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macfrog · 1 year ago

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jet

🎉 thank u guys so much for 1k followers 🎉 i don’t know how we got here but i love you all endlessly and can’t thank you enough for all the love n support. here’s some smutty joel to celebrate 🤩 this might become something, it might not. i dunno. wanted to try it out tho. lmk your thoughts ✨

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you and joel have an agreement: follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. what happens when, one night, he asks you to break the deal?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, pining i guess?? when don't i pine for this man, praise kink, light bondage, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (don't u dare), creampie, dom!joel, soft!joel, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), cursing, cute horsies

word count: 6.9k

main masterlist

Somewhere between Missouri and Illinois, last time you checked. Joel has the map, and you don’t bother asking him to see it much. You’ve been following the Mississippi north, on his orders, looking to hit St. Louis sometime tomorrow. Provided you don’t run into any trouble, that is.

It’s been three days with no safe refuge. Camping out in deserted houses with wood for windowpanes, stores infested with rats, office buildings with infected roaming. Joel figures the outskirts of the city are a good spot to stop for a couple nights, regain your strength, find supplies.

You’re a few paces ahead of him, only turning your head slightly when you notice an offramp, and looking back ahead when he doesn’t give any direction. You weave in and out of abandoned cars, hips swaying with the clipping of your horse’s hooves on broken asphalt, Joel’s horse in time at your heels.

You’d untethered the pair of them on a farm back in Nebraska. Joel had told you to stay put while he cleared the house, but you’d wandered over to the field when you spotted them. Timid, skittish, starving.

Five minutes hooked over the fence and they were both eating grass you’d pulled from the earth, right out of your hand. Joel’s heavy footsteps approaching had spooked them back a few steps, but you’d petted their muzzles and when he did the same, they soon warmed to him, too.

He’d jerked his head in a nod and muttered, “Good job,” before finding two saddles, strapping them on, and helping you onto the chestnut brown one – who you’d named Jet.

Joel had found tins of food in the farmhouse, and a switchblade for you to carry. He had a new stain on his shirt.

“Infected?” you asked.

He grunted in reply. Then rolled the tins into his backpack and hoisted himself onto his own horse, giving her reins a tug.

You knew that meant that yeah, there’d been infected inside. And recent, too, going by how well-kept the horses looked. It can’t have been longer than a week.

Joel’s silence as you both wandered down the farm track probably meant that there weren’t just adults in the house, either.

You’d glanced over to him, giving him a small smile. Bent over and reached for his horse’s ears, scratching where her soft black coat met her mane. The reins lay loose around Joel’s knuckles.

Protecting and providing for you was more important than some infected kids in a farmhouse. Joel had made that more than clear over the time you’d been with him. But somewhere, buried deep underneath years of fighting and killing, tucked away under a dusty flannel shirt, you knew his heart was hurting.

That was two weeks ago. Joel hasn’t talked about it, and you’re not interested in bringing it back up. Y’all got to the farm, took everything it had to offer, and you left.

Jet clicks her way along the highway somewhere south of the city. It’s still bright out; Joel reckons probably a few more hours of sunlight, so you know he’ll be scouting for places to camp out soon.

You lean back to stretch your spine, hand steadying yourself on Jet’s rump, her tail swishing as she walks. Her head bobs, looking from left to right, from the trucks with smashed windows sprouting moss, over to the trees losing leaves in the fall breeze.

It’s peaceful. Not much is, these days.

It’s quiet enough that Joel can listen for any sound of oncoming threat, and quiet enough that you can shut your eyes and pretend like you’re on some trail in the Texas country, on a warm summer evening; not exhausted, covered in dirt, weeks since you washed, days since you slept.

You’re humming gently to yourself, imagination taking you down by a creek where Joel pulls you by hand off the horse and you sit down to a picnic or something. He’d bring a basket. Maybe a bottle of wine, or a cheese board. Maybe he lays you back and kisses you on the blanket. Maybe his hand starts to wander up your thigh, skirt ruffling as he goes…

“Not much out here, is there?”

His voice startles you, bursting the seams of your daydream. He isn’t much of a talker, not unless you start it. You sit up straight and give your head a shake, as if dislodging the fantasy from your mind.

You twist around to look at his face; squinting under the bright white sky. Tired, same as you, lined, flecked with years and sun and survival.

“Hm?” he asks when you still don’t reply.

“Not a lot,” you finally say, clearing your throat and turning back to the road.

Finding the horses isn’t the only thing that’d happened two weeks ago.

Joel hadn’t wanted to camp in the farmhouse, hadn’t wanted to have to shift the bodies. Too much effort, or too much for you to see, maybe. You’d protested, heart set on a night’s sleep in an actual bed, but he hadn’t budged.

And you knew not to push him.

The sun was setting, though, so Joel led you down a dirt track toward a barn and burst the padlock. He tied the horses up just inside the door, used bundled up hay as a makeshift mattress upon which he laid out a blanket for you.

He barricaded the door as you lay back, did a walkaround of the place just in case any infected – or worse – were waiting to surprise y’all, and then sat down next to you.

Your head by his thigh, you put a hand on his knee.

“You can lie down, too, y’know.”

He grunted in response, breathing deep and steady.

“Joel.”

You took his shoulder and tried to pull him down to you, but the man is stronger than anyone you’ve ever met, even in his late forties, and you were convinced he’d only pretended to be yanked toward you so as not to hurt your feelings too much.

He remained upright. “Just want to keep watch for a while.”

Joel’s like this when you’re on the road. He’s cautious. On high alert. Always watching ahead, always listening out for whatever he thinks he might hear in the distance. Sometimes you can say something to him and have to give his leg a kick for him to answer you.

You’d sighed and pushed yourself up to lean your bicep against his. He furrowed his brows and scanned you from your jeans to your jaw.

“If you’re up, I’m up,” you told him.

“You need sleep,” he replied flatly.

You shrugged. “So do you.”

“What good is both of us tired?”

You sighed again and shook your head. You weren’t gonna argue with him.

Good thing he didn’t feel much like arguing, either. Ten minutes later he was on top of you, jeans loose on his thighs, head buried in your shoulder, fucking you senseless. Grunting and groaning into your skin.

You’d scored marks into his shoulder blades with your nails that you’re sure, if you peeled back his shirt right now, would still be there.

It’d tired you both out enough that Joel settled with your head on his chest, his hand in your hair, eyes trained on the barn doors. You don’t know if he slept a wink. You never know if he sleeps these days.

Joel hears the hoarseness of your voice and knows that you’re tired, ‘cause he clicks to his horse and she trots up alongside you and Jet. He pulls the map from his backpack. You tilt your head to take a look.

“Keep ridin’ for another hour,” he mumbles. “’m sure we’ll find somewhere soon. Looks like we’re still a little way out of St. Louis.”

You nod, rolling your head back. The cloudy sky burns your corneas as you watch a bird fly overhead. Joel slips the map back into his bag and you feel his hand on your thigh.

“You okay?”

“Mhm. Tired,” you whisper.

“Only a little while longer.” He gives your leg a small squeeze and his hand returns to the reins. He doesn’t fall back, instead, stays ambling along by your side. It feels like company. Feels nice. Feels…normal.

Two weeks is a long fucking time. Especially when your adrenaline peaks on the regular, sometimes multiple times in one day, and you’re alone with Joel all day and all night. Trusting each other, relying on each other. Saving each other time and time again. It was only natural that you began to rely on each other for…more than just survival.

You can’t remember when you found him. It was in the QZ, back when you believed in stability and structure. When you believed in people. Now, the only thing you believed in was Joel. Broken, hurt, shut-off Joel, who’d grumbled an apology when his shoulder brushed yours in the hallway and changed everything.

You like to think you were something new to him, something different. A challenge, maybe. Something worth holding onto, anyway, for reasons he was yet to let you in on.

He had an apartment of his own, with a bed of his own, which was something you weren’t used to. You shared a cramped apartment with Luce, a single mom with a two-year-old. Joel’s was where you went when the tantrums, the screaming in the middle of the night, the ration cards being destroyed either by ripping, by eating, or else by other means, became too suffocating.

Joel didn’t believe in anything or anyone, either. That’s what kept you coming back.

He’d just open his door and step aside to let you in. Barely a word. He’d ask if you’d eaten, and share his plate with you either way. Wordlessly picking away at the same food, making sure you got the last spoonful of soup, the last strip of jerky.

Most nights he’d fuck you until your mind went blank, nothing but the smell of him, feel of him, sound of him. No talking, no kissing, no touching. Just the sound of the bed springs, Joel’s soft groans as he bottomed out inside you. The feel of his hot skin, hips rubbing against the inside of your thighs. The bare, cracked brick walls of his apartment would fade away with each thrust, and then slowly seep back in when your orgasm began to wash away.

You knew it was time-wasting, for both of you. Scratching an itch. But some nights, it felt like more. The nights when he’d be so caught up in what he was doing, so caught up in you, that he’d forget to pull out. The nights his hips would snap messily and suddenly he was spilling inside of you, a deep groan humming against your skin between his teeth.

He wouldn’t care to ask, and you wouldn’t offer the information for free, but you remember every fucking time he did it. Where it’d happened, the position he had you in, how long it took for him to finally peel his body off of yours.

And afterwards, he’d let you sleep with your head on his chest. Let you play with his fingers. Let you talk to him; let you ask questions.

Didn’t mean he answered all of them. Didn’t even mean he answered much. Some, he’d give away more openly than others, but you soon got used to clocking when he was keeping a secret. Make a mental note of it, remember to chip away at it.

He trusted you, though; you knew that. Knew it by the way his fingers knotted safely in your hair, the way he’d lie naked with you until the sun came up. The way his breathing would slow, the way he’d mumble in his sleep.

You never talked to him about the incoherent words he’d breathe – but you could piece them together well enough to understand him better than his waken self would ever reveal.

When you brought up leaving, one rainy night weeks ago, he thought about it maybe twice over. Asked how he was supposed to keep you safe.

You do that already, you told him.

‘s different outside. You don’t understand.

It can’t be any worse than in here.

You’d taken a step forward, and he’d flinched, but allowed you to take his strong jaw in your hands. You tried to form a sentence, and when your throat closed up, eyes flitting between his, he took your wrists and lowered them. The shadow of a rain-spattered window doused in a sickly amber glow across his face.

You’d wanted to kiss him. And had he left your hands where they were just a few seconds longer, you think you might’ve. Joel saw it in your eyes, and stopped it.

Whatever. It had still convinced him. He packed his bag and you snuck down the fire escape the following night. Joel’s fingers were hooked around your belt loop the entire time, keeping your hip in stride with his all the way until you were at least a hundred feet away from the QZ wall.

His other concern was his age. Why someone like you would want to run away with someone like him. Forty-something, graying, past his peak. He has, like, twenty years on you. Once he made some reference about Bruce Springsteen and, when your face blanked, he sighed and took the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

I know who Bruce Springsteen is, asshole, you’d said, just didn’t get that reference.

He’d shaken his head and given you a sly, twisted smirk, then pushed you out the door of the apartment block you guys were searching.

Still, despite the years between you, you have one major thing in common.

You’re both good at getting each other…there.

Joel knows exactly what to do to make you tick. You know exactly how to push him until he does it. It’s in the way you look at him, the way you touch him. Things you say that make his stony eyes flit once down your body, and then you know you’re in.

It’s a little harder to do while on horseback, you gotta admit. The best you can do is look at him, say a sentence or two laced with want and need. Hope that he reads through the lines.

It’s worked a few times, when Joel’s suddenly found a shed or basement you can camp out in and then made it difficult for you to walk for the next couple days.

Right now, you feel too tired to even bat your eyelashes at him, never mind coming up with lines to turn him on. You’ve been on the highway for a few hours by this point, little sign of shelter anywhere nearby. Joel holds his hand out and you bring your horses to a stop in view of a hospital a couple miles ahead.

“That’s gotta be teemin’ with them,” you say, looking over to study his expression.

“Hm,” Joel agrees, and glances to the right.

“What you thinkin’? Sun’s getting lower.”

He takes a deep breath, pulls on the reins. “Know somewhere nearby.”

He heads off the highway with a click of his teeth, and you follow. You shut your eyes, chin burying beneath the collar of your shirt. You’d kinda hoped that he’d offer to clear even a small part of the hospital for you to rest up, maybe more, but you trust him enough to lead you somewhere safer, somewhere quieter.

That trust begins to wear thin, though, when the sun disappears behind the trees, drowning you guys in a low dusk, and the temperature begins to fall. Joel’s using what’s left of the gray light to guide him, slowing down to take a hold of Jet’s reins and line her up with his own horse.

“I thought you said an hour,” you mumble, grip becoming slack on the leather.

“Changed my mind,” he replies. “Almost there.”

Your eyes start to roll with exhaustion, hips aching from the position you’ve been sat in for hours now. It’s not until you notice the silhouette of a tall sign in the clearing, black against the fading purple sky, that you blink yourself awake.

Joel pulls you and Jet off the road to a deserted parking lot, shadowed by a motel. He slows the horses down, listening for any signs of life, leading them to the side of the building.

“Easy,” he whispers, pulling on the reins. Both animals come to a halt.

He slides off the saddle, hitting the ground with a thud. He takes your hands, pulling you down to him, and you glance around.

“Stay here,” he tells you, and you don’t have the energy to argue back.

He makes off, pulling his gun from his holster. You stand with a hand on each horse’s muzzle, gently petting. Joel’s gone for a decent amount of time, his silhouette slowly sneaking in and out of every room, spending a couple minutes in each before he clears it.

He returns with a box of pills, some gauze, and a bottle of water, which he hands to you. You take a long swig and pass it back, and he does the same.

“What will we do with Jet ‘n…?”

“Huh?” he asks, replacing the cap on the half-empty bottle.

“What’s your horse called?”

“She ain’t got a name.”

You tsk. “Bad owner.”

“We ain’t their owners.”

“Mine’s is Jet. Pick a name.”

Joel sighs and shakes his head, but you know he’s gonna spend all night thinking up some name to go with yours. “We’ll tie ‘em up out here.”

“What if something happens to them?”

“Well,” he says, leading them toward the shelter, “if somethin’ happens to them, it only means it’s about thirty seconds away from happenin’ to us.”

He jerks his head toward the first room as he ties them up, and you know the conversation is over.

You wander into the small, dingy room, pulling your jacket from your shoulders. It smells of damp, the wallpaper’s peeling off the wall above the bed. The sheets are in disarray, a little dusty, but they look clean enough. The bathroom walls are covered in grime. Drawers empty, closet doors missing, entire place ransacked.

It’s as good as you get, these days. At least it has a solid roof.

Joel settles the horses and closes the door gently behind himself. You’re already tugging your boots off, sat at the foot of the bed.

He rests his gun on the nightstand and straightens up, stretching his back with a quiet groan.

“’s cozy,” you offer, and he nods.

“Better ‘n risking that hospital.”

The bedsprings creak when you shimmy up the mattress, resting your back against the hardwood headboard. It ain’t the most comfortable, but then it’s not meant to be, is it? It’s only meant to be safe, which Joel’s made sure of.

He stands at the bottom of the bed, watching you as you bounce up and down a couple times, laughing quietly at the sound of the springs beneath you. His expression clouds over under low brows.

“Y’okay?” you ask, tilting your head.

He nods again. Eyes flitting up and down, from your face to your neck, back up, and then lower still. Your chest. Your stomach. Your legs. You feel your heartbeat quicken when he takes a step forward.

“Just had to find somewhere better.”

“Better?” You smile. “Have you seen the world, Miller?”

He leans his knee against the foot of the bed. His brown eyes darken even more, and his jaw tenses.

“Had to find somewhere better,” he mutters, “so I could fuck you in peace.”

Your breath catches. You stare from his lips back up to his eyes. His fists are balled tight. His chest heaves with steady panting. There’s something flickering in the depths of those warm eyes; an ember, drawing you in. Tantalizing you.

You sit forward, pushing onto all fours, and crawl down the groaning bed to him, rising onto your knees when your hands meet his shirt. Your chest against his stomach, you look up into his eyes.

His rough hands knot in your hair and he pulls down, yanking your head back and your chin up to him. He studies your face, outlined in the moonlight seeping through the window. Then he lowers his jaw and lines his lips against yours.

“That what you want?” he hums against your mouth. You swallow his words – they claw at your throat as they go.

“Uhuh,” you breathe back, trying to connect your lips. He doesn’t allow you; steadily dodges your jaw like you’re a pair of negative magnets, repelling off one another. You moan.

“Needy girl,” Joel whispers. “Two weeks too long for you?”

“Mhm.”

You’re not tired anymore. You’re fucking desperate. You feel your cunt dripping, seeping through your underwear, worsened when Joel’s hand reaches down between your legs and cups you through your jeans.

You gasp and grab his arms to steady yourself.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, hand tensing around your core.

Your lip trembles as you watch the way his mouth moves, how he shapes the words. His teeth locked between soft lips, dappled with brown hair, ends singed gray. The way he almost spits the words.

Your chest meets his torso when you breathe in, a deep, shaky breath. Joel notices; the corners of his mouth twitch, holding back a smile.

