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ghxstwrites · 2 months ago

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You're Mine

Pairing: Ghostface!Hongjoong x Female Reader, Brief Seonghwa x Reader, Brief San x Reader.

Summary: Hongjoong was in love with you and he’d kill to have a chance with you.

WC: 2.4K

AU: Non-Idol! Hongjoong, brief College! AU

Genre: Horror, Smut

Warning(s): Smut! MDNI; use of Knives/knife kink, Mask Kink, Degradation and Praise, Yandere!Hongjoong, name calling, unprotected sex (yes, just as scary, wrap it!), pet names (baby, doll), name calling, swearing, talks of crime scenes/bodies - no graphic descriptions

A/N: Happy Halloween, Loves! I couldn't think of a better way to finish the season than with captain himself. Thank you to my beta readers @bunnliix and @potatomountain for helping me out here!

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society

Tag List: @bethelighthalazia @a---shura @kpop---scenarios @autieofthevalley @rems-writing @skzdust (send me an ask if you'd like to be added!)

Kinktober & Flufftober Masterlist

The wind picked up as you walked through the neighborhood, Halloween was only a few days away and you could definitely tell.

The carved pumpkins on everyone's doorsteps, the goofy inflatables and plastic props sticking out of lawns, and the multicolored leaves on the ground that crunch under your feet as you walk down the street. You were on the way to your friend's house as you were bringing supplies for a party that was meant to happen at his apartment over the weekend.

Knocking on his door, you didn’t get a response, you opted to shoot him a text.

“Hey loser, you said you were home, where are you?” you sent the message to him not long after the door swings open and he’s drying off his hair.

“Sorry, I had to take a shower - I just got back from the gym and I was uh.. pretty gross,” he admits to you. You roll your eyes and brush past him sitting the bags on his kitchen island.

“Of everyone,” you paused looking up at your friend, “Why did you opt to host the party Joong?” You chuckle as he approaches you. “You don't really seem like the type to go to parties, plus we need some decorations, Man!”

He laughs as he tosses the towel to the side “I don’t go to parties, plus this is just a few people - i’ll manage,” he smirks as he leans against the counter.

It was Friday night, all of your friends pile into Hongjoong’s apartment, some of the guys had started to to drink and make unholy liquor concoctions as you try to set up the snacks for the night and just as the last attendee comes in Hongjoong walks out of his room pulling a shirt over his head.

“Wait, Where’s Seonghwa?” one of the others perked up.

“He’s usually never late,” you add, looking defeated, you had been hoping to catch him here because in the days leading up to the party the two of you had been exchanging flirtatious glances and witty comments. Maybe you’d even get lucky when no one was looking.

“Maybe he got caught up at work or something,” Hongjoong shrugs, not paying too much mind to the situation as he flops down on the couch setting up the movies for the night. “Scream marathon anyone?” He looks over at the group of his friends.

“I don’t really do scary movies, Joong…,” you say softly, before he has the chance to respond, San smiles at you.

“You can cling on to me as you need to, I’ll protect you,” he says confidently with a smirk.

Hongjoong could feel his blood boil, who did these guys think they were? You were his and he wasn't going to fight anyone for you, but on the outside he remained expressionless, huffing out a response he turned back to the TV pressing play on the movie.

After a few drinks, you settled back into San’s touch, his broad shoulders providing a comfortable back board to rest against. Across the room, Hongjoong settles into his spot on the sofa as he steals glances at you and San, his blood presure rising with each passing moment he sighs to himself, “Who gives a fuck about these movies,” he mutters under his breath as he gets up to go pour himself yet another drink.

He’d had an alternative to his party, getting you all to himself. He’d spent months pinning over you, doing anything he could to get you close to him, so when your sights got set on Seonghwa he felt betrayed, crushed, and even used. Hongjoong knew there was only one solution, after all - Seonghwa was the campus nerd, who would really miss him if that meant Hongjoong had what he wanted, no, needed. You.

San excuses himself so he can get some fresh air and attempt to sober up, he makes his way outside. Just as San slips out of the back door Hongjoong follows him.

“Oh hey man, i did-,” San doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence Hongjoong swings, punching San in his face. “What the fuck man?!” he yells out covering his nose

“Listen here bastard,” Hongjoong grits out “Anyone who flirts with Y/N… they go missing” Hongjoong locks eyes with the younger man. “Why do you think Seonghwa isn’t here?” He smiles wickedly, “She’s mine.”

It’d been about 45 minutes, San nowhere in sight, and now that you think about it - Where did Hongjoong go? Your eyelids were growing heavy so you tried to pay no mind to it until you heard Wooyoung gasp as he reached to pause the movie.

