#and from that time I was sad cause no one was making other fanarts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

greensagephase · 2 months ago

Text

For Better or Worse - Part 2

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x Female!Reader Summary: Overwhelmed, you seek a moment of solitude on your sister's wedding day at the garden, but you can't even have that thanks to your sister's now brother-in-law, Miguel. Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: use of y/n; no name for your sister still (I think we're just going to go with a nickname); some cussing; alcohol consumption; pesky aunts and a divorced man offer unsolicited opinions; some Spanish but translations are provided in text; a bit of arguing; suggestive content, so MDNI, please!; reader is fluent in Spanish; I think that's all A/N: hiiii, finally updating this after two months 🫠 But anyway, I just wanted to give a big thank you to @lauraolar14 for the amazing fanart she made from part 1!! Found here ! Thank you, Lara!! 🥰 Pls go and support her!! Masterlist | Spotify Previous Part

You down a glass with water and place it on a tray just as a waiter offers you another drink. You politely decline before letting your gaze wander around the elegant venue your sister and Gabriel chose for the reception, thinking how it’s truly beautiful and perfect for the wedding they both envisioned.

Your eyes eventually land on the newlyweds as they dance, a smile tugging at your lips. They’ve been dancing nonstop since their first dance, which means their feet will likely be sore tomorrow. However, by tomorrow afternoon they should be in their honeymoon destination, relaxing from the last couple of days of last minute wedding shenanigans and basking in their newlywed energy.

“Aww, sweetie,” someone says, ripping your attention from your sister and now brother-in-law. It’s one of your aunts. You offer a polite smile as she approaches, your gut warning you about her intentions. “Look at you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Look at me…?” you state but it sounds more like a question.

“This must be so hard for you,” your aunt says, taking your arm and holding it, with a sad tone that matches the frown on her face.

You hold back from sighing in annoyance, recognizing where this is going. You’ve heard it twice already from two other aunts.

“Not really. I know she’s the baby of the family, but well, we all grow up, right?” you reply, forcing a smile. You hope your words will deter your aunt from explaining what she truly means, but unfortunately for you, it doesn’t.

“Aw, not that, sweetie. I mean, yes, but I was referring to how hard it must be for you as the eldest. Seeing your younger sister get married before you - it must be so hard. You should’ve been married by now, maybe with a little toddler at your side. Instead, you’ve found yourself witnessing your younger sister marry first, and who knows, maybe pregnant in a few months, but cheer up, sweetie. Don’t let this make you feel less, okay? Sometimes… Not everyone has the pleasure of marrying and experiencing motherhood, but that’s alright. I’m sure you have other… things that bring happiness to you, like… your job?” your aunt says, giving your arm what she thinks is a reassuring squeeze, but is rather an uncomfortable one. On top of that, she’s delivering another jab at you she doesn’t even know she’s making. “I’m sure that brings a lot of satisfaction to you.”

“Thank you for your kind words,” you force yourself to say with a fake smile that seems to go past your aunt. You silently pray she leaves you alone and that this is the last time you have to hear the same “comforting” and “reassuring” words for the night. You hope so, or you’ll slap someone. Mentally, of course. You’d never cause any kind of commotion publicly, much less at your sister’s wedding when you care so deeply about her and Gabriel. Besides, that’d give the people a field day and fill their minds with thoughts of you being “jealous” or “resentful” about your sister marrying before you.

Thankfully, your aunt leaves, off to offer more unsolicited advice and words of comfort, probably.

“Mierda [shit],” you sigh just as you hear a man somewhere behind you.

“Ah, Miguel! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Working all the time, huh?”

Subtly, you glance behind you at the man’s words. You didn’t even know Miguel was nearby, but now knowing he is, you wonder if he heard your aunt. You hope he didn’t as the last thing you want is Miguel to think you were looking at the newlyweds with jealously and that that was the reason your aunt felt the need to provide those “reassuring” words.

“Yes, yes. I stay busy working,” you hear Miguel reply.

“Good for you. And you’re still single?” the man asks.

“Si. No tengo pareja [Yes. I don’t have a partner],” Miguel replies, a hint of humor in his tone.

“That’s good, that’s good! No plans of marriage in sight for you. It’s better that way. You can spend your money how you want to, no children involved, no woman bothering you about grand gestures, or making you spend money. Enjoy your youth, have your fun. Maybe later on, you can settle down.”

You continue to watch the people on the dance floor, but you can’t help but scoff to yourself at the difference.

Your aunt was just pitying you about not being married and having children, but Miguel is being celebrated for the same thing by this man when he’s a few years older than you. You grab a glass from a waiter’s tray, thanking him. “I need one, or two after the crap I’m hearing,” you murmur to yourself as he walks away.

“You think so?” Miguel asks. “At my age, people think I ought to be married. Maybe with a kid or two.”

“No, no. Trust me, it’s better. That’s why I divorced.”

“I thought it was your wife who divorced you,” Miguel says gently. Despite the gentleness, Miguel’s words tear down the man’s attempt to make it seem like he had been the one to make the decision, and had you been watching Miguel, you would’ve noticed his raised brow to go along with it.

“Ah - well. Yes… But who cares? I’m divorced and free. I’m doing better than I was.” The man laughs. “I’m doing so, so, so great...” he says trailing off before chugging down some alcohol, a sign of a man who is most definitely doing great.

You roll your eyes. God bless that woman, she made the right choice divorcing the idiot behind you.

“Yeah, well…” you hear Miguel start. “I guess marriage is not for everyone. I’m not going to say it’s not for me, though. Who knows? Maybe one day a woman catches my attention.”

“You’ll be a miserable man, trust me. Don’t let any woman lure you into the marriage trap. You’re too young. Enjoy your youth. Go on dates. Have fun, if you know what I mean,” the man says, using a tone that leaves no doubt about what he’s referring to.

You decide you’ve heard enough, so you walk away, glass in hand. You glance at your sister and Gabriel from the sidelines of the dance floor, still dancing and lost in their own little and magical bubble. The sight brings a smile to your face once more before you turn, seeking a moment to yourself.

You step out of the venue, sighing deeply as you walk into a garden area where photos were taken earlier in the day. You briefly recall the photo session and how you were forced to take some photographs with the groom’s best man, who looked equally displeased to stand next to you, the maid of honor. You stood next to each other, stiff as surf boards and hands clasped in front of you with the most serious faces.

“This is the most scoffs, eye rolls, and scowls I’ve ever seen in a photo shoot. C’mon, guys! You’re the maid of honor and the best man. And -” Arturo, the cameraman, paused, walking closer. “Respective eldest siblings to the bride and groom. You should be acting like - a family. Here, let’s just move a little closer,” he said, finding it easier to move you instead of Miguel, and moving you closer to him.

You stiffened even more at that and Miguel scoffed at the way you were acting, like he had some incurable disease.

“You, too, señor [sir]. Please step closer,” Arturo gently demanded.

That earned Arturo a scoff and a glare.

“Yeah, O’Hara. Move closer and stop wasting time,” you added, innocently.

“Thank you, señorita [miss],” Arturo replied happily, believing he had at least turned your attitude around when in reality, you were simply taking the opportunity to poke fun at Miguel. It was the only way to make the photo session bearable.

With an eye roll, Miguel stepped closer until his arm brushed against yours. “Better?” he said through gritted teeth.

“Better,” Arturo confirmed. “Though…” he trailed off, frowning.

“You look like a three-day old piece of bolillo [savory bread in MX + other Latin countries],” you said all too seriously. “Stiff.”

Arturo, bless his heart, turned away and attempted to hide his shock.

With a poker face, you turned to look at Miguel and found a scowl, his eyes on you already.

“A three-day old piece of bolillo?” he repeated, annoyance dripping from his mouth. “And what are you? A fresh, sweet, soft piece of cortadillo [a kind of pan dulce; Mexican pastry], I suppose?”

You snorted at that. “I’m flattered you think of me like that. Cortadillo is so good,” you replied, smirking softly.

“Dios mio [my God], I’m just trying to do my job and those two are talking about pan dulce [Mexican pastries],” Arturo complained from somewhere, thinking he was quiet enough that he wasn’t going to be heard, but he was.

Miguel and you stared at each other as the cameraman’s words of frustration rang in your heads. You held each other’s gazes and as much as you both wanted to keep the glares and scowls, Arturo made both of you smile and then burst into quiet laughter.

In the end, Arturo got his opportunity with that moment of laughter and managed to capture the best man and maid of honor smiling in each other’s presence before you both ran off to get other duties done once the photographs were done.

You shake your head from the memory and look up at the garden lights hanging over you, giving the area a whimsical look, before you walk further away from the door and into a less well-lit area.

You sigh deeply again, something you’ve found yourself doing too much lately. The comments from your pesky aunts and the conversation you overheard have caused you some irritation, but it’s not just that. You’ve been trying to ignore a problem that’s been weighting on you all day. You’ve tried not to let it dampen your mood, today being your sister’s wedding, and you had succeeded until now. On a normal day, those conversations with your aunts and the man’s words to Miguel would’ve mattered little to you, but with the big issue in your life right now, they’ve managed to put you in a bad mood.

The big issue?

You were forced to resign from your job two days ago, leaving you unemployed.

It wasn’t anything that you did, but rather what you refused to do that led to the decision. You grimace in disgust just thinking about it all over again. You started working at the company two years ago and everything was great with you rising up the ranks quickly due to your hard work and determination, but as you rose higher and higher, you were warned.

You were told to be cautious of your boss and his wandering hands. You did your best to avoid him on your own and always kept a professional attitude to set clear boundaries. Foolishly, you thought you were safe with two years in and no impropriety on your boss’s side, but you were wrong.

Two days ago, he cornered you in his office to make his move. Of course, you made it known you weren’t interested nor willing to do anything beyond what is professional. Even when you were promised a promotion if you “played” the game, you refused - something that angered your boss. Apparently, the disgusting man believed you’d accept his advances. Despite taking it to HR, nothing was done because of the position and status your boss holds within the company. You knew then that you needed to leave the company, so you did.

You don’t regret it. You’ll never give yourself away like that to some disgusting and horrible man, even if you’re unemployed now.

However, you don’t look forward to job searching and all that it entails. Thinking about it makes you feel stressed and even some anxiety. Then, there’s also the words from your ex-boss, his promise to make it hard for you to find a job within your field.

You wonder. Surely he doesn’t have that much power, right?

You hope not.

You down the rest of the drink, briefly thinking about how you should probably stop drinking by now, but the unexpected change, one you’re carrying on your own because you refused to tell your family about it with the wedding coming up, is weighing heavily on you now.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the door open, follow by footsteps. You recognize it’s not a woman’s, at least you don’t think so since there’s no sounds of heels, but either way, you can’t help but feel annoyed that someone has stepped out and taken your small moment of solitude. You just wanted a moment to yourself, but it seems that whoever stepped out, decided otherwise.