“Want you to…want you…”

He doesn’t wait for you to finish your sentence. He pushes you back and falls on top of you, strong body pinning you against the mattress, hand still clamped to your crotch.

His head dips to your neck where he bites, scratches and sucks, mumbling against your hot skin, “Tell me, baby. Use your words.”

Your head begins to swim, body starts pulsing with electricity. Baby. Joel’s pet names are limited to one thing. One activity.

“Want you to f– fuck, Joel – fuck me.” Fuck me fuck me fuck me.

His hand begins wrestling with the button of your jeans. Thick fingers fumbling with your zipper, taking your waistband with both hands and hauling it down. The force of it pulls you down the mattress too, squealing as Joel rips the denim from your legs. You lower your hands to help him, but once they’re tossed to the floor, he bats you away.

He’s shaking his head, tsking, then takes both your wrists in one of his huge hands. Fingers twisted around your delicate skin, pinning them above your head. The bed sighs around you when he pushes your hands into the mattress. Your back arches, your chest rising to meet his.

Your legs part, knees settling either side of his waist. Of course they do. It’s what you know now. It’s basic fucking instinct at this point.

His free hand returns to cup your sex, feeling how wet you are through your now soaked underwear.

“Baby,” he coos, “this all for me?”

You nod a little too eagerly, not that you’re present enough to care. But it beckons a smug smile from Joel, who begins sliding your panties down your thighs.

Your hips lift to let him drag the fabric down, biting your lip, not willing to wait another fucking second for him. Lace meets denim on the torn-up floor, and you sigh, settling back against the rusty bedsprings and mottled sheets.

Joel’s free hand ghosts from your wrist down to your elbow, teetering along the sleeve of your t-shirt over to the collar, where he pulls it so far down into the valley between your breasts that a small noise passes your lips.

“Hm?” he asks, fingers pausing against your breastbone.

“’s my only shirt. Don’t…”

He kisses his teeth. His gaze never lifts from your heaving chest, skin damp with sweat right underneath his fingers. You can see him tossing it over in his head. What he wants to do, versus what he probably shouldn’t.

He blinks. Decision made.

“Give you one of mine,” he growls, and hooks his fingers, dragging the fabric of your shirt lower and lower until the collar tears open and it’s another scrap lost to the motel room floor.

And then there you are, naked and writhing underneath him. He’s still in his dusty flannel. There’s sweat lining his forehead. He holds himself over you, hovering, taking every inch of you in and storing it behind his eyes.

You jerk your hands, trying to break free just to touch him, feel him, but he pulls away again, tutting.

“No, pretty girl,” Joel coos, “gonna take my time with ya.”

You moan in protest, still wriggling under his body. His grip on your wrists doesn’t loosen, not even when his free hand dips to undo his belt. The cold metal kisses your naked thighs when he pulls it through his jeans; the leather drags up your torso and across your face as he lifts it.

He takes your hands individually, careful and yet rough, urgent, and slots them between the slats of the headboard. Your head turns up to watch what he’s doing. The silver of his belt buckle knocks against the wood as he slips it under your wrists, feeding it between your skin and the mattress, wrapping it around the slat between your hands.

Then he slips the belt through the buckle, and pulls. Tight. Your hands come together, wrists kissing, the leather burning your skin the tighter he pulls. You whine, head rolling back to meet his gaze, fixed on yours.

“Since you don’t wanna listen.”

The drip in his voice, sweet like honey, smooth as whiskey, forces your legs open wider. Joel smirks, pushing himself down the mattress and out of your view.

Staring up at the gray ceiling, you’re left just to feel him. Feel him as his palms splay out on your knees, pushing them into the bed. Feel his stubble graze the inside of your thigh as he drags his tongue up, leaving a trail of wet behind.

Feel when he breathes a whisper across your aching cunt, something you can’t hear over the ruffling of sheets around your head as you toss around. And feel when his fingers part your lips, opening you up wide for him to really fucking see.

“Fuck, baby,” he says, and you find the strength to lift your head to watch. He’s leant over you, one arm hooked around your left thigh, holding it open, the other fucking…playing with you. Like you’re some fancy gadget. Like you’re brand new to him.

“So,” he runs two fingers from your clit through your folds, “fuckin’,” lines them up at your entrance, “pretty – for me.”

He pushes up into you, and your head hits the pillow with a stifled groan. You’re panting through your teeth, back arching the deeper he goes, stretching you out and rocking waves of sparkling heat through you. Waves that hit the other end of your stomach and come rippling back, throbbing around his thick fingers.

His arm bears down on your thigh, forcing your legs wide open for him. His hand cups your clit and you buck your hips, rutting against the base of his palm. Joel laughs softly.

“Patience, darlin’. Don’t want it to be over ‘fore it’s even started.”

Your head rocks back and forth, eyes tight shut. It’s all you can fucking do, tied tight to the bed. Joel pumps his fingers in and out of you, adding a third when you’re wet enough, thumb never leaving your clit.

You can feel your orgasm brewing in your stomach. Feel the tension between your hips. You’re chasing it, eyes shut, focusing only on Joel’s hand fucking in and out, in and out. You’re coming close, body pushing into the mattress, legs widening even more to let him slip a fourth finger inside you.

“Feel good?” he asks, almost with a laugh. There’s a smirk painted across his lips, you know it, even though you can’t find the energy to open your eyes.

You whimper in response, some small, muffled sound roughly shaped like yeah.

“Yeah,” Joel agrees, and his wrist flicks harder.

You moan every time his fingertips kiss the edge of your cunt, pushing against the soft walls. You moan when he drags them out, leaving you empty. Again, when he pushes them back in, rough and fast. And then when he lowers his lips to your ear and tells you how good you’re being, how pretty you look, how hard he’s gonna…

It’s like he changes his mind in an instant.

Withdraws his hand, slick-covered and still hooked. Pulls it away as quickly as he pulls your orgasm from your body. It drains from you; reduces back to an ache you can’t reach.

Joel slips his fingers between his lips as he readjusts himself, repositioning on the squealing mattress. Sucks them clean as casually as he would at a cookout or something, then takes your hips in both hands and straightens you up.

His jeans are tugged down barely past his ass. He’s not prepared to waste any time ripping his own clothes off like he did yours. Just leans forward, pulls his solid cock from his boxershorts, and spits into his hand.

You watch through eyes glazed with lust as he strokes himself a couple times, eyes always on your swollen cunt, groaning as his spit coats his shaft. Then he lowers himself to you and does the same, only running his length through your folds.

You whine, feeling that familiar thickness separate you so close to where you need him, and yet so fucking far.

“Joel…” you whisper, but he’s not listening.

Transfixed on the sight of his cock moving against your soaked cunt. Listening to the sweet, wet sounds the pair of you make. His tip catches on your entrance a couple times and you gasp. Just fucking do it already.

“Fuck,” Joel growls under his breath, and then…

It’s been months. Might even be years. But the feeling of him pushing inside you for the first time is still the same. Every. Fucking. Time. He’s bigger, thicker than anyone you’ve ever slept with before. And he knows it, because every single time, he glides into you without hesitation. No time for you to adjust. Just fills you up straight away, lets you deal with it later.

He’s cocky like that. Too careful when you’re on the road, and too careless when you’re between the sheets. Not that you’re fuckin’ complaining.

Your mouth falls open in a choked moan. Your lungs are gasping for air. Joel’s all you can feel.

Your elbows lift into the air, arms desperate to break free just to grab onto him, ground yourself, feel him close against you. Your wrists lock against the hardwood, leather digging into your skin as punishment for trying to break free. You’re stuck; nothing but the overwhelming feeling of him between your legs, filling you up and leaving you empty over and over again.

“Good girl,” he’s panting, still watching where his cock lines up with your cunt, and then disappears inside.

He leans down and his lips find home on your shoulder, sucking sweet marks into the skin like he always does. His tip bumps against your cervix, jolts of sensitivity pushing through you each time he bottoms out causing you to whine into his flannel.

“Fuck, Joel.”

“I know, I know. I got you. I’ll get you there again, baby.”

You had a routine. Follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. Deviate slightly from that routine, even for a minute, and you threw the whole agreement into jeopardy. One misstep on a crowded street dotted with cars once had a sniper open firing at you both for nearly two hours until Joel found him and put a bullet between his eyes. That time your curiosity got the better of you and Joel almost lost a hand stopping you from walking down an alleyway and straight into a wire trap.

Repeat it, Joel had said that night. Crouched by his apartment window, rain battering off the glass. Hands on the frame, ready to hoist it up and let you slip out any second. Repeat. It.

Do as you say, you whispered back. And only then did he pull the sash.

This is not the fucking routine. This is not the agreement. You fucked, of course you did. But that’s all it ever was. Hungry, touch-starved, desperate sex. Bored sex. We-almost-died-today sex. Not this.

Not: clear an entire motel just so nothing within a two-mile radius gets to hear you fuck me senseless. Strip me down, tie me up, push me to the edge with your hands, but don’t let me go without you. Curl your lips around my ear while you’re buried inside me and whisper praises. Whisper baby. Whisper…anything you like. Anything you wouldn’t say when the sun’s up.

This feels like it means something. To both of you. Feels like Joel’s looking for something in you, asking something of you. And you want to give it to him, whatever it is.

And maybe that’s the point.

He’s proving that he could make you do fucking anything. Let him tie you to a bedframe, push you close enough to the edge that you can feel the pressure of release beckoning you forward like the wind circling your ankles.

And you’re proving that you’ll do it. You’ll do what he says. Follow him to the edge, refuse to jump. Pull his body into yours, make it feel like home for a night.

He’s proving that he’ll take care of you, and you’re proving that you’ll let him.

Your wrists are burning. Leather digging marks, searing skin, then rubbing over it again and again to cut it deeper. It’s starting to hurt, if you’re honest with yourself. Your face probably gives it away.

Probably, possibly. Definitely.

Joel notices you quieten and lifts his head from the crook of your neck. Studies your face for a fraction of a second and knows.

“Hey,” he says, reaching up. He loosens the belt with one hand whilst still deep inside you, hips thrusting slowly just as a place marker.

When your hands slip free, Joel’s clasp gently around your wrist, fingers delicate over the sensitive, reddened skin. His eyes almost glisten at the sight.

“Baby…” he whispers.

“’s okay,” you reassure him, loosening his grasp on you and settling your shaky hands on his jaw. “I’m okay. Liked it.”

Joel lowers his forehead against yours and picks his pace up again, and you moan into the space between your lips. Your legs lift higher, knees bumping against his shoulders. His hips snap into yours, his jeans rutting against the inside of your thighs, the bed creaking with each messy thrust.

“Close, baby,” his voice vibrates against your lips.

“Yeah,” you whine, chest pushing against his. “Fuck. Right there. Fuck.”

Your arm drapes over his shoulder blades, nails dig into the rough cotton of his shirt. Your left hand is still at his jaw, fingers caressing his cheek. Joined together at your hips and your brows, gaze never really meeting for longer than a second, but still. You’re right there. Joel – he’s right there.

It’s new, it’s intimate. It’s almost…sweet.

“Gonna cum with me?” he asks, sincerely. He’s not trying to coax it out of you. He’s checking that you want to fall over the edge. Not for him, not because of him, but with him.

You nod and he returns it, sweat sticking his dark hair to his forehead.

With his eyes on you, flitting between your parted lips and your batting eyelashes, too scared to settle on either place for too long, he lifts your hips and fucks into you fast. Deep. Fucking – hard. Skin slapping against yours, breath hot and tangling with yours between your lips.

The pressure between your hips begins to build again, rapidly, Joel adding to it with every movement. Every push of his thick cock against your walls only draws them in tighter, closing around him, holding him closer to you with each moan escaping both your lips.

“Darlin’…” he murmurs in a broken voice, and you know. He’s starting to falter. Thrusts weakening.

“’m there too,” you reply, gasping for breath.

“Let me – feel you,” he says, “pretty girl.”

Maybe it’s the fact you don’t normally talk. Maybe the fact he never touches you the way he has tonight. Maybe it’s him wanting you to cum first, before he will.

Or maybe it’s pretty girl, that finally sends you over.

You look so good to him. You’re being so good for him. ‘n he can’t help it, has to let you know. Has to let every thought that passes through his head slip out past his tongue.

Pulling his chest flat against yours, you throw your head back to the pillow with a moan so filthy, so guttural that you’d be surprised if you don’t have company in five minutes.

Joel’s at your heels, face buried between your breasts, groaning into your chest as his cock twitches deep inside you and you feel him fill you up.

Your orgasm’s still knocking you senseless, every nerve in your body electrified. You’re holding Joel tight to your body, his ear flat to your chest, and you know he can hear your heartbeat. Know he’s listening to it throwing punches from behind your ribcage.

He’s still groaning through his breaths, heavy and thick with his release. Cock still deep inside you, still, softening. You lay like that for…well, you’ve no idea how long. But after a bit, Joel pulls himself up off of you and wanders into the bathroom.

You sit up on your elbows, taking deep, steady breaths, and let the stars in your vision dissipate. Joel emerges a couple minutes later and finally tugs his jeans down. He lifts both his shirt and the tee underneath off in one motion, tossing them onto the sideboard, then slips back under the covers, wordlessly hooking a hand around your upper arm and pulling you down onto his chest.

Your legs intertwine with his. There’s cum seeping out of you onto his thigh. Both of you, mixed up as one. His fingers sift through your hair, doing little to untangle it but trying all the same. His breathing in time with yours, his lips pressed safely to the crown of your head.

Before you know it, you’re sleeping.

Dawn breaks early. Too early. You’re still tangled up in Joel, feeling his chest rise and fall. Listening to his heartbeat – slow, calm. The drapes – not that there’s much left of them – are too thin to stop any light from flooding in. It’s only a matter of time before he wakes up.

The rough sheets sting against your wrists – red marks scoring them where Joel’s belt had been. You wince, running light fingers over the grazes, hissing at your fingertips as they go.

It hurts way less than it thrills you. This little reminder of what you did last night. What Joel did. The pain subsides the longer you touch the scars, knitted brows melting into a smile.

You slowly lift your head, propping yourself up on your elbow. Just watching him. The dust in the room frames him in a sea of white glitter, the slow-emerging sun lights across his face and dips where the scar on his nose sits.

His arms are still around your waist, cradling you. Holding you to him. You know he’s stirring when they tighten, and then fall loose. Façade back up. Walls slowly rebuilding.

You dress yourselves in silence. Run out of words to say. There ain’t nothing to say – nothing that wasn’t said last night. Joel sinks into the mattress beside you to tie his laces, and your arms brush against one another a couple times. It’s like fire on ice.

He’s first to leave the room. Just pulls his jeans over his boots and stands, unlocks the door and lets the light flood in. You check once over for anything left behind, and slip out. The air is cool, twilight still slowly washing away. You sling your jacket over Jet’s back and pull yourself up.

Joel’s t-shirt is loose over your shoulders. He gave you a fresh one from his bag. It smells like him, but you don’t let him see when you bury your nose into it to breathe him in. The hem bunches up over the top of your thighs once you’re sat on the horse.

His eyes scan down you once, surveying you in hisshirt. Then he swerves off back toward the road, silhouette cutting between the rays of sun streaming between the pine trees.

“Ghost,” he tosses over his shoulder.

“Huh?” You click to Jet to follow.

“Horse’s name. Ghost.”

“How come?” you ask when you’re side by side with him.

He shrugs, upper lip turning. “When it’s dark, you can’t hardly see her. She’s like a ghost.”

Joel’s hand surfs gently across Ghost’s mane, fingers scratching her shining coat. Your bodies rock in time with the sway of the horses’ walking. The echo of their hooves on the asphalt masks the silence for a few moments.

“Alright,” you eventually accept, turning away to watch the sun lift above the prickly treetops.

And to hide the smile tugging on your lips.

----------

taglist: @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi

(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)

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sagesolsticewrites · 1 year ago

Text

religion's in your lips, the altar is my hips

in which Steve takes care of you after a bad day

- including but not limited to: praise kink, hair pulling, oral (f receiving), Steve lowkey being a service dom 👀

(this is. very self-indulgent. very veryyyyyy self-indulgent. you have been warned <3)

a/n: huuuge shoutout to @upsidedownwithsteve's (aka Emmy, Queen of Smutty Sunday <3) most recent smutty Sunday event for giving me inspiration to write my very first smutty fic! Obligatory disclaimer that yes, this is my very first smut fic ever, I am an ✨asexual virgin✨ please manage expectations accordingly, yada yada yada. Also so many hugs to my bestie Kenz @fangirl-imagines for looking this over before I posted it ☺️ Kenzie has some incredible fics, go support her y'all!

Word count: 2870

Warnings: THIS IS SMUT. MINORS BEGONE. 🔞

Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍

You let yourself into your apartment with a sigh, shoulders relaxing the tiniest bit as you step over the threshold into your home and finally toe off your heels.

Bypassing the darkened kitchen and empty living room, you open the door to your bedroom, where you knew you’d find a shirtless Steve in the middle of his post-work ritual of playing some game on his computer.

He looks up as you enter, face brightening with a smile as he greets you.