“Fucking, Seonghwa’s dead?!” He screeches out looking at his phone. You immediately shot up off the couch as silence fell over the friend group as they all focused their attention on him, he tapped on the news article.

“The victim was found this afternoon near his college dorm, police later identifying him as Park Seong-Hwa, a 26 year old college student, the police have not pinpointed a suspect at this time, all that was left behind at the crime scene was a note saying ‘Don’t blame the movies.’ Investigators believe the suspect could be a ‘copycat’ killer of the popular character ‘Ghostface’ from the Scream franchise, More updates as they are released.”

“I… I’m gonna step outside,” you whisper, you needed a mental breather, this was a lot to take in so you picked up your drink, making your way out to the back yard. Just as you step off to the side of the house you hear rustling, Looking up you first see San’s white t shirt, now stained your eyes naturally following the figure leaned over him which caused you to freeze, it was the man you’d just read about - a man dressed as ghostface, holding a knife and you couldn’t bring yourself to scream.

“What's the matter y/n?.. You look like you’ve seen a Ghost.” the masked figure lulls back at you.

“H-Hongjoong?.. Is that.. No, no no no,” you stammer out backing up from him but before you have the option to run he reaches out, grabbing you by shirt, pulling you to him, you stare back at him - rather the mesh covering his eyes - as your breathing picks up.

“Don’t you dare scream, understand me?” he tuts at you. All you can seem to do is nod at him.

Behind his mask all he can do is smirk “This is your fault baby, If you hadn’t been such a shameless slut, your friends would still be alive wouldn’t they?” He laughs spinning you around so your back now faces him as he brings the blood covered kitchen knife up to your throat, causing you to swallow thickly. “Y/n.. You’re gonna get your ass back in that house and pretend like you saw nothing, and maybe if for a change you’re a good girl..,” he coos, “You’ll get to live, yeah?” you nod softly.

You walk back into the house, by this point you realize everyone left, after getting the unsettling news regarding Seonghwa it puts a damper on the evening's festivities. You look around the living room noticing the absence of your friends, you breathe out a sigh of relief, slumping over the back of the couch as tears fall down your face, you are terrified and upset. You couldn’t help it, through your sobs you fail to notice the door opening behind you.

“What's the matter baby?” He coos at you, causing you to jump.

“Joong please…This isn’t you.. Is it the stupid fucking movies?” you hiss at him.

He smiles wickedly at you, “Baby..,” he walks up to you, holding onto your hips firmly, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. “Those movies didn’t create me, they only gave me more creative ideas,” he smirks.

You stare back at him, San’s blood now dried on his face, now serving as a lingering memory of him. Hongjoong sees this, taking the tip of the knife, gently bringing your attention back to him, careful not to break skin.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he smirks, “He doesnt matter anymore, you’re mine - understood?” He can smell the fear as your tear-filled eyes stare back, the words caught in your throat.

“O-okay..,” you squeak out.

A sadistic smile spreads across his face as he lets you go, causing you to fall back onto the couch. “You know baby, you look so pretty like this…,” His knife runs down your clothed body, stopping at the top of your pants.

“You look terrified but you’re probably so fucking wet..,“ he chuckles out, and you couldn’t lie to yourself, this was a new side of him and you weren’t sure what it was but everytime his knife ghosted your skin, you felt yourself clench around nothing.

“Hongjoong… Why.. what did they do..,” you choke out, maintaining eye contact with his masked face.

“They got too close to what was rightfully mine,” He says sternly “and I can’t share you baby,” he smirks as one hand grips your waist as the other finds the button to your jeans

“Won't you be mine, Doll?” his face leans closer to yours, “you’ll never have to worry again,” he coos in your ear as you feel the button pop on your pants. “Because anyone who gets near you.. I’ll make them disappear.” he spits as his hand finds the wet spot on your underwear. “Seems I'm right… shameless fucking whore…” he snarls.

Your body seemingly betrays you as you moan out, arching into his touch, “H-Hongjoong, What are you doing?” You look up at the masked man. You get no response and he hurriedly removes your jeans, tossing them to the side.

“This entire time you’ve been sitting here, putting on a show for me, when in reality you like this..,” His knife grazes your clothed pussy causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Joongie… please,” you squirm under his gaze.

“A pussy so pretty I should mark my initials on it.. Let everyone know you belong only to me,” He punctuated as he used his blade to cut through the thin material of your underwear, eliciting a gasp from you as your underwear fell to the side leaving you exposed, his words only fueling your desire more.

Hongjoong drops to his knees in front of you removing the now useless fabric as he presses soft kisses to the inside of your thighs, making you squirm. He gives no warning before he latches onto your sensitive nub, causing you to arch into him immediately. He works his tongue expertly as you writhe beneath him, his arms coming up to wrap around your thighs in an attempt to make you stay still.