“Ah, you’re here, too?”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to face Miguel O’Hara. Of course, it had to be him of all people.

Miguel stands a few feet from the door, hands inside the pockets of his perfectly tailored pants while staring at you. For some reason, your annoyance grows at the way it hugs him in what women would say the “right way,” which you’re certain many women did comment on tonight, considering you caught many staring at him like he’s a piece of candy. You’re sure many are probably having little fantasies of him now; recalling how tall he is for a Mexican man, his wide shoulders only enhanced by his suit jacket, and the way his hair frames his chiseled face so well like God himself styled it for him.

And if they shook his hand, they may be thinking about how large and warm it was, how it felt against their own.

There may even be some women imagining making their parents suegros [parents-in-laws] and planning some elaborate wedding in their heads, thinking the bride today will be like a sister to them.

“Yes,” you simply reply, turning away again and making it known you don’t wish to talk. He can stay over there, on his own little spot, and let you be over here, unbothered.

“Needed some fresh air?”

Great.

“Yes.”

Miguel snorts, decreasing the distance between you. He’s still not in your space, but he’s significantly closer now. “One-word answers. You must be having a night.”

You don’t reply. Maybe if you don’t he’ll go back inside, but with your luck recently, doubtful.

“Did the comments from your aunts get to you?” he asks suddenly when you say nothing else.

“What comments?”

“You know very well which ones. I happened to be there, you know. When the first aunt went over, the second one, and then, the third and last one.”

You scoff. “Didn’t know you were a chismoso [gossiper; masculine noun].”

Miguel snorts again. “It’s not my fault they talk so loudly and I happened to be there.”

True on the talking too loud, but you still wish he hadn’t heard, just like you wish you hadn’t heard him being celebrated for the same things you were being pitied on.

“Right, and are you here to offer words of comfort, too?” you reply in a snappy tone. “Or, are you out here to celebrate how you were recommended to stay clear from commitment by your friend?”

Miguel scoffs. You really think he’s that kind of man?

“If you heard the conversation, surely you heard what I said,” he replies defensively turning his body to face you now. “I don’t agree with that mindset.”

“You know -” you step back and pinch the bridge of your nose for a second. “I don’t care. Can you just - leave me alone?” you snap, stepping away. You don’t care about the topic anyway, it’s not the reason why you’re truly upset. Miguel O’Hara can do whatever he wants with his life and your aunts can nag and pity you, you don’t care. What you care about is the fact you lost your job the way you did and that now you’re unemployed.

“No,” Miguel says, upset. “I’m not. You seem to think you have me all figured out, don’t you? Just because we’ve never been two to get along. I’m not that kind of man.”

“I don’t care what kind of man you are. This isn’t about you.”

Miguel steps forward, his body brushing against your arm making you turn to face him, too. You glare at him.

“This isn’t about me, but I’m receiving the brunt of your anger.”

“I’m not angry about what you think I am, alright? I could care less what my aunts said, what that man said to you, though it’s unfair, but it’s not what’s on my mind. So, do me a favor and drop it. Leave me alone. You’re not the center of my world,” you reply with a scoff before turning away from him.

“What a shame,” Miguel murmurs following you. He grabs your arm and pulls you back, his hand wrapping around your flesh with enough force to keep you still without hurting you. “¿Que te pasa [what’s the matter]? Why are you so upset if it’s not that, then?”

You tug at your arm, a fruitless attempt to free yourself since Miguel doesn’t let go.

“Answer the question,” he demands, those deep brown eyes looking straight at you.

“It’s none of your business,” you answer, still glaring at Miguel.

He scoffs, holding your gaze as you look at him like he’s the most disgusting thing your eyes could ever lay upon.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he mumbles, his grip tightening around your arm slightly, tugging you closer to him. With narrowed eyes, he holds your gaze for a few seconds before images of your lips flash in his mind from the dance lessons.

He had never been that close to you before, never held nor touched you.

Miguel had never noticed the way your eyelashes framed your eyes, the shape of your lips, nor had he ever noticed your scent, a mixture of your very own essence and perfume. It’s the kind of scent that makes a man weak in the knees and wish for a closer inhale. No, Miguel had never noticed those things about you and it was to his great annoyance that not only had he noted them, but that those details had also made him feel weird afterwards.

Miguel felt so off that he had to make up the excuse about having a call to make. In reality, all he did was step out and take some fresh air, his mind boggled with the entire situation from the comments the dance instructor made about the two of you being in love and sharing passion to his little stunt after your two left feet comment and your payback, which left an ache on his foot, to the details he had never noticed about you. His mind was boggled and yet, you were the same as always with him; annoyed by, distant from, and uninterested in him.

And for some reason, it bothered him that day.

When he went back inside, he found you on the other side of the dance studio, looking closely at the couple and offering some advice to help them, ignoring his presence. Even when the four of you met up at the parking lot once again after the dance lesson, your attitude was the same. Your sister and Gabriel asked if either of you were interesting in grabbing something to eat, but you declined so fast and stated you had other things to do before the wedding, “maid of honor duties” you called them.

He watched with a scowl as you got in your car and left, only having said bye to the couple while barely giving him a glance of acknowledgement despite the conversation you had just had about making things work for the sake of your sister and Gabriel.

Of course, Miguel declined the invitation, too. He was in no mood to be third wheeling and he did have some things to do for work, so he, too, left with thoughts of your annoying self on his mind.

He eventually placated his thoughts with work, including dealing with his team and the fact that his current assistant put in their four weeks. Thankfully, he still has some time left before his assistant leaves, which he hopes is enough time to find someone to fill in the position. Either way, his work helped him set his thoughts about you aside that day.

Now, Miguel pushes past his thoughts and focuses on you, still holding your arm.

“And what of it?” you reply to his comment about you being a brat, still glaring at him so fiercely and angrily about whatever you’re upset about, proving Miguel you can be such a brat sometimes.

For two seconds Miguel has a thought - bending you over his knee and teaching you a lesson to tame that bratty attitude of yours. Then, his brain betrays him and he imagines what you’d sound like if he did. Would you still be a little brat when his heavy palm makes contact with your rear, or would you whimper and -

“You’re so upset,” Miguel says in an almost breathless way, his mind blanking for a second. “If it’s not your aunts’ comments, then what is it? It must be something of importance, if it has you like this on your sister’s wedding day,” Miguel adds, trying to focus on the moment at hand and not on whatever the hell his brain is going on about. He decides, quickly, that he’s probably had a few too many tequila shots. That’s probably why his brain is acting up. Surely.

“As I said earlier, it’s none of your business,” you reply, once again trying to free your arm, but to no avail. The giant man has you rooted to his side.

“Bullshit,” Miguel replies. His brother married into your family and your sister into his, that makes the two of you something now, doesn’t it? You’re tied for life now, for better or worse, in this way thanks to your siblings. And, the two of you did agree to get along for their sake.

“No te metas en lo que no te importa [don’t get involved in what doesn’t bother you],” you snap. “Mind your business. We may have agreed to be civil, but that doesn’t mean we’ll be besties.”

“As if, princesita [little princess],” Miguel responds with a scoff. “I wouldn’t be able to take your little attitude for two hours, even if I was paid, much less be ‘besties’ with you.”

“We have that in common, at least. I wouldn’t spend a day with you, even for a million dollars,” you reply, even though you could really use a million dollars, especially now.

Miguel smirks, amused by your response, and pulls you closer. “Not even if I paid you two million?”

“Not even five.”

Lies, lies, lies. You wouldn’t be worrying about being unemployed if you had even just one million dollars in the bank right now.

Miguel shrugs. “Maybe it’s too little, they’re little numbers after all,” he replies with a cocky smirk, for some reason bragging about his wealth to you now, something he’s never done before to anyone, but then again, his brain is not working accordingly right now.

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. You know Miguel is a CEO for a company you’ve never bothered to learn the name of, so you’re not surprised he has money, but saying five million dollars is “too little” is aggravating, and kind of shocking.

“Whatever, let go of me. Now,” you demand.

Miguel now scoffs at your demanding tone as if he couldn’t easily throw you over his shoulder and carry you off, or pin you against a wall.

“¿Qué tal si te digo que no? ¿Qué vas a hacer entonces, princesita? [What if I tell you no? What are you doing then, princess?]” Miguel replies, pulling you closer, so much closer his expensive cologne surrounds you.

You breathe it in, subtly of course. It’s rich, warm, and woody mixed in with his own scent. It’s the kind that sends a pool of warmth to your very core if allowed to inhale straight from a man’s neck with your nose pressed to his sensitive and warm flesh. You freeze for a second, the very thought almost makes you grimace, the fact that you’ve thought of such thing with Miguel of all men.

“You’re gonna slam your foot on mine again like the other day?” he asks mockingly, bringing you back to your senses.

“And mess your pretty, expensive shoes?”

Miguel snorts. “I can easily replace them.”

“So, you want me to slam my foot on yours? Is that what you’re saying?” you reply, raising an eyebrow.

Miguel grins, leaning closer, so much closer. He continues to hold your gaze, holding you still.

You scoff, your gaze unwavering.

You’re such a little brat, Miguel thinks again, his hand tightening around your arm just a tad more.

“What? Can’t make up your mind now?” you ask with a smug smile.

He scowls, pulling you so much closer. Your breath fans his face and he finds himself growing still when he feels it against lips especially. He swallows deeply while holding your gaze, your scent filling his nostrils and making him lean almost instinctively.

“You can ruin the shoes, I’ll simply buy new ones. I’ll even get you some pretty heels for your trouble. ¿Trato [Deal]?” he asks quietly, his gaze flickering to your lips for a second.

And God, maybe it really is all the drinks you’ve both had tonight because you lean closer, too.

Suddenly, it feels like two rocks rubbing against each other, a spark of fire made beneath the moonlight.

“¿Que pasa [What’s wrong]? Cat got your tongue?” Miguel whispers with a smirk.

“No. I was just thinking about the color I'd like the heels,” you reply, sarcastically.

“Ah, the color. Don't worry, you can choose whatever color you like. Whatever brand. Saint Laurent, Burberry, Gucci…”

You snort. “Didn't know you were so giving, O’Hara.”

“You don't know me” Miguel replies, tilting his head a little.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a smirk that makes Miguel's heart skip a beat. He leans slightly closer, further decreasing the distance between your faces.

“I’m a man that likes to give - to provide,” Miguel continues, his hand tightening around your arm, his gaze flickering to your lips once more.

“Ah, interesting. You're the tree that keeps on giving, hm?”

“Such a smartass,” Miguel mumbles, eyes narrowing and meeting yours again. “One of these days that mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble.”

“I can't wait,” you reply defiantly.