“Hey baby, how was—”

In lieu of an answer, you flop face first onto the bed with a groan.

You can hear the smile fade from his voice as he hisses sympathetically, “That bad, huh?”

You lift your chin so it’s propped up on the pillow as you explain your terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

“You know that project that Marie was working on? She asked me for help on it, and I gave her some pointers, but she said she still wasn’t really understanding it so I ended up having to do all of it for her. And she’ll probably take all the credit for it, too.” You grumble, rolling your eyes, “And we had that meeting with our new clients, and my boss basically volun-told me to take notes for it, even though that’s really the liason’s job, and then she criticized me for not taking as detailed notes as Lauren even though that’s literally Lauren’s job! And she was there, she could’ve taken the notes, I don’t even—”

You shake your head in exasperation, shifting topics, “And then I didn’t even have time for lunch because Sara wanted me to help train the interns, and…” You end your rant with a groan, letting your face drop back into the pillow. “‘M just. So tired.”

“Sweetheart…” Steve’s voice turns soft as the pillow underneath your head, and he gets up from his spot at the desk to climb onto the bed, pulling you into his arms.

You curl into him instinctively, your head finding that space in the crook of his neck that feels like it was made for you personally, one hand coming up to toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, tracing patterns along the freckles and moles dotted along his skin.

“What can I do to help, honey?” Your boyfriend asks, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Jus’ wanna… I dunno, just. Stop.” You mumble against his shoulder, shrugging and curling further into him.

He hums in understanding, grabbing the hand that’s currently drawing invisible hearts around the moles near his collarbone and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“You’ve been doing so much for everyone today,” he murmurs, voice layered with understanding and adoration as he leans in and peppers tiny kisses over your forehead, your nose, your eyelids, and you relax even more as his voice washes over you, “Worked so hard.”

He pulls you closer, scattering kisses all over as you finally release all the tension you’ve been holding, letting out a sigh and shifting in his arms to face him. You don’t realize you’re straddling him until you’re pressed nearly flush against him, his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

His lips brush over every part of your face, down to your neck and then back up as you become putty in his hands, murmuring soft words of praise to you the whole time.

“You just need to stop working now, huh? Need to stop thinking,” His lips draw a path to your ear, where he whispers, “need to let someone else do all the work, huh, baby?”

A shiver runs down your spine, constantly in awe of the power just his voice has over you. His hand settles on your hip, a comforting, grounding weight while his other hand brushes a strand of hair back from your forehead. His lips work their way back down over your cheek, stopping to hover just over yours, mouths brushing together as he murmurs in a voice like silk, “Is that what you want, honey? Want me to take care of you?”

Warm chocolate eyes meet yours, soft, caring, always ensuring he has your consent before he does anything.

At your near-imperceptible nod, he drags his hand up to cup your chin, thumb dragging along your bottom lip.

“Need your words, pretty girl.”

“Yes,” you breathe, and that’s all the confirmation he needs to surge up and capture your lips with his.

As you brace yourself on his shoulders, his hands move to the thin strip of exposed skin where your shirt has ridden up. Your kisses become hungrier, ignoring your need for oxygen in favor of Steve’s plush, kiss-swollen lips, and he slowly drags up the hem of your shirt, breaking the kiss briefly to get your permission.

At your eager nod, your shirt is off and tossed to some corner of the room, his mouth eagerly on yours once more.

You can feel exactly how much he’s enjoying this through his sweats, and you instinctively begin to rock in his lap, dragging your increasingly damp core over his.

His hands grip your hips, the familiar feeling sending a thrill through you… but rather than guiding your movements like he normally would, he holds them still.

You pull away, brow furrowed, but before you can voice your confusion, he flips you onto your back, moving to hover over you in one smooth movement.

“I told you,” he murmurs against your lips in a tone that sends a pulse of scorching heat to your core, “I’m doing all the work, sweetheart.”

The whimper you let out is muffled by his lips on yours once more, his wandering hands and hungry kisses making short work of turning you into a moaning, gasping mess.

“Steve,” you whine out his name as his lips travel down to your neck, and you can feel his smile against the hollow of your throat before he returns to licking and sucking dark patches into your skin, the occasional use of his teeth making delicious shivers shoot up your spine.

“What is it, sweetheart?” He mumbles against your skin, trailing his lips along your collarbone. His eyes meet yours, a mischievous twinkle mixed with the searing heat in them turning you molten as he asks, “What do you need?”

Unable to find the words, your hand finds his hair instead — God, that hair — and begins pushing him down towards where you really want him.

“‘M gettin’ there, honey, I promise,” he grins, pausing your efforts to press a kiss to the valley between your breasts, “Lemme take my time and I promise it’ll be worth it, ok?”

He reaches up to toy with the strap of your bra— a simple nude thing you could get away with wearing under a white shirt at work— a questioning look in his eyes answered by a furious nod from you.

He makes short work of the clasp, and that really should not be as hot as it is, but— oh who are you kidding, even his breathing is insanely hot right now.

You throw your head back as he presses kisses all over your chest, mumbling against your skin the whole time about how pretty you are, just gorgeous sweetheart, God, I can’t believe I get to do this for you…

Your head goes deliciously fuzzy with the praise, and you can’t quite form words so all you can do when he takes your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it for good measure, is let out a keening “Ohhh” and instinctively tighten your grip on his hair.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Steve groans, the noise sending heat racing through your body, and you grin knowing you were the one to elicit it, “You sound fucking incredible.” He murmurs more praise as he turns his attention to your other nipple, giving it just as much attention and eliciting more gasps and moans and whines from you before he continues his journey south.

You lift your head and watch as Steve Harrington fucking beams when he reaches your stomach, your pouch poking out slightly more than you’d like over the waistband of your jeans.

He meets your eyes, his own swimming with sincerity as he begins to scatter kisses over your midsection.

“You”

Kiss

“Are”

Kiss

“Fucking”

Kiss

“Stunning”

Kiss

When it seems like he’s covered every single inch of your exposed skin in kisses, remaining stubbornly focused on your torso when what you really want is for him to be significantly lower, he meets your eyes as he plays with the waistband of your jeans, once again wordlessly asking your permission.

And once again, your furious nodding is all the consent he needs to peel your jeans off and toss them away.

“Sweetheart.” He breathes, wide eyes on where your jeans once were, “Honey. Baby. Are you trying to kill me?” He says in a strangled voice at the sight of your simple lacy panties in a deep, wine-purple color— a color Steve once drunkenly confessed was his favorite, though he told anyone who asked he preferred red.

You bite your lip in an attempt to contain your grin, “I thought you might like those.”

“Like them?” He murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your inner thigh, looking up through lidded eyes to meet your gaze as his own darkens, “I never wanna see you in anything else again.”

Your toes curl, and your breaths become shallow in anticipation as he scatters slow kisses all along your inner thighs, carefully spreading them apart, stopping when he gets to the edge of the purple lace.

He holds your gaze, gauging your reaction as instead of pulling them down over your hips to toss to yet another corner of the room, he simply…

Pulls.

The lace.

To the side.

You barely have time to let out a quiet, shaky, “Oh my God,” at the ravenous look on Steve’s face before his mouth is on you and you forget how to think, you forget how to breathe, you forget everything except Steve.

Let it be known: Steve Harrington knew how to eat a girl out.

He licks a thick, fat stripe up your center, gathering the moisture collected there before darting up to flick at your clit, an action that has you gripping the sheets like a lifeline, a stuttering moan that sounds vaguely like your boyfriend’s name escaping from your lips. His arms hook around your thighs, pulling you close in an attempt to keep your hips grounded, and he continues a few more passes of the same lick, flick pattern until you’re a writhing mess underneath him, his current strategy both too much and not enough.

He pauses just long enough to meet your eyes, pressing a single kiss to your clit that sends a jolt of pleasure up your spine, before diving in.

His tongue finds your entrance with ease, the way his nose pushes through the thatch of wiry hair to nudge at your clit providing extra stimulation as he makes short work of making you fall apart. His tongue swirls through your folds as he lets out a languid moan at your taste.

“So fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart.” He mumbles against your core, “So perfect, lettin’ me take care of you. This is all you needed, huh?” His eyes flick up to meet yours as you shudder and moan underneath him, struggling to keep your eyes on him.

He licks another languid path through your folds, savoring your taste, before continuing, his voice muffled as he licks and sucks at your entrance “Jus’ needed me to give you a break, needed me to tell you it’s okay to turn off your brain and jus’—” Steve punctuates his last words by wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking gently “—be a good girl for me.”

The combination of stimulation to your clit and Steve’s words has your hips arching off the bed, despite your boyfriend’s best efforts to keep you still. You can feel him grin against you and let out a dark chuckle at the moan you let out at his last words in particular, the way your hand tightens and pulls at his hair all the evidence he needs.

Still, he asks you, though he doesn’t quite expect a coherent response.

“Aw, sweetheart. You like it when I call you a good girl? You like bein’ a good girl for me?” He purrs in a voice like syrup, lips still brushing your folds.

“Fuck, I— yes, Stevie,” you whine brokenly, gently gripping his hair in an attempt to bring him closer to where you want him, whimpering softly, “Stevie please.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmurs, scattering kisses frustratingly just outside your core, “Jus’ trust me, I gotcha.”

You resist the urge to move, to just grab him and put him where you want him, even as you let out a frustrated whine.

Just as your patience is about to run out, you feel him smirk against you before diving back in, holding your legs apart as he sloppily licks and sucks at your entrance, his tongue diving deep inside you.

You let out a gasping moan as he attacks your core, practically clawing at his hair in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer, your brain going fuzzy and then melting entirely when you hear the endless praise falling from his lips as he eats you out.

“So good for me sweetheart, just perfect— shit, do you have any idea how good you taste?” He groans against you, his thumb coming up to gently circle your clit as his other hand moves to splay flat over your hips, holding you as still as he can, “Could do this all fuckin’ day, god you’re amazing sweetheart—”

Then he clamps his lips around your clit and moans, and you’re fairly certain you’re going to die of pleasure, both your hands flying to grip his hair and yank as your back arches off the bed, your head falling back against the pillows, mouth open to let out a high, keening moan.

When you come back to your body, Steve is back to gently licking through your folds, and your hands claw at him, needing him to be closer.

“Steve,” you whine, “Stevie please, ‘m so close, I jus’— I need— please, baby.”

As your words turn into incoherent moans and pleas, Steve is quick to assure you, thumb returning to playing with your clit as he mumbles against you, “I know, honey, I know what you need and ‘m gonna give it to you, I promise. Been so good for me today, taken such good care of everyone, now it’s your turn, ‘m gonna make you feel so, so fuckin’ good, baby—”

He dives into you once more, thumb rhythmically circling your clit as his tongue hits every spot inside you in a pattern that has you turning to liquid underneath him, your legs hooking together behind his back to keep him right there, and your vision goes white as Steve brings you towards your release.

You let out a cry as you hit your climax, and Steve dutifully guides you through your orgasm, murmuring soft praises the whole time.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs as he pulls away, mouth glistening and pupils dilated wide. Your hand cards through his soft brown waves, chest heaving as you catch your breath. Steve brushes gentle kisses to your inner thigh, your hipbone, your stomach, following a path up to capture your lips with his own, swallowing the contented sigh you let out.

He pulls away, meeting your gaze with a smile as he pecks your nose.

“Feelin’ better?”

You hum contentedly, “Much.” Your thumb comes up to stroke his cheek as you pointedly glance down, “What about you?”

Steve lets out a mock-annoyed groan, forehead coming down to rest on your shoulder.

“Baby, we just went over the whole thing about you not needing to take care of everyone.”

He lifts his head, meeting your gaze, “Seriously, though,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, rolling to lay next to you and pulling you into his chest, “I’m fine. This was about you, and I’m so glad I could help take care of you for once.”

You cup his cheek, turning his face to yours. You hope he can see every sincere, tender thought in your expression as you simply say, “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart. You know that.” He murmurs in response, lips quirking up into a small smile as he turns to press a quick kiss to your palm.

“So,” he says, fingers stroking through your hair, nudging your eyes closed, “nap time and then appetizer dinner? We’ve got mozzarella sticks and some chicken tenders I can throw in the oven.”

You grin, despite already being half-asleep, “That sounds perfect.”

You can feel his smile as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you most.”

“I love you infinity.”

“I love you infinity plus one”

“I love you—”

“Alright, let’s call it a tie, babe.”

Tagging a couple friends! Hi besties @austin-butlers-gf @sassy-ahsoka-tano @dontbesussis

#steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things smut #my writing #sage writes

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uranometrias · 7 months ago

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my love mine all mine , aaron hotchner

this is incredibly self indulgent. i wrote this for myself, because my cat passed away today && i have no idea how to grieve correctly. but i've always been able to express myself the best through writing, so here i am trying to do so.

basically reader loses her kitten && hotch is there to comfort her while she grieves. reader is a doctor && gets her nails painted. mentions of sleeping in a scarf and braids (but this can apply to any race <3) hotch is pretty flirty. he also had a dog that died when he was younger (idk) ... i'm still getting used to writing him (but he's been rotting my brain) so hotch girlies please be sweet to me, i'm trying.

"Have you decided what you want me to grab on the way?" You feel giddy, eyes beaming vibrantly as you unlock your front door. Aaron was on the other line, he'd been looking forward to spending the evening with you for the past two weeks. Your jobs often sent you in separate directions, with him following cases cross country, and you spending nearly twenty hours a day working at Inova Fairfax Medical Campus. The commute was nearly an hour from Quantico, which made it difficult for your schedules to coincide the way you hoped.

Today though was an exception. He'd just gotten back from a case, a successful one, and you'd been lucky enough to finally get two days off. You couldn't contain your excitement when you'd finally managed to get Aaron on the phone, and with Jack staying at Jessica's for another night, it seemed everything was working out in your favor. You still had no idea what you were in the mood to eat, despite having ample time to figure it out. "I dunno." you mutter, and you drop your keys into the basket just to the left of the front door.

"Well honey, you've gotta give me something." Aaron chuckles, and his voices makes you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. "I'm sure you haven't anything at all today." and it doesn't take a rocket science to know he's absolutely correct. Your stomach grumbles audibly, and you cringe, the sound a dead giveaway of your poor eating habits. "Do you need a bit more time to think about it?" he asks, and you're nodding your head, despite the fact that he can't see you. Your focus is split, eyes darting around your place in search of Piper.

Piper was your five year old tabby, the most special companion that you'd cared for since she was a newborn. Usually she'd be making her way to your front door, nudging her head against your shins, meowing her head off as some form of reprimand for being gone too long. Her absence was unusual, but you'd noticed she'd been sleeping a touch longer in the recent months. You'd taken her to the vet and they'd written off any life threatening illnesses. Perhaps she was jus becoming a lazy cat they had said.

"What'd you eat yesterday?" you ask, and you shrug off your coat next, hanging it in the closet as you slip off your cork-leather clogs. You admire your pedicure, French-tips gleaming back at you as your feet hit the cherry laminate flooring. You imagined that he'd hardly been able to eat well while out on a case, Aaron (and his team) had a horrible habit of neglecting their own health and wellness for the sake of cracking the case. You'd call him out on it, but it'd feel to hypocritical with the way you gave most of your life to the hospital.

"Four cups of coffee." and he sounds sheepish as he replies, he'd been running himself ragged with this last particular case. He couldn't leave the precinct until he was convinced he'd made a dent in the investigation. He could imagine your disappointed pout, but he was doing his best, or at least trying his best. "But, Dave made sure that I got something this morning before we got on the jet." and it's not like he has to explain himself to you, you'd never berate him. He believed it was just a side effect of falling for you.

"Four cups?" you gasp, head already shaking. "You're going to turn into a cup of coffee if you keep up with habits like those." you scold. "You'll have to double your water intake, you could seriously dehydrate yourself that way." you say with a quiet huff. You round the corner of the foyer, heading for the kitchen. "Are you feeling alright?" your tone grows a bit softer, "Four cups means you were really absorbed in the case. Everything okay?" you tread lightly. You weren't quite sure how he felt about you asking about his job.

"As far as endings go, I'd say it was better than most." he replies thoughtfully, clearly unfazed by your desire to probe. That makes you smile a bit, the obviousness of his trust for you. "We minimized the amount of deaths, the unsub was taken into custody... the team worked really hard." he proceeds, and you find yourself grinning. "But, I will do a better job of taking care of myself. You'd be a good nurse, but I can imagine a few better scenarios for you to take care of me."

You smile despite the fact it makes your heart stutter step. You were still getting used to him growing more confident in this way, but you weren't complaining in the slightest. "I'd be a great nurse." you correct him delicately, "I'd enjoy taking care of you in any way though." and you bet he can hear your shyness through the phone. Your relationship with Aaron still felt fairly new, you'd been seeing one another for going on seven months, but you knew you loved him.

Even if you hadn't managed to say it just yet.

"Look at that, another thing we have in common." he exhales, and you want him to hurry up and get to you. You hadn't seen him in so long, and despite the fact you were willing to mount him on sight, you just wanted to enjoy being in the same place for once. "How are you? Did you have a good day?" and you like the way he's so attentive, how he seems to genuinely care about what you had to say.

