He wouldn't be in a drug clouded haze anymore. He wouldn't need me anymore, not the way that I needed him.

And I wouldn't even get any alone time with him, not immediately. Rhys was throwing a little get together for him, he was so proud, they were all so proud of him.

I hated that I wasnt as proud as everyone else when I should be the most proud, I hated that I was afraid of the new Azriel. There would be nothing for me to fix anymore.

With every waking moment that passed my anxiety and insecurity grew. Getting ready for his 'sober party' seemed surreal to me, it only created more doubts in my mind. I mean, had Azriel, my Az, really agreed to that? Even as a sober version of himself— it seemed doubtful.

Sixty days.

Sixty days of detoxing his mind, body, and soul.

Sixty days of boring meals.

Sixty days of therapy multiple times a week.

Sixty days of sharing his darkest side with complete strangers.

Sixty days of uncomfortable beds and scratchy sheets.

Sixty days of living in sweat pants because it was all he had packed.

Sixty days of heart stopping guilt and revelations about himself and his behavior.

Sixty days of torturous inescapable demons that seemed to be at war in his mind.

Sixty days of not hearing her voice.

The moment she had told him she didn't want to talk to him while he was in rehab, he had wanted to stay. Give up the idea entirely and quit on his own accord. He didn't though, he went. And it wasn't only for her. No, it was for him too. And he thought maybe it was valid, maybe they did need space, time away to clear their minds and have a true fresh start. He could do things right this time.

And now, with his head clear, he was happy he had gone. He felt stronger, in his mind and body. It had been a lot, a lot of facing things that had happened in his childhood that he had never dared to face before. Things he didnt have to face when drugs and alcohol had been his safety net for so many years. He realized he didnt need substances to deal with those things, his traumas didnt make him weak or vulnerable, they made him stronger.

He did recognize his problem, and he couldn't say for sure that he would never touch the bottle or snort a line ever again because that was just unrealistic. He was only human and he would do his absolute best to be a good man, for himself.

For Bee too. If she still wanted anything to do with him, the silence between them was the loudest one he'd ever felt, even miles away.

Bee.

His lover. His everything.

There was nothing that could get in the way anymore, he hadn't realized until now how much his addictions had been separating him from her. And of course he had gotten off it before but never without alcohol to help him along. He had never been so fucking deep into his addictions, had never gone that crazy. What he had done was completely unacceptable and now he could only hope for the best when he saw her. A party thrown by Rhys and his girlfriend hadn't been his ideal meeting place... But it had been completely sprung on him. Him being in rehab wasnt a secret, but that didn't mean he wanted to advertise it. Rhys had promised it was a very small get together, just something to show their support. 'No pictures.' Azriel had been sure to clear that up with him. The party was supposed to be a surprise, luckily for Az, Rhys knew him better than that.

Rhys and his new girlfriend had out done themselves along with the help of Mor who had told me this morning when she arrived in town that she wouldn't have missed this for the world. 'I mean, Azriel sober? I have to see it for myself and support,' she had said over coffees earlier, I had gotten quiet, I knew I could have talked to her about how I was feeling. But it felt wrong, it was embarrassing to say the least. I didnt think she would understand, either.

Rhys' place was decked out, balloons everywhere, charcuterie and little desserts lined both of the large tables, there was a mocktail station and a coffee station where she had also decorated Rhys' coffee pot, another table had a 'fill your own cone' bud bar that included a big jar full of Azriels favorite cigarettes as well. Her theme was 'Sober & Slaying' and there were banners and balloons to match. My heart had swelled the moment I had entered the apartment and part of me felt a little guilty for not getting here earlier. I hadn't been doing much of anything though, I wasn't eating right, I wasn't sleeping right, my thoughts and fears and insecurities had been practically eating me alive. They hadn't even asked me to help with set up, simply to show up on time, I at least had arrived twenty minutes early.

"Oh good! You're here, will you help me with this last mocktail?" Feyre beams after she had pulled me into a quick hug. She was very sweet although a bit reserved at first she had warmed up to me quickly. She was setting up some last minute decorations, I was early, of course, my anxious gut hadn't allowed me to sit at home a moment longer.

Part of me was hoping this new relationship would entice Rhys to stay a little bit longer, but they were already talking about going long distance until Feyre was ready to take the leap and move to Vegas. Seemed awfully soon to even be talking about it to me, but I wasn't one to judge, they did seem madly in love nearly instantly, and Rhys was, different. Nicer even.

"Yeah of course," I flashed her a grin and tasted the mocktail she was working on before I added some more of the homemade blueberry simple syrup she had made. "So good," I hummed in approval once I had tasted it again.

"So like, will this be the first time you and Az speak?" Mor tries to make it sound as casual as possible, my eyes focus intently as I transferred the mocktail to the aesthetically pleasing drink dispensers Feyre had put out.

"Um yeah, I haven't seen him or spoke to him since the night before he left," I shrugged, my eyes not lifting once. It had been quite the emotional night, it felt like a lifetime ago.

"I visited him once, he looks really good," she responded and I couldn't stop the jealous pang that hit my gut. Space. We had decided space was the right thing for us, a reset to our relationship after everything we had been through. My dumb idea, but he had agreed. I only smiled in response, and was glad when Cassian arrived with a cake in hand, his loud greeting drew all the attention away from me. Bless him. I found a corner to sit in, a quiet corner with my phone and one of the mocktails Feyre had made. A few more arrived, Feyres sisters, which I had only met a handful of times. Why were they here? Az didn't know them, did he? The only way that was possible would be if Rhys had brought them for one of his visits— the mocktail felt sour in my stomach and I felt more than relieved when Kat finally arrived and joined me in my corner.

"Hi love, how you holding up?" Kat had been very supportive through this entire rehab thing, and was making my loneliness nearly bearable.

"I'm fine, really, just coping with all of— all of the emotions of all the sudden change I guess," I shrug easily, Kat was the only one I had really felt comfortable to tell my true feelings to. She was the only one I knew that wouldn't judge. She nodded in understanding, making herself comfortable in her seat.

"That's valid, it's a lot to take in girl," She begins and I'm relieved when she can't continue because Cassian is all but shouting a second later.

"He's coming up he texted me a few minutes ago," Cassians voice drowns out the chatter around the room and I feel my insides go to liquid, my throat feeling tight and constricted.

My heart stopped when I finally laid my eyes on him. Impossibly sexier. His face was more full, color in his cheeks, a sparkle in his eye I hadn't seen since we were kids, he stood straighter, making him look impossibly taller, shoulders spread, oozing with a confidence I hadn't seen in a long time. My gut twisted, my heart picking up, a steady hammer against my chest. I held my breath when our eyes met, his face fell as he scanned me from across the room and I wanted nothing more than to drop into the hole in the floor. It wasn't exactly the reaction I'd been hoping for. I knew I looked awful— but shit, we hadn't seen each other in two months.

"Azriel, it's nice to see you again," Elain is the first person in front of him she's loud enough to hear across the room, her sing song voice carrying, and I try to ignore it but my eyes are glued to his, and he has to tear his away from mine.

"So what, Rhys took Feyre and her random sisters to see Az in rehab?" I drop my voice, forcing myself to look away, to tune out their conversation to the best of my abilities. Kat bit her lip, a notable guilty blush creeping across her cheeks.

"I um.. I was there too," she admits, twirling her hair around her finger, I squint slightly. She could have at least told me that. "It was a last minute thing," she explained quickly, my expression probably throwing her off. I was jealous, I couldn't deny that— I had no one to blame but myself. If I'd never been so set on having space away from eachother... My blood heated, she was gorgeous, just the type that Azriel would go for to. "They just happened to be there and we made a group trip of it— and yeah, I didn't think you'd want to know, considering..." she trailed off and I shrugged my shoulders.

"Yeah, I don't mind at all," I would have rather jumped off of the balcony than have this conversation, I shouldn't have asked. The FOMO was certainly real and I wondered if that's why they were constantly all whispers when talking about Azriel, to spare me of that feeling.

"Youre not imagining her googly eyes though," she scoffs as she glances back over at them and then to me mocking a gag, I smirked a little bit glancing back at them once more and then to Kat again. She was for sure laying it on thick with the sweet tone and all of the unnecessary blinks. I didnt remember that about the first few times I met her.

"I mean I can't even blame her— he looks..." I trailed off searching for the right word, he looked amazing, delicious, sexier than he'd ever had before. He was practically glowing with whatever newfound confidence he'd gained from facing his many demons.

"I know that's your man but he looks hot," she finishes for me and we giggle together, I ignored the heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach that maybe he wasnt my man anymore.

"That he does," I sigh, twirling my straw around in my cup, suddenly I regretted not sneaking a few nips into my purse. I wouldn't get drunk at a sober party, I wouldn't, but something to take the edge off would be nice, and a joint didn't seem like the right option.

I effectively avoided Azriel for at least an hour, I hadn't been keeping track of time but it felt like it had been at least that long. I wasnt ready for a conversation, not when one look at him made my heart stop.

My stomach was growling, and I needed a snack. I was carefully piling charcuterie onto my plate when I jumped and nearly dropped the whole thing.

"Youre avoiding me, and youre doing a good job for how small the space is," his voice is the same one I remember, low and gravelly and sexy.

"Im not," I insist, just hoping he hadn't noticed the way I visibly jumped at the sound of his voice.

"I think I know when my girlfriend is avoiding me," he left a heavy emphasis on the word, looking at me expectantly as if he was daring me to challenge his claim on our relationship status. Relief washed over me, a tension that I hadn't been able to ease since the last time I saw him.

"Its just— Its been a lot I don't know, and having this conversation here... Seems like a lot too," I took a step back from the table but turned around to face him, I could feel more than one pair of eyes watching us, it only made me more uncomfortable.

"Are you eating?" its a direct question, soft but firm, his eyes scanning over every inch of me. My stomach flips, my cheeks reddening.

"Yes," I lift the small plate of cheese, crackers, and fruit as if that proved anything.

"Hm," he doesn't seem satisfied with my answer, his eyes not leaving me for a second.

"You look good Az, you look different," I chewed the inside of my lip, hoping my anxiousness didnt bleed into my words.

"Im still me baby im just better," that same confident smirk spreads across his lips, I knew it well but somehow- there was a different spark behind it. Something all those drugs had dimmed. A light I hadn't seen in a while. "For example, Im not gonna nod off on the couch anymore because Ive had a handle to myself for two days straight and Im hours off a two week coke bender," he said it so casually and leave it to Azriel to make a joke out of it. "From now on," his voice drops as if he knew they were all listening, I felt Elain's curious eyes on us and I knew she was trying to catch every word. Sorry, hes mine. "I won't fall asleep without making sure you are fed, fucked, and tucked into bed."

I blush, looking away from his stare, something in my gut eases but the anxiety is still settled there.

"And Im sorry, for each and every time I failed you. Im clear headed now and—" he cuts himself off, and maybe it was the look on my face that stopped him. "Would you feel better if we went outside?" he nods to the balcony, I quickly nod, desperate to be alone with him and not on display like some soap that they were all watching.

"Please, its. little stuffy in here," my words are a little rushed, and they were true, I felt like I could barely breathe anymore. And I was making a complete idiot out of myself when Azriel hadn't seen me in two months. I feel his hand on my back and he guides me out onto Rhys balcony, I don't look back again, I lean up against the balcony, resting my elbow on the railing and sucking in a deep breath of fresh air before popping one of the pieces of cheese into my mouth.

Azriel joins me after he had shut the door behind us, leaning up against the balcony next to me and he lit up a joint he had gotten off of the bud bar.

"Did you tell your psychiatrist you were going to smoke?" I ask casually, trying to change the subject into something else. Anything else but our relationship, I shouldn't be worried, he had already said I was still his girlfriend.

"Yes," he shrugged, taking another drag from it, I could feel his eyes on me as I set my plate down on the nearby table. I had barely touched it.

"And what did they say?" I ask, quirking a brow as I take it from him, it was annoying that I was more at ease now, normal territory, I didnt like the way sober Az could see right through me, I had thought he was able to before, and now?

He shrugged again, watching me. "Why are you trying to avoid talking about us?" he reaches out, tucking my hair behind my ear so I can't hide from him, my breath catches. He took the joint back, taking one more long drag before putting it out. I shook my head, I couldn't find the right words. He grabs my wrist gently and turns me around so my back is against the railing, his body so close, the scent of his cologne slamming into my senses. "Why?" he repeats, his eyes meeting mine in the dim light, his voice is soft and careful.

"I— I don't know Az," I breathe out, my heart felt like it would pound out of my chest. "It's just I—" I look away, unable to meet his gaze when I feel the word vomit coming. "Im afraid, Azriel. I am. And I know it's fucked up because I shouldn't be. I feel sick, sick with myself that I have been more worried about whether or not you would still want me when you got back than I have about you and your actual recovery. Ive been worried about you being different and not needing me and I know Im so fucked up for that there's something wrong with me and Im sorry—"

"Hey, hey, stop, breathe for a second," he interrupts me, a small sigh leaving his lips as he places both of his hands on my cheeks, lifting my face to look at him and he gently wipes away my shameful tears with his rough thumbs, the feeling makes my spine tingle. "Don't feel bad for anything that you feel or have felt in these past weeks," he assures me, one of his thumbs still gently rubbing against my cheek, his eyes burning into mine. "I— I created that for you, that whole thinking you need to be needed by me. I created this... Trauma bond, I know that now, I know that I made our relationship toxic. It's not your fault, I hadn't dealt with any of my shit and I basically put it on to you. Im sorry, Im sorry you felt like that at all and I wish..." he sighed softly, one of his hands fell to my waist. "I wish I had the courage to call you, because I wanted to so many times, but I didnt think you'd want to talk to me. You needed space and I had to respect that but seeing you now, seeing you haven't been taking care of yourself like you should have. I should have been there for you," he sighed, clearly frustrated with himself. "I know where I fucked up, I know what kind of damage Ive done, this only proves it," he brushed his finger over the dark circle underneath my eye. "I love you, I love you so much, maybe too much sometimes," he sighs again, I fight the urge to close my eyes and lean into his touch.

"Az I love you too," I breathe out because Im stunned into silence. Everything hes said, his accountability, his words, they felt like they were crashing into me.

"Im not going to leave you like that ever again," he promised, and took a step closer, pressing his body into mine. He felt stronger, more solid. It was almost like he had left a boy and returned a man. "You are going to be my wife some day, you are the fucking definition of ride or die Bee, I swear, for the last two months the more clear my head got I just realized one thing over and fucking over," he wasnt afraid, he had absolutely no hesitations, every single word felt like a promise, and I felt like my heart was palpitating. "I hit the fucking jack pot with you, and I fear the smartest thing that Ive ever done in my life was share my favorite candy with the girl across the street."

My cheeks are burning, tears streaming, but they aren't sad, just emotional. I don't know what else to do, my words are caught in my throat so I kissed him. I pulled him down, my fingers tugging in the hairs at the nap of his neck, our tongues tangling perfectly like they always had. He was mine, still my Az, better, better like he had said. He was right. A soft groan escaped his lips, my stomach flipped at the sound, the thought of how he would have his way with me later after so many days apart. My body melted into his at the thought, our hungry kiss only escalating. Our desperate need for each other matching perfectly, our emotions pouring into the heated kiss. I tilted my head his lips traveling down my jaw and across my neck, settling behind my ear and gently sucking. I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, I moaned his name softly, my body feeling like a hot puddle.