Miguel scowls, your little defiance stirring something in him once more. He huffs, eyes moving to your lips yet again, not thinking straight. All he’s suddenly thinking about is closing the distance and shutting your mouth - with his own. He thinks about his mouth pressed against yours, about slipping his tongue in and swirling it around yours to taste you, to make you whine.

Meanwhile, you look at him, noticing his gaze on your lower face. You find yourself doing the same, your eyes landing on his full lips specifically. You silently wonder, despite yourself, what they’d feel like against yours and against your skin. The thought creates a fluttering feeling inside your chest, one that Miguel shares.

His heart races, his mind clouded with these strange thoughts. Miguel thinks about leaning in all the way and doing it, kissing you once and for all to satisfy a hunger and craving he’s suddenly overwhelmed with.

And he would've, if only the door leading to the garden hadn’t suddenly swung open before you both register voices.

You both pull away instantly, staring at each other like two deer caught in headlights. The realization hits the two of you like a ton of feathers at once, the truth echoing in your heads over and over again.

You were going to kiss.

The only thing that breaks Miguel and you from your shock are the sudden intimate noises, tearing your gazes from each other to see what’s the matter. It’s then that you both see a couple making out against the wall, totally unaware that Miguel and you are there due to the poor lighting.

Seeing the intimacy and hearing their noises of passion is all you need before you walk past Miguel, fleeing the garden area wordlessly to pull yourself together.

Miguel doesn’t try to stop you, not even when you brush past him. He stands there for a second or two before he, too, walks off in the opposite direction, hands clenched.

It’s not until you find yourself utterly alone once more that you stop walking. You stare at the ground, your heart racing while your mind plays the last few minutes over and over again. It makes no sense. There’s no way Miguel was about to kiss you, right? You huff in frustration and begin to pace back and forth, one hand clenched tightly around the glass you brought out with you as you try to make sense of the situation.

“Alcohol,” you say quickly to yourself, nodding. “Too much alcohol. It makes people do stupid things.” You nod once more, slowly calming yourself as you repeat this in your head.

At last, you stop pacing when you find reason for that near mistake.

Alcohol, which messes with your brain. Nothing more.

“Hey!”

Startled, you jump and let out a small gasp before turning. You find your mom, happily smiling.

“Come on! What are you doing out here all alone, mija [my daughter]?”

“Just - taking some fresh air,” you answer, walking over to her.

“Your sister and Gabrielito are about to cut the cake. They were wondering where you were,” your mom informs you, offering her arm to you.

You smile and accept your mom’s arm, embracing her comforting presence as you both head back inside the party.

“They were also looking for Miguel. You haven’t seen him, have you?” your mom asks, nearly making you trip.

“N - No, I haven’t,” you lie, clearing your throat and checking your shoe to pretend something is wrong with it to make up for you nearly tripping. “He’s probably talking with the men. They all seem like big fans of him.”

Your mom smiles, nodding. She hums softly as you both enter the venue again, the kind of hum that only moms can muster when they know something you don’t.

“I’m sure Miguelito is somewhere around here. Maybe he needed some fresh air, too,” your mom continues, patting your forearm as you fully enter the reception room now. “Let’s go get some cake.”

After eating cake and making toasts with your family and the guests, you stick near your parents’ side for the rest of the night, as a distraction to forget what almost happened earlier, until it’s time to see your sister and Gabriel off. You watch next to your parents as the newlyweds walk out of the venue, saying bye to the guests and other family members until it’s the immediate families’ turn at the end.

You hug your sister and Gabriel goodbye when it’s your turn, wishing them a great time and congratulating them yet again.

At last, the couple makes it to the car and gets settled. You smile softly as they wave goodbye one more time before the car departs. Watching the car grow smaller and smaller, the realization that your baby sister is married dawns on you. In the blink of an eye, she grew up and turned into a wonderful young woman. You briefly recall when she was a little girl, when she used to follow you everywhere because she wanted to do everything with you. And now, she’s all grown up and starting a new life with the love of her life.

A few feet away from you, Miguel does the same with a thoughtful expression on his face. He can’t believe Gabriel is now a married man, that he’s all grown up. He sighs, wondering where time went before he turns sideways, finding you staring in the direction of the car. He has no doubt you’re having similar thoughts like his, the two of you being the eldest siblings.

Sensing someone’s gaze, you turn, only to meet Miguel’s eyes. You stare at each other for a few seconds, the moment at the garden flashing through your minds like the highlights of a video with one particular part in replay: that moment when Miguel leaned forward and his gaze fell on your lips before you allowed yourself the same with his.

Your senses, both Miguel’s and yours, are overwhelmed in seconds. You easily recall each other’s scents, the warmth from your bodies, and the angry energy that slowly turned into something different due to the shoe talk before you fell into whatever that was at the end.

You blink at last and swallow deeply, pushing the memory away. You scoff at yourself, still holding Miguel’s gaze.

Damn alcohol and the things it makes you do and feel. Right?

You finally look away and walk off to meet your parents, not sparing Miguel another glance.

Miguel’s eyes follow you until you disappear from his sight. He runs a hand through his hair with a sigh, frustrated. He doesn’t even know if it’s at you or himself, or both. Or, maybe he’s just exhausted form the wedding planning and the actual wedding activities.

He doesn’t know anymore, just like he doesn’t know what he was thinking back at the garden. He turns away and scowls at himself. Okay, fine. He knew exactly what he was thinking: kissing and tasting you.

“Miguel-”

“What?” Miguel snaps, turning. He clears his throat when he finds Daniel, the man from earlier who was boasting about being divorced and advising Miguel to stay single for a while longer. He sighs and shakes his head. “Forgive me, Daniel. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s alright. You’re probably tired from the wedding. These things are always exhausting. I was just going to ask if you are interested in joining me and some of the other guys to a bar. It’s still early,” Daniel says before three other young men reach them.

Knowing the men, Miguel knows what kind of night they hope to have; one with no attachments but filled with carnal pleasure.

Miguel shakes his head. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m too tired. And besides, I still have to wrap up some things here regarding the venue. You guys have fun.”

The other men boo him and one even dares to call him “old fashioned” since they know Miguel isn’t interested in those type of nights with strangers. They eventually walk away, leaving Miguel alone once more. He shakes his head as he sees them pull out of the parking lot before fishing for his own car keys inside his pockets.

The truth is, Miguel has no tasks related to the venue left. A cleaning crew was hired to take care of everything so neither families would have to worry about it. The food situation was handled and the gifts have been collected to be stored for now until the couple comes back from their honeymoon.

All Miguel needs to do is wish everyone a good night and head home. That’s it. Yet… His thoughts are a storm and you’re at the center of it, the culprit.

His gaze, despite himself, searches for you. He finally spots you several feet away talking with a man, one he doesn’t know personally. Miguel watches the interaction, noticing the closeness and the way you seem at ease with the individual. Hell, you’re even laughing at something the man says.

He looks away when the man places a hand on your forearm while talking, opting to gaze at the venue’s front gardens with trimmed bushes and perfectly aligned flowers.

Miguel suddenly realizes it. He’s stalling, but why? He turns to look your way again, discreetly, and the need to talk to you suddenly hits him. He needs to talk to you about what almost happened at the garden earlier. So, Miguel takes a few steps your way.

As he approaches you, he’s unsure of what he’d even say. I’m sorry for almost kissing you? Miguel cringes internally. Should he even bring it up? Talking about it makes it more real. It means acknowledging that that almost happened between you along with admitting some level of vulnerability, something neither of you have ever shared with each other.

He suddenly finds himself standing next to you and the man, his large strides making the walk a short one. The man stops talking and looks over at him, a look of confusion at Miguel’s sudden appearance. On the other hand, to Miguel’s annoyance, you give him a look of nonchalance.

“Excuse me,” Miguel starts, acknowledging the man. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I need a word with Ms. Y/N.”

The man nods, looking somewhat disappointed. “I see. I’ll give you two a moment,” the man says despite you beginning to protest.

You watch the man, a son of one of your dad’s friends from work, walk away. Slowly, you turn to face Miguel, keeping a neutral expression. “Yes?”

“We need to talk about what happened,” Miguel says quietly, meeting your gaze.

“What happened?” you reply, raising an eyebrow.

Miguel scoffs, his eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t give me that attitude.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“At the garden,” Miguel continues through gritted teeth in disbelief at your nonchalance.

You hum, tilting your head. “Nothing happened,” you respond.

“Are you kiddi-” Miguel starts but stops, his frustration mounting. He lowers his voice. “Don’t play stupid with me, princesita [little princess]. We both know you’re far from it.”

“You know what I know?” you ask quietly. “There’s nothing to discuss. Don’t make a storm in a glass of water, okay?” With that, you walk around him.

“Where do you think you’re going? We’re not done talking,” Miguel replies, following you.

“As far as I’m concern, we have nothing to talk about. So, I’ll see you around, Mr. O’Hara,” you say, ending the conversation as you head to your car.

“Dammit,” Miguel murmurs, still following you.

You quickly unlock your car and get inside, slamming the door close. You start the car even when you see Miguel standing next to it, trying to talk to you. Sighing, you consider rolling your window down for a few seconds to let him talk, but at the same time you don’t wish to hear him out. A part of you knows that talking about what nearly happened will make it feel important when it’s not. Or, at least you’ve made yourself believe it’s not.

You shift the car’s gear, ready to drive off, but at the last second, you roll your window down. Facing forward and with your foot on the brake, you speak. “We’ve both had drinks. Alcohol makes people do things that they wouldn’t do when they’re fully sober, even with a little bit in their system. There’s nothing to discuss nor explain. Nothing happened and that’s what matters. I’m certainly not making a big deal out of it, nor have I been offended by what nearly happened, so if that’s what you’re trying to do - apologize - save it. Have a good night,” you state firmly before driving off, leaving a frustrated Miguel in the parking lot.

Through your rear view mirror, you look at him one more time. You find him watching you drive off, his arms at his sides in a stance that lets you detect his frustration clearly. At last, you look away, certain you’ve handled the situation accordingly.

A/N: Hiii, I'm sorry for how long it took me to update, but life got crazy in August due to a family member's death and then sickness. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed part 2! When I wrote part 1, I wasn't planning on this being a multiple parts fic, but with writing part 2, I guess I am now.

I'm unsure of how long this will be. Tbh, I'm hoping for it to be short 😭🙏🏼 Like, 10 chapters or so? Maybe less. I need to sit down and plan accordingly! As you can probably guess, this will transition into a CEO!Miguel x Assistant!female reader who are also now connected because of your sister and Gabriel, so I'm just letting you guys know the forced proximity will increase! 🙂‍↕️

Thank you for reading, and I hope you're having a great day/night!!