"It was great." you insist, and you've poured yourself a glass of water, ice tinkling as you scanned the dining room for any sign of Piper. Still nothing, weird. "I went to the bookstore a bit earlier, got a few novels for my book shelf." you list. "I got my nails done, and I got a facial. It was so relaxing I wound up falling asleep on the table." and you chuckle a bit at the memory. "Piper and I went on a drive before lunch, she's so spoiled." you add, but you're still scouring the space.

"Drafted up my budget for the month, my new schedule came in," you exhale tiredly at the thought. "Picked up my scrubs from the dry cleaners, I did a grocery run, and went to see the flower exhibit near the Farmer's Market. I got this really incredible soft-pretzel croissant." you sigh dreamily at the memory. "And now I'm home, and waiting for you." you complete, and you lean forward, arms resting against the countertop. "It was a really nice day. I thought I wouldn't know what to do without work, but I'd nearly forgotten what it feels like to be off."

Aaron's silent, but not because he's disinterested in your ramblings. He finds them endearing, and oftentimes had to remind himself that you, much like Jack, needed verbal response in order to feel heard. "I missed you." and it's not quite what he was aiming to say, but it's what comes out. It's true, it had been a while since he'd seen you in person, and with the way your schedules overlapped, he'd hardly been able to get much conversation out of you apart from quick check-ins in between patients and breaks in BAU cases.

You let out a quiet puff of air, it's not quite a sigh nor an exhale. Your lips curve upwards, and you wonder if there's a record out there for most smiles achieved in a single phone call. "You've got no idea how happy that makes me." you reply, and you inhale deep. "I missed you too, hurry up and get over here." you press, and you replay the sound of his responding laugh over in your mind. You don't think you could be more lovesick, but it's a more than welcomed feeling. "As far as dinner, why don't I just cook something?" you offer with a shrug.

"Do you want to?" and Aaron's got this weird thing about him where he's still getting used to the fact that you want to do certain things for him. You go over it a lot, reminding him that you'd love nothing more than to spoil him as much as he spoils you. He's still a bit hesitant, but you don't mind fighting the good fight until he relented. His hands tighten just slightly on the steering wheel, and his leg jumps as he awaits your response. He knows, or better put, he has an idea of what you'll say. He still wants to hear it either way.

"We take care of each other, mon amour." You coo, and he feels that familiar rush of affection towards you. "It'll be fun." you add, and then you're sighing audibly. "I just really can't wait to see you. I don't want to wait any longer than I need to." you express, and Aaron understands. He'd been restless on the jet, Dave and Emily seemed to zero in on his jitters, he was thankful they had enough couth to keep it to themselves. All he received was a knowing smirk from Rossi as he made a beeline for the tarmac the second the jet landed.

"I'll be there soon." he promises, and you grow giddier. "I-" and he wants to cross the line, mutter three worded phrase that would change everything. He'd been learning to be more bold, to focus on the things he could control, and appreciate those things. "I love you." he doesn't have time to think about the repercussions, because it's out, and there's a strong sense of relief that washes over him. You are surprised, but elated. The excitement his words bring you is hard to diminish.

"I love you too." and it comes out as easy as breathing. Probably because you mean it with all of your heart. "I'll see you soon, Mr. Hotchner." you promise, and he's chuckling at your sudden formality, likely a side effect of your newfound nerves at the huge step you'd both taken in your relationship.

"See you soon." you don't bring the phone from your ear until you hear the faint click of the call ending. You exhale shakily, mind running at a mile a minute as your heart seems to double in size. Still, you find this moment is short lived- mind once again on the eerie silence in your apartment. You place your glass down on the counter, coaster be damned as you make your way past the dining room and towards the living room. Sometimes you'd find Piper curled up on the couch, quiet purrs escaping her as she slept contently.

"Piper!" you coo, surprised when you note that she's nowhere to be found. You know that she wasn't outside, you'd made sure before leaving back out that she was comfortable in the house. You follow the layout of your place, the archway that led from the living room back to the foyer is the route you take, heading towards your bedroom as you continuously call for the cat. "Piper, where are you, pretty girl?" you enter your room, hopeful that you'll find her there.

You spot her little paw peeking out of her hideaway and instantly relax. "Oh Piper, you scared me." you let out a shaky sort of giggle as you fully enter your bedroom, feet brushing over the comforting carpet. You kneel just in front of the hideaway, reaching out to pet her. It takes you a few moments to make peace with the fact that she's not rousing. You swallow thickly, a lump growing in your throat as you wiggle her paw. She doesn't move, just as limp as before.

"Piper?" you feel the way your throat constricts, eyes immediately wanting to brim with tears, as you grow frantic. "Oh, please no-" you exclaim, head shaking as you feel a shudder rack through you. You're gentle as you maneuver around the hideaway, hands looping around her small body as you move to pull her out. She's limp, not even the act of you lifting her up enough to make her move. Your glow feels like it's diminished almost instantly, a dark cloud setting in over your head. It seemed a bit silly, panicked over the loss of a cat.

But she was yours, like a daughter to you in the way you cared for her, and made her apart of your routine. She was special, and despite the reputation cats gained for being standoffish and unable to understand human love, you knew that to be wrong. Piper was sweet, a loving cat that curled up beside you every night and followed you like a second shadow. She'd play games of tag with you, chasing you around your apartment as you squealed and screamed for your life.

"Please, please, no-" you're shedding real tears now, they're slipping down your cheeks in a constant succession. "Piper, please wake up!" it's silly, probably. Rocking back and forth with a dead cat in your hand hoping that sheer adoration will be enough to turn back the hands of time. It's certainly not, and the reality crushes you. The first sob is choked, almost like you're holding yourself back, not letting your feelings take full affect. You hadn't prepared yourself at all.

You didn't know what to do.

You think that's when the first swell of sobs begins. They're more ugly wails than anything else, the loud sound echoing through the space in front of you as your arms lower, Piper's body leaning against you as you continued to let your tears flow freely. Your chest tightens, constricting every couple of seconds like you'd suddenly developed chronic heartburn. The pain is a violent assassin, the air around you feeling tight. You think you may be choking on all that you're feeling.

You hate the part of your brain that was constantly in 'Doctor Mode', the side that reminded you that despite your grief, handling a deceased animal like this was a surefire way to get sick. Her body wouldn't start to decompose for at least another day, but you had no real way of knowing just how long she'd actually been dead. You don't move though, until at least your sobs have waned, you know it's not the end of them, but it's a reprieve just for a moment.

You slowly climb to your feet, still clutching Piper as your eyes whip around your bedroom. Your eyes land on her carrier, and the image makes you want to cry all over again. You shut your eyes, allowing yourself to take in a deep breath. It doesn't help. Still, your feet lead you over to the carrier, where you're gently placing Piper. Her vet was only eight minutes up the street, and maybe your ability to dispose of her so quickly was precisely why this was happening to you.

Guilt was loud, too loud. It almost knocked you to your knees as you imagined Piper's fear whilst you were gone. Was she sick? How long had she been? Why hadn't you noticed? Why did you leave her alone? Why weren't you there? You let her down. You had let her down.

You want to curl into a ball, hide under the blankets and cry until you passed out. But, she deserved better. She deserved to not be lugged around like she was some prop, she needed a proper place to rest. Once her carrier is zipped up, you're picking it up by the handles, using your other hand to swipe at the tears still trying to fall. You take the route you'd walked not ten minutes prior, slipping your shoes back on, and grabbing hold of your keys. Aaron still had another forty minutes or so in his drive, you hoped it went by quickly.

You don't think you ever needed him more than now.

────────────────────────

The sobs returned the second you'd walked past the threshold of your house. You sluggishly made your way back to your bedroom. It felt much lonelier now, the house feeling much too big for just you. You think that makes you cry even harder. You're covering your mouth with your hand, hoping that it would be enough to mask the sound of your bawling. You doubt that it does, but you can't do much else. You don't want to go to sleep, you don't want to do anything.

You begin berating your behavior once more in your head, replaying all the ways you'd been a shitty caretaker even though you know it's a bad idea. Your leg shakes under your comforter, the blanket squished underneath your body as you hid your face beneath the blazing heat of your huge blanket. You don't even realize how long you've spent in this space of self-loathing and bitter tears, until you hear the front door's lock shifting out of place. Aaron was here.

"Y/N, sweetheart?" and you want to run to him more than anything. You can't though, because you don't want him to think you're a failure. So you stay put, and you cry a bit more, sniffles growing more audible as you're forced to choke back angry sobs. It doesn't take long for him to make his way towards where you are, and you don't know what he'll say when he finds you looking a mess. You know your mascara has given you racoon eyes, and in your grief, you'd failed to tie a scarf around your head. Your braids would look messy soon.

"Y/N?" and his voice is so soft, soothing, everything you don't deserve now. Your hand clutches a fistful of your shirt, right where your heart rests. "Are you in here, honey?" and you sniffle, an answer all on its own. You barely hear his footsteps, but you feel it when the bed dips just slightly, and you feel it when he gently pulls at your blanket. When he's pulled it back, he's met with the sight of your tear-streaked cheeks. Your nose was runny and raw, and your lip was quivering. It didn't take a profiler to know that you'd been crying, and he frowns.

"Are you alright?" he questions, and his hand reaches out to brush against your cheek and neck, almost like he was checking your temperature. "You've been crying?" and he examines you subtly for any signs of assault or struggle. "Did something happen?" and he knows he keeps asking questions, but he's getting worried.

"P-" and a sob racks through you, your entire body curling in on itself. Your hand is pressing against your mouth again, and your shoulders shake as you began to cry once more. "Piper she-" and your head shakes, hand clenching and unclenching against your shirt. Aaron's eyes dance around your room, and his eyebrows push inwards. He was worried, but determined to be extremely delicate with you, namely by being patient as you got out what you needed to tell him. "Piper's dead." you finally say, shoulders sagging as you weep.

Aaron's examining your face, which gives you a front row seat of the way his face is eclipsed with compassion. "Oh, honey..." his lips pull downwards into a frown, and you know, of course you know it's awkward. What do you realistically say to a person that loses their cat? It's not like any amount of conversation would bring her back. "I'm so sorry...." and usually it sounds empty when anyone offers condolences, but like with most things, Aaron is an exception. "Are you okay? Can you tell me what happened?" he pleads.

And you know that he knows that you're not okay. It's meant to be a stupid question, the obvious one. But you also know that he's giving you the chance to vent, to articulate everything you feel with no judgement. It makes you want to curl into him, and stay wrapped up in his arms until neither of you had any idea where one ended and the other began. "I just-" you have to take a moment to gather yourself, hiccupping blubbers escaping you. "I came home, and I-" your voice cracks harshly. "She was just gone. I don't-" you shake your head.

"I don't know what happened." you express, and Aaron's sympathetic, and he hates seeing you like this. Every time you cry it makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand upright. He supposed that came with loving you, an innate desire to protect you, and keep the bad things out. He'd only ever seen you in this state a handful of times, mostly when things went wrong at the hospital and you lost a patient. He had to get to you before you started blaming yourself for something that completely out of your control.

He didn't know much, but he did know your love for Piper, and how deep it ran. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that you'd never do something to put her in harm's way, you'd never do anything to hurt her. And he wants to pull you into his arms and tell you everything will be alright, he wants to be there to anchor you down. To ground you in the midst of all these swimming and overwhelming emotions trying to fight for the upper hand. He wanted to be there for you.

"Is there anything that you need from me?" he asks gently, grief was harsh, it came in ripples and waves. It was gut-punching, it could be loud and then silent. Sneaky and then outright. It was a process, and whether anyone else thought so, if you needed to grieve the life of your pet, you should. Who was he to ever get in the way? He's gently rubbing his thumb over your cheek, your tears splattering as you kept the duvet pulled up to your chin, as you stared him down. He figured you must have been deep in thought.

It takes a moment for you to reply, and he's fine with the silence. You're tears haven't stopped, but they've grown more quiet. Silent tears that pool and trickle down his wrist and onto the blanket. You soon take in a shaky puff of air as you sit up. Aaron's patient as ever, watching as you pull your legs from underneath the blanket, crawling until you were sitting on his lap. There's no sexual undertone to your movements, you don't want to fool around, you just want to be close.

Your head rests against him, eyes closing as his arms envelop you. "Can you just stay with me?" you ask, and he's already nodding his head. You both knew it was an impossible request. At any moment you could get paged, or he could get a call about a new case. The world didn't stop all because you were grieving, but for one second you both could pretend. He could stay right here with you, and you could love him, and not feel so overwhelmed by all your sadness.

"I'm not going anywhere." he mutters, and he's reaching for your hand. His easily dwarfs your own, but it's still just as comfortable, letting your palms press against his own. "I have never lost a cat before-" and he's treading lightly, wanting more than anything to help you and not harm you. "But I did lose a pet when I was younger." he expresses, and your interest is peaked, just slightly.

"What type of pet?" you ask faintly, and you're squeezing his hand in your own. He knows that it's comforting you so he says nothing about the tight pinch of his fingers pressing together.

"He was a golden retriever actually." Aaron replies, "Nothing was particularly wrong with him. He was fed well, taken care of, treated like one of the family..." he proceeds, and you involuntarily hold your breath as you listen. "But one day he just... he just went." Hotch proceeds, "And when you're a little kid that's not in the best environment, a staple like a pet dog is important. Losing him was like losing the only bit of sanity I could cling to. Does that make sense?"

Your head nods, and you squeeze his hand again to show him you care. "And surprisingly enough, I found myself crying over it. Mourning this dog, an animal that was part of the family, but of course, was not my family member." he continues, and his chin rests on the top of your head. "The point is, him being a dog didn't make it hurt any less when he left. It's okay to be upset about Piper, she was important to you, special even." he whispers. "And you did a great job giving her all the love you possibly could." his eyes close then.

"I need you to know that it wasn't your fault. And keeping yourself up with thoughts of 'what ifs'." it's his turn to squeeze your hand this time. "And those moments where you... didn't want to play, or wanted to be left alone are not what she remembered when she passed on." he insists, and he won't take any arguments on the matter. "You gave her five amazing years, and whether science backs it up or not, she knew how much you loved her." he insists. "You might not believe it today, but I hope that you do in time." and he kisses your forehead.

It's butterfly inducing, and makes you cling all the more to him. "You're not by yourself." he adds, and you're glad to know it. You peel back, eyes locking with his, and they're glassy. You hate seeing such a grief-stricken look on his face, at your sake no less. It makes you lean forward and kiss him, in the hopes you'd manage to kiss it away. He kisses back instantly, and you're still sad, you probably will be for a long while, but you don't feel as lonely as you did an hour ago.

"I love you." you mumble the second you've pulled back, and this time there's no phone. His eyes are swirling with so many thoughts and feelings of his own, but you need him to know you mean it, and likely always will. You couldn't imagine anyone else being here with you like this now, nobody else that would care enough to grieve with you. He gives you a half smile, and kisses you once more, a much deeper kiss that makes you lightheaded and dizzy. Of course he had that effect.

"I love you too." and you're happy that he hasn't left you hanging. Your fingers trace his collarbones and cheeks, moving to cup his face with your right hand. You kiss him again, this time just long enough to get the message across. When you pull back, your head is finding it's place back on his chest, and his arms move up and down, rubbing gentle circles against your back, as he cranes his neck to kiss your head. It makes your stomach flutter, but it makes you want to cry too.

He leaves three gentle pecks on the top of your head, moving to kiss your cheek, before he's looping his arms around your waist with a palpable amount of admiration. He plants a sweet kiss on your shoulder, and mimic this action by offering him a kiss of your own. "Thank you." you exhale, and you mean it so wholeheartedly.

"You don't need to thank me, Y/N. We take care of each other, mon amour, remember?" and he recites your earlier words back to you. It makes you cling to him much tighter, tears returning to your lashline as Aaron pulls you even closer to him. "If you need to cry a little bit more, go right ahead. I'm right here." so you do.

Grief was a lot, it could be paralyzing, debilitating, and outright traumatic, but you knew even if it didn't feel that way now, in time you'd be okay. Part of you felt like you had Aaron to thank for that.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotcher fluff #aaron hotchner angst #ssa aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch #hotch x reader

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 11 months ago

Note

How about Kieran practicing asking out his crush in front of some Pokémon in the terrarium? Oh and said crush is currently using the synchro machine with a Pokémon who can easily blend in with the ones found in the terrarium and is among the group watching / listening to him. Thankfully his crush likes him back.

Here's some cuteness for Pokemon Day! ❤

..........

'Man, this synchro machine is fun.'

It was just another warm and sunny day in the Terarium, with you running around as a Smeargle and painting on rocks to your heart's content. A few others were doing the exact same thing, not knowing that you were actually a human trainer in disguise.

It was nice becoming a Pokemon for a little while. You didn't have any immediate responsibilities nor would you attract unwanted attention from others.

People kept coming up to you asking for battles, especially after you became the new BB League Champion. Even now you didn't think it was that big of a deal...

Besides, you still felt bad about ripping the title from Kieran.