"Hmm?" he hummed against my skin, his hand had slipped under my dress where he was rubbing soft circles on the least sensitive part of my thigh, somehow it was still driving me mad.

"We, we should go in now... They are going to be wondering whats taking us so long," I breathed out, I couldn't even see past Azriel into the house, I was sure they could see us though, or at least see Azriel pinning me against the railing.

"They should have known better than to throw me a party when I haven't seen my baby in sixty whole days, and they definitely should have known better than to let you wear this dress," he tugs lightly at the fabric. "They should have known Id need alone time with you," his eyes glimmered with mischief. "I have a lot of making up to do," he added, tracing his scarred finger over my jawline.

"I hated this idea more than you Im sure," I admitted guiltily, biting down on my lip. "But they worked really hard Az," I tried to peek around him to see inside again, he only shifted to block my view.

"Fine, but five more minutes," he smirked, tilting my chin up again.

"Five more minutes," I whispered breathlessly before he crashed his lips onto mine again, and I felt all of my anxiety melt away, as if he was pulling it from me.

And I felt safe.

Home.

Safe.

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newtthetranswriter · 5 months ago

Note

Could I request Gojo x male reader where the reader is a ballet dancer who is a part of the Zenin clan but ran away when they were in high school and Gojo doesn't see him again till adulthood and Gojo falls in love all over again and reader never stopped being in love and they reconnect

Dancing with Curses

Word Count: 3822

Paring: Satoru Gojo x male Zenin Reader

Warning: talks of Gojo’s past arc, the Zenin clan is trash, Canon typical violence, possibly ooc Gojo, let me know if I missed anything

A/n: Hello again, I truly did enjoy writing all of your requests. They gave me just enough information to feel free with creating the story but still having a base to work off of. Anyway I hope you enjoy and as always remember to hydrate or diedrate.

Y/n Zenin may have been lucky enough to be born with a decent cursed technique but the fact that he had made it clear he was not interested in following the tradition of being a sorcerer, made it so he was looked down upon by the whole clan. For years he tried to fight the system but as the time for high school approached, Y/n was forced to make a choice. He decided that he would follow his family's wishes for just long enough to get enough money to escape the world he grew up in. For him going to Jujutsu High was just a stepping stone to reach his goal, he never expected to add another item to the list of things his family hated him for.

As previously mentioned, Y/n just wanted to save enough money to escape from the world of Jujutsu, he never planned to catch the eyes of Satoru Gojo. Apparently Gojo had been enamored with how graceful Y/n was with his technique and how he was able to mix Jujutsu with ballet seamlessly. Y/n on the other hand had felt Gojo’s eyes on him, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t see the beauty in the user of the six eyes. But Y/n knew that if he let himself fall or grow attached he would be further trapped in this dark world. So Y/n put his emotions in a box and distanced himself.

Finally after almost three years of dealing with the chaos and horrors of the world Y/n left. Having one of his underclassmen die in the line of duty, followed by one of his classmates turning against them, Y/n was done. He couldn’t handle the thought of spending anymore time watching people die for no reason, or seeing people who were once all about protecting turning to murder. So he gathered his belongings and left in the middle of the night. Leaving the world of Jujutsu behind, almost completely.

Being an outcast from a young age Y/n knew the signs of the Zenins pushing kids out of the inner circle. And even if it was still early and there were a few years left for her technique to develop, Y/n had a gut feeling Maki would need someone on her side. So before he completely wrote off the Zenin clan, he wrote Maki a letter. The girl was barely 4 but was able to understand the simple contents of the letter. Y/n had simply explained that he was always there for her if she needed anything and asked her to not share the existence of the letter with anyone. He also left his new phone number, telling her to call if she ever needed anything. After leaving the letter with his young cousin he left.

When it became clear to the Zenin clan as a whole that Y/n had up and ran away, they decided to act like he never existed. Writing his disappearance off as a blessing to not have to deal with him ever again. While most of the Jujutsu world moved on from the sudden loss, Satoru was unable to follow their lead. He spent the better part of five years looking for him. Unfortunately for him, Y/n did not want to be found and managed to hide himself well. Satoru eventually gave up.

Fast forward eleven years, and Y/n had put very little thought into the world he left behind. He took his freedom and did what he wanted. He became a professional dancer, letting his worries wash away. It was a relief to not think about death and curses everyday. But alas all good things come to an end at some point.

After a particularly tiring performance Y/n felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Seeing that the id indicated it was the one person he kept in touch with, he answered. “Hey, Maki what’s up? Is everything ok?” He asked, concerned. Even though Maki was only four when she got the letter from Y/n she respected his wishes and managed to keep it secret all these years. The reason Y/n became concerned was that when Maki got a phone they agreed she would only call if something was seriously wrong, otherwise she would text monthly just to check in.

The calm teen’s response nearly startled the man. “I know you said you would never return to Jujutsu High, but we need all the help we can get.” Maki explained, there was a hint of worry in her voice and Y/n knew that something was seriously wrong if Maki was asking him to come back. Before Y/n could ask for more information, Maki continued. “Some crazy guy declared war on Jujutsu Society and even though we have Gojo on our side everyone seems worried. There has been an influx of Sorcerers on campus and even Gojo seems concerned. I normally wouldn’t ask for you to come back but if Gojo is worried wouldn’t that mean having all hands on deck be the best course of action.”

Y/n took a moment to think about what Maki had told him. If someone declared war on Jujutsu Society then no big deal, curse users are stupid. But if said person had Gojo worried about it then there was only one person who could be leading this fight. Knowing that fact led Y/n to make a choice he never thought he would. “If it’s bad enough for Gojo to be worried, then having as many sorcerers as possible is a good idea. I’ll be there in the morning.” He knew he would likely regret going back to his old life but he knew the reality, it’s almost impossible to leave the Jujutsu world and stay gone.

“Thank you, I know you hate all of this but I’m sure you’ll be able to leave again when everything is done.” With that Y/n said a quick goodbye and hung up the phone. If he was really going to be returning to Jujutsu Society, he knew there was a very slim chance of ever getting out again, that is if he even managed to survive the impending war.

The next day as he promised Maki, he made his way to Tokyo. When he reached the path leading to the hidden highschool, he paused. Debating actually entering the barrier that protected the school and alerting everyone of his presence or just turning around and telling Maki he couldn’t help out. But before he could chicken out and run away again, he felt the presence of familiar cursed energy. Looking up at the stairs that would seal his fate of being part of this fight stood the one person he hoped he could avoid, Satoru Gojo.

It was clear that Gojo had changed since Y/n last saw him, having swapped out his usual dark sunglasses for white badges wrapped around his eyes, his hair was also longer and stood up with makeshift blindfold in place. Seeing the white haired male sent feelings Y/n had long suppressed bubbling to the surface.

It wasn’t any better for the Strongest Sorcerer. He couldn’t believe his eyes, even if he knew that his cursed technique is never wrong, his heart had a hard time believing that the Y/n Zenin was standing in front of him. Gojo had so many questions, like why did he run away, why didn’t he say anything, and most of all why is he back. Snapping out of his thoughts, Gojo moved down the stairs quickly, taking two at a time with ease thanks to his long legs.

“What are you doing here?” It came out harsher than he intended, but with recent events and the bubbling of long forgotten feelings, Gojo couldn’t help it.

Shaking his head to clear the fog, Y/n took in the tall man in front of him. “Well hello to you, Gojo. For the record I’m only here because Maki said that someone declared war and it had even you worried. And knowing you only one person could make you worried about a silly threat. So here I am, isn’t better to have extra hands on bored than facing Geto with fewer people.” Y/n answered, accidentally letting it slip that Maki had been able to contact him all this time. “Now that I’m here, would you mind telling me what exactly Geto is planning.”

Ignoring the request for information about the situation, Gojo focused more on the mention of his student. “Since when has Maki been able to contact you, she was like four when you left. Why would she call you for help?” When Y/n had left after the worry of what happened had passed, Gojo had been angry, and now that anger was showing itself all over again.

“Yes Gojo, Maki was four when I left. But you forget I was also raised in the hell scape that is the Zenin house. I also know what it looks like when those douchebags start making a child an outcast. When I left I gave her my phone number and told her if she needed me she could call. And you would never guess what happened. She saw that her teacher was worried over some psychopath declaring war on the people she cares about and called someone she trusts to ask for help. I’m not here for anyone but her.” Y/n clarified, and it was clear from his tone that he truly meant it. He was only coming back to the world of curses to help his young cousin. Not giving Gojo a chance to respond, Y/n brushed past him heading up the steps into the base of Jujutsu Sorcerers.

Gojo was left stunned by his own stupidity. The only guy he can remember ever truly having feelings for was right in front of him, and instead of expressing his joy of seeing him again he stuck his foot in his mouth. Watching after Y/n as he left, Gojo began thinking of ways to apologize for what just happened and ways to hopefully convince Y/n to stay even after they beat Geto.

On December 24th, Y/n opted to stay at Jujutsu High with Maki and Yuta as a line of defense just in case. Afterall he wasn’t technically a member of Jujutsu Society so it’s not like the Higher ups could actually tell him what to do. He also had a bad feeling about them sending everyone except a couple Assistant supervisors to the front lines. If Geto had asked Yuta to join his cause wouldn’t that mean he had an interest in the boy. So when the veil was lowered over the school, Y/n jumped into action.

He knew he didn’t stand much chance against a special grade like Geto, but he couldn’t just let the lunatic kill a young sorcerer. Y/n’s technique had only earned him the status of Grade 1 back in highschool, but that was eleven years ago and this would be his first fight since he left. He could only hope he still had the strength to hold off the Curse User long enough for help to arrive.

His own fight with Geto didn’t last long before a new contender entered the courtyard where the two adults were exchanging blows. Having also noticed the veil, Maki opted to join the fight. So now it was two on one, the two Zenin outcasts vs. the special grade Suguru Geto. The cousins were able to hold off Geto for about thirty minutes before Geto got the upper hand. The younger of the two had been severely injured, having likely multiple broken bones and severe cuts leaving her half conscious in a pool of her own blood. The older of the two was not much better off. Y/n had sustained a few broken ribs, one of which he wouldn’t be surprised to find out if it was digging into his lung as it was becoming difficult to breathe. But he was still able to stand and so he was still able to fight.

There was a brief moment that allowed Y/n to catch his breath, and that was when Geto paused, announcing a hole was made in the barrier. He seemed confident enough that whoever it was would be too slow and he could beat Y/n and take Yuta before they arrived. Y/n took in a few deep breaths, sensing the cursed energy of two people approaching fast. Seeing that Geto wasn’t reacting to it, Y/n waited until the wall exploded next to the long haired man before striking again.

Unfortunately even with the added help of Panda and Toge, they were still unable to beat him. When they turned their backs on Geto to check on Maki, the curse user took the chance to take out the oldest of the group. Striking Y/n in the back with curse, Geto managed to force the broken rib that was already threatening to puncture one of his lungs right through said lung. The force of the blow knocked what little air Y/n had in his chest out, and now with the loss of function in one of his lungs it was nearly impossible for Y/n to catch his breath. The two first years who were still able to fight tried to fight back but were unsuccessful.

Y/n fought to stay awake and even tried to warn Yuta who had appeared on the scene to run away, but alas with barely any oxygen getting into his body, he could barely make a sound. He was fading in and out of consciousness and couldn’t help but wish for Shoko to be there to heal his wounds. Slowly suffocating was really fucking painfull. The last thing he remembered before blacking out completely was Yuta using Rika to move the four injured sorcerers to safety and applying his own reversed curse technique to them. As the world faded Y/n silently thanked Gojo for not executing the young special grade.

Unlike the other three who woke up soon after Yuta beat Geto, Y/n was still unconscious three days later. While Yuta had been able to heal the majority of the injuries y/n had sustained, it seemed Shoko was needed for some of the more intense ones. When word got to Gojo that Y/n was injured and that even after Shoko had been able to treat his wounds was still asleep, Gojo was worried. He spent as much time as he could spare sitting by his bed in the infirmary.

Gojo spent the time thinking. Debating on how to thank Y/n for risking his life for the young sorcerers and trying to decide if it would be a good time to tell him he loved him. Yeah Gojo had officially decided that he loved Y/n Zenin, it wasn’t just a school crush. Having spent eleven years apart and suddenly seeing him again reminded him of everything he loved about Y/n. Even though he admitted to himself that he loved him, he couldn’t help but think that maybe telling him would be a curse to the man who clearly just wanted to escape the world of Jujutsu.

Caught up in his own reminiscing, he failed to notice that Y/n had started to wake up. He only noticed when he heard the quiet groan from next to him. Looking over he could see Y/n squinting his eyes at the light from the open window, and trying to take in his surroundings while still laying flat on the bed. Gojo quickly stood up, closing the blinds to darken the room, and then moved to help Y/n sit up. “Here let me help you sit up.” He said, causing Y/n to look at him bewildered. “I know I was rude the last time we talked but I was worried when they said you still didn’t wake up after both Yuta and Shoko used rct on you.” Gojo explained quickly.

Taking a moment to process the words said to him, Y/n looked around the room. Seeing a glass of water on the bed side table, he quickly took a drink before speaking. “How long have I been asleep? And what happened to the kids, is everyone okay?” He wasn’t that worried about himself, his main concern was whether or not the young sorcerers had made it out of the battle alive.

“Everyone is fine. Well, everyone on our side, that is, the kids are all okay. They’re taking a few days to relax before getting back to training. As for how long you were asleep for, well it's been about three days.” Gojo informed him. “And before you ask, Geto won’t be a problem anymore.” His tone of voice shifted from glad to something lingering with sadness.

Picking up on the change of tone Y/n understood what he was implying. “I’m sorry for your loss, I know you were really close before everything. But it’s great to hear that the kids are okay.” He said truthfully. Taking a moment to think of what to say next, one thing popped into his mind and he couldn’t shake it. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you have some important mission that only the Strongest can deal with?” Y/n asked, trying to switch the subject.

Having spent three days thinking over and planning for how to speak his mind didn’t prepare him for what he was going to say. “Um, I just wanted to express my thanks for you risking your life to protect the first years. If you hadn’t decided to show up or stay behind while we all went to the front line, who knows what would have happened to those four. I mean sure Panda probably would have been ok, but the others might not have been so lucky.” Gojo thanked him.

Y/n nodded along, but that didn’t fully answer his question. Gojo was there when he woke up, if he just wanted to say thank you then he could have done it after someone else told him Y/n was awake. “I think they would have been just fine. Maki is a strong fighter and Toge has a great understanding of his technique. And Yuta has a surprisingly great understanding of cursed energy for someone who just learned about curses a few months ago. But the strength of your students aside, Why are you here? And don’t say it’s just to say thank you. You were here when I woke up, if you just wanted to thank me then you could have gone about your day and then thanked me when someone told you I was awake.” He confronted the white haired male.