Alondra❤️

p.s. I have attached my side Spotify account in case you guys are interested in keeping up with the music I listened to while writing this chapter.

for the people that asked me to notify them for part 2: @vera4luv @safixiovi

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel atsv #miguel 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x you #atsv fanfiction #spiderman: across the spiderverse #miguel fanfic #reader insert #miguel o'hara x female!reader #miguel o'hara x y/n

354 notes · View notes

saurongorthaur9 · 1 month ago

Text

Potentially unpopular opinion for the ROP fandom:

I really wish people/interviewers would stop pushing the Hot Sauron and Haladriel stuff directly into Charlie's face.

I woke up this morning to drama in the fandom about Charlie (yet again) very politely deflecting Haladriel questions, as if this is some sort of insult to the fandom and shippers. And I know it's not going to stop, but I wish it would.

To make it very explicitly clear, make all the stupid sexy Sauron and Hot Sauron memes and jokes you want within the fandom. Ship Haladriel to your heart's content and create glorious fanfiction and fanart of them making out as they ride into the sunset (or as they simultaneously attempt to kill each other, if that's your vibe). All great. All fantastic. Everyone knows I'm a huge fan of sexy Sauron both inside and outside the ROP fandom, and I am a thorough Haladriel enjoyer at this point.

But I really, really, really wish people would stop pushing it on Charlie himself.

It just makes me so sad and uncomfortable for him. I saw the interview yesterday that I'm pretty sure was what caused everyone to be up in arms where he was being shown Sauron memes and fan posts and a lot of them were very Haladriel/shippy. He is obviously SO uncomfortable with those and the "Hot Sauron" comments. You can see it in the difference between how he answers questions about Sauron's motives or psyche or his research into Tolkien and how his eyes light up and he gets so animated and he just starts gushing vs when he's asked for the millionth time if Sauron has feelings for Galadriel and he gets quiet and reserved and gives a short, diplomatic answer.

And he's been so gracious and polite to the shippers and about all the shipping questions that he keeps getting asked. Each time, he gives basically the same answer: that he doesn't personally see it as romantic but that he's happy people care enough about the characters and story to be passionate about what they see in it. He's not going to suddenly flip a switch and start passionately shipping Haladriel.

I personally like to view it as Sauron (particularly as Halbrand) having some genuine feelings for Galadriel: genuine sense of connection, genuine sense of shared purpose, genuine attraction on both a spiritual and physical level, and yes, even some genuine admiration and love, mixed in with the complex mess of other things Sauron feels, which is why he's a great, complicated villain. The fact that this doesn't 100% line up with everything Charlie has said that he feels about the character is fine with me. I respect Charlie's opinions and the clear thought he's put into portraying that character. But I can also have my own thoughts and perceptions of the character and story apart from that, without needing him to validate them.

I know this isn't the first time an attractive man playing a charming, sexy villain has been inundated by thirsty fans (I remember Loki's Army very clearly) and that some level of it is to be expected. But he's clearly put such thought into portraying Sauron and I'm so grateful to him for that, so I'm sad to see him having uncomfortable questions shoved at him that reduce everything he's done to "what do you think of being Hot Sauron?" and "Do you think Sauron and Galadriel should kiss?" And I'm even sadder to see fans reacting negatively to him simply because he won't validate a particular ship or perspective.

From everything I've heard of fans who have gotten the opportunity to meet him, he's an absolute sweetheart and very kind and appreciative towards his fans. I hope dearly that I can meet him some day and tell him how important it was to me to see Sauron portrayed on screen as such a wonderfully complicated character. But I truly hope that the constant barrage of nagging for him to openly endorse Haladriel and the backlash whenever he gives one of his reserved, diplomatic answers about shipping doesn't sour him to his fanbase. He's given us a gift that I wouldn't have even dared dream of only a few years ago; why can't we focus on that instead of whether or not he's enthusiastically pro-Haladriel or not?

#rop #trop #rings of power #rop fandom #rings of power fandom #sauron #halbrand #rop sauron #charlie vickers #haladriel #saurondriel

247 notes · View notes

liliannadelaphinehartifelt · 8 months ago

Note

Helloo!

Idk if you take requests , but could you maybe write a fic with Human!Alastor and male!reader where reader exaggerates his whole personality to comply with everyone else and is easily exhausted from it and Alastor "relaxses" reader in that way ?

Thank you in advance and have a good day !

Alastor - [ MASQUERADE ]

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx

A/N: This request really made me brainstorm but I've decided to break it into 2 parts. I hope you'll enjoy it! As always kindly lmk the artist of the fanart so I can tag them and give proper credit! ❤️

WARNINGS: [ SLIGHT NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SUGGESTIVE THEMES ] + [ MALE READER ] + [ FLUFF…if you squint ]

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx

“You're on air in ten minutes, Y/n. Pick it up before the host gets restless!”

Your so-called manager barked from the dressing room doorway, giving one last glare your way before strutting off, grumbling a string of curses you'd learned to ignore.

“Asshole…” you scoffed, turning back to the striped mirror of your vanity; the large bulbs that lit it gave enough light in the old stuffy backstage space, illuminating every detail of your appearance.

Not one thing could be out of place.

You wouldn't allow it, committed to your role as a rising preformer in the golden age of the stage, and conditioned to perfectionist standards from years of tribulations

Suffering behind a practiced smile won you your stardom. The ambiguous beauty you possessed helped immensely in your success on the silver screen, but the truest contributor to your fame was appeal.

Humourous, intellectual, but most crucial, sex appeal.

That's what kept your admires enthralled, permanently put you in the limelight from the start, and inevitably earned you considerable amounts of money.

You weren't opposed to being called a child of Dionysus himself, envied by those who wanted you. Still, the burden of putting on a show for everyone every day without giving them a glimpse of your faults was excruciating.

Yet, you chose the burden over sulking in the darkness, remaining among the ordinary when you so clearly had the makings of a star, and your status of high popularity among the masses was proof of it.

So be it if your cheeks ached from smiling at frivolous fans that your laugh sounded less like your own the more you forced it, that flirtations of others felt like empty praises, or that every project you agreed to felt less and less stimulating.

So fucking be it.

Fame is fickle; you knew this all too well, but your existence felt meaningless without it.

Empty.

All the world's riches, the undivided favor you garnered from the public, and the sparkling awards cluttered your penthouse display shelves…

Even with all that at your fingertips, you had yet to feel seen…

Seen and truly adored.

“Two fucking minutes! Get your ass in position. This interview is being broadcast live, remember?” your manager harped at you from the hall, causing you to grunt in frustration before yelling back, “Would you shut your trap?! Fucking hell…I'm coming!”

You set aside the whiskey glass in your left hand, ran your right through your recently styled hair, and checked your reflection one last time.

“It's only a radio show. One little interview and you can go home and get black-out drunk…” the idea of spending some much-deserved time alone after running around doing a press tour brought a sad smile to your face as you stood and exited the dim room.

This would be your last stop, an interview with Louisiana’s prided radio host, and the last person you'd need to put a show on for before returning home.

“Finally…” your manager grumbled as you stepped into the hall, giving you a once over as the two of you strolled down the hall towards the host recording area, “Don't fuck this up. People say this ones a real talker and can make or break ya..” he mumbled begrudgingly.

You paid his incessant pestering no mind, flashing him a suave smile as you both stopped before a heavy door, “Don't tell me you're starting to care about my reputation now? Thought you only saw me as a nice money grab…”

Your smile grew as laughter bubled in your chest, seeing the other slowly become agitated at your backhanded comments.

“Why, you little-”

“Oh, don't be rude, sir. You'll spoil my good mood, and god knows sour spirits bring bad luck,” you smirked, enjoying the scrunch of his nose as his expression reflected his true nature, but before he could snap, you pushed the door open and slipped into the soundproofed station room.

What a fucking pain he is…

You cursed the raging man outside, sighing softly as the sound of jazz lingered through the air and the smell of freshly brewed coffee mixed with a distinct cologne engulfed you.

The space felt and looked inviting, relaxing even, but what caught your attention was the man who occupied it.

He sat in a desk chair across the small room, facing a table full of controls and a mic to match. His face was lowered from the device, glasses resting comfortably on the bridge of his nose as he stared at what you assumed was a script for your conversation with him, but the simmering amazement overtook your curiosity about the paper he held you felt hearing him hum along to the song he was airing.

You didn't dare move an inch closer, satisfied with watching and listening to him from afar, oddly entrapped by the silent allure he cast.

It was no mystery that people loved the sound of his voice. You'd be fooling yourself if you said you hadn't found his commentary enchanting, but looking at him in the flesh, you were sure he'd flourish on the silver screen like no other.

He could indeed win the eyes of many…

Yours especially, and to some degree, he had already, but you hesitated to admit it even as he turned to face you.

Oh…. he is a beauty, that's for sure…

That was the singular thought in your mind as he smiled, standing from his seat before approaching you with all the confidence you'd merely portrayed.

“Hello there. You must be Y/n L/n. I'm Alastor Hartifelt. It's a pleasure to meet you, my friend!”

His voice was as smooth, melting into the background melodies inexplicably, and your heart lightened immensely as he held out a hand for you to shake.

“The..the pleasure is all mine, Mr. Hartifelt..” you inwardly scolded your delayed greeting, losing track of your practiced charm relatively quickly in his grasp. Still, in seconds, you recovered from the blunder while returning his smile.

Alastor took you in with a glance up and down your figure, cataloging every detail of your appearance out of habit, but when his gaze met yours, one thought crossed his perceptive mind.

Longing?

How curious…

You hid the familiar emotion well; seeing past the veil of contentment wasn't tricky, and though he was tempted to bring it forth.

You two shook hands briefly but firmly. Alastor stepped back, gliding his hand out to mention towards the recording station. “Come, have a seat, and please call me Alastor. We will be on air after all; formalities aren't necessary for an engaging broadcast.” His smile grew, emitting an unearthly kindness as you nodded in understanding before sitting in the chair opposite his.

“You make an excellent point, Alastor. I hope we enjoy each other's company.” You chuckle softly, feeling a tad nervous for a reason unknown but genuinely harboring a rise in excitement, hearing him respond promptly.

“I have no doubt we will…” Alastor muses more to himself, a delicate edge to his voice as he trailed behind you, and a certain twinge of intrigue rattled your spine at the implication.

For the first time in a long time, you weren't dreading the inclinations of your fame, gradually succumbing to the sparks of joy Alastor evoked with the most straightforward words and becoming surer of the fact as he took his seat next to you.

“Shall we begin?” he implies cheekily, and you reply in a quick, witty fashion, “We shall.”

————-

“Care for a drink, my friend? I believe we��ve earned ourselves a cold glass of whiskey… that is, If your evening is unreserved.” Alastor made the offer moments after switching your respective microphones off, quickly arranging the recording panel to a specific setting as he listened for your response.