You knew that he needed to be humbled and beaten in battle, although the guilt lingered as you recalled how devastated he was that he lost to you again.

Fortunately, things have gotten a lot better for him, as he learned to enjoy Pokémon battles again and realize it's just a silly title at the end of the day.

It's not something he needed to have in order to be worthy of love and respect.

All in all, your friendship has grown stronger than ever. To the point where the casual battle you both had didn't stress him out. He enjoyed it despite its outcome.

But today you haven't seen him anywhere in the academy, although Drayton pointed out that he ventured into the Terarium...and said nothing more than that.

You figured he just needed time to ease back into everything after a much-needed break in Kitakami.

Of course you two recently saved the whole land from Pecharunt's possession-spree. So you'd give him time to ease back into things.

So while he was doing whatever in the Terarium, you were just living the life of a Smeargle, painting a pokeball on the face of a boulder. One or two others have joined you, inspired by your art, and a few stray Deerlings and other Pokémon stopped by to observe.

Then suddenly, you heard a familiar voice.

"Th-This is kinda awkward, but...you think you and your friends could help me out?"

"Smear??" Spinning around, you completely forgot you were a Smeargle for a second, eyes wide to see Kieran there, and he was holding...a paper?

'Oh right..I'm a Pokémon, he can't tell..' You realize and internally sigh with relief, curious as to what he wrote.

"I'm just..t-trying to ask out this person I really like, but..I'm too embarrassed to do it in front of people. So...Pokémon might be better? I dunno.." He grumbled to himself, shaking his head. "Just let me know if this is good or not."

You looked to the other Pokemon, who seemed to understand him with a collection of nods, chirps, and growls. You gave your approval with a thumbs-up.

The way Kieran smiled at you made your heart skip a beat.

"Okay, th-thanks...ahem.." Clearing his throat, he glanced at the paper, before pocketing it and looking directly at you. "So..[y/n]..."

'It's...me? Oh my arceus..' You held onto your tail brush, trying not to give yourself away but at the same time feeling heat rise to your cheeks. 'Be cool, be cool, be cool-'

"I know I..wasn't a great friend back then, but I'm glad we were able to move past all of that stuff. You've made me happy in ways I could never imagine. I lost my spark..and you were the one to put it back into me, and I'm forever grateful. That being said..I-I...um...I'm ready to be more than just friends....so....I.....w-wowzers..this is tough..I dunno if I can do this." His posture became slumped, and you frowned a little.

"Smear, smearg!"

'Kieran, c'mon..don't give up.' You silently encouraged.

He perked up at your cry and saw the other Pokémon cheering him on, and he shyly smiled. "Thanks guys, so..would you...um..like to go out with me, [y/n]? Or wait, that might be comin' off too strong..uh...wanna grab somethin' at the cafeteria later---no, no..that sounds too much like Drayton...ugh....I'll be fine."

Rubbing his hands over his face, he calmed himself down and looked at the group, sheepish. "Worst they can say is no, right? But...I-I hope they don't. They mean a lot to me..although if they wanna stay friends, I don't mind that too.." He mumbled.

You felt a strong tug on your heartstrings upon seeing the despondent look on his face. Like he was expecting you to reject him right away.

It made you wanna desynchronize right now and reassure him you accept his confession, but you didn't wanna scare him with the fact you were listening this whole time.

Maybe you could drop subtle hints.

You wanted to express your feelings for him, too, in your own way.

So after the Pokémon dispersed, and Kieran stood there pondering over what to do next, he noticed you walking up to him, handing him a rock.

"What's this..?"

After close examination, he realized there was a heart painted on it.

"You think [y/n] would like this?" He blinked, before smiling and kneeling down, patting you on the head. "Thanks, Smeargle...y'know your tail color is also their favorite color. Funny coincidence, right?"

"Smear.." You pointed to yourself, tilting your head.

"Yes. You." He laughed a little. "You don't happen to belong to them, do ya?"

"Smear..smear!" You nod.

"Oh? Where's your trainer?"

"..........."

A look of realization crosses his face. "Hold on-"

Suddenly, you switched off the synchro machine, causing your Smeargle to vanish and him to freeze, now understanding what was going on.

It was you.

This whole time you were synched to it, listening to his confession and watching him fumble over his words like an idiot.

After you emerged from your hiding place, back in your actual body and Smeargle at your side, you searched around for Kieran--only to find him sitting by a small pond, his back to you.

"Ki?"

His shoulders were tense, although he didn't dare look at you. Instead his face was buried into his hands, trying to make himself look as small as possible.

Maybe, just maybe, if he sat very very still....you wouldn't see him.

But unfortunately luck didn't shine on him this time, as you just calmly sat beside him, chuckling. "C'mon, that was actually really sweet. Practicing in front of Pokémon. They don't judge."

"...I-I didn't know you were there.." He spoke, voice slightly muffled. "I'm so embarrassed...this isn't how it was s'pposed to go-"

"Well, if you want my answer..it's yes."

"......huh?" Peeking through his fingers, he gazed at you for a long while, wondering if you were joking or not. But the look in your eyes was warm, and your smile genuine.

"I was trying to use Smeargle to express my own feelings, but just so there's no confusion...I'll go out with you, Kieran." You told him, feeling your heart beating fast again. "You make me happy and..I wanna keep being there for you. Through the good and the bad. So...I'm ready to be more than friends, too."

He was stunned. "Really..?"

"Yes." You opened your arms up to him, and a few moments later he uncovered his face to hug you tightly. It lasted for several seconds, before you pulled away to kiss his cheek.

Immediately, he began burning red. "W-Wowzers...so..we're official, huh? Just like that?"

"Yep." You chuckled at his flusteredness, intertwining your fingers with his own. "And if you wanna go on a little cafeteria date, I don't mind."

All Kieran could do was nod and smile, his gaze going to your Smeargle who was painting absentmindedly on a different rock. And when it was done, it presented you two with a simple drawing of you holding hands with him.

They were stick figures, but it was still a masterpiece.

You got yourselves a little wingman in the form of a Painter Pokémon.

#clanask #anonymous #pokemon x reader #pokemon sv x reader #pokemon scarlet x reader #pokemon violet x reader #pokemon kieran #smeargle #i chose smeargle bc its everywhere in the terarium #fluff

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jumexju · 4 months ago

Text

LE CIEL

Pairing !! : Uchiha Madara / Fem Reader

Fic Type !! : Angst, Fluff, Slow Burn, Part ii here.

CW !! : Mentions of war, violence, suicide, pining

Summary !! : After 15 years of marriage, the story of how you two met is finally told.

Note !! : This is part of my 'Married Life' Series. I thought it'd be cool to tell the story of how Madara and reader met so I could kinda explain their relationship in 'Shape of my Heart' & further their dynamic :3 There will be a part 2 btw

✦ MASTERLIST

“Do you think this war will continue on forever?” The stars shone upon your heads while the moon bathed the lot of you in its ethereal light.

“.. I dunno.” The boy beside you answered. “I only wish there was a world where we didn’t have to fight all the time.” His spiky black hair tickled your arm but you didn’t say anything. You wanted to etch these moments with him into your memory. You’d live only in your memories if you could.

“So do I.” you sighed and hugged your knees to your chest while you glanced at your brother's friend. You’d met him only recently because the boy had noticed you following Hashirama when he went out to the river to meet with him. Who knew you’d share their beliefs? It was rare to find that nowadays when people just seem to kill each other over differences they had long forgotten.

Whenever your father asked you two if you’d seen anything while you were out, Hashirama and yourself became tight-lipped and said a simple, 'No, father.’

Because the both of you knew,

That a friendship with the member of an enemy clan could never prosper.

“You are but a weak woman, why has Hashirama let you out of his sight?” Madara looked upon you with disdain, as if your very presence here was an offense to him. Your eyes narrowed at him as you assumed a defensive position, “You’ve always been so prideful with your words! Tell me, is it because you’re afraid, Madara?” The words hurt to say as they came out of your mouth, your hands over one of your comrades as you hoped to heal him. The younger version of yourself wouldn’t have been surprised at the fact that the next time you’d meet Madara was on the battlefield.

Hashirama knew this would happen. You knew it too.

The both of you hoped that it wouldn’t come to this, but it did. Your dreams of a war-free world were shattered to oblivion the day your father attempted to ambush Madara while Hashirama had gone to the river that day. Now, Hashirama has become the clan head of the Senju and Madara, the clan head of the Uchiha.

There was no way that there could be reconciliation now, none that you could see at least.

Madara’s younger brother, seeing you in the middle of trying to heal one of your comrades, took this opportunity to come at you. Luckily, Tobirama came in to defend you. As your brothers — and the rest of your clan — fought with the Uchiha, you healed as many fallen shinobi as you could. You were one of the best healers, but that could never stop the bloodshed.

As you looked upon the scores of dead bodies on the battlefield, both Uchiha & Senju alike, you wondered what it was all for. They had been at each other's throats since before the time of your fathers, was there even a reason that the two clans were fighting? Or was it all just blind rage? You kneeled down to the corpse of an Uchiha Shinobi when you saw that her hand had been held into a fist, of course, her grip on it was loosened now that she had been slain.

You felt nothing but sorrow when you opened her hand to see a bracelet with a single crystal on it.

A ruby.

A small tear escaped your eyes as it dawned on you, ‘She was someone’s family..’ You had been part of the war, there was blood on your hands too. You knew that they were just like you. Human beings that had families, just like you. You gripped the bracelet in your hand frustratedly before placing it in the woman’s palm and closing her hand.

This needed to stop.

With the swift slash of a sword, Tobirama made quick work of Madara’s younger brother, Izuna Uchiha.

“Izuna!” Madara sprinted towards his brother, his eyes filled with worry at seeing his brother injured by none other than your elder brother, Tobirama.

“You cannot win against me, Madara..” Hashirama donned an expression that was both determined and anxious. “So, Why don’t we end this.?”

Your eyes widened at your elder brother’s proposal. You knew that Hashirama still believed that peace was achievable between the Uchiha and the Senju — but to ask Madara straight to his face? After his brother had just been injured by your own brother?? Just what was he thinking? Your eyes were fixated on Madara and Izuna, not knowing what their next move would be.

As soon as Hashirama finished talking about his ideas for peace, Izuna spoke up to his elder brother. “No, big brother..” Izuna pleaded, “Do not be deceived by them..” And because a brother’s word is more valuable than the words of an ex friend, Madara heeded his brother's word by throwing a smoke bomb and retreating along with the rest of his clan.

Peace would not be achieved that day.

The days after the encounter, your hope was diminishing more and more. But you couldn’t give up. Your brother wouldn’t either, though Tobirama was more cautious of him. Tobirama understood that Hashirama and you still saw the little boy from the river, but he couldn’t wrap his head around why you two tried so hard to make peace with him. However, as long as his siblings held a hope for peace, Tobirama would support the two of you as much as he could.

Soon enough, the day came when you would meet Madara face to face alongside your brothers. You noticed that Izuna was not among the Uchiha and your heart ached for Madara. He wouldn’t show it, but you knew he was hurting.

You could also tell that there was something different about Madara.. His eyes. They had changed.

“My little brother ended up dying from that day’s wounds..” Madara began to speak, his tone laced with venom. “..Leaving me with powers that will protect the Uchiha!” Faster than you could comprehend his words, a giant blue phantom-like creature made from Madara’s chakra alone, arose from the ground. But this did not shake Hashirama, nor you.

“I sent you a ceasefire agreement!” Hashirama reminded his old friend, “If you truly want to protect the Uchiha, let's stop fighting!” Before you could even say anything, Madara’s voice resounded throughout the battlefield.

“Hashirama! How long will you keep saying such juvenile things?!” His long black hair swished in the air, he was confident that today, he would avenge his people and most importantly, his brother.

Unfortunately for him, the battle ended with his back on the ground, Hashirama kneeled beside him.

“Madara, You’re finished..” Tobirama glared at him, his sword just inches above Madara.

Your eyes widened and you quickly sprinted over to where your brothers were, “Tobirama, Wait!” You worriedly shouted, hoping he’d hear it despite your distance. You didn’t notice Madara’s eyes flickering over to you. Hashirama backed you up saying, “Wait, Tobirama.” But this would not deter your elder brother.

“Why, Elder brother?! This is our chance!” Tobirama spoke passionately, clearly ticked off by the words that came out of your mouths. Why were you so opposed to it? If he just ended Madara right here and now, the fighting would end! Couldn’t the two of you understand??

Hashirama glared up at his younger brother, “No one touches him.” Hashirama had never been one to yell, but at this moment you could tell it was critical. Tobirama lowered his sword, withdrawing upon hearing his brother’s words. He wasn’t shocked to find you kneeling next to Madara, opposite to Hashirama, and waiting for Hashirama's command to begin healing his injuries.

“Hmph, Just get it over with, Hashirama..” said the Uchiha, “It would be an honor.. ..to die by your hand.” His words tore your heart to shreds. He was so ready to give his life up.. Did he really not see any other way? Before you could shed any tears of frustration, Hashirama began to speak.

“Quit the posturing. If I kill the clan head like this, the younger Uchiha who follow you shall run amok again.” Hashirama tried to make a point, but Madara quickly refuted it.

With sorrowful words, Madara spoke, “There isn’t anyone left with such pluck among the Uchiha-”

“No, there is always someone.” Your elder brother’s tone was confident. “Can’t we just skip stones again, like in the olden times? Together..” Your expression softened as you listened to your brother's words. Those days seemed so far and yet, you held them so close to your heart. Just as he did. You looked down at Madara, feeling the strings of your heart pull as you looked upon his tired visage.

“That’s not possible, you and I are no longer the same.” Madara spoke with such finiteness. As if his words were the solid truth and the conversation was to die there. It made you frustrated because you believed in the hope that you pursued alongside your brother for so long. “I don’t have a single brother left.. and I just can’t trust you.” You slightly winced at the mention of his brothers, remembering how he had told you he was one of five.. You’d be a liar to say you didn’t empathize with him since you'd lost two brothers to the war already.

Hashirama looked at his former friend with the last glimmer of hope in his brown eyes, “Is there.. no way I can convince you?” You searched Madara’s face, your expression brightening when he mentioned that there was one way.

But your face fell once you heard his next words.

“Either kill your brother.. Or kill yourself, right now.” Madara looked upon their shocked expressions. He heard your breath hitch and saw how your two brothers froze. “..And then we’ll be even.. I’d be willing to trust your clan.”

You ripped your gaze away from Madara and looked into your brother's eyes anxiously. Of course, you should’ve known by now that he would not kill Tobirama. So the only option was.. To kill himself. So with a smile, your eldest brother got up and began to take off his armor.

“Thank you, Madara. You really are kind hearted.” You were confused, Just what the hell was so kind-hearted about this..?

“Big brother, don’t do this..!” You pleaded. You stood up, worried at what your brother would do.

“Listen Tobirama, _____… Carve into your heart these final words of mine,” Hashirama began as he took out a kunai. “Words that I shall be exchanging with my life. You too, my fellow clan members.” Your heart was racing and you could feel your nails dig into the skin of your palms. You had to hold yourself back or you’d rip the kunai from your brother’s hand.

“After my death, do not kill Madara. I forbid any fighting between Uchiha and Senju.” Your elder brother instructed, “Swear this right now, upon our fathers and yet unborn children!” You met Tobirama’s panicked eyes. It wasn’t often he demonstrated emotions in front of the enemy, but this was different. Hashirama really was going to kill himself. “Farewell!” Your brother said with a smile.

“Brother, No!” You reached out to Hashirama but Tobirama stopped you. “Wha.. What are you doing, Tobirama? He's really going to do it!” You pleaded with your elder brother. It was then that you had seen that he was just as worried as you were yet, he didn’t move an inch to stop him. You saw a single tear escape the eyes of your dear elder brother and you could feel your heart breaking in two as you held onto Tobirama’s sleeve to ground yourself.

This was your brother.

The one who had protected you from enemy clans since your youth. The one who trained you to become stronger so you could fend for yourself. He taught you the ways of a medic ninja and helped you master the art. He was the one who helped you hope for peace when you had none..! Tears flowed from your eyes, you had never imagined a world in which you would live without Hashirama.. And now..?

As your brother moved to plunge the kunai into his heart and end his life, you witnessed Madara spring up and grab onto his hand before Hashirama could end his life. You let out a breath you had been holding in and your grip loosened around Tobirama’s sleeve. What was he doing?

“Enough..” Madara spoke. Hashirama looked just as surprised as you did. “I.. have now seen your guts.”

Madara acknowledged your brother for the first time in years. This was a sign of times changing, and for once you realized that peace really was achievable. That for the first time in ages.. The Senju and the Uchiha would be at peace.

There would be no more fighting.

The moments that followed after seemed so surreal to you.

Seeing Madara shake hands with your eldest brother to signify that there would be peace between the two clans gave you an unimaginable sense of peace and satisfaction. This had been the result of years of your shared hope coming to fruition and you couldn’t be more joyful.

Now, both Uchiha and Senju were building homes alongside one another. Uchiha children played along with children of the Senju clan and there was no amnesty between the two of the most powerful clans, but instead peace.