Gojo scratched the back of his head trying to decide if he should say he just happened to stop by to check on him right before he woke, or if he should tell Y/n the truth. Realizing he had been quiet for too long and that if he did lie Shoko would probably rat him out either way, he came to the conclusion that honesty was the best policy. “Well, I’ve kinda been here the whole time. Like I said before I was really worried when Shoko told me you hadn’t woken up after being treated. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He explained. Watching as Y/n’s face shifted from confusion to shock, Gojo couldn’t stop himself from talking more. “And I know this is probably a terrible time to bring this up, especially with how I reacted when you showed up the other day. But I really care about you Y/n. When you left back in highschool, I thought something terrible happened to you and I searched for you for years. I eventually figured that if you went through the struggle of leaving with out a trace there was probably a reason and so I stopped looking. But the worry turned to hurt and anger and I guess seeing you suddenly and hearing that you only came back for Maki’s sake, made that anger bubble up again. I understand you left for a reason and you probably want to leave as soon as possible after all this life is hell for anyone. But I do want you to know that you mean a lot to me.” This was the first time Y/n had seen or heard of Gojo letting his emotions out in such a clear way. Gojo was always calm and only really expressed deep emotions when fighting or teaching, so having him say all of that really shocked Y/n.

Y/n took a few moments to process everything Gojo said, before making the second life changing decision of the month. “While I left because this life is taxing and full of hardship, I don’t know if I can abandon it again. I wouldn’t mind sticking around and helping teach the next generation of sorcerers.” Y/n explained. “This isn’t a permanent situation though and I will have some requirements that need to be accepted before I commit to it. After all, I can't leave the ones I care about to fight alone if I’m able to lend a helping hand.” he finished making his intentions to at least stick around for a short while clear.

Even though Gojo was happy to hear that Y/n was going to stick around, he was confused by the wording of the last sentence. “Wait you said ‘the ones’ you care about, I thought you came back for Maki.” He couldn’t help but ask.

Y/n just laughed before responding. “You’re right I did come back for Maki. But there are more people here that I care about than just her. Now I may have just woken up from a three day nap, but I’m exhausted so if you don’t mind I’m going back to sleep.” With that Y/n layed back down rolling to face away from the tall sorcerer.

“Who else do you care about here? I’m confused.” Gojo really wanted answers.

Y/n responded even though he was half asleep. “That’s for me to know and for you to figure out Satoru.” And with that Gojo was left as the only one awake in the room.

He sat in silence processing what he had been told. And when he registered that y/n had not called him Gojo but used his first name for the first time, he couldn’t hide his smile. Deciding to let Y/n rest in peace he left to inform everyone about Y/n’s decision to consider staying at Jujutsu high for a while.

#x reader #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x male reader #jjk x male reader #x male reader #newt writes #Newt's 2024 pride event

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year ago

Text

𝐒𝐮𝐢 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 6.1k

chapter summary: you and joel take your relationship to the next level.

warnings: themes of grief and loneliness, hurt/comfort, fluff, body painting, joel being a very lousy nude model, oral (male receiving), heavy petting, fingering, shower sex, edging, dirty talking

a/n: aaaaand we're BACK-- the hiatus is officially over and I am so ready to focus on this series. I've missed them so much and I hope you guys all did too 💗 also special thanks to @undercoverpena for cheering me on while I was writing this, love you to the moon and back bby xx

Chapter Eleven || Chapter Thirteen

Loneliness had never been a stranger to you. You had your own brand of it, like a homemade fig preserve. Being so close with it, you’ve added something from yourself, and in return, it has branded your personality in such a way that it has become hard to think there was anything but.

For the longest time that special brand of loneliness had been your closest friend. During adulthood, you noticed how tired you were of asking for people to be emotionally aware of your needs, your wants. You were tired of spelling it out for them. Your parents weren’t like you, neither was Auggie. No one around you was emotional like you were, so you learned to keep it locked tight in your heart. You cried at night. You smiled during the day. You felt off and weird when family members hugged you and wept on your shoulder, you dissociated. You’ve noticed this, especially at your grandfather’s funeral. He was gone and you hadn’t shed a tear among the dark black fabrics.

Auggie knew you did this, but alas, it didn’t really matter.

So when you found a family emotionally rich despite not having much, it came as a mild shock to you. Sarah didn’t have these issues. She didn’t care if she was emotional or not, or if what she said came off as needy. The only emotional constipation you noticed was between brothers, but even that didn’t stop them from addressing what they felt during an argument.

You were no stranger to emotional outbursts. Reading a book and eyes welling before you could finish a sentence.

Now, you feel less lonely thanks to Joel, Tommy, and Sarah, each filling a different gap in your withered soul. But even that doesn’t stop the old habit of sewing your mouth shut.

You wake with a heavy weight on your chest. It’s still dark, the sky a dark shade of royal blue. It’s actually a beautiful night. However, your eyes are blind to it. Your skin is damp with sweat. If you saw a nightmare, you don’t remember what it was. You remember going to bed uncomfortable, Tommy’s sad eyes branded into your lids like tattoos you both want to and don’t want to get rid of.

You gradually rise from the bed, the thin summer quilt sliding off your now cold body. You shudder. It had been a long time since you last felt this way. Empty and lonely. It always feels like you have to suffer through these emotions on your own, your need to smile through it more prominent than anything else.

You smack your lips together, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. You need water. Ice cold water.

Going down the stairs you don’t think how dark it is, or how some particular shadows remind you of your childhood when you would wake up thanks to the jarring sound of mosquitos, looking for comfort downstairs where your grandparents were usually up. Fuck, your chest is even heavier now. The muscle in your chest more like a cannonball than heart. You’re hyper-aware of the way your chest rises and falls with every breath and quickly, you make your way to the kitchen.

The light of the fridge momentarily blinds you but despite your burning irises you manage to wrap your fingers around the familiar handle of the old jug. You pour yourself a big glass and take small swallows.

A soft wind caresses the outer skeleton of the house. The shadows of leaves dance over the walls, again, a familiar sight that drags you back and makes you sick simultaneously.

“You a’right there, sweetheart?”

You jump at the sound of a voice deepened with sleep. Tommy is staring at you from the entrance, brows furrowed, the crease between them so much like his brother. Taking another small sip of water, you swallow and place the cold glass on the counter.

“I’m fine,” you grit out, your voice leveled. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

Before you know it, Tommy’s warm hands are on your face, cradling your cheeks. His thumbs move over your cheekbones, pressing and applying pressure over the bone. Your heart skips a beat. It takes you everything not to lean into his touch, to seek out that comfort only he could give. But you think of Joel, you think of him, and you stop yourself. If Tommy knew about you and Joel, if you were completely honest with him—an open book, you would’ve taken that comfort to yourself, not a worry in your heart but he doesn’t know and that alone makes your stomach clench with guilt.

“You don’t look fine,” his hands slide down to your shoulders. “Was it a nightmare?”

You blink heavily, your eyes locked on one another. Two broken people in a dark kitchen. It pains you that a nightmare is Tommy’s first guess. You wonder how many times he’d woken up to the faux scent of gunpowder and screams only to be comforted by the darkness of the ceiling.

“Something like that. I. . sometimes forget that they’re gone,” your eyes drop to his chest. “And then I remember that no matter what, in the end, I’ll be lonely.”

“Lonely?” he spits out the word, shocked, hurt and baffled. “What are you talkin’ about? You have Joel—You have me.”

You know you do. You really do. But after years of going through it all alone, to see your friends have their own support systems and people to protect them, care for them, it’s hard to believe you’ve found your people. It’s hard to believe that years of solitude where you had to take care of yourself was over. Old habits die hard. Your heart shatters piece by piece. Your heart nothing but a heavy weight in your chest. You want to collapse, to scream, shout and cry. Salty tears sting the corner of your eyes. Suddenly you’re drowning in your past like it’s still your present, the thickness of it goes all the way up to your neck and you can’t breathe—

“Hey—hey,” Tommy cups your cheeks, thumbs running down where tears would be but your skin is dry. “Come back to me, it’s a’right. I’ll always be with you, you know? Even if you move far away, I’ll always be a thorn in your ass.”

You crack a smile and manage to nod, placing a hand over his own. You think a tear finally falls, maybe even two. You hate feeling like this. Hate it. Tommy doesn’t look convinced by your expression.

“Do. . .do you want me to call Joel?”

His words freeze you to the bone. Of course, he would ask that—Tommy Miller, always thoughtful, always putting others first. They both do. You even think to some extent Sarah does the same thing. All of them throwing themselves in front of a moving train in different ways.

You don’t know if he’s noticed something. Or if he just thinks that Joel’s presence would be more soothing, since he’s used to relying on his older brother.

Either way, you want him to know that he’s enough.

And he’ll always be enough.

You shake your head, “No,” he furrows his brows when you part your arms. “But I wouldn’t say no to a hug.”

Strong arms sneak under your armpits and broad palms press against your back. Tommy pulls you incredibly close. Holds you indescribably tight. His scent fills your lungs. A bit of sweat mixed with a day-old deodorant. He smells nice. He always had. His skin is warm against your cheek and you smile widely this time but he doesn’t see.

“Thank you, Tommy,” you whisper into the darkness. “I would be lost without you.”

“Are you sure you’re a’right?”

“Yes, Joel.”

“Hundred percent sure?”

“Yes, sir,” you declare, your gaze fixed on Joel as you peer from the side of the canvas for a better look. “Now stand still.”

Joel grumbles something inaudible and straightens his neck, attempting to keep his limbs as still as possible. Your eyes rove across his broad shoulders, the expanse of his chest, you take in the shadows that appear between every sinewy muscle and think about how to convey it into your painting. You still haven’t dared to look further down. Looking down means that you’ll definitely be distracted.

You sketch a couple of lines that vaguely resemble his shape. You’ve missed painting nudes and when you mentioned it to Joel, he was eager to accept without actually realizing he had to stay still for a generous amount of time.

“You should’ve called,” he grumbles. “I would’ve come straight over.”

“I know,” you sigh. “But it was late, and Tommy was there.”

He doesn’t say anything but you can sense his displease.

“He’s my friend, Joel,” you answer, observing the thick contour of his neck. “And your brother.”

“I know that. I just don’t like the idea of not being there for you.”

“Tell him then,” you say a bit harshly. He doesn’t seem affected by your shift in tone. Another line joins the others. “If it was anything serious I would’ve called, hell, I would’ve come to you but it wasn’t that serious. I was just in a. . . mood.”

“Tommy sure don’t think so.”

You don’t say anything and focus on drawing the rest of his torso, he clicks his tongue in frustration, “I hate when you do this, you know.”

You raise your eyebrows, “Do what?”

“Downgrade your problems. It’s okay if you’re still grievin’. It’s okay if there are some things you’re still workin’ out. I just don’t want you to think you’re alone, I can be your rock, sweetheart. I’d be happy to.”

“You are my rock, Joel—and keep still.” He huffs and straightens again, your lips twitching into a smile. “I’ll try to open up more. Promise. I do feel really lucky I have you. And Sarah—and Tommy. Some nights I just wake up feeling bad. Yesterday was just a bit more intense.” Joel grunts in approval and you add. “Also hasn’t Tommy heard of the phrase ‘snitches get stitches’?”

“He wasn’t snitchin’,” he pouts, you want to take his bottom lip between your fingers and kiss him. “I actually asked how he was doin’ but he quickly brushed it off and told me about you instead.”

“Of course, he did.”

He nods but still seems wound up like a toy. His head drops a bit, the click of your tongue reminding him to keep still.

Your eyes trace the contours of Joel’s body. He’s an excellent specimen, everything about him so human, so raw. Every freckle, every crinkle you want to eternalize onto your canvas. He’s not looking at you anymore. Eyes glued to the legs of the easel. You still haven’t fully taken in the sight of him. Sometimes you’re truly afraid of how strongly you feel for him, how much you’d be willing to lay down just to be with him.

Honestly, a pocket of time would be ideal. That way you could spend eternity in this peaceful moment, living in bliss.

You place the pencil down and walk up to him. His gaze is drawn to your once more, “Sorry, sweet tea, did I move again?”

“Maybe a bit,” you lie, standing an inch away from his naked body. You press your thumbs against his cheekbones then slide them down, feeling the roughness of hair tickling your skin. His eyes flutter shut momentarily, before opening again.

You don’t say a word. Time is still around you and you believe if you try hard enough this can be your forever. You trace the outer lines of his lips, then trace the seam. His lips part, a bit of tongue showing in between—you touch that too, shallowly dipping one finger before moving on to his neck, “To draw is to feel,” you muster, the ball of your thumb grazing firmly over his Adam’s apple. “Will you let me feel you?”

“‘Course,” he chokes out. “Whatever you need.”

His words make your chest swell with affection. Joel’s words make you feel brave enough to allow your gaze to venture down. You press the flat of your palms over the swell of his stomach, something trembles within—life, you think, he’s so full of it. Your one hand dares to go lower, playing with the dark curls that lead to his soft cock.

However, he doesn’t remain soft for long, it twitches and grows, the head gaining a reddish hue.

Joel tilts his head, gradually leaning in to claim your lips with his own. He stops when your fingers bite into his bare hips, lodging into that delicate spot between bone and muscle, he swallows thickly, cock raising with attention.

“Stay still,” you whisper. “And maybe I’ll reward you.”

“Oh, we’re playing that game now?” he says with a crooked smile that makes your stomach twist delightfully. You only smile as your hand slides lower and lower, until you cup his semi-hard cock. His breath hitches.

I love you like this, you want to say but remain silent. You stroke him slowly until he’s fully hard, the warm muscle throbbing in your palm, you press your lips against his neck, sucking on his skin until his hips jerk.

“I’m not playing any games,” you mouth into his skin. “If you let me paint you, I’ll let you fuck my mouth. Does that sound like a fair deal?”

Joel thrusts into your hand once more, groaning as you lick the vein that throbs under his skin, “I won’t lie, sweetheart, that might be hard if you keep your hand where it is.” He exhales a shaky breath, the warmth of it fanning your skin. “But sounds fair enough, I’ll try.”

You press a quick kiss to the small patch within his beard and pull away before he can follow the heat of your lips. He’s as still as a statue when you get behind the canvas, but instead of resuming sketching the rough outline of his body, you grab two tubes of paint and a brush; though you have your doubts you’ll be using the tool, you’d much prefer to feel the heat of his skin softening the paint between your fingers.

When you come back to him, confusion crosses his face.

“I thought you were gonna be paintin’?”

Your lips twitch into a sinister smile, “I am.”

As cliche as it might sound, Joel has always reminded you of a deep, rich shade of red—the color of blood—but he also reminds you of an earthy purple, the type of shade that makes you want to bury your fingers in it as if you might actually feel the earth itself.

You shake two tubes of paint in front of his eyes. He’s still confused, yet remains still. You pop the red paint open first, squeezing a generous amount over his shoulder. You watch it trickle down, drops of crimson staining his torso, the color so deep that it looks too real. Your heart jumping, you quickly smear it down his chest and all the way to his stomach. Just like you predicted, the brush is forgotten, slipping from your fingers and onto the carpeted floor. Joel shudders, his breath caught in his throat, you see him clench his jaw.

“Darlin’. . .” he rasps, voice full of gravel, and your hand stops where it follows the V of his lower abdomen.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” he answers quickly, breathily. “Don’t ever stop touching me. Don’t ever stop looking at me like that—like I’m the most valuable thing you have. Like I’m worth a damn.”

“You are.”