Your mouth moved quicker than your mind; a distinct rush overtook at the thought of spending more time with the charismatic radio host, “I'd be delighted to join you. I must agree that our interview went quite well. It's rare to have an easy conversation with a stranger these days..”

Alastor raised a brow, sparing you a glance as he finished sliding keys and flicking switches into place to keep a calming stream of music lingering in his broadcast, “So, I'm still a stranger to you?… My, and I thought we were getting on so well…“

He spurs you casually, an air of hurt in his expression, and it stuns you, causing a red hue to rise on your cheeks, “Th-that's not at all what I meant, Alastor…” Your lower head twinges of embarrassment staining your consciousness, and for the third time that evening, Alastor had chipped away at your charm.

He enjoyed it….

Seeing you falter and conform to his standards, though you didn't need to, at any time, you could've remained indifferent to him and taken your leave the moment he shut your mic off, but you remained.

Solely because you'd grown attached to him or the defect he had on you.

Humbling, genuine understanding, but above all else, validation.

“My dear, I am only poking fun. I take no offense to your words, and I hope you'll grant me the same courtesy!” Alastor reached for you, thumb and forefinger slipping under your chin to lift it, and you obeyed his gesture with a soft smile. “Oh…I…”

You paused, swallowing thickly as he raised himself from the chair, head lowered toward yours as he stood above you.

Had he always been so tall?

So brooding?

You weren't entirely sure, but your heart raced, every nerve in your body tingled with anticipation as if you were a deer caught in his headlights, but you couldn't retreat or evade him.

“You what?..” Alastor cooed quietly, chocolate eyes on fire with an emotion you'd long forgotten but returned subconsciously.

Control.

You needed to be back in control, or the next breath between you two might lead to something…

Your mind played scenario after scenario, beginning to short circuit as he peered down at you, lips only inches from yours, and his other hand reaching to caress your cheek. His touch is searing, warmer than those you'd felt before, intentional, and your entire being buzzed in his grasp as if in a drunken stupor.

He was dangerous… able to tear through your facade easily, which was terrifying.

Polarizing.

Don't let him get any closer…

Keep him at a distance…

You've only just met him...

Warnings rang in your head, but your eyes lowered to his lips, and your voice remained quiet as you responded to his question.

“I" 'd like to have that drink before the night ends. Wouldn't you?"With a gentle nudge of your head and a soft laugh, you draw away from Alastor's touch. The space between you increases, and the ability to breathe becomes less strenuous as you stand to your feet, collecting your overcoat before slipping it on, "I'm not familiar with the city yet, so I'll leave it to you to show me around." The chipper in your tone amuses Alastor; you'd perfected the art of illusion so well that in the clutches of what some might consider an intimate moment, you balked and reclaimed sensibility like it never occurred, though you wished for it to carry on further.

He'd met and spoken to his fair share of actors, learned their ticks and telling habits, and used it against them when he saw benefit in toying with them.

However, being able to see right through you evoked another motive for the host, and he dared to think it was mutual.

"Well, I'd be honored to show you the ins and outs of this lively town I call home so long as you promise to keep up," Alastor retrieves his coat, a heavy jet black trench withered accents paired with matching hat, stylish in all the right ways -presumably warm to be in. Still, you were sure if he ventured into the night dressed like that, any stranger would fear him.

They had good reason to, but you didn't need to know why.

Not yet…

With a coy smile, you followed Alastor out of the station, matching his strides as he paved the way to a nearby speakeasy, "You'll find it quite entertaining, my friend. Few visit at this hour, but my dear Mimzy puts on a vine show regardless!" Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of Alastor being infatuated with another, for what reason you weren't sure, but your disappointment flashed clear in your eyes that he took it upon himself to clarify his remark.

"She is an old and loyal acquaintance. Nothing more. Nothing less."

You perked up at the explanation, face burning with a blush as you raised both hands to dissuade his interpretation of your expression, "I understand. You needn't explain anything to me-"

Alastor halted in his tracks, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he peered at you curiously, "Hm, so you did assume we were something to begin with?..."

Shit, was I that obvious?...

"Not at all..." you lie, as calm as ever but internally conflicted.

How could he go about messing with you so boldly?..

And why did it excite you?..

"Your eyes say otherwise, my friend..." he counters your nervous reply with a smug smirk, beginning to walk off as if he wasn't toying with your head, "My eyes?..." you whisper in response.

"They are the doorway to the soul...I've learned to walk through said doors, and you, my dear, hide a lot of fears behind them." Alastor chuckles, ears tingling as you reclaim your spot at his upon reaching your destination. Still, you're less concerned with the dark alley lit with a singular neon sign situated above a heavy lead door and more worried about what he is implying regarding your emotions.

Who was he to know anything?

Sure, he was pleasant to be around, an avid intellectual with a knack for continuing conversation with you, and you had no reason to believe he'd been faking his friendliness to you from the start...

That still gave him no right analyzing you, prod at your exterior with more confidence than necessary, and you intended to let him know it.

A glare beset your expression, mouth open to speak, but you weren't allowed to do so as the lead door swung open.

Alastor guided you close to his side as a gaggle of patrons spilled from the doorway, ranting and raving about the time they had inside. Their rowdy behavior irked him, but you did not comment on the matter as he placed a hand on your back to lead you inside after their dysfunctional departure.

“Drunken idiots,” he mumbled begrudgingly, and for the first time you'd seen the radio host truly bothered. He'd been so composed during your interview, inviting and flirtatious on and off the air, so getting a glimpse of his annoyed state felt like a treat.

At least you knew he had flaws, insignificant but telling ones.

“Um. Alastor, you can..” you paused, unsure if you wanted to let him know he was still holding onto your waist as he led you inside the dim speakeasy. Alastor hummed, irritation gone, and his coy smile widening as you shuffled alongside him. “Y-you can let me go now.”

“Oh, nonsense, my dear! I wouldn't want you to run into unsavory characters like the ones that just passed..”

He quickly navigated the lingering crowd, clearly familiar with the club's layout, and you marbled at its unique atmosphere as he led you through it. “I can handle myself, Alastor,” you tried again to reason, but Alastor was quick to give a response as he ushered you to sit at an unoccupied lounge chair complete with a table and lamp.

“I'm sure you can but I'm rather fond of keeping you close.” He sat next to you after setting his coat and hat aside.

What did he mean by that?..

“How selfish of you,” you feigned disappointment as he shifted to face you with a soft chuckle leaving his lips, “Would you be so kind as to forgive my greed for your attention?” Alastor stares you down, noting how you bite your lip, another nervous tick you'd yet to disregard in his presence. “I'll consider it if you buy me a drink or two..”

The suggestion was meant to sound confident, unmothered by the mounting pressure in your chest, but it came out breathless. You were sure that you'd mastered the art of indiffenece, permanently established a mask of charm, but as much as you wished to maintain the certainty…

Alastair disproved it with little more than a gesture or equally compelling word.

It was unsettling, intoxicating too, but undeniably riveting.

“A small price to pay,” he mumbled, eyes lowering to your lips as you laughed softly and leaned back to admire the other patrons roaming or dancing around. “I never said I was cheap..” you taste him, gaze drifting to him as he shifted closer. You wanted to jump out of your skin as his arm came to rest behind you, head lulling to ward your cheek as he breathed into your ear. The resulting warmth made you shiver, quickening your breaths, and your body tingled with intrigue.

“No…” Alastor affirmed your jest, free hand raising your chin, tilting your head to face him as he continued, “��but you are desperate to be loved. One might say that's just as inappropriate, mon Cher..”

His tone dripped with condensation, a sensual purr loud enough to drown out the jazz and chatter surrounding you, and for a moment, he was all you could comprehend.

You should've felt angry, unsettled even, but his words struck a more profound emotion.

Comfort.

You weren't crazy, a constant wonder for the masses to marvel at and never care about.

Alastor could see you.

He wanted to…

“And so what if I am? Why would it concern you?..” there was no harsh undertone to your question, and it earned a sultry hum of amusement from him. “You've interested me, so I must not ignore your charade. I'm partial to the truth of a person, and you, my dear, abandon it in the hopes of success..”

Spot on.

It is shamelessly hurtful but direct nonetheless.

You clicked your tongue dismissively, attempting to turn your head away from his grasp, but Alastor held you tighter.

A glare crossed your face at the brushing grip he established, but a pool of excitement rushed to your crotch as well.

“I'm not one of your scripts to read, Alastor..” you scoff, rolling your eyes to make your point clear, but he isn't affected by the arrogant gesture.

“My apologies if it seems that way, but my intention to know you, inside and out, is purely innocent...”

“I find that hard to believe…” you retort, very aware of the minimal space between you two, and it became harder to focus on anything else but his soft lips that were stretched thin into a smile.

God, I was doomed from the beginning… you think to yourself as you laugh at your shameless line of sight. “Believe what you wish, my friend, but I enjoy being the object of affection..”

“That's inappropriate to suggest,” you mutter, face burning with blush and your hands raising to grip his wrist and collar. Alastor hummed, amused by your denial, “Mm, I suppose it is…would you like another apology?”

You shake your head, tugging him in by the collar of his shirt, eyes lifting to his, full of determination, “A kiss will do just fine…”

He holds your gaze, checking for mockery, but there is none. “That's the first honest thing you've said all night, mon cher,” Alastor points out in a hushed tone, lowering his head to place a slow kiss on your lips as they pull into a satisfied smile.

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx

I rewatched Heartstopper for this. Was it helpful? Yes. Did it make me cry harder than the first time I watched it? Also, yes. Will I forever love that show?… (yes). Again, this is just part 1! The second half is being drafted. Please look forward to it. I'm not sure it'll include smut…but I'll debate on that later.

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

He's so cheekyyyy but I love him for it hehe like he’s just the right amount of ‘cocky asshole’ ya know? ❤️ credit to creator!