“It’s different, huh?” You walked up to your old friend with a small smile on your face. You hadn’t been able to talk to him much due to all of you being busy with getting Konohagakure established among the other nations, but this afternoon was one of the rare days you were able to get some rest.

“Very.” His long black hair swayed in the wind. You stood next to him upon the cliff where the two of you could see all of Konohagakure. You could see the small village that was beginning to form, nothing but joy could fill your heart at the sight of it.

“How are you? It’s been a while since we last.. Talked.” you spoke calmly.

“...We achieved all that we wanted.” Madara’s words were true but ..something was off.

You snuck a glance at the man beside you, his expression holding too much emotion but none that was visible. “Are you happy?” you asked him genuinely.

“.. I suppose I should be.” Madara let out a sigh, deciding to sit down and watch the sun set before him.

“So you’re not.” You murmured while you knelt down to sit beside him. The leaves on the trees swayed serenely as the wind blew through them.

“Izuna would have..” Madara trailed off. He hated the way his old habit of letting his tongue slip around you had resurfaced so easily. You see, Madara was a man of few words whenever it came to his feelings. But whenever he was around you, it was like his tongue had a mind of its own and began disclosing more about himself than he intended to. “.. I suppose this is what all your hope has led to. Are you happy?”

You let the wind softly caress your face as you contemplated your next words. “I’m happy that Hashirama’s dream has become reality. But..” You smiled to yourself, feeling Madara’s intense gaze on you. “My dream has yet to become reality.”

“Was this not your dream?” Madara asked curiously. You turned to look at him, admiring how despite the both of you growing older, he still resembled the little boy from the river from years ago.

“It was one of them,” You admitted, “But my dream is something a little more selfish.”

Madara gave you a look of confusion. To him, you were anything but selfish. Of course, you weren’t perfect either, you too had killed members of his clan.. But you were more pure than most, he supposed.. “Selfish? How so?”

“I..” You chuckled and hugged your knees to your chest, “It’s embarrassing.” Madara gazed at your form, clearly this time. He remembered how whenever you seemed to have a lot on your mind, you would hug your knees close to you, as if to grant yourself comfort from the chaos in your mind. Old habits die hard, he guessed.

Madara scoffed, “You’ve fought with me on the battlefield fearlessly but you won’t tell me your dream because of a little embarrassment? How laughable,” Madara’s taunts were something you secretly missed. His witty remarks and confidence were something that had not changed throughout the years clearly.

“That’s..!” You sighed, “Do you really want to know that bad?” You rested your chin above your knees and looked out to the settlement in an attempt to distract yourself.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know, now would I?” Madara stole a glance at you, looking at the way the light of the sunset washed upon you. He didn’t know what your next words would be, but he certainly did not expect it to be,

“My dream.. Is for you to be at peace.”

#madara #madara uchiha #uchiha madara #naruto #naruto madara uchiha #fics #madara fic #madara fluff #madara angst #jume fics #naruto fluff

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lara4eclipze · 2 months ago

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“Better than me?”

sypnosis; "she was cute you know?" Megan chimes , "oh so she's better than me?" the older replied snarkly

cw; smut , mean Dom Sophia, sub Megan , fuckbuddies , sorta toxic , recent fics flopping 😔... , might be my last smut for this month cuz I'm planning out a smau....(still not sure tho) , short maybe less than 1k words!

being in a girl group was fun and enjoyable I mean you get to meet thousands of people who love and support you , the downside was freedom

ever since becoming a part of katseye every single member had been personally talked to about the rules and what the contract inscript

no dating , no posts on social media without managers looking thru them , no wearing clothes that were not yet approved by management and the list goes on

it was hard — they were teenagers and obviously they also had feelings , yet to protect their image they had to not date publicly..

—★

resulting in members being in relationships with each other it started with lara and manon — at first it was them being close to each other , suggestive jokes until they got caught kissing each other whilst in manon's room

but megan didn't want a relationship, it was exhausting , combat that with training and constant changes of schedule it wasn't gonna work

but when times like this was happening she couldn't help it , imagine seeing your members be touchy and feeling up to each other— especially sophia god damn that woman

she always held megan close the way her hands wrapped around the younger's waist has her subconsciously pressing her thighs together — the way her fingers trace Megan's tummy and her plump lips that was like a forbidden fruit

—★

"I dunno maybe you should ask her" dani responds to the ginger

"but I don't think she'll approve of that!—i mean how am I gonna ask that?" megan says her voice was like a scream

"you never know.." dani says standing up form the beanbag on the floor to walk out the room

now left with her thoughts and prayers megan decided it's now or never

—★

knocking on the leaders door megan enters greeted by sophia organizing her stickers

"hey" she softly greeted

"hi baby what do you need?" the older replied

fuck,her hands got sweaty , her heartbeat going so fast it probably will explode — calm down you want her to know this right?

"so you know uh- lara and uhm manon right?" Megan stammered

"what about them?" sophia replied her eyebrows raising out of pure concern

"and you know they kinda started as fuck... buddies?— well I was wondering if we can uhm"

"oh you want that with me?"

"yes..?" megan closes her eyes only to feel Sophias hands on her jaw

"okay—if that's what you really want" sophia nods at her kissing her cheeks

—★

and thats how it started — as ashamed megan felt for even asking that or thinking about it she's happy that she tried

yet something will always go wrong , sophia was very possessive over megan , ever since the agreement, she would practically pry off Megan off any other member when they were being clingy or even just talking

—★

NYC was a big city , with loads of interesting places to go to , so the girls decided to go out and have fun

I mean they did have a comeback soon so they atleast had to rest and have fun before that

spotting an ice cream shop yoonchae excitedly told the rest of the girls whom all agreed on having ice cream

"I want choco chip!" yoonchae exclaims

"we'll have a rocky road" manon says signaling to her and lara

"I would like strawberry please" dani grins

"and you megan?" sophia asks as she listed down all the orders in her notes app

"do they have caramel?" megan asks , as she looks at the leader

"yeah , okay sit down I'll order" sophia says to which the girls follow sitting down on the corner booth if the store

"would that be all?" the cashier asks

"yes! and maybe extra tissues aswell" the leader nods and smiles

—★

as their order number got called megan volunteered to get the ice cream, she earned nods from the members

"thank you so much" megan smiles her dimples showing

the cashier was smooth with it she didn't even know how it happened but now she was giving her number to her

"you're really pretty!—maybe we can talk more I guess you have to go right?" the cashier says

"oh definitely!—heres my number" megan says blushing, she shows her phone

as she walk back to the table she couldn't even pretend not to notice sophia staring at her , her brows furrowed

"ooh what was that Megan" daniela teases

"I dunno — she just asked for my number" megan shrugs , as the other members continue teasing her

"and you gave your number to her?" the leader cuts

"yeah?—i mean she's cute" megan says , skeptical about the leaders reaction

—★

as the girls wind down in the dorms megan had this nagging feeling of something will go wrong—sophia has been off ever since the ice cream shop

was it because of the cashier?—or maybe she's too naive how deep sophia's possessiveness goes for her

deciding to know megan knocks on the leaders door , only for the door to open right away with sophia pulling her in

—★

"what was that about" sophia starts her voice was authoritative , stern and not anything like normal

"what was what?" megan replies confused

"oh you know damn well—why would you give your number to her?" sophia snaps

"shes cute you know?" megan replies, she wanted a reaction out of the older — and she was gonna get it

"oh so she's better than me?" the older replied snarkly

the olders eyes blazed , megan gulps — barely processing it sophia already had her pinned against the wall roughly making out with her

the older bit megan's lips for access, which she granted after whimpering

"you're mine fuckin remember that" she spits out as her hands tighten around megan's neck causing the younger to see stars

she continues her rough handling and removes megan's clothes pinching the younger breasts , she does the same to herself shedding off her clothing and leading them to bed

sophia grabs a scarf and ties it around megan's hands keeping her immobile

"so pretty for me" sophia says her long nails trailing around the youngers stomach down to her thighs

she stands up and walks to her closet pulling out her strap

oh fuck

sophia straps it in , seeing how megan dripped onto the bed, clenching on air as she waits for what's next

sophia walks back kissing down the youngers face , her fingers on megan's clit stimulating her before pushing in the whole length of the strap in megan

"fuck!" megan whines her legs wrapping around sophia urging the older to go faster and she did pounding into Megan like her life depended on it

"you like that whore?" sophia says in between her gasps and groans

"mhm-ye-yes!" megan replies as tears fell onto her cheeks due to pleasure

"your cunt so fucking desperate huh?" sophia says , as she felt megan tighten around her

megan didn't know and didn't care either way she felt so good

"close!" megan screams , as her orgasm crashes on her , her legs getting weak and her heartbeat going slower

afterwards sophia pulls out with a wet sound , her hands untying megan's

"I love you" sophia whispers as megan's eyes fluttered close

"I love you too" megan mumurs

#katseye imagines #sophia laforteza #megan katseye #sophia katseye #smut #men do not interact

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evianlovesblue · 1 year ago

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Scott Pilgrim is (bi-curiously) Confused

(scollace smut one shot)

i'm totally new to posting things on here so if i did it wrong. oh well

scott pilgrim is (bi-curiously) confused

It's been a little while since Scott has been with someone, since Envy. naturally, that means Scott hasn't gotten laid. This has become a problem.

The time is exactly 11:43 pm. Scott Pilgrim and his cool gay roommate Wallace are lying side by side on their ratty shared futon. The only thing going through Scott's mind at the moment is how hot Wallace has seemed recently. Why can't he stop thinking about him? Scott's not gay. At least, he doesn't think he is. "This must be because i'm too pent up. I haven't had sex in a long enough time." Scott decides. As he continues to think about doing dirty things under the sheets with Wallace, which in his mind is So Not Totally Not Gay, Wallace groans.

"Scott, I can tell you're still awake, you don't fall asleep on your back. what is it, guy?" Wallace mumbles into his pillow, eyes still shut. Wallace doesn't actually expect to get an answer, so he tries to go back to sleep. Minutes of silence go by until Scott sighs,

"Wallace, what's it like to have sex with a guy?"

"...Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you thinking about gay sex."

"Just... thoughts."

Wallace sits up and turns to look at Scott, who's got his right arm across his eyes, flushed from the embarrassment of this conversation.

"What do you want to know?" Wallace questions, eyeing Scott's demeanor.

"Ummm, I don't know, does it... feel good?"

"People wouldn't have it if it didn't feel good, guy."

"Right, right..."

"Why are you asking?" Wallace says with a hint of a flirty attitude.

"Dunno... just.. curious."

"Mhm." Wallace hums in response, raising a brow. An idea crosses Wallace's mind, but he decides not.

"Wallace?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we, ummm..." Scott stutters, feeling a heat in his crotch from his lewd thoughts.

"Spit it out, Scott."

"Um, okay.. so could you... I don't know.. uhmmmm, could you maybe kiss m-"

Wallace cut his sentence off by pressing his lips against Scott's, biting slightly on his lower lip. Scott immediately pushes back into the kiss, slipping his tongue into Wallace's mouth. Short, muffled moans come from behind Scott's lips as he runs his hands through Wallace's hair. Wallace pulls back from the kiss to look at Scott.

"How far do you want this to go?"

"Umm, like. the farthest?"

"You want to have sex with me?" Scott feels his cock twitch at Wallace's words.

"Maybe.." Scott mutters, looking away. Wallace gets up to straddle Scott, pinning his hands above his head to the futon.

"Tell me if i need to stop, okay guy?"

"..M-mhm.." Scott hums back, embarrassed but aroused by the position they are in. Wallace leans down to Scott's neck, kissing and sucking on his sensitive spots. Scott starts to whimper at this, unable to cover his face from his hands being pinned above his head.

"You make some pretty cute noises, Scottie." Wallace whispers in his ear, smirking. Scott blushes hard from Wallace's words, starting to get really turned on. Wallace continues to suck on Scott's neck until he feels something hard against his ass.

"Are you hard?" Wallace questions, the side of his mouth crooking into a smirk.

"Uh, no." Scott lies.

"Sure, guy." Wallace moves down to unbutton Scott's pants and pulls down his boxers. To his surprise, he was met with 7 inches, completely shaved with a glistening pink tip, leaking precum already.

"P-please, I need you Wallace..." Scott manages to mumble, flipping a switch inside of Wallace. He wipes the precum from Scott's tip all over his hands and starts to stroke him while giving the tip kitten licks.

"F-fuck Wallace.." Scott moans, whimpering at each movement he makes.

"Be a good boy and don't cum until i say so, alright Scottie?" Wallace says in a seductive voice. Scott nods his head shyly. Whimpers and moans fill the room of their apartment, mainly coming from Scott.

"'m gonna get lube" Wallace says as he gets up. Scott whines brattily for being left on the futon.

"You sure you wanna do this, guy?" Wallace questions, and Scott gives him a look of approval. He puts lube on two of his fingers, massaging them onto Scott's ass. Scott whimpers from the foreign feeling as Wallace pushes his fingers in.

"Mmmphh.. Wallace..-" Scott moans as Wallace scissors him.

"You ready?"

"..Yes."

Wallace lines the tip of his cock up to Scott's ass and slowly pushes it in.

"A-ah.. Wallace this hurts."

"That's because you're so tight, guy."

"Whatever.."

"I'm gonna start moving now, okay?"

"...Be gentle."

"I will, Scottie."

Wallace starts moving slowly in and out, breathing steadily. as he starts to pick up the pace, Scott starts to whimper, mumbling "Wallace, Wallace" over and over.

"Y-you're right this f-feels so... so good.~" Scott moans as Wallace thrusts in and out of him.

"G-good boy Scott,." Wallace huffs, moaning every time he pushes back into Scott.

"Say it.. say it again.." Scott whines, close to his climax.

"You're such a g- good boy Scottie." Wallace pants, movements becoming sloppier as he reaches his limit.

"F-fuck oh my god.~" Scott moans out. Wallace bites his lip hard, stifling a moan. The two of them both sprawl out on the futon, breathing heavily.

"Wallace?"

"Yeah Scott?"

"Am I gay now?"

"I think this just makes you bisexual Scott."

"There's more than two options?!"

#smut #smut fic #spto #spvtw #scott pilgrim takes off #scott pilgrim #scott pilgram vs the world #scollace #wallace wells #praise #praise k!nk #light smut #short fanfic

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pompadorbz · 8 months ago

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I might've touched on this earlier but I kinda wanna make a post about it now since something has kinda become clear to me after Chay and Lullah's departures; I feel like from the moment they woke back up, the kids and Phil have kinda been gently preparing us all for their story to end. Phil apologized to the kids with the promise to be more open, Lullah was officially adopted, they spent some of their last days on the server building a new floor to their house with a wall of memories, and they even went on one final adventure together. Removed from the context of Chay and Lullah's goodbye, these all seem like pretty average death family things, but with the ending in mind, I feel like these last few VODS absolutely screamed finality. And like, I dunno. In a way that makes me feel more at ease with how things turned out. We were never gonna be prepared for the story to end, I don't think... But it was always going to end, no matter what we did, and In a way I kinda take comfort in that. There are a million ways that this story could have concluded, and I'm glad that at least in regards to Phil, Chayanne, and Lullah, they were able to draw the curtains close by their own hands as opposed to letting it fade away into nothing. And the party isn't quite over yet! We're still going to get Q!Phil's backstory in some time from now, and with this recent development in mind I'm very curious to know how it's going to play out!! Their conversation implied that they would be all saying goodbye to eachother, but I wonder if that was more of a goodbye for us than it was for the three of them, since Phil said that he'd still tell them his stories when they woke up. It wouldn't surprise me if he had a cinematic in his back pocket of him with the kids that will be paired with the animatic. I guess we'll just have to wait and see!

#syd spiels qsmp #qsmp #q!philza #qsmp chayanne #qsmp Lullah #philza

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thedemonsurfer · 10 months ago

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hey uuuh im procrastinating on other things so let's write a big ol' essay about

Eclipse 3.1, and Why Moon Is Doing a Disservice By Writing Him Off As "Insane*"

*insane in this context being the definition of 'acting erratic and unpredictable with no regard to consequences' and not an actual mental illness diagnosis, I know, I wish they'd pick a different word too, but this is an essay about Eclipse's behavior, not linguistics

So! If you've only been sorta keeping up with SAMS, the current plot is someone (we still don't know who) revived everyone's favorite dusty Dorito that had been forgotten under the couch, slapped him on the ass, and pointed him at the Daycare. This has made a lot of people (in universe) very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move, even by Eclipse.

Especially by Eclipse.

Our buddy boy has magic (dunno how), incomplete memories of both the original Eclipse and the backup (no clue how he got those), and directives embedded in his code that can't be removed without killing him (¯\_(ツ)_/¯). He literally woke up in the hallway outside the Daycare and then went inside and started monologuing.

Eclipse wants to find the person who brought him back, maybe or maybe not ask some questions, and then kill them.

He reeeeeally wants to kill them.

(This whole arc honestly boils down to Eclipse grabbing various folks and shaking them while screaming "ARE YOU MY MOMMY?!")