Slowly, your fingertip traces an invisible path upward, leaving a trail of red paint in its wake. Joel shudders and gulps loudly. You draw meaningless shapes, circle where his tattoo is, and draw shapes of ancient alphabets you vaguely remember from when you read a book about the Late Bronze Age. Joel shudders, twitches, and tenses under your touch but never actually moves, keeping his stance.

After the red pigment is nothing more but a fading shade of pink, you pour some purple paint into your palm and apply it directly. You press your hand directly above his heart, leaving your handprint over it before moving to his back, “Fuck,” he groans.

Looking down, you notice him clenching his buttocks and slightly swaying forward, you smile, his cock must be dripping. You can’t wait to take him in your mouth, for him to use you however he pleases. You need him to be desperate when he takes you, sliding his length down your throat as he berates you for taunting him with sinful touches in the guise of making art.

You press your hands together and smear the remnants of red with the purple, the fresh paint overwhelming the other. When both hands are fully coated, your cup both his ass cheeks, sliding your hands up, you kiss the taut skin between his shoulder blades. You leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses all the way to his neck and lick the sensitive spot behind his earlobe.

“I’d wrap my hand around your cock but I’m afraid the paint isn’t edible so you wouldn’t be able to fuck my mouth,” you tease. “Tell me what you want to do to me, Joel?”

He groans, “Keep this up and you’ll find out, sweetheart. I’m not a patient man, you should know.”

“But isn’t the wait fun?” you challenge, your hands sliding up to his front, right above his pelvis. “The taste of sex on your tongue, the way your cock throbs with the thought of my warm cunt tight around it? Don’t you feel that tingle. . .” you gradually lower yourself, dragging your tongue down his spine, a choked out sound rips from his throat, “going down your spine, reminding you of how good it’s finally going to feel when you push down my throat, cutting my airflow and taking me however you want?”

Joel breathes heavily, his stomach clenching with every whispered word, “Darlin’, please.”

“Turn around.”

You look up as he does, you gently take his hand and place it on your cheek, your heart dissolving into something thick and sweet like honey when his thumb strokes your skin. His gaze grows soft, the arousal in them dimming, splitting away like waves to show the emotion.

“Your knees are gonna hurt,” he says, voice dropping.

He’s right, they are going to hurt. “I don’t care.”

You lower both hands to your lap, obediently parting your lips, sticking your tongue out. Joel wraps a hand around his cock and jerks himself until he’s fully hard, he holds you by the hair and drags you closer.

“You want me to fuck that pretty mouth?”

“Please,” you repeat his own plea from earlier.

The heft of his cock on your tongue almost feels like a blessing from above. Your eyes flutter shut. Joel slides himself torturously slow, inch by inch, as he fills your mouth, your lips stretching wide to accommodate his width. He moves down your throat, awakening your gag reflex, you hold it down, choking around his cock.

“Fuuuuuck, that feels good,” he groans, throwing his head back. With shallow thrusts, he works your throat open. Your one hand slides between your thighs as the other braces against Joel’s thick thigh. Right now, you’re relieved you’re wearing your favorite flannel pajama shorts instead of something uncomfortable like jeans. “That’s it, touch yourself, sweetheart. I want you to come while I’m fuckin’ your throat.” You whine filthily at his words, pressing your fingers between your clothed folds, you stroke your aching clit. Joel doesn’t stop running his mouth. “You must be soaked down there, poor thing.”

Tears sting the corner of your eyes and you manage to slip your fingers down your shorts. His thrusts become rougher, sliding all the way out before fucking himself even deeper into your mouth, down your throat. You swallow helplessly around him and the groan that slips from between his lips forces the clench of your cunt, you breathe heavily through your nose and draw vicious circles around your clit.

“Look at you—you like me fuckin’ your mouth, honey?” You nod, his lips curling in the most devastating way. “You gonna come while rubbing that pretty pussy of yours?”

You nod again, this time accompanied by a moan. The reverberations of the sound trembles against his sensitive cock and he rocks into your mouth harder—this time tears do slip past your fluttering lashes. You can’t breathe, your vision is blurry, yet this is everything you’ve ever wanted. Your heart feels so full, so content. He fucks every thought out of your head, overwhelming your senses.

“Shit, shit, shit—Don’t look like that, sweetheart, don’t cry, if you do I—I’ll—” Spit trickles down the corner of your lips, everything a wet, sopping mess. With every thrust, he manages to go down your throat, his mouth constantly muttering words you can barely hear. More tears flow freely down your cheeks, mixing with the saliva and precome going down your neck. His hips move in a constant stammering motion, balls heavy on your chin as he snaps shallowly into your throat without pulling back.

You look up to him. Your eyes shining and glimmering, Joel meets your gaze, his eyes going wide, hips stilling—

He spills down your throat, hard.

You swallow, swallow, and swallow, gulping everything that he gives. But it’s still not enough, there’s too much, some of it spilling from the sides from where his cock stretches your lips. Your body jerks, your fingers move slowly around your clit and you press harder, your feel the warm slick dripping down your fingers, making a mess of the rug underneath.

“Sorry, sorry—” Joel mutters over and over again almost like a chant. His voice hoarse as his chest raises with quick shallow breaths. He then lets out a deep exhale, his cock throbbing in your mouth as he pulls out. “I wanted to last longer.”

You kiss the tip of his spent cock, “Come here,” you mumble and he quickly drops down, you take his hand, pulling it between your legs. His eyes snap to yours, pupils eating away the color as he presses two fingers into your soaked cunt. Your eyes roll and your hips immediately grind down. “I came too. I came from you fucking my mouth, Joel. That’s how good it felt. You don’t need to apologize.”

“Fuck, you’re really makin’ it hard to stay soft darlin’.” You smile as you cup his flaccid cock, feeling the weight of it in your palm, he hisses. “You’re gonna pay for teasin’ me, neighbor. ‘Should take you on my fuckin’ knee as punishment.”

A fresh gush of wetness spreads around his fingers, “I think I would like that,” you say, kissing his neck. “But now I think I should actually finish sketching you for my painting.”

“I don’t think I have much strength left in my legs,” he says with a chuckle.

“Who said anything about standing?” you stand up, taking him with you. “I’m going to paint something else and for that, I want you on the bed.”

You hadn't realized how much paint you managed to cover yourself in when you were pouring purple and red down Joel's shoulders.

He actually managed quite well when you asked him to lay on the bed instead of standing, and you’re fairly certain he dozed off for a moment or two. You didn’t mind. You loved how the painting had ended up, a sensual silhouette of a working man sleeping with sun cascading down his skin.

“Surprise surprise, pourin’ paint on me got you dirty too,” Joel coos playfully, following you into the dimly lit bathroom. He stuffs your bedsheets into the washing machine, your eyes catch the smear of red and purple paint. “Want us to take a shower beautiful? We still have time until Sarah comes back from school.”

“Someone’s cheerful now that they’ve taken their nap.” Joel holds you by the waist and pulls you close, unlike him, you’re still fully clothed—dirty, but clothed. His cock presses against the swell of your stomach.

“I’m mighty tired of bein’ the only one bearin’ my naked ass,” he tugs off your shirt, the motion so quick that your protest dissolves on your tongue before it can materialize. “Also you owe me a nice back scrub with all those fancy soaps you have.”

“I thought I paid my depth when you came down my throat.”

“I don’t recall sayin’ exactly how much you owed me for this.”

Your lips split into a grin. Without moving away, you bend over and slip out of your shorts, throwing them towards the washing machine. The flickering lustful specks in his eyes make your heart jump, they look like gold. Despite coming down your throat about forty minutes ago, he still wants you. He’s not tired of spending time with you, talking to you, humoring you in your endeavors— he’s not even mildly annoyed, which is something you thought everyone would feel eventually if they spent enough time with you. It was only a matter of when.

You suddenly slap your palms softly against his cheeks, cradling his scruffy cheeks. His eyes rip away from your naked body to meet your gaze. You take in a slow breath. And out. Your heart rams painfully within your chest. Joel’s eyes widen slightly as he takes in your expression, observing you slowly as if he’s tasting what you’re feeling like aged wine. His fingers slither around your wrist and sliver down your forearms.

“Darlin’?”

“I love you, Joel.”

His lips part, not with surprise, but with relief. You’re smiling giddily now, not a feeling of worry in your bones, just happiness, eagerness. You don’t care if it’s too early. Too late. It’s what you feel. And all you feel is love love love.

“I love you too, Tea.”

Joel brings your palm to his lips and kisses the curve of it slowly, he moves up to the middle, his mustache tickling you when he lays another kiss, “I love you so fuckin’ much.”

You close the distance, slanting your lips together, you drink him. His lips move to the beat of the moment, tickling down tenderly and smoothly like molasses. Joel’s tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open up for him. He tastes you quickly before pulling back. He exhales deeply, his breath fanning your swollen lips.

“Let’s get cleaned up.”

You grin, raising an eyebrow, “So you can get me dirty again?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he huffs.

Joel leads you to the tub, acting as if you’re his guest and not the other way around. He turns on the shower, allows the water to run down his fingers until the temperature is just right, and then carefully helps you step in. You moan happily at the way warm water moves down your skin, softening your body and chipping away at the paint. Joel stands right behind you. You want to turn around, clean him of the colorful mess, but he doesn’t budge. His hands touch your shoulders, then skims down.

“You first,” he murmurs, fingers washing away the paint. You lean back. His hands follow a trail to your front, kneading your breasts.

“I don’t have any paint there,” you hum.

“My bad, these eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

He gives them another squeeze before going lower and lower. . . until he’s pushing his hand between your pressed tighs. You laugh, “I definitely don’t have any paint there.”

His teeth suddenly sink into your shoulder. The blossoming pain makes you gasp and your body reacts by bending over, rolling your hips towards him. With a soft growl, Joel grips your hips and pushes you up against the glass panel. You moan with your breasts pressing firmly against the glass, the constant shower of water making you slip.

Joel’s lips touch your ear, “Gonna fuck you with my fingers,” he rasps. “Want you to come all around them, sweetheart.”

Your body flushes from the inside out, “What if I can’t?”

“You don’t have a choice,” he pushes forward, notching his cock between your folds, you whimper. “If you want me to fuck you with this cock, you better show me how desperate you are for it by makin’ a mess, honey.”

When you don’t answer he grips your neck and forces your head back, he kisses your forehead, “Are you gonna be good for me?”

Your stomach bottoms out, “Y—Yes, I’ll be good.”

He kisses your forehead once more before releasing you. You fall forward with a whimper, bracing your hands against the slippery panels. Joel slides two fingers inside of you with embarrassing ease, “You like it when I’m rough,” he states, thrusting the digits in and out. You nod. “I love you,” he then says, catching you but surprise. You clench around his fingers and he chuckles darkly. “God, you’re gonna make me go insane—I love you—”

You clench again, a loud moan dropping from your lips. The sounds you make are drowned by the water, yet he can hear you crystal clear. Your body reacts viscerally to his words, a flame that won’t ever go out burning wild in your gut—between your legs. He whispered the words into your skin, into your mouth, against your tongue. You push against his fingers, urging him to go deeper. He does. He holds you by the neck while fucking you with thick fingers, you cry out his name, whimpering those three little words that make him go inside just as much as it does to you.

“Come for me,” he grunts. “Come for me so I can fuck you for real.”

“J–Joel, fuck—”

Your back arches, your orgasm rips from you, he takes it. It’s violent, earth shattering.

Your jaw drops as he squeezes your throat lightly, the pressure adding to the intensity. You can vaguely hear him muttering ‘That’s it’ over and over, but you can barely hear the rasp of his voice.

Joel kisses your cheek, drags his lips down your neck, “How’re you feelin’?”

“Good. . . great actually.”

Pulling out his fingers, he pushes them between your lips, you lap at them hungrily. While you’re busy devouring your own taste, Joel buries himself deep in your cunt. You whimper around his fingers, brows furrowing with pleasure. He pulls the digits out and grips your chin. His chest heaves as he pulls almost all the way out before snapping forward again, burying himself into the tight warmth of your pussy.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles, rocking back and forth. With every thrust, your lungs convulse. You desperately grip his forearm, but your fingers slip thanks to the water droplets that surround his skin, him letting out a sudden chuckle before pulling you towards his mouth. “Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t think I’m gonna last long now either. You make me feel like a teenager again.”

Throwing your arm back, you tug the damp locks and force your lips together. You lick hungrily into his mouth. Joel moans loudly and you swallow every little sound he makes, your cunt fluttering and clamping around his length. He pounds into you sloppily, no coordination, no calculation—just need.

To be wanted. To be devoured. What a wonderful feeling it was.

Joel pulls out with a grunt, you hear the slick sounds of his fist as he jerks himself over the curve of your spine. You shudder when you feel it. Warm spend trickling down your skin, mixing with the water. He spreads your ass cheeks and pushes them together with his cock between them, he grinds once—twice, before heaving and dropping his head between your shoulder blades.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, but you hear no regret behind the apology. It makes you glad.

“Don’t be,” you turn and pick up the shower head, holding it right over his shoulders, you wipe the remaining paint away. Your stomach growls in protest, your lips twitch into a crooked smile. “God, all that worked an appetite. I’m starving.”

“Want me to cook you somethin’?”

Spraying the water over his other shoulder, you meet his gaze. He’s so sweet like this. His hair wet, curling at the ends. His body finally relaxed. You can’t help yourself and quickly press your lips into the corner of his jaw.

“I have a watermelon in the fridge, you can cut that up for me.”

“‘Course, darlin’. Anythin’ for you.”

Crickets chirp loudly. The wind pleasant, yet a bit too warm for your liking. You fan yourself with a hand as you lean back into the chair. Despite just taking a shower, you’re nearly dry. Summer is definitely not a good season for you.

“Should I be offended you look so miserable right now?” Joel asks, sitting next to you. He bites into one of the watermelon slices and when a drop of sweet nectar escapes, he makes quick work of licking himself clean. You swallow, your insides pulsing.

“No,” you sigh. “I just don’t like the heat very much.”

“Well. . that might be a problem considering summer is basically here.”

You groan and throw your head back, “Don’t remind me.”

“Here,” he says, extending you a slice. “Eat.”

You take the slice without objection, biting into the fleshy fruit. The cold juice of the watermelon feels good as it goes down your throat. You look over to the lawn, thanks to the heat most things have dried out.

“I helped him a lot you know,” Joel says, his voice soft, as if afraid to spook you. “With the garden that is. He talked a lot about you.”

“Did he now?” you muse, you chew the watermelon thoughtfully. Your eyes are glued to one of the butterflies in search of a flower. “I miss him.”

“I know you do, sweetheart. I know. I wish I could ease your paint, but truthfully I have no idea how to do that.”

“You do enough,” smiling, you turn to him and find that he’s already looking at you. “The silver lining is that I met you.”

He parts his lips, eyes glossed over with emotion but before he can, both of you hear small steps approaching at the same time.

“Oh, watermelon,” Sarah chirps, throwing her backpack to the floor. “Don’t mind if I do.”

She takes a slice and sits down, eyes flitting between you and Joel. You try not to look at Joel then, your heart beating a bit too loudly for your liking. Sarah raises an eyebrow and locks her eyes with Joel, their expressions are similar when they’re about to wreak havoc.