327 notes · View notes

lowkeyrobin · 8 months ago

Note

MCYT with an S/O who fosters kittens? :D

OH MY LORD YESYESYESHDNSKDNDN I had sm inspo w this bc I have 5 cats (cats are one of my favorite things ever I swear) and yeah dkkdkd THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST

MCYT ; you foster kittens

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu, quackity, foolish gamers, & slimecicle

warnings ; language, talk of harm towards animals

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

genuinely feels so bad when you have to let the cats go

like he tears up nearly every fucking time

he watches some of these poor cats go from aggressive and distant, barely able to eat because they don't trust you yet, to warm, loving and cuddly little creatures

he literally watches them grow and he gets so emotional cause like why can't you keep all of them???

he'll be off to the side when you're handing them away to a new home wiping his tears

he's more emotional about it than you

he gifts you like new cat food bowls and cat towers and stuff once they get all beaten to a pulp

if you're fostering more than like three at a time, he'll have a gang of them on his lap while he's editing, recording, or lounging around

his hands are always covered in scratches and scars because he'll fuck around and find out even after you warn him about them being feisty at first

"this one got ran over by a car and he's blind now"

"can we keep him?? :("

RANBOO

like tubbo, it warms his heart to see you care so much about the poor babies that just need a little help readjusting and understanding that not all people are bad/you're there to help them

absolutely loves when you bring back like little feisty babies that barely know how to walk but know how to hiss

they can't help but laugh like "awe oh my god, this is so sad but it's so cute"

when I tell you all those cats are so spoiled by them

it's sweet though, he really cares about all the cats you take in too, you honestly foster them together at this point

you guys end up keeping this tuxedo cat with one eye and name it Jellyfish (as per chats vote)

the amount of fanart of you two with jellyfish 💔💔💔 so cute

jellyfish becomes the mom of all the new fosters and looks over them and shit, that way they ease into the new environment a little better

buys all the fosters outfits. there's a barbie sized closet for all the clothes

FREDDIE BADLINU

it's like there's a new cat every week considering he brings back street cats as well LMAO

these mf cats are SO SPOILED but they deserve it

he gets so attached to the disabled ones because he loves having to help them out

he loves teaching them how to eat from his hands too

it's so funny, like they'll nick his fingers and he'll be like "fuck, that tickles, Mr. Peanut!"

gets so emotional when you have to give them to better homes

like hugs and kisses them goodbye 4 times

he genuinely thinks your magic, watches those cats go from shy and trying to stay away from you to like being attached to you by the hip and all wagging their tails

he's constantly running around the house playing with them too

he loves seeing them pop up on 2 legs like meerkats when he's serving them wet food or treats LMAO

NIKI NIHACHU

she couldn't care less that the house is loaded with cat stuff and a whole room is filled with cat towers, shelves and toys for them

loves making new little puzzles/mazes for the cats with the shelves, making a little competition to see who can get to the top fastest

she names the cats because she's gonna get attached either way, but after a while they become more and more silly

like they go from Sebastian and Pixel to Tater Tot and Simon From Alvin And The Chipmunks so quickly

she learns how to make homemade cat treats as well

she also, like ranboo, gets a little barbie closet and fills it with cat outfits

some cats like the outfits and others don't, but the ones who do, good god it's like britney manson on the runway

absolute ws in that house, photoshoots for days

QUACKITY

"AH WHAT THE FUCK? Y/n! come get Jessie and Walter, they've invaded my stream!"

he genuinely names most the foster cats characters from meme shows/movies/memes in general

actually named one Badass Grandmas Meme ; also named another Hurricane Tortilla after that one vine

always taking .5s of the cats once they've accepted that he exists as well

sometimes they hop on his desk and join the stream

"Oh, look! it's Goldfish, she's the newest foster that y/n took in"

constantly taking pictures of you and the fosters throughout the stages of rehabilitation

from hissing and scratching to cuddling on the couch and lazy naps

no cat leaves without a little pair of sunglasses

he's genuinely inspired to make quackity cat merch because most of the fosters you take in LOVE clothes LMAO

FOOLISH GAMERS

literally treats these mfs as babies

you'll walk in and see him holding one of the elderly cats you're rehabiliting from a bad home whom just got rescued and he's holding this poor girl like a literal infant

she loves it though, most the cats do

the fosters love playing with his hair too, and he plays into it, always bends down to their level and wobbles his hair around for them to smack around and try to chew on

he has such a soft spot for them

if you're having one of those rare moments where you might give up on a cat, he's right there to try and help you

flea baths on kittens are always done by him, he feels so bad for each of them, meanwhile you're on cat-drying duty and giving them a lil medication to kill any remaining fleas

he's 50/50 on names at first but gives up with trying to not name them bc he gets attached anyways

"Oh, lookit! this is Evergreen, she's been chilling with us for like, 3 months I think"

he loves when they interrupt his streams bc they're so cute and explorative and curious LMAO

CHARLIE SLIMECICLE

he's the most supportive of you fostering cats like ever

loves fucking around with them and sliding them around on the floor, if there's any long hair cats, he loops very loose bows and clips around their fur and shit

cradles them like babies to sleep

and then slips them into the cat tower or on the couch/bed etc

even covers them with a little blanket

"Oh shit, they've invaded, they're raiding! the axe weilding brothers are here!"

gives them the most dumbass names like Microwave Popcorn and Toaster Strudle

he frames pictures of every cat in the hallway once they leave

#lowkeyrobin #mcyt x reader #mcyt preferences #mcyt oneshot #tommyinnit x reader #ranboo x reader #quackity x reader #badlinu x reader #freddie badlinu x reader #foolish gamers x reader #niki nihachu x reader #charlie slimecicle x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #they/them reader

225 notes · View notes

bones4thecats · 4 months ago

Text

What If They Had A Spider-Man! S/O

Characters: Angel Dust and Zestial (separate) Inspired By: These cute fanart pieces!!! (PsychicPains / lilminette / VisionsK. / TheAstawolf) and Chasm Spider-Man A/N: This was so much fun to write! Make sure to catch my Q&A here in a little bit! Btw, when I imagine the Reader drinking tea from a can in Zestial's, I could see them digging their mandibles into the can's side and drinking it like that. I just think I'd be funny. ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: SWEARING, mentions of attempted assault, threatening, physical harm, and the Reader being basically insane ⚠️

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Angel Dust ═════════════════════════════╝

💊 Angel is a spider demon himself, so when you popped up one day causing trouble for multiple members of Hell, he found a quick connection with you

💊 Of course he started flirting with you when you first spoke, this is Angel Dust we're talking about!

"So, whatcha up to later tonight, Webslinger? How about coming to my room and using them energetic-webs for something a little more fun?~"

💊 But, after many, and I mean many failed attempts at getting into your pants, Angel Dust began to talk to you. He didn't reveal anything to detailed about himself, but you both would just sit down and talk about yourselves and hobbies like normal friends

💊 When you guys actually became a couple, you were fiercely defensive of him. One time, you saw some random loan shark try to touch Angel without his consent -which you knew he hated- and you shot your webs at his arm, pinning it to a nearby wall

"You fucking asshole! What the hell gives?!" The shark-demon yelled, making you tilt your forehead, since you couldn't show your true expressions through your mask.

"That's a mere strike one, loan shark. If I ever, and I mean ever see you try touching Angel again," you said, grabbing the sinner's free arm and twisting it painfully, "I will find you. And believe me, you don't wanna know what happens when I find my prey."

💊 Angel was shocked at how dangerous yet kind you were. A moment before you were twisting a guy's arm and threatening him with a very painful death that only he could imagine, and the next you were asking if the spider sinner wanted to be swung back to his place at the Hazbin Hotel

💊 Like I mentioned earlier, Angel Dust does connect with you well because you both are spider demons. He liked it when you would take off your mask in private and allow him to let his top pair of hands mess with your mandibles while his bottom pair messed around with your hands

💊 You have made him feel more safe than he ever has since he landed in Hell

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Zestial ════════════════════════════════╝

🕷️ As a new troublesome Overlord who died back in the early 2000s, you had immediately landed yourself getting into issues around your new area

🕷️ When Zestial first met you, he treated you very chivalrously. He had bowed gently to you an introduced himself before you chuckled and did the same back to him, finding it funny in your own way

🕷️ He liked watching you during meetings. You would sit down beside him in your own web-made hammock and observed the others argue while drinking your own cup of tea (like the tea you would buy in cans)

🕷️ The day Velvette began offending Zestial was the one you merely shot a load of web over her mouth and began to laugh as she struggled to get it off of her face

"What, Velvette? Struggling to run your mouth even more than normal? How sad."

🕷️ Your current fiance smiled and chuckled lightly at how you then webbed the youngest Overlord up and knock her down onto the table, and how you crawled on the ceiling before hanging upside down and kissed Zestial's forehead with your mandibles

"Y/n, doth alloweth velvette's that from which we speak free from the entanglement of thy web." He said, laying his teacup down on the saucer.

🕷️ Sighing over-dramatically, you crawled over to Velvette's chair and tore the webbing off painfully, making her scream in pain and have a slightly noticeable amount of redness from the web

"You goddamn grandfather-fucker! What the hell is wrong with you?!" She yelled bitchily.

"You better shut your mouth or else this webbing may end up somewhere you'll have to soak to get it off without tearing your organs outside." You then shrugged, your face going from a cold and bloodthirsty one to a cheery and happy one. "Okay?"

🕷️ Velvette nodded fearfully as you chuckled and threw the now worn-out webbing into a nearby trash can before swinging back into your hammock and laying your head down while you messed with your phone

"Anon, shalt we continueth this meeting?"

(Y/n, doth alloweth velvette's that from which we speak free from the entanglement of thy web -> Y/N, do let Velvette's mouth free from the entanglement of your web. / Anon, shalt we continueth this meeting -> Now, shall we continue this meeting.)

#Hazbin Hotel #The Hazbin Hotel #Overlords #Pride Ring #Hazbin Hotel x Reader #The Hazbin Hotel x Reader #Overlords x Reader #Pride Ring x Reader #S/O! Reader #GN! Reader #Demon! Reader #Sinner! Reader #Hazbin Angel Dust #Hazbin Angel Dust x Reader #Hazbin Zestial #Hazbin Zestial x Reader

72 notes · View notes

aliorsboxostuff · 1 year ago

Note

hi V3 I am so sorry i am BLOWING UP YOUR INBOX OMGGG but I totally forgot the character Id like is Hobie, I think cause I was talking about him I thought I said his name but i forgor ty bae ily 🤗🤗🗣️‼️‼️‼️‼️

HOBIEEE gotta be my fav 2nd to Miguel, i’m working on a fanart of that cool mf too. He’s such an interesting character to write, i’m honestly pretty sad i only thought something so short for this HC’s T-T I hope you enjoy this though big man, Hobie is definitely the type to hang out with you when youre going through those rough times <3

"Anythin' you wanna be."