In recent eps Moon has accused him of going 'insane', mostly due to his insistence on picking fights and threatening others, and that he cannot shut up about wanting to get the guy that made him. He very recently picked a fight with Lunar, who killed him again-- and proved at the moment he can't be killed permanently, he'll just come back in a new body.

Huh.. fighting a programmed compulsion, becoming more erratic and aggressive over time, breakdown of logic and reasoning... That seems kind of familiar...

Oh yeah! This is Eclipse's kill code. I'm calling it the 'bother code', but 'cringecode' and 'pain-in-the-ass code' aren't off the table. Unlike Moon's kill code, the expression seems to be 'be a distraction to Moon' rather than like, outright murdering people.

Like the kill code, fighting the compulsion seems to make his behavior more unstable. Because here's the thing: Eclipse isn't stupid.

Well.

Okay, Eclipse is stupid, but not... like this.

Eclipse is a manipulator. His thing has always been to recruit others to help him achieve his goal, and he's patient about it. He's willing to work for months on someone, and while he does shoot himself in the foot eventually, it's usually more indirectly than this. Moon is currently helping him search for the guy, it makes no sense for Eclipse to continue posturing and threatening.

Except-- that's his only outlet right now.

The "I need to find the guy who made me"? That's Eclipse's goal, the one he's pursing with all the stubbornness he has.

The "hey what if I killed or maimed some of your family"? That's the directives.

What we're seeing with Eclipse's behavior is him desperately trying to keep himself on track, when the bother code is trying to yank him in another direction. Threatening Moon so he'll 'work faster' is an outlet, a way for him to briefly pacify the code while redirecting it back into his own goal. He knows it's a stupid suggestion, but he's going to make it anyway because he has no choice.

I think he feels like he's running out of time as well. Because Eclipse can be patient, but he gets frustrated and short tempered the closer he gets to a deadline (this is why I believe he started being meaner to Lunar-- he was frustrated about not finding the star and had given himself only a month to do it).

So like.. yeah. I don't think he's going 'insane' or 'losing his mind'. I think he's fighting a losing battle against his own programming, and taking the frustration and panic out on everyone else. Because the kill code couldn't be fought off indefinitely, eventually the bot would crack under it. And it'd be nice if Moon could acknowledge that Eclipse's behavior isn't entirely voluntary, and he IS I think honestly doing his best-- he outright came to them for help, something he's never done before.

Idk maybe they need to let Eclipse put Moon in a stupid trap again for an ep to get it out of his system so he can chill out for a while.

A sidenote! Its interesting to me that Eclipse's behavior in the coming back ep seemed to be erratic only as long as Moon was present. Once Moon left, Eclipse changed gears in how he was talking to Solar, and had some very classic "you know you're better than this, don't you want to go apeshit?" lines. The kind of thing that we've seen from the previous Eclipse incarnations. Dunno yet if it means anything, but it's interesting!

#the sun and moon show #tsams #tsams eclipse

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david-talks-sw · 1 year ago

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The fact that Dave Filoni called Anakin “the greatest Jedi ever” is proof that he’s bias AF. His anti-Jedi rhetoric is bupkis.

I wonder if he means "the greatest" in terms of in-universe fame...?

Dunno if this is the case in Canon (then again Dave Filoni blatantly ignores any *non-motion* transmedia elements in Canon so meh), but in Legends he's:

"Anakin Skywalker, the Hero with no Fear™, handsome, dashing, the face of the Republic's army during the Clone War, the only Jedi who tried to resist the nefarious Order's coup and was treacherously murdered for it".

And I seem to remember that, in Canon, he's like the Jedi Temple's superstar anyway, every Jedi recognizes him on sight. I mean, that line from Baylon about "Anakin speaking highly of Ahsoka" must have some meaning beyond artificial personal stakes.

So from a fame and a "power level" standpoint... sure.

He's the greatest.

I'm giving Filoni the benefit of the doubt.

While I've talked about why Filoni's entire headcanon about the Jedi doesn't track with what George Lucas' intended narrative, I think it's worth acknowledging that Filoni's bias comes from part of his duties while directing The Clone Wars was.

One of the goals of TCW was humanizing Anakin, expanding upon his character make him go from "a character whose only purposes is to embody the themes presented in three movies based on the matinee serial format" to a relatable person, a good man, the hero Ben mentions to Luke in A New Hope.

I think it's normal that he'll see Anakin in a more positive light.

Also (and full disclosure this is just me theorizing I am no authority on any of this so if turns out I'm wrong just come right out and say so)...

I'm pretty sure that Filoni, Lesley Headland and most of the recent Star Wars authors are all Gen X, raised by baby boomers forced to conform to society, obey authority and have proper decorum (boys don't cry!) all of which they strove to rebel against. Add to that the corruption they witnessed growing up and coming out of high school, and you see a kind of jadedness emerge. "The rules aren't as black and white, the world is grey."

So while most of them and the boomers despised the Prequels upon release, a few of them projected a more individualistic headcanon onto those movies that fit with where their head was, at the time.

As such: Anakin isn't interpreted by them as a cautionary tale about what happens when you're greedy. He's a misunderstood rebel, a non-conformist who has his flaws but is ultimately good at heart. Which isn't entirely inaccurate, but it is very clearly an embellishment of a character who will one day become a space nazi.

The fact is... the Prequels were made by a boomer. One with very liberal values and who was himself a rebel, but a boomer all the same. The whole point of his story is...

"we all must come together and fight as one, if push comes to shove; we must all be compassionate and selfless if we are to survive; don't be greedy, let people go when it's their time to leave".

And then he makes the Jedi say that, making them beacons of truth and good and compassion in his fairy tale, now aimed at Gen Z kids.

Gen X-ers hear/read that and project all the boomer BS they had been told onto the Jedi...

"oh, so the Jedi are saying you shouldn't love yourself, you shouldn't be yourself, you should give up on what makes you an individual to fit in, you shouldn't feel any emotions"

Because nobody is that good, realistically, right?

This happened in other mediums. The one that comes to mind on the spot is the relationship between Mufasa and Scar.

In The Lion King, Mufasa is strong and noble, Scar is weak and conniving. Simple enough. Around that same time, in A Tale of Two Brothers, young Mufasa is shown to be pretty nice with Taka (Scar), who is framed as a spoiled brat to begin with.

Skip to the 2019 remake, and it's hinted Mufasa gave Scar his wound, and in The Lion Guard they explain that Scar got his nickname from Mufasa mocking him for a misadventure.

He went from being a noble king to a bully who had it coming, Scar is an underdog who got picked on. Because again: nobody is that pure, right? Fairytales be-damned.

Nothing is black and white, it's all grey.

So yeah, long story short I do think that Filoni being part of the generation that wasn't the target demographic but was old enough to retcon the crap out of the Prequels also plays a role into his view of Anakin.

#made it too long #i beg someone with actual knowledge on the subject either confirm or deny any of the above #QnA #Anakin Skywalker #long post #dave filoni

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whoyacallinyellow · 11 months ago

Text

Borrowed Time

Javier Escuella x F! reader

Spoilers: major RDR2 events chapters 1-6 Content: 18+, Javier angst, loyalty, dramatic, possessive, referenced/implied sex, canon typical events & violence, possible unintentional spelling mistakes, google translated Spanish Type: changed to second pov (wc - 2278) / pc: pinterest Prompt / inspiration credit: @/red-dead-do-over246

Summary: Javier has changed after his time in Guarma. With what’s left of the gang, his loyalty between you and Dutch becomes convoluted.

You gazed at Beaver Hollow’s entrance, which resided Javier, stiff as a board, shoulders squared and hips narrowed. Pacing every so often as he fiddled with his carbine.

The sight alone made you cringe, pitying the feller who stumbled upon the camp while Javier was on shift.

Drawing attention to your presence with steady steps, he turned towards you in a trance, eyes clouded over with deep thought.

“Hello.” Javier greeted absentmindedly, rolling up the sleeves of tattered shirt.

“You alright?” He wondered softly, as if he was nearly confused by your sudden presence.

“Of course.” You replied, hoping the matched tenderness of your tone was convincing enough.

“I was jus’ wondering if we could talk? You still haven’t told me what happened in uh— Guarma.” You proposed hesitantly, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Just thinking about the boys ending up there made your head spin.

“Can it wait? I needa focus, things are complicated right now— ‘nd I’m sure Ms. Grimshaw needs you.” He replied, an automatic response he has given you more than once since his return.

You sighed, gazing down at his recently shined cowboy boots. Javier held so much loyalty, you wondered if he had lost himself in the process. As if he broke out of his trance he shuffled around, rubbing a harsh calloused hand down his mouth and chin.

“Okay— ok, sure, mi amor— come.” He rambled softly with a disoriented head shake. Javier trudged up to you and placed a gentle hand on your back, ushering you to a nearby log.

After a brief moment of silence he sighed tiredly, if you did not know any better, you would think it was in relief. Waiting for you to break the ice, he wrapped an arm around you and welcomed you into his warm embrace.

“I— I thought you were dead, Javier…” you trailed off, your face being a constant reminder of how much you worried and cared about the man. You felt his grip tighten in reassurance before speaking.

“Dead? Oh— mi amor, you know I would never leave you.” He cooed, his silky voice nearly resembling the man he used to be.

You abruptly leaned away from him, eyes glossy from the tears that welled up. His rough thumbs responded almost immediately with small shushing noises exiting under his breath. He began stroking your cheeks, preparing for the tears threatening to fall.

“Please no tears.” He whispered, the sight of you broke his heart— he knew his love didn’t deserve this, but you had to trust him.

“‘M scared, I dunno what’s goin’ on anymore.” Your voice shook, chest heaving as you desperately tried to blink away the tears. You had always tried to be strong for him, the last thing you wanted was for him to be distracted while on a job.

“Don’t be, hermosa, there’s a rat in the gang, s’all. We're takin’ care of it.” Javier’s vague words left a lot of room for interpretation, causing you to shutter nervously. Poor Molly was all you think about, and how her love for Dutch killed her in the end.

“I know you would never... mi novia, I know.” Javier reassured, catching onto your fearful thoughts.

“Now, what about that talk?” He changed the subject, planting a small kiss upon the crown of your head before leaning away.

You paused with a deep breath, with everything that has happened since Black Water, you were not sure how the man would react anymore. Things have changed more than you expected since the two of you have joined the gang.

“Well, I found a place, it’s a bit to the west—“ You began hesitantly.

“A place? Why didn’t you say? That’s great, I’ll let Dutch know.” He cut off your timid words, grinning brightly, a rare smile you usually can’t force out of him if you tried.

“Not for the gang.” You quickly added as Javier frowned in confusion, staring at you over his brow-line.

“A small cabin with a garden, birds in the pines up yonder.” You describe in awe, in attempts to win him over. The both of you gazed off the small cliff side, trying to imagine the place despite the reality of the damp smog you currently resided in.

“It ain’t Tahiti, but it’ll be quiet for us.” You continued, not noticing the concerned look plastered upon the man.

Javier hummed gently in consideration, entertaining your thoughts as he conceptualized your vision of a quiet life as a farm man, just for a moment.

“Don’t we already have that? I mean— besides the cabin.” Javier asked, suddenly sizing you up. His stare possessed a dreadful amount of tension and certainty— as if his question were a test.

You met Javier's tranquil stare; a long hardened face, he was simply a husk of a man he once was. It felt like years ago when he would treat you so tenderly, like a prize he had won and held sacred, something he could only have. His gentle, yet timid hands that used to run along your figure in the night now seemed like a mere dream.

No longer a bright eyed cowboy, but a dangerous outlaw, consumed in drunken power and delusion, his trigger happily gunning down any poor soul that dares to get in his way— or look at him the wrong way.

This new reality broke everyone, Javier was no exception. Bandoliers decorated his vested torso, his wounds earned in Guarma still raw, paying it no mind to rest and heal.

“You sure you’re alright?” His words broke through your clouded mind, you gazed back at his prying eyes in hesitation.

“Leave with me. Let’s run away.” The words finally escaped you, your heart now pounding in your ears. The added tension was bound to break at any moment.

The outlaw now lazily wore a cigarette on his lip, it sagging ever so slightly as he contemplated your words carefully. Javier seemed to always deliberately think about what you said; that is just the kind of man he is. But if he could properly rationalize his reaction was a shot in the dark. Before too long his dull eyes turned ablaze in blinded fury as if you spoke blasphemy.

A sharp breath exited his nose, his broken fists clenched at his side as he prepared to speak, a powder keg waiting to blow.

“My bones break for you, I’ve killed for you, fuck— amor, if I didn’t know any better I’d die for you.” Javier’s words cut through the air like knives, sharp but quiet.

“—and now you’re asking to leave? Is my loyalty not good enough— have I not proven worthy to you?” He ranted, presenting a side you had not seen before.

But you had no defense, Javier was the most loyal lover and companion you ever had. Time and time again he proved that, with no hesitation he would put himself in between any dangers you could face. A promise he made to himself that night, unable to bear the thought of losing you. Additional scars and wounds that would be nonexistent if he were not protecting an extension of himself.

“Answer me!” He shouted, not caring if the gang— or what was left of it heard.

“Why can’t you trust me?” Javier’s voice suddenly lowered again in betrayal, like a horse who finally broke under the stress of Dutch van der Linde’s wrath.

“Javier—“ You mumbled softly in shock, begging for some sort of reasoning from the outlaw.

“I trust you, Javier, it’s—“

“Then what do you want from me?” He spat, arms gesturing out in frustration.

“I want you, Javier.”

“Me?!— I am yours! I’ve been yours since that night at the lake! Whether you know that or not, estúpida.”

That night you two had snuck away for a swim while the gang rested in Clemens Point. The lake looked like glass, reflecting off the starry night, only to be broken by your intimacy. Your eager fingertips ran over the cowboys scars and insecurities, gentle lips trailing down his olive skin, from his cheeks to his collarbone, covering every area not submerged.

In midst of Javier’s vulnerabilities he couldn’t do anything but hold you dumbfoundedly, his trembling hands resting underneath your thighs which wrapped around his hips. The close contact made blood rush to his head, and among other places.

He remained that way for the entire swim, afraid to make the wrong move and scare you off, despite your naked body quite literally holding onto his, an unmistakable gesture for the trust you held for him.

Javier swore up and down there were twice as many stars in the sky that night, which only encouraged him to make that promise to you. It was also that night he knew you officially had to be his, despite Micah’s advances—

“If you trust me, you’d trust Dutch’s plan.” He offered calmly, resting a hand on his belt.

“They’re picking us off one by one— Javi, we’re on borrowed time, you must see that.”

Javier adjusted his neck handkerchief, gaze locked on the ground away from you and the camp dwellers.

“Why don’t’cha go, Dutch needs me strong.” He murmured simply, unaware of the extent you would obey.

Your hands ran along the crumbling log bark before raising to your feet, wishing the man could see things how he used too. Quiet foreign curses and phrases then fired off the outlaws tongue while you departed, you recognized some of the words being that of a female dog. As you spun on your heel, the entire gang silently watched the dispute unfold from camp.

“Fine! Sit here and wait for Dutch to turn the water into wine!”

“Oh fuck off, chica!”

And those were the last words he spoke to you, they painstakingly replayed in his mind for the rest of the day. No one dared to ask the short-tempered outlaw what happened— not even Micah.

The following day Javier figured he’d offer an apology to you, and perhaps convince you to prolong the running away. Emerging into your shared tent that early morning revealed an empty cot, along with your ransacked belongings at a disarray.

After asking around camp, no one seemed to know where you wandered off to, everyone had problems of their own— the girls spat curses at him after witnessing yesterday's event, they were the least likely to talk, especially after what happened to Molly.

The guilt and worry ate him alive throughout the day, he spent it scouting around, fearing the worst— what kind of man was he if he couldn’t keep the only promise he made?

Defeated, the outlaw rode back into camp, Dutch lecturing him about his prolonged absence, while Micah sat at the wooden table behind them. A shit eating grin plastered on his face.

Javier’s suspicions grew as his temper shortened, afterall, Micah was the only one he didn’t ask.

“See my girl today? Hope not, for your sake.” He asked casually, gesturing towards the man. Micah grinned at his obvious uneasiness, dragging his boots from the table.

“I was gon’ follow ‘er, partner, honest, but she’d threaten to gun me down, of sorts.” He shrugged, stretching out his arms lazily.

“Where is she?” Javier demanded with a shout, further approaching Micah.

“Easy now.” He replied, reaching slowly into his inner vest pocket, then presented a folded piece of paper he had nabbed from the tent after you fled.

With an aggressive snatch of the paper, Javier read your note, a western cattle town scribbled down with a simple “I’ll wait for you.”

Written so beautifully, he ran his fingers over the letters, but was rudely interrupted by a certain condescending voice.

“So— is she our rat, amigo?”

Javier glared at the man over the paper he clutched, unable to speak.

“Ah, well, I knew she was no good, shoulda just let me have—”

“Shut up, Micah— Don’t speak of her.” He hissed after a contemplating pause, desperately trying to restrain himself from disposing his pent up anger on the shyster.

“C’mon cowpoke… only jokin’, ya’know how women are.”