“What?” Joel snaps, angrily sinking his teeth into his watermelon, finishing it off. Both you and Sarah laugh, your heart feeling a bit lighter now.

“Oh, nothin’,” Sarah rolls her tongue, mimicking her dad. “What have you two been up to?”

“Your dad was helping me with the kitchen sink,” you answer quickly. “It’s been leaking all morning.”

“If my dad is good at anything, it’s fixing stuff.”

“I’m good at a lot of things,” Joel grumbles.

“How was school?” you ask.

Sarah’s shoulders fall a bit, but she quickly shakes it off and smiles, “It was good, nothing interesting happened.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t pry. Joel doesn’t seem to notice Sarah’s mood change. “We should better head off,” he says.

“But I’m still eating,” Sarah whines. “Can’t we stay a bit longer?”

“We don’t wanna overstay our welcome.”

You almost laugh at such an absurd thing. Him, overstaying his welcome? Never. But you also understand why he does it. Sarah is smart and by the looks she was giving you and him, she’s probably already suspicious.

“You guys should take half of it,” you say, standing up. “I’m only one person anyway. If I eat this much watermelon I’ll end up growing one inside of me.”

Both of them look at you deadpanned, you laugh, “You both have no humor!”

Sarah turns to Joel, “Dad, I think you might wanna check if her water is laced with something.”

“I think you’re right, baby girl,” Joel nods seriously. “There’s no other reason she would find that funny.”

“If you guys keep that up I’m not giving you squat.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am,” they say at the same time.

You shake your head, snorting at the father and daughter duo. Both of them were ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

However, you can’t seem to stop smiling as you head inside to get them a container to put the slices into.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #joel miller smut #stay in bed series #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #scheduled

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esamastation · 1 year ago

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Shizuroth, part twenty-seven

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six

Sephiroth can't stand up. It's kind of embarrassing. Actually, forget that - it's really embarrassing! Even when sitting down he feels all wobbly and unsteady!

After the hyperfocus mode passed, it all just sorta crashed down on him.

He's barely managed to wrangle his fluctuating Qi back under control, but the wild surges, stops and starts and the awful flare-ups before have left him feeling like jello in human form. He's gone through what feels like an earthquake, a volcanic eruption, but from the inside - and then he strained to keep at all in! Twisted himself into a pretzel in order to teach, spraining his everything in the progress! Now his veins are freshly scorched, his flesh feels tenderised, and he can feel his bones. It is incredibly unsettling to be so aware of your bones!

For such a minor Qi-deviation it's really too much. Who told Sephiroth to have this much Qi - and also this many muscles! He's strained all of them!

And now he can't stand up. Well, not without swaying and stumbling and probably falling over himself like an idiot, anyway. Which makes it the same thing. His cute disciples - that is, the other SOLDIER members are still watching him. After what he put them through in his delirium, he can't show such an embarrassing face as to get up only to fall flat on his face!

He can hear them now, murmuring quietly amongst themselves in the hall outside.

"... Like, breathing, I think? And I think you're not supposed to think about anything…"

"How can you not think about anything?"

"... Been quiet for a while. No word from the director either…"

"... Think there's still chocolate bars left in the vending machine?"

Ooh, chocolate. Sephiroth could kill for a chocolate bar right now. He really should've thought about that before! Semi-modern world with inexplicably a lot of the same stuff as Earth has - he really should've realised that might include modern style sweets! And, damn, he's missed chocolate so much, back in PIDW. He should get chocolate, as a treat. He deserves it!

But he can't get up. Plus, he destroyed the place! How can he show his face outside after he destroyed the whole room? It's not like he can explain himself - this world doesn't even know what Qi-deviation is! On the outside it seemed just like he went crazy! Which might be in character for Sephiroth, but - still!

So here he is, a third hour in running, cultivating and meditating with no better way to solve this issue. Soon, something would happen to force his hand, or this would go on forever, and eventually he'd die. There's no other recourse.

At least he'd mostly managed to repair the damage done to his meridians. His poor dantians, flooded with chaotic Qi just when he got them to open up, took a hit - but hey, at least there's no golden core there to damage!

Yeah, that just… makes him sadder, really.

Sephiroth draws a slow breath and teases another snag in his system to loosen up - smoothing another scarred vein until it relaxes. He should go back to physical cultivation, it worked so beautifully for Sephiroth's system - but alas… he can't stand up.

Ah, he's really doomed.

"Heads up - elevator."

"Oh, shit, it's Hewley."

"Here we go…"

Sephiroth peeks one eye open, but the SOLDIERs by the door have gone quiet, and the ones further down the hall are too far away for him to hear - especially since it sounds like they're whispering out there. Probably explaining the situation to Angeal.

Ahhh! It's a pity he didn't bust a wall open in his deviated craze - he could've used it to escape! He might be about fifty floors above the ground level, but Sephiroth is supposed to know how to fly, right?! He could make it! He might even grow some wings along the way! It's been known to happen! Somewhere!

Angeal appears by the doorway, taking a moment to soak in all the destruction, and Sephiroth does his best not to look like he wants to curl up and die in shame. That resolution gets harder as Angeal walks over to crouch down in front of him.

Oh no, his face. I'm not angry, just disappointed much?!

"Sephiroth," Angeal says gently. "Are you alright?"

Oh, come on, Angeal-bro! The disciples other SOLDIERs are right there! What is he supposed to say, huh?

Sephiroth exhales slowly and tries to think what Sephiroth should say in this situation. He destroyed the training room, busted up all the cameras and everything. Destruction of company property! There's probably going to be consequences for that, huh?

"What's the…?" Sephiroth starts and then winces at his voice. His throat is so dry it stings. Ouch.

Angeal relaxes a little. "They want you outta here, asap. There's a transport waiting. I'm supposed to deliver you to it."

… huh? That's, um. He has no idea! Is he being kicked out? He's Sephiroth - isn't he, like, the poster boy for Shinra's military might and stuff?

Angeal, clearly seeing his confusion, elaborates. "You're reassigned to Wutai, effective immediately."

… Oh. Great. "And if I don't feel like going anywhere?"

Angeal sighs. "I don't know. Nothing good. It's not like I can really force you to do anything, Sephiroth, but I'd prefer it if you came willingly."

Hah, jokes on your, bro, Sephiroth can't actually do shit right now!

… But he can't really stay here. And hell, being sent to a war front at least saves him from having to face any of this just yet! Maybe never. It's a corporate dystopia, and he's the poster boy - maybe Shinra will do him a favour and sweep this all under the rug! They did with Nibelheim.

And Wutai is the closest thing to home…

"... Alright," Sephiroth says. "But you're probably going to have to drag me."

"What? No, Sephiroth, you can just walk, it's alright -"

"Angeal, I -" just had a Qi-deviation and my system feels all outta whack, but that's not a thing and he's Sephiroth - can't admit weakness! "Just - give me a hand."

Angeal blinks and then goes, "Oh!" as Sephiroth visibly wavers, trying to get up. "Oh, a delayed reaction? Right, here -"

Sephiroth really has to be dragged up, like some drunk guy. And even then his knees almost give up! So embarrassing! His cute disciples the other SOLDIERs are watching!

Oh, urg, the nausea…

"If I throw up on you, it's nothing personal," Sephiroth groans, closing his eyes, both to fight back the vertigo and so that he doesn't have to see the other SOLDIERs reaction. No one is laughing at him, at least.

And then Angeal laughs at him. Rude! The man sounds relieved, though, as he grabs him firmly by the elbow, propping him up. "I promise I won't hold it against you."

Sephiroth sighs, humiliated. "Thanks," he mutters and then, plaintively asks, "Do they have chocolate in Wutai?"

"Chocolate?"

"I could really go for a chocolate bar right now."

"Oh, I bet," Angeal says, sounding a little amused now. "I don't know about Wutai, but I'm sure we can get you some chocolate somewhere," he promises. "Are you ready to go?"

No. "Yeah, let's go."

Is it even SY if he doesn't need to be carried once in a while?

#fanfiction #ff7 #ffvii #svsss #sephiroth #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #angeal hewley

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wysteria-clad · 2 years ago

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In Other World

paring: moon boys x fem! reader; established relationship

warnings: swearing, mentions of sexual harrasment, slight violence

genre: angsty-ish

a/n: bestie, buckle up for a wild ride

--------

You felt someone watching you. This was not the first time. Lately, you could sense someone watching you whenever you were out alone. You brushed it off.

You decided to work extra hours tonight to get ahead on your work, losing your sense of time in the process. You only realised how late it was when your phone got flooded with calls from Steven who was fronting. You sent him a reassuring message you're alright and you stayed behind to work. You could imagine how worried he must be. And you knew Marc and Jake wouldn't be calm either.

There it was again. That feeling of being watched. Your legs stopped midway, pausing right at the opening of the dark alley. The particular streetlight next to it was malfunctioning.

Your car broke down last week and was still in the auto shop, thus making you take the bus. Since you missed your usual bus, you waited for a taxi to flag down. A couple of cars passed occasionally, but no taxis in sight, oddly. A random couple walked past you a few minutes ago. You could hear a few people talking and laughing in the long distance vaguely. The lack of the usual bustling of the night created a sense of uneasiness in your gut. streetlight blinked eerily, adding further creepiness to your situation. You rolled your eyes at how paranoid you were being. "I shouldn't watch too many horror movies with Marc.." you mumble to yourself.

You checked your phone. Half past eleven. You mentally made a note. Never work late again.

The tall buildings on your left seemed to cast looming shadows menacingly under the pale moonlight. A random metallic clinked to your left startled you, followed by unmistakable squeaking near a trash can.

"Damn those rats..," you took a moment to compose yourself, deciding to walk instead of waiting for a taxi.

Unfortunately, the laughter you heard a few moments ago belonged to a bunch of drunk guys. You could smell the strong smell of alcohol from a few feet away. Soon the catcalling began. You ignored the comments about your legs.

How cliche today could get. You imagined how your boyfriends would have reacted if they were next to you. You increased your pace, walking past that dreaded alleyway.

Alas, luck didn't favour you tonight. They didn't want to let go of you that easily.

"Go away!" you tried hard to not show the fear creeping in your heart. Your words elicited only a mocking laughter from those men. Your eyes widened as they slowly advanced towards you. Your f3 response made you freeze like a gazelle in Savanna, surrounded by predators. Your heart pounded against your ribs. You take a step back, stumbling. Suddenly, you felt something against your back, or was it someone?

All you could see was a pale white figure now moving past you. Marc. Or rather the moon knight.

You watched your boyfriends engaged in fights before, but it was nothing like this.

It was just like in the movies. He did not show an ounce of mercy.

Before you could process what happened, those four guys were on the ground under Marc's feet, groaning, definitely with broken bones and bleeding.

"Marc," your feeble voice shook him out of that fiery moment. His back was facing you. He never met your eyes once. The hesitation and fear evident in your voice made him loose his shoulders a bit. You weren't scared of him, of course, he would never hurt you. They would never hurt you. The adrenaline still in your veins trapped fear in your body. "Let's go home.."

That made him turn around and face you. "Hey," you carefully closed the gap between you. "Let's go home," you repeat it again. Why was his face still masked? He never uttered a single word to you. And how did he know exactly where you would be. Nevermind, you were so grateful nonetheless. "Marc, baby, are you okay?" you reached out to touch his chest.

Even though his face was masked, you could sense a longing behind his eyes, something like heaviness. He quickly avoided your gaze. Without saying anything, he was gone in a flash with his cape.

How did he show up that fast and why did he leave you alone now? "What the.."

You storm towards the door of Steven's flat. The earlier events created a cocktail of uneasiness and anger, with lots of 'Why?'

Soon enough, Steven wrapped his arms around you the moment your foot stepped inside, mumbling how worried he was—they were, "Oh, darling!"

"What the hell was that?!" you pushed him away.

Poor Steven did not expect this reaction from you when he hugged you in his arms.

"Love, what was what?"

He looked genuinely puzzled.

You gave him a 'really?' look. When you realised he really didn't have a clue, you filled him in—how scared you were and Marc showed up and beat those creepy guys and left abruptly.

"Nice try, love. I'm not falling for your prank this time, even though this one is really disturbing."

"Wha..Steven." The way his name escaped your lips told him you were being serious.

The light tone disappeared from his voice. "Darling, Marc didn't front today."

This was too much. A tired sigh escaped your lips. "You know what, I'm too tired, I can't do this right now," you kicked your shoes off, making your way towards the bedroom. You weren't even sure you would make it there without breaking down. The seriousness of it all dawned on you, the adrenaline finally wore off. You crashed on the bed, hiding your face with a pillow to stop the flowing tears.

Steven stood there wondering if he said something wrong. He thought maybe if you hear it from Marc, you'll calm down.

"Baby"

That was it. That's all it took. Hearing Marc's voice, feeling him next to you broke the dam.

"Why did you leave me like that?" you choked on your cries.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

Ugh, why was he playing dumb?

"Is this your way of getting back to me for all the pranks? Cause it sucks and it's not amusing!"

This was serious. You would never joke about something like this. He genuinely had no clue.

"Y/n/n, baby, look at me.." Marc's voice was soft, he cupped your face gently. "When I realised you weren't pranking us..what those assholes did-" he restrained his fury, "Baby, why would I deny saving you? Do you really think I would leave you? Especially after something like that? I would have killed them." He didn't bother to hide his anger this time. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I wasn't there," he pulled you tightly against his chest. And you let him.

He wasn't lying and neither was Steven. None of them were there and they did not save you.

You were overwhelmed and decided to deal with it tomorrow. It didn't take long for you to fall asleep. Your boyfriends took turns calming and cuddling you. Their comforting presence made you feel safe and protected. The last thing you remember hearing before passing out was Jake's voice telling a random, children story he made in order to distract you.

However, one thought never left your mind. You knew you didn't hallucinate. The blood dripping from those guys' faces wasn't a hallucination. If it wasn't Marc or Jake or Steven, who was your masked saviour, and why did he look exactly like the Moon Knight? What happened and what was going on?

On the same night, at the same time Y/n was sleeping listening to Jake's ridiculous, made up story, far away from Steven's flat, a man—Marc Spector, still in his moon knight suit stood on the terrace of a tall building. The big, silver moon looked within his grasp from that view. He took of his mask. His dark eyes were laden with agony. His fists were clenched.

Her.

Why did he leave her?

Why it had to be like this?

All he could do was scream out loud. Helplessness weighed him down, frustrated tears rolled down on his face.

#wystie-verse #moon knight x reader #moon knight imagine #moon knight #marc spector x reader #marc spector imagine #marc spector #steven grant x reader #steven grant imagine #steven grant #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley imagine #jake lockley

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obsessedwhim · 1 year ago

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Running for Romance

Gripping at rocks and rubble you were able to pull yourself from the crater you had left behind, never the less you had made it from the circle's crust pain's journey had just begun to pulse through your minced meat, with a gasp you cupped your torso in a tight grip as if your very skeleton frame were about to collapse if you were to rest for any moment, and it just might- for you were in the middle of a war.

You gazed at the mess around you, who barracks were you in right now? Who was close and alive? Gah! You could barely sense anything in this sorry state, your home was in the middle of a crucial fight, and you stared out into the clouds for as long as your legs could stand.