Tags: Hobie Brown & ftm!Reader, fluff, dysphoria, Headcanons, going through those tough times, Hobie being the Homie he is, Reader is implied a Spider-person, But also up to interpretation, Comfort and Fluff, no angst

Hobie Brown headcanons for anyone that’s going through those dysphoric episodes <3

first of all, let's get one thing straight here: Hobie FULLY SUPPORTS you being trans

He doesn't see you as anything fem aligned unless said otherwise

lets you crash in his universe, especially when you need it

he thrifts a lot of big and baggy jackets and sweaters, only to give them to you saying he "bought the wrong size"

There's definitely a couple of sweaters from his own wardrobe that you've stolen

you've definitely worn his jacket that he usually wears over his spidey suit, it makes you feel as cool as him

he made you your own jacket, with a trans pin and another with his Spidey logo

lets you borrow anything you want because he knows it makes you feel good

the type to check in on you if you've been binding the whole day

When things get too much and you feel bad in your own skin, Hobie would spend time with you in his universe

he makes you a comfy fort blanket where you can stay and watch anything you please while he plucks the strings of his guitar on the floor

definitely, the type to get you anything you wanna eat when you've lost your appetite

stays by your side, letting you lean on him when you seek comfort

If it gets too much as tears start to fall, he’ll hold you through it, brings you into his arms while you let all those feelings out

Rakes his fingers through your hair or just likes softly petting you if it helps you calm down

completely understands if you need some alone time when dealing with dysphoria, making sure you have enough snacks and water before he leaves to hang somewhere else

he's the spokesperson whenever you wanna be left alone, making sure the others won't bother you too

Says "You're cooler than me mate, cooler than Miles too,"

says dumb shit like; "You are the manliest man to ever man," or "No one does a better job being a boy than you," Just to make you feel better

his side-eye game STRONG 💪dont look at you weird or he'll give them a bone-chilling, soul-crushing, ‘wish I was dead’ side eye

He and Pav is the type to make little trinkets for their friends tbh, he deff makes pins from bottle caps and gives them to you

His favorite spot to bring you when you feel down is near the top of any tall building, bringing snacks and a blanket. He says it makes him feel better knowing everyone is so small, and the world is huge, so in the end, nothing really matters and so be whatever the fuck you wanna be.

Requests are open! Reblogs are appreciated <3

#hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown & reader #hobie brown x trans!reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x ftm!reader #hobie brown x male reader #hobie brown headcanons #hobie brown hcs #hobie headcanons #hobie x reader #hobie x you #hobie my beloved #across the spiderverse #hobie brown across the spiderverse

433 notes · View notes

tumb1rprincess · 3 months ago

Text

Oh boy, episode 159. This was another one I had heard snippets of while first checking out the fandom, so I was excited for this one. And boy, did it deliver.

Jon’s voice in this episode, dear God. There are just so many lines where he’s practically snarling the words like a predator. I remember commenting a while back that he’s a minnow among sharks, but that’s certainly not the case anymore. He’s one of the sharks now. But then his voice gets so soft when he’s talking to Martin. That little “I thought you might be lost” just melted my heart. He’s been hardened from everything he’s been through, but with Martin, he’s so soft and gentle, agh, it just kills me. Also, that line about being lost reminded me of episode 13, when Naomi’s pastor expressed the same thing about her. Being lonely, being depressed, it is like being lost. You’re trapped in this mental fog or a horrible pain that feels like it’s going to last forever.

And Martin, Martin, baby, god, I saw so much of myself in what he was saying. The Lonely being a metaphor for depression is in full force this episode. Like, him just believing that being alone is really what’s best for him and everyone else, how many of us have thought that? And the Lonely this time around isn’t this crushing weight that makes you so sad that your chest aches, although it certainly has been in the past. Here, it just makes you numb, and depression has made me feel that way a lot.

Jon just listing off his friends who have died or left him, ugh, that was a punch to the gut. It just reminds you of how much he’s gone through and you can feel the Lonely drawing him in for a moment. And Lukas, the bastard, his voice is surprisingly soft and quiet during this bit, like he’s luring you in.

So I guess there is a bit of tragedy with Lukas. Like, he was pretty much raised from the get-go to be part of the Lonely, he didn’t have much of a choice. But hearing him describe that apartment complex and how every little detail and every vulnerable person chosen was to make it as lonely as possible, that had me seething. It all just felt horribly cruel.

Literally went “GET FUCKED PETER LUKAS!” when he…exploded I guess? Is that what happens to people now if they resist answering Jon’s questions for too long? They just explode? I don’t know, it’s what it sounded like. And we still don’t know what Elias won with this wager. That worries me a little.

The last part, oh the last part. Jon admitting that being alone is probably safer, but he still tells Martin he needs him anyway, cause he still loves and cares for him so much. And just how quick Martin was to reply “No you don’t.” Like, OUCH. Martin has probably never had anyone tell him that in his life. And how many of us have thought that during our low moments? Or how many times have we had people tell us that, but we can’t bring ourselves to believe them? And then Jon saying “I don’t just want to survive!” made me think of that infamous line from Wall-E “I don’t want to survive. I want to live.” Like, Jon is pretty much saying “I want to live my life and I want to live it with you.” And then we get the most tender lines ever with “Look at me and tell me what you see” and “I see you, John.” I was like

It’s not even an “I love you” it’s an “I see you” but it still holds so much weight. Jon is feeling like a monster, Martin is alone in the world, but they still see each other and love each other and that’s what brings Martin back. Because when we’re feeling depressed and alone, isn’t that what we want the most? Just for someone to say “I see you, I know you exist, you haven’t been forgotten.” I remember seeing fanart and animations of this moment everywhere when I was poking around the fandom and I can see why. Top tier JonMartin moment.

#mag 159 #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #peter lukas #elias bouchard #the magnus archives #jonmartin

37 notes · View notes

sofasoap · 1 year ago

Text

Love at first sight - life and death

Pairing: Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra x F!reader ( aka Mini MacTavish)

Summary: Life doesn't always play a fair game. Takes place after Epilogue of the main series.

Part I, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4,Part 5,Part 6,Epilogue

Warning: M Rating. inaccuracies to medical and military related. discussion of injuries. ANGST.

A/N: Thanks @gamergirlbones helping me with Spanish phrases. and to @siilvan for putting up with me for breaking her heart. not beta nor properly proofread. sorry.

Part of RUDY FEST fic. Thank you @glitterypirateduck the wonderful CoD fanfic and fanart curator for organising another festival :D you are awesome. Prompt used: I'm not leaving you, You have to leave, your life's in danger

masterlist

How ironic.

The rescuer needs to be rescued.

Your ears are ringing, vision blurred with all the dust in the air. Without looking down, you know you are bleeding out.

Slowly turning towards your left, you can see two of your fellow medics lying motionless on the ground.

Are they still alive? If not…

Who are their next of kin? Oh, you need to retrieve their dog tags. The paper work..

Ouch. Why does it hurt so much? That’s right.. You are injured. But where?

“MINI! Stay with me!”

You know that voice. But where is he?

“Oh, hello love. There you are.” you replied, blinking your eyes a few times, trying to flush out the blood that is currently blurring your vision. Finally you spotted the owner of the voice.“ You shouldn’t be here.It’s not safe.” Bit of deja vu? Last time this happened, you were the one who was on the other side, trying frantically to save Rudy’s life. How the tables have turned.

“I am not leaving you.” Rudy replied adamantly, with a hint of panic as his eyes scanned your body, and the surroundings. “You are going to be ok, cariño, I promise. Stay with me. Please.” he pleaded as he started to open his emergency med kit, doing whatever he can to save his love from dying in front of him.

“Go. Don’t worry about me.” You tried to lift your arm, but you couldn’t. That’s when you notice half of your body and arm are pinned underneath the boulder and debris.

“Oh.That’s not good.” you try to laugh, but all you could manage was a shuddered breath. “You muppet, of course it’s not good.” A lower, grumpier voice joined in. “How can you still be laughing in this situation?”

“Oh, hello,Captain.” You slurred. It’s harder and harder to keep your speech and head straight. “You have to leave, your life's in danger. Take that man with you too, while you are there.” you jerked your head towards Rudy, who is currently radioing for medevac, causing a pounding headache. Everything is starting to hurt. It’s getting so hard to breathe. You thought.

“Tell Soap and the team I love them…” you wheezed as you tried to convey your last messages to Price. “Tell Soap I’m sorry I ate his chocolate cookies….” “Stop giving out your last words. Medevac is on their way.” he reassures you, or is he trying to reassure himself? The sadness you can see through his eyes, you know you are probably not going to get out of this.

“What.. is.. them…are my teammates ok?” you look at the two bodies again, worrying. “We can’t lose those two.. They are the best we got…” tears start to flow out. They are your brother and sister in arms, three of you have been through countless life and death situations. Is this where the three of you will partway?

“They are still breathing, last time we checked. We don’t want to move them. Worry about yourself first, cariño. Just concentrate on your breathing.” Rudy replied as he caressed your hair, soothing you. You always love his hand, how calming it is, how safe it makes you feel.

“Oh good.” you slowly close your eyes. At least someone will stay alive today.

“Come on, keep your eyes open for me, cariño, talk to me.” Rudy’s voice is getting desperate, trying to keep you awake until the medevac arrives. The help just doesn’t seem to come fast enough. He can’t lose you. Not here, not now, not for another long time to come.

“Hey Rudy.” “Yes love.”

“Do you remember the day we first met?”

“Of course cariño. How could I forget?”

“Hey Rudy.”

“Yes mi vida.”

“You love me??”

“Of course.Mi corazón late por ti”.

“....”

“Cariño?”

The last thing you heard before you sank into the complete darkness was the anguish cry of Rudy, screaming out for you.

Mi corazón late por ti : My heart beats for you.

NOTE: Sorry it's a short one. I am just so tired from work conferences and travelling. part 2 might not come out in time for end of Rudy fest :(

Tag list :

@jynxmirage, @siilvan

@glitterypirateduck, @homicidal-slvt

@sprout-fics @cumikering @preciouslittlecreature @crazymela

@liyanahelena @abbeyrjm-blog @alypink @devcica @nrdmssgs

@okayyadriana @caramlizedtomatoes @random-thot-generator @random0lover

@iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface

@nightingal3-tales, @deakyspuff

@deadbranch, @roosterr, @gamergirlbones, @b1rds3ye, @writeforfandoms @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @onewattson6529

128 notes · View notes

sillysillyprice · 3 months ago

Note

Oh poor salt but well it is fault if he had talk and aloof that then maybe just maybe like man being a simp is good but express yourself is better ! Like dammit! Oh but we'll whatever poor him I understand him I too had a crush on someone before but we'll never confess and after we got separate and he lately came back to my school but we'll now I don't feel anything and well.....I'm getting a bit work up......but tell silent salt that in another universe (my au) hil and his angel are happy together and even two kids......but I don't have name for them one is born before corruption and the other after corruption but yeah good luck with your au and I'll do my best to stay informed oh and by the way can you explain more about the beast while corruption things? Please oh and a little bonus this is a picture I got in X

I'm sorry to hear that, it must have been sad at the time, but at least it's in the past now and you can move on, that's a good thing! Staying in the past is not good

Salt is a serious, quiet and completely mature knight, but if he knew that he would jump with excitement to at least be able to be with his angel in another universe!

things about beasts during corruption... let's see

— Shadow Milk

— He is the culprit of everything that happened, but why did he do it? Why cause so much chaos and destruction? ... because he was bored and wanted to screw the witches

— He hates everyone without exceptions! Well, if there is one exception, it's a cursor-shaped cookie that he sympathizes with hehe