“Sure. You weren’t this chipper the nights she’d lay with me, cabrón.” Javier growled, taking a step closer to him, cracked knuckles beginning to bleed from the strain— anything to get the bastard to shut up.

Micah chuckled sourly, his teeth gritting as he rocked in his chair.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Escuella.”

Javier spat at the bastard's feet before crumpling up the letter with a toss, he then watched the paper engulf in flames and eventually turn to ash. But his love for you remained.

That same night Javier sat on the edge of the path, unbothered to stand for his shift, revolver placed in the dirt next to him.

He dug his boot into the dirt, creating a little divot with his heel, which only made his injured leg burn and sting, the pain keeping his mind at bay.

Restlessly propped up against the same log the pair sat yesterday, he sighed in despair, freeing his aching head from his bowler hat.

The cigarette Javier desperately puffed on nearly burnt his bloody fingers, his cheek puffy and purple. For what it was worth the outlaw would have killed Micah with his fists alone if Charles wasn't around to pry him off. Flicking away his ash he ran his fingers over the bloody patch, his mind unable to stray away from you.

Leaning back on the log, Javier gazed up into the nights sky— and there were twice as many stars as usual— he huffed shakily, thinking of your words out loud.

“Borrowed time.”

#rdr2 headcanons #javier escuella #x reader #javier escuella x reader #headcanons #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption fandom #rdr2 x reader #rdr x reader #wheres my Javier girlies?!#no seriously where ya at? 🫵#show yourselves #giggling and kicking my feet while writing this #probably over dramatic and ooc sue me idc #not sure if I like it but I already wrote the damn thing

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stitchpunk1 · 11 months ago

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YO GUESS WHOS HERE TO TALK ABOUT HAZBIN FANKID OCS BITCHES!

Yeah Ive been wanting to do this for a bit but been super fucking lazy. Got some other fandom ones too I wanna talk about but what with Hazbins first season ending wanna talk about mine with a few tweaks I've done plus one I forgot to add in the last one. I will put this one under spoilers sense the eps just came out and now I have to change shit around till season two for a few of them.

First I have Lucy(used to be Mara and cliche name I know but i like it). She is Charlie and Vaggies kid and named after her grandpa(who spoilers her fucking ROTTEN). Kinda got a design in my head for her that goes with a lamb/goat theme because she is half demon and half angel. Shes got charlies blond hair but more in Vaggies short style and its slightly curly. Shes also got the little hooves, sheep ears and eyes are that horizontal goat type. Like before she is still an absolute artist and loves doing bigger art installations around hell. She ends up dating Husks daughter Heather when they get older.

Second we have Isabella who is by blood Angel and Alastors daughter but her other dad is Husk and sister is Heather. Still got the same design for her that shes a bit more centaur deer like. Shes got the ears(and tail because I'm not giving that headcanon up) of Alastor but with Angels color scheme and fur and kinda a mix of spider claws/hooves(trying to picture her like head/hair in my mind has been a BITCH trying to not just think of it as a carbon copy of Angel). Recently she has become absolutely fucking unhinged as a child in discussions with Musekicker. She is 100% a cannibal and loves to take bites out of people out of pure curiosity of how they taste(leading to many many child leashes that she usually manages to chew her way out of). I like to think that she becomes popular on the hell version of tiktok with cottagecore vibes with a mix of her cannibalism. Dunno why but I like to think that if Alastor sheds his antlers she collects them and makes them into headbands she wears(also uses them to stab people).When older she ends up dating Moxxie and Millies daughter Mable.

Heather is just Huskys by blood and a one night stand but after becoming a couple with Angle and Alastor they become her parents too and Isabella her sister. Every time I think of her design all I can picture is something like Sawyer from Cats Dont Dance. Shes mostly white with a bit of her dads dark grey. Her face all around is just a pure resting bitch face even if she isnt mad or in a bad mood("its literally just my face" is something she has to say a lot). Her biggest secret is how much she LOVES to sing especially musicals and wants to be a stage performer but she thinks she could never make it. She does start to try out in school or any local theater productions thanks to Lucys encouragement. I like to think that after quitting Mammon that even Fizz sometimes does shows for fun and he kinda mentors her after seeing her talent.

Two more to go! Vea is Val and Voxs little accident that they just decide to keep around. She looks mostly like a moth demon but more bluish and sometimes has a little bit of electricity that goes between her antenna. Shes pretty powerful as she can sometimes match Voxs powers if he say fucks around and locks electronics or tv channels. She ends up not exactly running away from home but just kind of wandering away as her parents pay her little to no mind. She ends up at the hotel and kinda taken in by everyone after they learn her story. She ends up becoming the hotels electrician and is fucking terrified of Niffty.

Lastly is one I forgot on my last post who I am not sure what to do with her after the last episode. Her name is Pia and she is Pen and Arackniss kid. Body type she looks mostly like Niss with a little snake tail but she can go full naga like with extra arms/legs when she wants. She has a hood/hair like Pen and is insanely venomous(took me like ten tries to fucking spell that right) do to being half snake/spider. If Pen is in heaven whenever these kids are around she is raised by Niss who stays around the hotel more to take care of her/keep her from his father(who you know is a fucking prick). When he isnt around Angel takes care of his niece. Shes mostly quiet and keeps to herself but she loves weapons of all kinds, being an absolutely crack shot with most firearms.

#hazbin hotel spoilers #stitches ocs #vaggie #hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #angel dust #alastor #husk #vox #valentino #sir pentious #arackniss

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littlemisssquiggles · 2 days ago

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So…about today’s new episode of Kamen Rider Gavv…

First, we had a Kamen Rider who is a Granute half-breed; born from the union between a human and a Granute who transforms using a driver built by a Granute scientist and powered by Gochizmo minions that he makes himself as a result of his Granute heritage.

Then we got a Kamen Rider who is a human, genetically infused with a Granute gland who transforms using a driver built by a human scientist and powered by Gochizmo minions borrowed from Gavv.

Now, in today’s episode, we have a new Kamen Rider who is a pure Granute who transforms using a driver built by a Granute scientist; powered by his own “artificially-made” Gochizmo minion.

Seriously, things are really cooking up now on Kamen Rider Gavv!!!

But in terms of our current rider roster, the only thing missing from our lineup is a Kamen Rider who is a pure human who can probably also transform with their own hand-made driver through the power of artificial Gochizmo minions.

If the Gochizmos can be “artificially-made” to serve other Granutes outside of Shouma as we saw in the case of Kamen Rider Vlam and Nyelv Stomach then what’s stopping the case of making a Gochizmo that’s safe for use with humans? One that can allow said human to become a rider without the need for an (unsafe) Granute implant?

I’m STILL hoping for Sachika to become a Rider somehow.

Unless Vlam ends up replacing her in the opening happily skipping besides Shouma and Hanto after he later turns good, I still want to believe those bouncing gummy bubble balloons beside Sachika in the Gavv opening OST will one day reveal her potential rider form similar to what happened with Hanto.

Call me delulu for willing to believe Sachika is rider material but I dunno, I don’t wanna give up on this theory just yet.

With the arrival of Gavv’s CaKING form, I feel like we gotta have some kind of Rider form that is meant to match that. To compliment it in a similar fashion to Valen's recent Bushel form while still being it's own thing.

The king may have his right hand knight-in-arms at the moment but what's a king without his queen, right?

And what's the perfect female counterpart to a caKING than an iceQUEEN?

Cause what goes better with cake than ice-cream?

We have yet to see some kind of Gavv Gochizmo form inspired by ice-cream.

So, how about a female Rider with ice element abilities inspired by everyone’s favourite cold dessert of ice-cream? She can be called Kamen Rider IceQUEEN.

Any excuse to make Sachika a Rider; dammit! But then again, this is just me hoping.

Now; let's discuss Vlam for a sec...

Despite him being a villain, so far I’m intrigued by Vlam.

His Rider henshin-transformation jingle has now dethroned Shouma’s as my favourite of our three titular Riders. He also intrigues me as a character. Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem interested in Dark Treats.

If anything, he seems more invested in playing the long game and rising through the ranks of Stomach Inc. to … benefit himself? Or so he’s giving off now when in the beginning when he was first introduced, I thought he was just another Dark Treat junkie turned part-timer like the other ones we’ve encountered in the series thus far.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume that Vlam’s goal was to take down Stomach Inc. Like he has his own personal vendetta against them. However, if that was the case then why doesn’t Vlam work with Shouma and Hanto instead of agreeing to be their hunters. To defeat them in the name of protecting the Granute part-timers and Stomach Inc.

If Vlam isn’t interested in Dark Treats then truly, what does he want? What’s his game? His real game?

I guess we shall see as time goes on.

~LMS (2025)

#squiggles talks: kamen rider gavv #kamen rider gavv #gavv spoilers #kamen rider vlam #amane sachika

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lxmelle · 5 months ago

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Do you think there's a way/chance Gojo might still return.

I very very very much don't want that but some theories around here started getting to me.

For example the fact that we don't know Kenjaku's technique and how it works, also in the recent fanbook in Gojo's timeline the airport scene was referred as "a certain place" not afterlife.

Also his end was uncharacteristically 'happy' for jjk. Yes, his body is still used but his soul escaped the exploitation.

Soooo I'm curious as to what you think?

Hi, Anon 😊

Thanks for submitting a question - I don’t get many of these! What an honour that someone wants to hear my thoughts 😆 You’ve opened the floodgates of my mind, so proceed with caution 🙈

I’ll preface by saying that I generally feel that people can believe what they want to, so I don’t typically go out of my way to impose my opinion if I disagree with someone about their views. It’s just about being respectful I guess? I kinda wonder what theories there are out there about his revival, because I don’t engage with the content-makers much at all.

I will say I’m not ignorant to them, and do sometimes come across some posts on twitter & Reddit of that nature. Nobara and Gojo seem to be the most popular for revivalists. I get the impression that these posts dissect phrases / how things are described, or focus on the symbolism of specifics like that of lotuses’ regarding rebirth… but I think it doesn’t change what cannot be changed. Gege has hinted at his stance of them not returning for some time with how the story has been unfolding. Correct me if I’m wrong, and I know satosugu fans also do this for their “ship”, the only difference I perceive is that theorists exclude evidence that refutes their opinions (i.e. cherry picking things that become twisted into conclusions) and therefore it becomes a confirmation bias.

For example, the lotus symbolises many things, including purity due to how the blossoms grow in the murky depths of muddy water. Not necessarily rebirth in isolation. The lotus also carries some meaning in enlightenment. Resolve for growing despite its conditions. So... ince again, it’s not necessarily just rebirth.

In terms of the permanence of death… The have been too many reiterations of the narrator and reactions of characters that describe Gojo’s death for it to not be fact. I know this will disappoint those hoping for a comeback, and I think this question wouldn’t be posed if there wasn’t a sliver of hope that Gojo would “return”. I dunno, I guess I have mixed feelings about this because why just Gojo? Because he was the strongest, therefore he “deserved” to live again? His students need him? But… What about Choso? He didn’t get to be more of a human. And Nobara? Was that all her young life amounted to? What about Yaga? Didn’t panda need his dad? And Nanami? He didn’t get to go to Kuantan or retire with his riches he slaved for as a salaryman. Countless others, really. And let’s not forget Geto. He deserved to have a better life too. Did he not? (I, for one, would love for Gojo to come back on scene if Geto could as well... but... yeah. Alas. 😔)

So I guess I naturally have to ask: If it was so easy for the dead to rise again, why was it not possible for others who have died before Gojo? Also, unlike others, Gojo didn’t seem to reject the possibility of his death, so unlike Sukuna who had an interest in becoming cursed objects to extend his life or Kenjaku who body hopped, of Tengen who erased people... Gojo had no such wish, and felt he would “win either way” whether he lived or died in battle. This was his philosophy that was akin to a Military General. He was, to his core, very objective and accepting. It was both a strength and a weakness - just as Gege described in his character book.

Speaking of being a character… within Jujutsu Kaisen, Gojo Satoru was just one person. Gege spoke about his process behind Yuji as the main protagonist over Megumi and how Gojo’s role as the sensei was sealed after JJK0, whereas Yuta could be omitted. What remains true is that Gojo wasn’t the lead protagonist of the series. It would narratively be a disservice to Yuji, Megumi, and Yuta as members of the new generation.

What remains also true is that he was loved as a character. His legacy had been left. He made a significant dent in combatting the biggest threat to humanity. His role has been fulfilled... as fans we can continue to love him and recognise his impact. I think Gege depicting him in so many flashbacks is an ode to him in many ways. I don’t think it would be done like this if he were “returning”. It just does not make sense.

If we also think about what Gojo wanted as a character, or as an individual - I think he also found his own fulfilment. He didn’t want to return. I’ve come across some interesting perspectives of international fans who opened my eyes to a different perspective too: that Geto was happy to support him “as long as he was satisfied” and wasn’t going to urge him to go back - if going back was even possible in the first place. Because Geto prioritised Gojo as a person and not as the role of sensei or role as the strongest. So if Gojo was satisfied enough, Geto was satisfied that he was there to stay in the afterlife.

Let’s talk about directions too. North, according to Mei Mei, seemed to mean... rebirth. To become someone new. No where does it say that returning back to life was a possibility. Was she even right in the first place? Was the plane actually going to take off? So many questions. Whatever it was… Gojo also said he wished that the airport scene was not a figment of his imagination. The strongest sorcerer. Praying? I mean... why shouldn’t he get his wish? 😪 I think Gege said that the airport scene was like a reward for those who died. There is a better word for it but I can’t remember what it was. Will edit this post when I can remember.

I mean, these are my personal views and I guess people will believe what they wish to believe and hold onto different pieces of what’s shown to justify their beliefs. I suppose I wonder what has begun to sway you if his comeback isn’t something you particularly want? Is it a hope that he can continue something that you feel has been left unfinished? Is it out of love for him?

Hmm… I guess I feel like the baton had been passed, and he’d done all that he could possibly do, as the strongest

…even to the point of letting his body be used once he could no longer use it.

I know it is disturbing on many ways. However, within the series itself, it was a necessary strategy from the perspective of those not knowing how things would transpire.

Everyone there experienced a desperation to survive - to find any potential way to defeat Sukuna without the umbrella of safety that was Gojo Satoru. And Gojo cooperated - he never bothered with collaborating with to others since he always fought alone. This was character development too. This was for the next generation too. He couldn’t fight all battles for them. Some things, they needed to do themselves. Just as how he and Geto, as teens, were assigned to a mission that nearly got them all killed. This was the screwed up jujutsu world.

Ultimately, Gojo did his best in the battle. He did his best before the battle. Killing the higher ups included.

We may not know what Kenjaku’s CT is, but only Yuta can body-hop now… Gojo’s body, without Yuta in it, will not have a functional brain. Remember: he was also brain damaged from the fight with Sukuna.

It isn’t possible to survive without a brain. We don’t know how they’re keeping Yuta’s body fresh and how fresh the body needs to be in order for Yuta to return to it. These are the strange questions we can only speculate since we also don’t know how Kenjaku managed to enter the body of Geto in the state he was in, and then regenerated his heart and arm. Gojo’s body was stitched up in preparation for Yuta, for example. Yes it is mysterious. But. As it stands, again, only Yuta can hop. Gojo... I’m sorry to say 😪😢 is lifeless.

I think some theorise that it’s about the soul. But honestly, I believe Geto’s body with Kenjaku in it did not have Geto’s soul in it. It’s not a “Megumi’s soul co-existing with Sukuna” situation. Nor was it “Yuji with Sukuna”. Geto’s body was imbued with his CT and his memories, just like a cursed tool would - e.g. Nanami’s weapon. So Kenjaku can pilot it and receive information from it as part of his CT. It’s like a humanoid mecha.

It reacted to Gojo’s voice like a “dragonfly without its head” - it was merely a physical reaction.

Just like how a human body will twitch and move even after the person has expired.

Like the tail of a lizard that twitches even if detached from its head. It is involuntary. A residual instinct.

Kenjaku’s perspective of how the body and soul is one directly contrasts with Mahito’s view. So I don’t think we should pick one interpretation as more correct than the other when they both agreed that it was dependent on Cursed Technique in the end.

So... I guess those are my views. I really like how you phrased it - as his soul escaped exploitation. I suppose I see this as being true, since we saw Gege describe Gojo in this kind of “afterlife” that he doesn’t try to explain. I mean, this is an afterlife specific to Gojo, so who knows where it is?

Gege is funny like that I think. Multiple characters have been shown to hold conflicting views, and even as the story creator, he doesn’t play God who knows all and sees all that is able to describe a definitive afterlife. It’s both poetic and frustrating at the same time imho.

Honestly, I also find it challenging to accept. A part of me wonders if he wanted it to be an actual delusion, but I’m reminded of how he talked about souls and reincarnation - so I know in the verse that souls exist and that what Nanami said about his death was something Gojo couldn’t have just imagined in his dying moments.

Sorry it took a while to respond! Hopefully it’s... thorough enough? If you have something else to follow up, please drop me a comment or another Ask!

#just my take #sorry for rambling #thanks for asking #ask me anything #hope I didn’t offend anon #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo satoru analysis #Gojo Satoru death #jjk #jjk spoilers

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