And then just like that the cracked ground grew closer and held a bleeding headwound with a groan as you crawled to a nicely perched piece of Soul Society foundation to lean on.

Pouring a few more breaths into your lungs blood weeping wounds felt a little less much like a claw was in your gut, though there was before you discarded it- and the Quincy connected to it. You chuckled as you recalled your villain's face when he finally realized he messed up, and you won- you put your body on the line and yeah, it's a bit shredded but By the Power of The Soul King you Won!

Though- laying like a wrecked doll discarded by a child- you wondered that if your eyes were to close in this very moment, would they open again? Would you rise like before from your ashen bedding and greet the day with a mirror-pain-struck smile?

The clouds parted and wonderful warm rays littered over your weak form as though beckoning you back to life, dancing and flickering around you as if the very Gods were laughing at you to take a stand and not let the fruitless war tear you apart.

Dust still collected in the air from impact, brightening the space around you to the point you had to lift an arm to shade your gaze. Until you lowered your limb and kept your position with closed eyes while breathing in a refreshing line of oxygen, and then suddenly your brain was filled with the strange need to move, move away from here and closer to over there.

"Who... is that?" You wondered, pressing your hands to the flooring for a more stable rise, this spiritual energy was familiar yet it was like trying a different flavor of your favorite cake.

This feeling was familiar yet you were sure it couldn't be anybody else.

You were slow at first, fumbling down steep stairs and passing dust-blanketed comrades you walked further than you thought you'd be able to but- if there was any chance it was him you had to take it.

Suddenly, the eye of the energy moved and your heart nearly burst with anticipation. The impending force was moving close at a terrifyingly fast pace but you couldn't be more excited to meet what was to come.

Bloodied lips slowly pulled into a crooked smile as you picked up the pace, not wanting the arrival of your beloved to take one more second. You eagerly jumped over textured boulders and missed oncoming Soldat who nipped at your small firm with their sharpened blades, but there really was nothing quite like your best friend to rejuvenate you on the battlefield.

Though you gained a new slice here and there it was nothing compared to your angered kicks and released Zanpakuto abilities "Sorry guys but I got somewhere to BE- WOAH!"

Lost in your bandit-like attitude you slipped and fell down an angled piece of the Seireitei, landing with less grace than a Squad Eleven member you groaned at the aching throb from your tailbone "Ooooh, that can't be good" you hissed.

But alas! Listen to the echoes of war and there you shall hear it! A strong voice bellowing your name through the ruins, the pool of reishi moving faster than before. Pushing yourself upright once more you flashed away from a group of incoming Quincy foot soldiers but they were quick to follow.

You moved your tearing sandals and squinted as a black silhouette grew larger over the horizon, it bounced and dodged incoming attacks but no wound was left behind and neither was an enemy from this person's overwhelming Zanpakuto attack.

The image called out your name as though you had perished in the many attacks by Yhwach and his army but you could feel this person's eyes zero in on you and his features became clearer with every forced step.

"Ichigo!"

Your smile grew wide and your hands had already begun reaching out to collide with your oncoming partner, but still, those relentless Soldat pursued you without any need to not go after you, after all, it was you who had been tunneling through the Soul Society to rid your home of those troops which surrounded your home and blocked off necessary travel points, covering hideouts and drawing them away from unprotected groups of Reapers, all while taking many of them out in the process.

Now here was your final stand, despite running, and this would be the moment for fate to decide if you were going to survive this horrible ordeal, but with your beloved so close by all seemed well and the world was near right again. Bones grew tired while your lungs were failing to keep up with the speed of your entourage, there was a slim chance you could die at the moment but you knew that, it came with the paperwork when you first became a Reaper but with your blood count low and brushing through countless enemies your life force was finally beginning to take the effects of your unending battle, brows curled as the last pockets of energy you had begun rapidly dispelling, tripping as you attempted to keep up the chase but your hand's still kept reaching out for him.

"I-cchiiii-GOOOO!"

The Soldat group circled you from behind and jumped for a final attack, you ignored their oncoming presence, and others completely filled your senses.

A large arm held you to a strong body, he brushed you into his protective hold and released his shikai ability which swept all the soldiers into the world around them in a dangerous blanket of dark glowering spiritual energy.

You relaxed into Ichigo's hold while you both spun around from his life-saving charge, you were placed onto blistering dainty sandals as Ichigo's hands circled your cheeks "Are you okay? You're not dying right?! Man! I knew I should've been faster!!" He fussed, bright orbs littering over your wrecked form as you smiled incandescently through the blood and pain, placing a hand over his own you laughed at his worried reaction. He took it as a good sign but was still careful to hug you with the softest hold he could muster, snatching you from the cold air between you both he hummed while breathing in your hair.

Tightening his hold slightly when he lifted his lips to kiss you on the less-blooded side of your melon.

"I-I'm sorry I left, none could find you.."

You shook your head with a curled brow "It's because I didn't want to be found"

Ichigo's features were quick to turn confused and his hold lightened, you explained you were more useful hidden, and lost in the fight. Utter concentration was needed for you to carry out what you thought was necessary and still, he retorted, of course, he understood but he also wanted you to be safe, and you shook your head once more.

"The only thing I need in this world, Ichigo" You lifted red spotted hands and tried not to smear any of your liquids on his cheekbones or new outfit "It's standing right before me, that's it"

Ichigo released a sigh as he drank in your wounded form, ignoring how you told him to leave you behind and flash off to end this war. Finish this fight and you could be together peacefully. The gingers eyes softened at your words and he leaned forward till soft lips bumped yours shyly but with purpose, and you pressed back with a ferocious need to feel him closer.

"I'll take you somewhere safe, and then" he pinched you from the ground and beamed a confident grin at you "I'll end this, and come back" Ichigo nuzzled his forehead close as a blush rose and you kicked your feet with a giggle, you nudge back.

"You always do"

#ichigo kurosaki #ichigo kurosaki x reader #fanfics #ichigo kurosaki x oc #bleach x reader #fanfiction #bleach ichigo #bleach headcanons #fanfic writing #bleach tybw

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 2 months ago

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But It Beats the Darkness - Malevolent Big Bang 2024, ch.1: STUBBORN

Serial killer Wallace Larson has been murdering children for his ritual, and the cops won't stop him. Private investigators Parker Yang and Arthur Lester choose to get involved... and everything goes wrong.

Interrupting the ritual leaves Parker missing, Arthur in chains, and a piece of the King in Yellow in Arthur's head. But this piece knows who he is, and knows what he wants: to complete his ritual and rule Earth.

Unfortunately, Arthur is incredibly stubborn, maudlin over his missing partner (stupid Parker Yang), and John, it turns out, is not the only piece of the King seeking power right now.

It's a race against time, and John has a heavy handicap. With Larson in pursuit, a trail of murdered victims in their wake, and a host whose body is failing, John is determined to win at any cost... even if the cost includes Arthur Lester.

"It may not be much light but it beats the darkness" ~ Charles Bukowski, The Laughing Heart

AO3

NOTE BEFORE READING

This is part one of a Darkthur fic. There is violence and bodily harm.

This fic was written in tandem with Kraiva's IT MAY NOT BE MUCH LIGHT, and is intended to be read together, though both are standalone. For the fullest experience, read the corresponding chapter from each fic. We'll be linking the connected chapters in the end notes of each.

The incredible art in chapters two and eleven are by @wurmeon. The breathtaking 3D models in chapter six are from @iconiccookie.

---------------

Arthur screamed, and the entity knew he didn’t want to.

Arthur hated giving them that , losing self-control so the sound tore out of him rough and ragged, bleeding his throat and straining his tongue. So Arthur said, anyway. But, well, Larson’s people had just broken his big toe with a hammer, so screaming was perhaps inevitable.

This whole thing just wasn’t doing it for the entity the way it initially had. Arthur wasn’t giving in. Zero progress had been made on the entity’s freedom. Humans, he decided, sucked at torture, but lacking his own body made hands-on education impossible.

At least he could still play along. He laughed.That was a good hit! I do appreciate precision.

“Go to hell,” Arthur possibly said, a mangled and thick-throated sound, barely intelligible, which meant they were probably done for today. Once he was no longer functioning mentally, there was no point in continuing.

The usual tell was when Arthur lost the ability to tell them what they could do with their mothers.

It was ironic, really. Arthur could stop all this with just the tiniest bit of collaboration, of willingness, even a clever bit of deception, but he never did. The entity did not understand why.

One of the torturers pulled back and punched them in the face.

The entity saw it coming; Arthur did not, and took it full on the mouth, lips splitting. He groaned, choked, and sprayed enough blood to hint he’d bitten through his tongue again.

Wallace Larson waited, arms crossed, tapping his foot. Finally, he walked over, grabbed Arthur by the swollen, bruised jaw, and lifted his face.

Arthur tried to say fuck you (at least, the entity thought he did) and managed only a hiss of blood and froth.

“Well,” said Larson softly, studying him as though looking for a crossword clue. “I’m sure that was informative, but alas. We’ll have to try again tomorrow.”

They’d gotten no answers. Again. How long was this going to take? He’s got life in him yet.

“Yes, and I’d rather not chase that out, since we don’t precisely know what that would do to you, Your Greatness,” Larson said, and let go.

Arthur went limp, dangling from his chains.

“Take care of it,” Larson said like he did every night, and walked away. Arthur hung, breathing like a broken bellows, and mumbled something about… bunnies?

What? said the entity.

“Bunny,” Arthur managed, spitting blood with every syllable.

What the hell was he saying? An animal?

“Jumps. Random,” Arthur said, dribbling more blood. “Like the… footsteps.”

Ah. Arthur must mean the echo of Wallace’s fine shoes, cracking sharply as he marched down the hall and up the stairs and away from this dungeon. What a funny observation to make.

(Funny intriguing. The entity still planned to torture this man for what he’d taken, but he was leaning more and more toward “keep” instead of “kill” these days. Not that Arthur would like that. No. That was half the fun.)

The healers came in at last. They were shameful, the entity thought. They used magic, technically, but it was human magic, and about as elegant as the shit Arthur left in the corner bucket every morning. This magic didn’t actually heal him; it forced his body to heal itself at an accelerated rate—using his own body’s resources.

It had only been a few days, but the result was stark: yes, when they finished, he had no wounds. Yes, when they left, his bones were healed and his burns were smooth and shiny.

But also when they left, Arthur was visibly thinner, and so tired that he often curled around his empty, aching stomach and wept as if that could somehow bring relief.

In the beginning, this man had been in good shape. Now? He looked like a scarecrow, shock wrapped in skin, like his fat and muscle had been devoured.

It was a lot to put up with for the sake of a little information. Why wouldn’t he give in?

If only Arthur were actually stupid, it would make sense. He wasn’t stupid. The entity had figured that out with very little conversation, confirmed by the details Wallace provided—Arthur was a private investigator, relying on mental acuity, and his reputation was good.

That made his continual defiance baffling. So, like every night, the healers left. And, like every night, Arthur sobbed. But, unlike every night, the entity could take no more mystery. He had to ask: Why do you let them do this to you?

Arthur’s breath hitched. “The fuck do you mean, ‘let them?’ What am I going to do, turn into a mouse and escape? I couldn’t even see where to run.”

True. He’d been blind since the explosion. Since he and his stupid partner interrupted the final ritual, when both the partner and the book disappeared into thin fucking air. The entity owned Arthur’s eyes now. No, imbecile. Why won’t you just give them what they ask for? They’ll still kill you, but at least it would be quick. Surely, Arthur knew that. You’re dragging things out. You’re suffering when you don’t have to, and I can tell you don’t enjoy it. I want to know why!

A moment of silence passed while (as always), this foolish human took his time obeying. “It matters not how strait the gate,” Arthur mumbled, “how charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.”

What the actual hell?

The entity wished he could stare this weirdo in the face. Fucking what?

“I have nothing to give them,” Arthur said instead of explaining.

Bullshit. You do. You have your knowledge. How you found this place. How you interfered. How you hurt me . The entity paused. And where the fuck your partner is now.

Arthur laughed weakly, a wheeze that sounded a million years old. “That especially, I will never tell. It won’t matter what they do. I hope Parker got away. I hope he’s bringing the gods-damned army to raze this place to the ground. I hope we all get chlorine-bombed and die.”

Fuck, said the entity, unsure if he were impressed or disgusted or just pissed off.

He didn’t get the chance to pursue it. Like every night, Arthur tipped into miserable sleep.

There’d been no body in the rubble. The book was gone. Larson said there’d a glimpse of gold and wonder as the entity himself—King, god , ruler of all he surveyed—began to come through. Then Arthur and his partner showed up, and it went to hell.

Partner missing. Book missing. Endless days of torture, screaming, crying. More defiance hurled in the face of reason and logic.

Arthur was not stupid. Why did he keep doing this? Why?

“He was using it to kill innocent people!” said Arthur about the book.

So? Just humans! They’re dying, anyway, mortals, their lives given in my service, which gives them meaning!

“He stole their lives’ meaning,” Arthur argued, and that confused the entity so much that there were no more questions for an hour.

What was he talking about? How could a mortal life ever have meaning? Ever have worth?

When Arthur woke that night, summoned to consciousness by the scent of food, the entity tried again. Is it because you thought your life had meaning? he said as Arthur desperately ate dinner, pot roast left over from the rich man’s table.

“All lives do,” Arthur said.

Oh, please. No, said the entity, trying for patience. Mortal lives don’t. They’re over so fast; anything they do fades away, like flowers in a field. Only the immortal have purpose.

Arthur laughed around a mouthful of cold carrots and potato. “Wrong. That makes their purpose more important than any stupid immortal ideals.”

Right. So. Arthur wasn’t stupid, but maybe he was insane. Explain that. Now.

“Think about it,” said Arthur between swallows. “Say you’ve got limited time; a mortal life. You don’t have eternity to correct your fucking mistakes, or research the best path forward. You have to find meaning, and what you do with it matters because it’s your only chance. No do-overs. That makes every individual life absolutely precious. Unique. You talk about flowers, but I’ll bet you appreciate ones that bloom rarely and briefly. Morning Glories, all around.” He licked the plate.

The entity fell silent again.

Arthur felt around where the plate had been. “Is there any more?”

The entity stayed silent. Was he inspired? Insulted? He didn’t know. This damned human kept making him feel things he had no words for.

“Please, fuck, is there any more?”

No.

Arthur sighed. “Well. Thanks anyway.” He lay back down.

His clothing hung on him as if he’d stolen it from a man twice his width. Purpose or not, this mortal body couldn’t survive much longer, and that was concerning. Larson had been right; they didn’t know what would happen to him , to all that remained of the King in Yellow, when Arthur died.

The entity did not want to die. Your body is failing. You know that, don’t you?

“Yes.” Soft.

You want a purpose? Meaning? Let me go, Arthur Lester. Larson said you can.

Arthur wiped his mouth. “No.”

The entity growled. Why the hell not?

“He’d fuck you up.”

What the hell was this? What?

“I know men like him,” Arthur said, rough like steel wool. “He said you’re severed . Even if he got you back, you wouldn’t be what he wanted. He doesn’t hesitate to sacrifice other people for power; that’s why we tracked him down. What in fuck do you think he’ll do to you when you’re helpless in his hands?”