— When he was Light Milk he wrote an entire library (and more), but Shadow Milk is a fool! He can't even read! His brain was melted and now he has mush in his head

───────────────

— Mystic Flour:

— She was the third to fall against Shadow Milk

— The veil (hood or whatever it's called, I don't know about clothes) makes her look like she's in mourning despite wearing white because, She is indeed in mourning, unable to overcome the death, through her own fault, of all those she loved, friends, and her own son

— And speaking of her son, Leftover Flour, he didn't show up because she had a partner or had a crazy night, but it was a gift from the witches so that she could learn what empathy was

───────────────

— Eternal Sugar:

— the second to fall under the control of Shadow Milk

— Since the corruption began she was not well, her ideas became more and more irrational, until they sealed her, And if absolute solitude in imprisonment ended up blowing her fuses and removing the screws she had left, she is literally crazy

— she ate the cookie dough on the grounds that they wouldn't find them, But it was useless! Everyone knew there were cookies dying

───────────────

— Burning Spice:

— The last to fall was the one who resisted the most but in the end he could not avoid being controlled

— And it's not just a saying, he was literally controlled, he became another puppet of Shadow Milk for a while

— When it was finally sealed, he says he was able to feel relieved, at least in part

───────────────

— Silent Salt:

— The first to give in, he didn't even put up any resistance

— he doesn't like killing in the slightest, he only did it to please Shadow Milk

— decided to change his name because "Service" even sounded like a bad joke

───────────────

By the way, the fanart is very nice! The artist who made it is definitely talented

50 notes · View notes

ianthoni · 7 months ago

Note

My hot take is that shipping and fanfiction is always fine if people stay on the hinges. There's not as many allowances for rpf (there’s always real people to consider after all). But as long as you a healthy level of attachment to it, it will be fine, this is not a show where you can make a "10 reasons X shod have ended with Y" and actually have a point, these are real people that can get hurt break up, have kids that one day will look up their parents’ names and might find what was said about them. I cannot fathom seeing a wedding announcement from someone you look up too and react with anything less than "Good for them". We know these peoples "Screen Personas" we don't get to have an opinion on how they live their lives.

I realy like to come to this blog because it fells casual and fun, i forget there are people not taking things as casual and fun.

Exactly this. That's my opinion too. You can ship people in a healthy and a place that they won't see and it is cool. Imo shipping and being happy for them is %100 better than shit talk about them and trashing their choices in life or their wedding dress/ wedding avenue etc etc. At the end of the day they won't get hurt from people saying omg they look cute but they can get sad about the fact that some people say shit to them. And that dress was fuckin GORGEOUS on Court. It was perfect. They can wear whatever the fuck they want and marry in a place they want and NO ONE has a right to talk shit. They can't. People need to learn to respect others. They are celebrities but don't forget they're humans with emotions they're not fuckin robots.

This is the same for ianthony. Ian and Anthony told it enough times that fanfics and fanarts are ok. As long as people don't go too over the top and like to start being malice to people in their life. And me and my friends around don't do that. If you don't look at their possible s/o and say oh this person is in between them and bully them honestly shipping is totally ok imo.

I sometimes see people being too harsh on shippers and it saddens me like i didn't do anything to anyone or hurt Ian and Anthony. We're just having fun in this little corner with friends and no one's gonna be hurt cause they won't even see it.

#fandom discourse #fandom wank #smosh #ian hecox #anthony padilla #shayne topp #courtney miller #rpf

35 notes · View notes

thetarttfuldickhead · 1 year ago

Text

Uh, so, I saw this kickass piece of fanart by @thwipped and whoops, innit:

---

If caught and asked about it, Jamie couldn’t have explained why he did it.

Actually, no. Scratch that.

He could have explained, probably. He just wouldn’t have cared to.

---

The way it goes is this:

He’s been with Richmond for a couple of months and haven’t those been the longest fucking months of his life, because yeah, ‘course it’s fun being the best fucking player on the team, ‘course it’s fun hearing the fans chant his name, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo, and getting a bit of rest from his dad ain’t bad either, but Richmond is a shit club with a shit manager and the only fucking bright spot—

Well. That’s turned out to be shit too, hasn’t it.

At least Jamie’s killing it, at matches, at training, every fucking time he steps onto the pitch. No one can fucking touch him, dominating yeah, and today’s been a good day for it too, what with the photographer on the sidelines snapping picture after picture for some promo or other. Jamie didn’t pay too much attention to the details, just made sure they got him from his best angle (every angle’s his best angle), and that’s that, until a couple of days later when he walks past Hopkins’ (or Huggles’?) empty office and sees the photos spread out all across the desk.

And well. ‘Course he steps inside to have a look. Bound to be a bunch of him looking fit as fuck, right, and who doesn’t want to see that, and maybe he can grab one for Keeley, bet she’d love it.

There is a bunch of him looking fit as fuck, no surprise there. Difficult to choose the best one really, they’re all fucking brilliant (‘cause he’s fucking brilliant), and he’s deliberating between an action shot of him about to score one of the prettiest goals this sad fuck of a club ever saw and a shot of him afterwards, chin raised against he blue autumn sky like a hero out of a movie or something. Gorgerous, innit.

And then his eyes fall on a picture of Roy.

A picture of Roy fucking Kent. And. Like. It’s not even anything special, not like Roy’s actually doing anything in it, it's just a stray shot of him caught unawares with his shirt raised to wipe the seat of his forehead and he’s—

He’s. Uh.

Fuck. Jamie stares and he stares and he stares because for all that his old attraction to Roy didn’t survive five fucking minutes of actually being in the same room as the man, that’s just—

The shorts riding low on his hips. The dark hair trailing down and down, and the glistening drops of sweat on his forehead and Jamie can fucking smell him and that’s not sexy, is it, except it really fucking is, and those arms, and something unguarded and vulnerable and the real Roy Kent is a royal cunt but the Roy Kent in the picture—

He’s something else, isn’t he. He’s fucking fit. (Okay, the real Roy Kent is that, too, but it kind of fades in the face of him being an insufferable old twat and all that.)

Jamie grabs the picture. Doesn’t let himself think too much about it. Shoves it in his pocket and walks away, feeling it burn, burn, burn against his side.

---

When Jamie was twelve his mum gave him a poster of Roy Kent and Jamie was over the fucking moon. When Jamie was twenty-three he met Roy Kent and Roy Kent glared at him with unmitigated disgust and okay, fuck you too, mate. You’re not even that good anymore, and still you expect everyone to fall at your fucking feet, do your fucking bidding and make like you’re the fucking king, and fuck that, the king is dead, old man; long live the king.

Thing is, looking at the picture now it’s not that hard to forget about the real Roy Kent (nasty bastard) and remember the Roy Kent (fucking legend) that looked down on Jamie from his bedroom wall and whispered encouragements in the back of Jamie’s head and, a little later, featured frequently in fantasies of a different sort.

Picture in one hand, cock in the other, Jamie wanks to Roy for the first time since he came to Richmond (and if it’s not all just the memories of the man he once imagined, if it’s a little bit tinged with dark looks and growls and Roy snarling his name like it’s an insult… Well. That’s nobody’s business, that.)

---

He keeps the photos in the bottom drawer in his bedroom and he doesn’t pull it out a lot, ‘cause there’s Keeley and she’s fucking fit and the sex is mindblowing and Jamie doesn’t need to gawk at pictures of sad old has-beens to get his rocks off.

Sometimes there’s a different sort of itch, though, and he scratches it. No big deal.

(He wonders sometimes, what the real Roy would say if he knew. Plays it out in his mind, all the different ways it might go. Cums as he imagines it.)

He thinks maybe Keeley would like the picture too. Not ‘cause she’d like Roy, she’s got way better taste than that, and she’s fun and she likes a bit of fun and if there’s one thing Roy Kent ain’t, it’s fun, innit. But he’s fit and all, and Keeley’s got eyes.

He imagines it, sometimes, the two of them getting off together over the picture. If Roy – the real Roy – wasn’t such a miserable old prick, he’d suggest it to her maybe. But Roy is such a miserable old prick, and the whole thing is way too complicated to explain, so he doesn’t.

Then Keeley dumps him and the dream was only ever that.

---

They send him back to City. Jamie doesn’t understand. One moment he’s sharing a bottle of tequila with Dani Rojas and taking up the Richmond chant and Jamie’s not wrong and for the first time he wonders if maybe there could be something for him here, and the next he’s woken up by his agent and that same evening he’s back in Manchester like he never left, only the stale air in the house he bought with his fifth paycheck tells him he did, and the numb sense of loss as he steps through the door tells him he did.

It’s months before he gets everything from London shipped and sorted. Busy getting up to speed with everything at the club and all. It’s good to be back, really, a proper team, a proper coach, all that. Dad starts getting in touch again, sure, but it is what it is.

So yeah, it’s months before he gets all his stuff unpacked and months before his fingers brush over something familiar and he stands there staring down on the picture or Roy and it’s odd because it seems like only yesterday he first saw it and it seems a lifetime ago.

A rush of lust – Pavlovian, right, Keeley? – but a rush of something else too, rusted barb wire tugging at his guts, sharp and sickening.

He looks at it for a long time and then he puts it away and this time he doesn’t take it out again. That’s over and done with.

(Only, he doesn’t throw it away either. Just lets it sit in a neglected drawer, ignored but never let go, like all the other things that must never be.)

---

(There’ll be a time, some years later, boxes packed and moved and unpacked and an old photo slipping to the floor and

what the fuck is this?

and

what’s that, babe? oh my god, you look hot! fucking hell! jamie, where did you even get this?

and

when did you get this? i’m still playing here

and

uh, well, you remember that photo shoot they did for the promo just a couple of months after i joined richmond?

and a raised eyebrow and

yeah?

and a shrug and cheeky grin and

yeah, well, picked it up for darts practise, didn’t I

and Roy snorts but he’s smiling too and

figures you’d be shit at darts

and

what are you on about, man, i’m aces at darts… ooh, because there’s no holes in it you mean, yeah, no, you’re right, you’re right, i’m shit at darts, fucking terrible

and they’re both smiling now and Keeley is too and Roy notes how it’s clearly been handled a lot and what were you doing with it really and the glint in his eyes says he knows but Jamie tells him – tells them – anyway, in great, great detail.)

#this got angstier than expected #but all’s well that ends well i guess?#the moment i saw this fanart my mind went STRAIGHT to jamie (and keeley!) enjoying - ahem - it #arguably this piece was also influenced by mickey milkovich and the picture he kept of ian gallagher #which is super fucking sad so maybe the sad factor of this wasn't THAT unexpected actually #but after angst comes happily ever after!#at least in this household #royjamie #royjamiekeeley #jamie tartt #roy kent #my stuff #ficlet

96 notes · View notes