(A nightmare. This was a nightmare. Oh, he’d keep Arthur once he got his body back, oh yes, and Arthur would regret. )

What will he do? What will he do? He’ll worship me , is what he’ll do!

“No, he won’t,” said Arthur. “If I let you go, I’m condemning you. So fucking forget it.”

Madness! You’re insane!

Arthur said nothing.

Stubbornness! Is that your purpose, then? Being insane?

Arthur snorted. “Sure.”

Sarcasm, the entity scoffed. Then what is your oh-so-important purpose, you disgusting mortal man?

“Helping people,” said Arthur at once.

Hel… ping… w… you… why?

“ Why? What kind of… because they need it!” said Arthur.

It made no sense! No one is coming to help you.

“It isn’t transactional, for fuck’s sake.” Arthur sighed.

Lunacy! It’s not?

“We help people because it's right. We help people because it’s good. We help each other because it makes us better than animals, because it's our choice to act in the face of selfishness.” Arthur’s voice caught.

But no one is coming to help you, the entity said again, because two and two were making orange.

“What does that have to do with how I choose to act?”

The entity fell silent again.

Arthur curled on the wooden board that was his bed.

Arthur.

“What?”

The entity couldn’t believe he was doing this. There’s… an apple. You missed it. It rolled toward the door.

Arthur gasped and crawled for it. “Where? Where?”

To your right. Just… there.

Arthur didn’t bother trying to clean it (between his skin and his clothes, the floor was probably cleaner). He bit deep. He groaned.

The entity was quiet.

Tears slid down Arthur’s cheeks. “Thank you.” He took another bite. Another groan. More tears. He ate the whole thing except for the stem, then crawled back to his board and curled up, licking his fingers to get the last of the lingering flavor.

It didn’t make sense. It didn’t add up. It didn’t… You… you’re welcome.

Arthur said nothing, and the entity was glad. Darkness came for them both, and the entity braced himself for the interminable boredom of mortal sleep.

(chapter two) (masterpost)

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Notes:

Read the accompanying chapter of It May Not Be Much Light here!

#malevolent fic #malevolent au #darkthur #malevolent big bang 2024 #mbb2024 #but it beats the darkness

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lovethelittlerthings · 7 months ago

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found heaven x saltburn

i just listened to conan gray new album and i cannot get over the fact that this album is very much a saltburn-coded album. i am very much in my everything is saltburn era and this is no exception.

TRACK ONE: Found Heaven

this was what inspired me to make this blog post because just read that. it has oliver written all over it. from the blasphemy and the hunger to the rejection. this song is oliver.

as i said. oliver.

TRACK TWO: Never Ending Song

i imagine this as oliver reading a magazine and seeing a model that reminds him of felix and calling felix's old phone and saying this in his voicemails. i imagine everytime ollie misses felix, he sends him a voicemail from his old brick phone that still is in good condition even as decades past.

ah, everything reminds oliver of felix like how everything reminds me of saltburn.

just oliver clinging on his memories of felix.

TRACK SIX: The Final Fight

maze scene. this oliver and felix in the maze scene.

future oliver here. going to new york, growing and coming back to saltburn only to realize that felix never changed because he dead. he's broken because of him.

back to the mindset of oliver in the maze scene begging felix to listen to him, to make his wrongs right. getting that final fight but alas.

TRACK SEVEN: Miss You

yes once again maze scene cattonquick is at play.

this is maze felix. then this is future oliver.

TRACK EIGHT: Bourgeoisies

ollie yearning for that high class life when hanging out with felix. how disgustingly rich he is.

this is my monologue ollie. this what ollie wants as to perceived him a social climber and not a love-struck card who dealt his cards wrong.

TRACK TEN: Eye Of The Night

this is felix everytime ollie watches him. i genuinely think felix knows ollie' watching him and revels in his attention.

this future ollie feeling as though felix's ghost is haunting him.

TRACK ELEVEN: Boys & Girls

and then to end the post with one of my favourite songs from this album. not only does it sound like it could be in the saltburn film but it is so ollie describing felix's power and how it affects him and the people surrounding felix.

Now that is all for this very long blog post rambling about saltburn. conan ray is a very important artist to me and i am so glad that two of my obsessions are colliding in this manner though it's just my delusion. you guys should listen to found haven and keep obsessing over saltburn like me hehe. im sure there are more things that i didn't touch on about saltburn and there lyrics on other tracks that reminds me of them but i didn't include because of the photo limit as well as that the whole song doesn't descrive them unlike these ones.

#saltburn #oliver quick #felix catton #cattonquick #barry keoghan #jacob elordi #lyric parallels #lyrics #Spotify #conan gray #found heaven

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bylertruther · 2 years ago

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the mistake & the monster, a willel character study

it's so fascinating how will and el's role reversal in the narrative reinforces their negative self-image and keeps them from moving forward in their own stories. they're both stuck in time, specifically the day that will went missing, just as the upside down is.

will being thoroughly replaced by eleven in every aspect and made a secondary character in his own life story serves to make him feel like a mistake.

here's someone that looks like him, joined his party and later his family, and has been given everything that was once his, including his own feelings and gifts for his best friend that he knew and loved first, that she wouldn't have ever even met if not for him and the love mike had for him, and who ruined his life and gave him unimaginable trauma, and... he can't even do anything about it. he doesn't even allow himself to be mad anymore—he seethes, and he aches, and then he bottles it back up and tells himself he deserves it.

because she's eleven. their new mage. the superhero. the girl that saved their lives over and over again. his sister and his friend and a member of the party. a person that he loves, would do anything for, and wants only to be happy. and who is he to be anything other than grateful?

she's the better, new and improved version of him; an upgrade that does the saving instead of needing to be saved. if he wasn't a mistake, then wouldn't it be him? wouldn't he be the first choice as he once was? or, even just a choice at all? if he, as he is now, wasn’t a mistake... then wouldn’t they have let him back into their lives? wouldn’t his own life have allowed that?

eleven being forced to fill the voids of various men, forced or guided into bringing their ghosts back to life so that they can rewrite their rotten histories, and doing their bidding in isolation serves to make her feel like a monster.

brenner could not let go of henry, and so he molded eleven in his image, made her look for him, trained her to beat and surpass him, kept her in isolation and reliant solely on him so that she would not turn on him as henry did, and reared her to be a success so great that it would wash away his failure with henry. hopper could not let go of sarah, and so he projected his fears and trauma onto her. of course, eleven is being sought after by the government, so the isolation is in part understandable, but it's still not an ideal situation for either of them. she was not ready to be a caged animal again, going stir crazy with no answers and nothing but her memories warped by time, nostalgia, and loneliness, and the television to keep her company. he was not ready to be a parent either. he was still grieving, unsure of how to actually raise her, and so scared to lose her that he drove her away. again, similar to brenner with henry, hopper was trying to balm his fears and perceived failure with her. eleven still didn't know what it was to be a person—someone that has friends, talks to people, and likes things; all very basic components of being a human in society—because he was treating her like sarah 2.0 and his mini-me in some ways. as for mike... mike wants to feel and be safe. safe from monsters, bullies, and societal pressures. eleven is the superhero that consistently swoops in to save him, his loved ones, and the entire world from doom. she's the force that kept troy from hurting him when he stood up for will and that caught him when he stepped off the cliff after troy and james told him to. she's also the first ever “girl that’s not grossed out by [him]". people see them, think that they like each other, and push him in her direction. alas, there's his chance to prove that he's normal! that he's not a loser or a freak! he can get girls and people clearly think that he likes them, too, judging by how they've confused his kindness, consideration, and friendship for something romantic. she's his lifeline, his path to "normalcy" and "manhood". as was the case with hopper, this is a layered dynamic. they meet and bond due to trauma. mike finds her while looking for will and frequently says, in less affectionate words like "weapon", that they need her to accomplish their mission. they undoubtedly bond a bit in the few days that they know each other, but mike finds and keeps her because he wants will back and she's the only way to save him. at the end of season one, mike tells her that she can be his sister "once all this is over and will's back". it's only when she questions him on this, and thus reminds him of what everyone else has been saying, that he quickly backtracks. he can't explain romance to her, but he goes back to that role anyway, asks her to the snow ball, and kisses her. because, oh, right! everyone says that i like her, so clearly i do! nevermind the fact that when he's speaking uninhibitedly with her about their future, he describes a more familial relation and that he's been playing caregiver to her all season. and then... after promising her a family and a date, he watches her save their lives again and be terribly weakened by it, only to later get up to defend them from a big scary monster. then, when he steps forward to stop her, he watches her push him back and "die" saving their lives. mike is terrified of losing people. he's pressured by his family to grow up and be a man. he feels a personal responsibility to save everyone, despite being just a kid himself. he also feels that he's nothing special, just a random nerd that got lucky. eleven frees him from all of this. she's his "cure" and his "superman". it is a disservice to both of their characters to not acknowledge this and saying it doesn't detract from their relationship or how they feel about each other. it's just... what it is. eleven ticks all of his boxes: she's a savior, she makes him special, and she's proof that he's grown up. he doesn't want to lose her for a multitude of reasons, even if neither of them can or have given each other what they want and need. mike still views her as the girl he met in the woods and wants their relationship to remain as it was during those few days. eleven doesn't want this. she's outgrown that girl. she doesn't need him and she doesn't want to be seen through that lens anymore. she wants him to see her as she is now and love her for it. but... he doesn't, does he? he can't. he can't write it to her, he can't give her a card with those words on it, and he hasn't ever said it—not even when she sobs and begs him to. he doesn't, he can't, and he refuses to lie to her (until they believe that her life and the fate of the world literally depends on it).

mike's actions are not malicious. he can't help the way that he feels. he doesn't want to hurt her, but is in a position where he has no choice. no matter what he does, it'll hurt them both. it is hurting them both. and that's what makes this relationship particularly special: that they were both pushed into this, and that they are both aware that she cannot fill his void nor can he fill hers.

and so they are stuck hurting themselves and will, because unlike the other situations, this ghost is not a ghost. will is alive and well and actively wants his part in this story back.

having been removed from their triangle of lies, it seems that eleven is in a better place than them at the end of season four. she's gone on a journey and made steps; steps that seemingly lead her away from mike and the endless roles she's been thrust into, and into whoever it is that she is.

once the painting lie is revealed, i reckon it may even be the catalyst that slides everything into place for them all: that it was never meant to be her by mike's side, but will. (among other revelations, of course.)

there's a lot yet to resolve, but it seems that season five will help both will and eleven find their personhood.

eleven will know that she is more than what little the men before her have believed and shaped her to be, that she can be more than their ghosts and their failures, that she is a person worth knowing and loving all on her own, and that she is more than her might.

will will know that he is no mistake, that he does have a place in this world, that he isn't a burden to the ones he loves, that he has not been forgotten by them, that there is love for him worth fighting for, and that he is worthy and deserving just as he is and has always been.

their stories are about discovery and coming into one's own, and they cannot be decoupled. it's no mistake that as will begins to be more open about his feelings for mike and nears the role he once had in his life, that eleven begins to grow away from him and find herself. they're two sides of the same coin, twins that have been distorted by outside forces to fit into their false narratives.

that's what makes will feel like a mistake and what makes eleven feel like a monster, and it won't stop until they manage to break the cycle by saying "no".

no, i won't turn the other cheek and bite my tongue.

no, i won't be what you tell me to be.

#mine #long post #byler #<- not rly but. Look At My Post Anyway #will analysis #eleven analysis

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kariachi · 1 year ago

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Made the mistake of reading past posts by other people about the desire for a Gwen storyline where she just snaps while I already had five billion ideas in my head and now just the image of a 90% Gwen 10% Argit storyline, within OV and with some of my shit going, is drifting through my head....

Start off with Gwen and Kevin coming back to Bellwood during a school break- Kevin very openly thinks they should have gone somewhere else because the ongoing semester has been a bear for Gwen, but Ben misses her and she hasn't seen her parents in a while so Gwen insists

Three episode build-up

First episode focuses heavily on Gwen and just how things are at home, with a mother whose expectations are too high and who disapproves of what Gwen is down to her DNA, nonetheless her life choices, with a side helping of hero stuff.

Second episode goes back to a Ben focus, but Gwen and Kevin are still around, still helping out, and so get to be there when it's revealed that the villain of the week is a Max bastard, come around to start shit because fuck that old man specifically. The episode has a good amount of Gwen still feeling like she's second fiddle to her cousin, and ends with her noting how she supposes she should be grateful she at least wasn't just forgotten about like their new relative, but it's clear she doesn't actually feel better and that the reveal of Max's past 'escapades' has shaken her and her remaining faith in her grandfather

Third episode is just a complete beast of a 'stop the nasty villain' episode, everyone is getting their teeth kicked in on all sides, Gwen ends up going nearly full Anodite to end the fight. Kevin checks up on her while the Plumbers gather the villain up, and while Ben starts out doing the same he's pulled away when the cameras show up and people start talking about what a great job he did stopping the threat.

At which point Gwen- already stressed from school, and her mother, and the family drama, and the fight, and her preexisting shit- pulls a Kevin

Full Anodite mode, alternating between vanishing off- where she just works herself up further, caught up in her own head and the bullshit she's been dealing with- and showing up to just level shit. There has been too much on her plate for too long, and while she's been letting out bits and pieces before, now she's just letting it all out on who or whatever her brain is circling like a busted rc car. The bullshit with her mom? Level shit. The bullshit with her grandpa? Level shit.

Her strip of carnage is less expansive than Kevin's was, but there is no 'I'm a threat so I'm avoiding you/you should avoid me'. We already know that when she gets angry she's got no problem with hurting the people she loves, and this is kicked up to eleven here. The boys get their shit wrecked when they try to stop her, whether it's by talking her down or fighting her down.

To say tensions are high would be to understate things by a fair margin

Ben is shocked to be hit with the full extent of how everything from dealing with her mom to his fame have been affecting her, having his own mini crisis within the crisis. Especially once she does him real damage. These boys see the inside of a hospital at least once.

Kevin isn't shocked by shit but he is very unhappy with the situation and worried about her

Seeing that the power of love has failed, and the power of combat has failed, Max brings up the power of murder

This time around it's Ben who's upset at the idea of just giving up on this person he loves who has snapped.

Rook is sorrowful at the idea, but sees the reasoning in it, she is incredibly dangerous and they haven't been able to stop her

Kevin, meanwhile, to add to Ben's shame, immediately puts Max on the floor and makes it clear that he is not afraid to add one old man to his body count. There will be no killing his woman on his watch.

Alas, what can they do? Clearly an impossible problem, but they have to do something. They need an impossible solution.

Enter the Argit chunk of the situation.

I'm picturing, like the Ultimate Kevin arc, we get two episodes and then a two-parter finale

End of the first episode we get Max implying that she might be too much for the boys to handle, end of the second we get the 'we are not killing her' confrontation, beginning of the finale we get another failure to break her out of this spiral she's locked herself in

The boys get their asses handed to them again, Rook is still not sure they can stop her, Ben is desperate, and Kevin- Kevin bundles everyone in the car and heads for Argit's

The other two are not convinced, especially when Argit hears that they want help with Gwen and immediately shoots them down.

"Red hates me, is rampaging, one of the most powerful fuckers on this planet, and I can't quill pure energy." "Yeah, but she's unwarded."

At which point Argit begins refusing much more emphatically. It's not mentioned what that means or why it's relevant, but it is made clear that he is Very Against whatever the implication is, to the point that Ben offers to pay him for his services and he gets pissed at the mere suggestion.

In the end it takes Kevin begging and "You know I wouldn't ask if there was another option" to get him to reluctantly agree, making it clear he's only doing so for Kevin's sake

They find her about to level the Morningstar estate- which they all agree wouldn't be so bad if there wasn't the chance there were innocent staff and/or pets inside- at which point Argit steps forward, tells her to stop, and... she does.

Her response alongside the following events make it very clear that he's controlling her, as little as he can get away with but enough to keep her to from hurting anyone

We get our explanation when Gwen demands one- that Charmcaster killed her, Ben, and Kevin, that he warded Kevin after they were brought back, but because the other two weren't they're vulnerable to being controlled with magic. Demands to know since when can he use magic and why hasn't he before are brushed off with a 'this isn't my first time' and a subtle camera shift to Kevin

The end of the arc doesn't come in fighting, Argit makes sure of that, but in talking her down (much like he tried in the Rooters flashback with Kevin)

There's a lot of Gwen getting shit off her chest she hasn't really let herself deal with before this- from the betrayal that comes with all the secrets in her family to just how big an effect the shit with Charmcaster has had on her and beyond. There's a lot of validation (yes her grandfather is a piece of shit) alongside calling her out (just because shit's crap doesn't mean you get to take it out on everybody else) and offers of help dealing with shit

That last bit mostly comes from the boys, Ben's got apologies for days for not realizing that his spotlight was casting a shadow on her, Kevin's always out to support her and more than happy to help her get space away from her mom, Rook's all for helping her find a decent shrink because clearly she needs to be able to talk about this shit with somebody. Argit's got a whole list of places she can go off-world to get away from her family and responsibilities and take an actual fucking vacation, and offers to give her mom a piece of his mind if she wants.

Gwen gets to, to a degree, process and release her feelings in a healthy manner and it's enough to help bring her out of her spiral and back under control, there is much hugging and apologizing and a strong sense that things are going to improve moving forward

We end with Ben joking noting that clearly not getting warded was the smart idea, and Argit huffingly herding him and Gwen into the car, saying that they're going back to his place for a warding whether they want one or not

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darkhorse-javert · 1 year ago

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Fuff-tober Day 4 'Cinderella Moment'

The near-finale scenes of a Victorian Era Foyle's War/ A Little Princess crossover I haven't written yet. (oops) Going on the idea 'the "ugly duckling" gets their moment to shine'- for our beloved Sam's a bit of an Ugly Duckling at Lyminster.

A/N the dashes '-th Regiment' for example, are intended, ala Jane Austen.

Ram Das and Carrisford are particularly drawn from the excellent 1987 BBC version. (Can be found on YouTube)

Sam had settled herself on a discreet chair in the small drawing room of Lyminster House hands folded neatly and demurely on her lap, and for want of anything better to do, observed the new occupier of the moment.

'A gentleman', her father had disclosed before he brought her in company, 'well travelled, but who had been very ill, and who had rented the house for it's good air and quiet location to aid his recuperation.' He looked unwell still, the bones standing out on his face and hands, a sallow pale colour on his skin, in spite of the fire and the blanket tucked around his shoulders by the Sikh servant-man.

Sick at heart or soul too, it appeared, the haunted echo in his eyes. She listened as Catholic-esque, he softly unburdened his troubles onto her fathers listening ears. "- my old school friend, he gave me the money, more than he should have," he gave a rueful cough of black laughter "and I ruined him, with those diamonds. Ruined and killed the best kindest man I ever knew, they should have locked me up for it."

"Were a man locked up for every little mistake, condemned for every sin, there would be only innocent babes left in the world." Her father soothes "And you did not kill your friend..."

"The shock brought on the illness which killed him, which is much the same thing." The man looks away from her father, face twisting, in pain or bitterness. "And after all that, the mines come good, more than I could ever have dreamed for. But what good is it?"

Her father opens his mouth, but the man cuts him off with a wave of his hand, "Don't talk of charity, I'd give my half of the fortune just to find Crewe's daughter. Looked all over Europe, all the way to Russia in schools, but I can't find her." His eyes are bleaker still, "Poor little Sarah."

He says the last more to himself than to them, but her ears catch it.

Diamonds, Crewe, Daughter, Sarah, well, Sara. "How do you spell Crewe, Sir? C-R-E-W?" Sam asks, pressing her folded hands into each other. Do not get his hopes up, do not get mine up either

Her father turns to look reprovingly at her, shaking his head ever so slightly.

But Mr Carmichael only lifts his head slightly from where he has slumped in his chair, "C-R-E-W-E." He emphasises the last letter "Captain Ralph Crewe. -th Regiment." It all has the monotone of words said over and over, or in a dream or a fever. His chest heaves

The right spelling, the same story.

"I know where she is!" She barely holds herself sitting in the chair, and fails.

"Samantha!" Her father barks, "it is not decourous to interrupt. Is that what they taught you at the Seminary?"

But she had eyes only for Mr. Carrisford as she goes towards him, he's pushing himself violently upright in his chair, eyes lighting up, "You know where she is? You're sure?"

"She's at Miss Minchin's Seminary for Young Ladies on - Square in London. She came there when she was seven and I was eleven. She grew up in India, she speaks Hindustani," "Sam stared about the room, what else can I tell him "She told me about Shiva, and Ganesh, and Buhdda.." She whirls abot, pointing to each of the statues in turn. "Her mother was French, but died before she knew her, Sara speaks it as well as a Frenchwoman herself." She runs out of breath, gasps inelegently for more

"Yes," Carrisford says, a bright, near wild flush on his face "I remember Crewe married a French lady- Isabelle, her name was." He looks only at Sam "She's at this Seminary, you say?"

"Yes." Now the hard bit, Sam draws closer to the man "When her -Sara's- father - that is, Captain Crewe - died, Miss Minchin kept her on as a servant, to 'cover the debts' she said." Carrisford's face plunges in agony and she hears even her unshockable father gasp.

"A Servant Crewe's little Sara?" Then Carrisford is shouting towards a door "Ram Das... Ram Das! Ram Das!" He reaches forwards and grabs at Sam's hands, his grip surprisingly strong for the frailness of her hands. Ram Das rushes in, a flash of gold in the corner of her vision.

She drops to her knees in front of Mr Carrisford, putting them on the same level, and sees tears brimming in the man's eyes. "Thank You." He wheezes, "Thank you." Now words fly out from him in a rushing torrent, one arm reaching to push off the covering blanket, "Ram Das, we go to London, order the carriage ready to the station. Jaladi, Jaladi!" But the torrent ends in a gasp and a fit of coughing, shaking the man through.

Sam glances at Ram Das as the Sikh steps closer, pulls the blanket back around, a hand on his master's shoulder to keep him down "No Sahib, no London for you. See, you are not yet well enough."

"You don't understand," Carrisford half snaps, half pleads, staring at the other man, "Sara's there - Miss Crewe."

Sam watches as Ram Das nods, "I understand this, Sahib. But I also know you will put youself back in bed, being like this. You will not go to London. Doctor Sahib said Rest."

Sam bites her lip, it is far too true that Carrisford is in no fit state to travel to London. And even he seems to accept this, stopping his efforts to move from the chair. Instead he looks to where their hands are still folded together, to her, and then over her shoulder to where her father must be. His eyes are burning bright.

"Reverend, would you go? You and your daughter? Go and bring her back? I'll give you a letter for the Mistress of the Seminary, giving you authority to do so- I've seen Crewe's papers, I'm Sara's guardian-in-law. If she won't take that, my lawyer Carmichael lives nearby, go to him"

Sam twists, heedless of any damage to her dress, hating the stiff bodice, to look at her father. His face is a little stunned, but he slowly nods. "If you have the proof of this Mr Carrisford, and you, Samantha," His eyes come to rest on her "can identify the girl..."

Sam nods quickly, Please, please.

Her father dips his chin "Then I would be happy to help."

"Excellent." Carrisford beams, years of pain falling away from his face

#flufftober 2023 #day four #Cinderella moment #Sam Stewart #Crossover #A little princess #Mr Carrisford #foyle's war #lyminster

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melissamasakari · 3 months ago

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Confessions you didn`t notice

Chapter eleven. Martial arts

“Kid, are you ignoring social calls again?” Sam asked reproachfully as she leaned on my fence.

“Has it already started? I signed up yesterday.”

“Almost, and your match is scheduled after lunch. But Arlo was real upset that you didn’t even come to cheer for him. His fight is coming soon; shall we go?”

“Well, since the boss wants to see me, let's run. Wait, how do I look like?”

“Good enough to crush just everyone. But I won’t give in to you, don’t get your hopes up.”

I climbed over the fence to her side and we quickly ran across the field. Oh, here are the standings. Wow, looks like I'm going to have a tough fight today. Sam and I pushed our way closer to the arena.

Qualifiers. First round. Arlo vs Russo. What a competition! Right away, two of the most powerful fighters in the city opened the festival. I watched in fascination as they thrashed, threw each other around and on the mats. Alas, as expected, the butler won the first match. My redhead (Bro? I wish he isn’t!) had only recently recovered from an injury, and he is still nursing his hand, so this is why he has a clink in his armor. For such an experienced fighter as Russo, noticing that was not a problem.

Break.

“Come on, Arlo! Beat him!”I shouted, finally making my way to the first row. Why not? I’m the smallest one here, I can hardly see behind other people’s backs.

“Oh, you’re here! I didn’t notice you in the crowd earlier,” but he clearly perked up. Arlo smiled at me, stood up and began the second round.

This time it turned out much better. It looked like Russo was already tired. Or the support of friends had such a serious impact. Arlo was very dangerously close to losing a couple of times, but managed to level up and even win, albeit with a minimal advantage in points. The third round ended as a loss to Russo. Everything happened so quickly that I almost missed the ending by simply blinking at the wrong time. I greeted my hero with a standing ovation.

“YAY! And you said there was no chance. I KNEW you could do it. How are you?” Where did Sam go?

“Fine. I should go rest on the stands. Let's go to the shade, this heat is killing me.”

“Well, yes, going home is not an option now. All of us are in qualifiers today. Do need some water?”

“Yep. Did you submit your application at the last minute? I haven't seen your name in standings this morning.”

“Remy said, I now have to. Well, I comply. By the way, am I not entitled to your beautiful uniform now?”

“We don’t have any uniform! But you really should order stripes with medical information.”

“Which ones? I didn't pay attention to it.”

“So here it is. On the shoulder,” he pointed to what I thought was just a decoration on the jacket. So, height, weight, date of birth. Oh. Blood type, AB +. I have to remember it; it might come in handy later.

“Our Corps wears badges. I still have mine if it's needed. So I didn’t take a closer look at those stripes. Do I have to sew this on all of my clothes? Will you help me to review Regulations?”

“What do you mean about having your own badges?”

“And I see you still didn’t read my profile careful enough. Don't go off topic. What should I do with these patches?”

“Evening gowns don’t qualify, if that’s what you’re asking. Just add it on your outerwear in a visible place. How much patches should I order for you?”

“Based on the number of jackets I guess it should be four. That’s all I’ve got except my copycat one, I just won’t ruin it. For that one I’ll just put a patch in my pocket. Will it work?”

“Then go see Phyllis and sign the permission. I'll arrange everything. Let's go, Remy is going to have his match soon.”

The fight between Remy and Paulie did not bring any surprises. Even though they are nearly even, the furniture maker was efficiently dispatched two rounds in a row. Flawless victory.

“Well done! So, it turns out that tomorrow we will spar, won’t we”

“That's right, Captain. I try to keep up.” Remy smiled cheerfully and punched Arlo at his open palm.

“Well, kid, you're next. Are you ready?” Sam appeared from somewhere and hugged me from behind by my shoulders.

“Yes. Would you hold my bag for a moment?”

Putting on a calm expression, I slowly walked into the arena. My opponent today is Django. Well, that will hurt. If not physically, then emotionally, for sure. I also knew that he's as bouncy as desert hopper. Looking at me, he somehow immediately shrivelled, but got ready for battle regardless. Seems that I greatly offended him with my refusal.

Signal to start fight sounded.

Breathe deeper!

It was strike, turn, retreat. Step, kick, rebound. Almost like a dance. Another blow, left, right, bend down, strike from bottom to top. I was going well. Distracted by Arlo, who was looking very carefully, I missed a very sensitive blow which Django landed on my belly with a knee. Ouch, that hurts! The stands became agitated. I resisted and didn’t fall down. My opponent was speeding up. Great. I crawled under him, rolled over and kicked him in the back of the leg. Django lost his balance and fell onto the mats. The first round was mine.

Break.

Oh, here came pacifists, what a dubious honor. It's surprising that SHE wasn't here during the first battle. But now she has cheerfully joined the Civil Corps team. What are they whispering about? And why do I so want to show her an obscene gesture? Jealous, or what? What nonsense, they're not dating so I have no need to be jealous.

“Melissa! You can do it!” My redhead shouted and waved his hand at me, smiling encouragingly. Take that, Nora.

I flexed my fists, stretched and stood up. It was time to settle this matter. Django quickly rushed to attack. I missed a couple of blows but broke through his defense on the right. Did he guess who I had in mind when I returned his heart knot? Well, by now, everyone probably had already guessed it, except for Arlo himself. But that doesn't matter right now. Ouch, it hurts so much. He got me again. I should try to go around it on the left. Jump, turn, hit. Wow! I didn’t even know I can do THAT! Django received a powerful kick to the jaw, took a few hesitant steps back and sank down. Didn't I break him any bones?

“Are you alive? Are your teeth intact? Should I call the doctor?”

“It's okay, my princess!” He stroked the bruised area and slowly stood up. “Victory is rightfully yours. Losing to you is a great honor.”

Yell louder, I'm not your princess! I'll kick you for this! Oh, yes, I already did it. Well, okay, I won.

Next is Sam so I need to take my bag from her. While I was going down to my friends, Nora got lost somewhere. Scared? It’s better for me, I don’t really want to stand next to her. My friends met me and immediately hugged me all together. Sam rubbed the top of my head and went to prepare for her fight, after having returned my belongings.

Sam's opponent was Sanwa. I had no doubt at all about her victory, although the hairdresser is very agile for his size. That’s all spectacular. Wow, what a great jump and strike. I wonder if I looked just as cool?

Oh, did she finish with him already?

“Well, little fella, now there’s no escape. Tomorrow at lunch, second round. It will be tough.”

“Do you promise?”

“I guarantee it.”

“In total, it turns out that... The entire Corps team is in the finals? A tournament for our own people?”

“Ha ha, so funny. I didn't expect that.”

“Maybe we can agree on two by two?”

“And we’ll get a scourge of redheads against everyone? No way, kid, we’ve already been through this in the winter.”

“And guys against girls isn’t too fair,” Remy said.

“I would suggest a celebration, but the restaurant seems to be closed today.”

“You knocked him out great. It's like you've been possessed by an imp.”

“Plierimp,” I joked, taking pliers out of my bag and clicking them with a clanking sound.

#mtap #mtap female builder #my time at portia #mtap arlo #mtap arlo x builder #my time at portia arlo

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