“J-Joong - ah fuck - feels so good,” you breathe out as your hand tangles in his hair. He smirks against your dripping cunt.

“That’s it Doll, lose yourself in me…,” he lulls out as he slips two fingers into you as he scissors you open with his fingers, you feel a heat building in your stomach, and he can tell by the way you flutter around his fingers. His tongue and fingers working in tandem to bring you closer and closer and just as that band in your stomach is about to snap you feel him pull his fingers out and release your cunt with a soft pop.

“Fu-Fuck, Joong! No!” you whine out at him.

“Shh… I’d never leave my baby unsatisfied…,” he chuckles at you, standing back up he pulls you up to eye level with him. “There you are…,” he coos, resting a hand on your cheek before it moves to find purchase in your hair, his grip tightening to an almost painful level as he uses his grip to pull you with him as he sits down on the couch, dragging you down to straddle his lap.

“This is better, hmm?” His voice sounds almost condescending as he rolls his hips against yours as you whimper. “Hongjoong…pl-please.”

“Oh doll… I know you can do better than that.” you can hear the way his voice is coated in pleasure.

“Please, I need you so bad.. I don’t know how much longer I can take this,” you plead with the man, as he grabs the mask he left on the table behind you, slipping it on.

He smirks, making quick work of his pants as he pulls out his aching cock, shuddering at the friction. ”F-fuck doll, you don’t know what you’ve done to me.” he huffs out as he thrust into you causing you both to moan out, you sit there allowing both of you to gather yourselves. You start to rock your hips back and forth as small whimpers leave your mouth, driving him insane. He reached back around, grabbing at your hair and yanking it forcing your head back as a low moan escaped you. He looked up at you with hungry eyes, watching the faces you made. “That's my doll, look at you, making such pretty noises for me - ah- not gonna last like this,” he cries out, his hand sneaks between your bodies, finding your clit, rubbing it in small circles causing you to cry out.

“That’s it doll… I’ve got you,” He coos as his thrust picks up speed to match his fingers as that band in your belly starts to form again. “Show me how much you love what I do to you, how much I have done for you…,” he growls at you, causing that band to snap, you cry out his name as you clench around him. At the same time his release coats your velvet walls as he throws his head back, he holds you in place as you both ride out your highs together.

As the fog in your brain clears, you look back at the masked man, you reach up, slowly taking it off him. He’s already staring back at you which causes you to flinch slightly, causing him to smile. He reaches up, moving strands of hair out of your face.

“No one else makes me feel this way,” he says softly, “you could rip my heart out of my chest and I’d still adore you,” you stare back at him, the Hongjoong you knew slipping back into your grasp. You reached up to caress his face, smiling softly.

“I wanna hear you say it,” he asks, barely above a whisper.

“I’m yours..,” you respond softly

“You’re mine.”

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gurugirl · 1 year ago

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He's Not You | bfd!harry

Summary: The aftermath of Harry's bright idea has some downfalls and he didn't expect to feel this way.

Word Count: 7.8k

Warning: Angst, emotional cheating, lying, age gap, alcohol consumption, mature themes, 18+ only please!

bfd!harry masterlist

Harry didn’t know what to do. Or if he should do anything. One thing life taught him was that people needed time to process any kind of upsetting news and pushing was not the answer. He’d give you time. He’d let you think about what he said but he wouldn’t give you too much time because he needed you to know he was still there. He was still yours if you wanted him. 24 hours. Then he’d reach out to you. Okay. So maybe he wasn’t giving you that much time. But he needed to make sure you two were okay. Because he certainly wasn’t.

And besides, not knowing if you were okay hurt him more than anything else. And he’d totally misjudged the whole thing. He knew you might not like it but it blew up in his face. He hadn’t expected you to be that upset about it.

And your reaction had him devasted. He didn’t even expect his own response. Eyes full of tears, unable to move from your building’s parking lot for nearly fifteen minutes while he retraced the whole thing in his mind and cried. Over and over again he thought about how he said it and how you responded and the way your little tears fell over your cheeks and your lip jutted out in upset. He hated himself. He’d really done nothing right at all. For the entire course of your relationship. It started with him pursuing you. And the rest was just the domino effect. But now he was so enamored by you, so crazy for you he couldn��t imagine being the one to break it off.

You’d need to break up with him if that were ever to happen. He’d never be able to call it off. He could think of no scenario that had him breaking up with you. None. Not even if you told his wife about the affair. He couldn’t.

. . .

You didn’t go to work that night. You called off and cried in every room of your apartment. You were feeling absolutely sunken. You didn’t even hate Harry. You understood it. Knew what he was trying to do and understood that he was only thinking of you. But that did nothing to make you feel better. Because then it was glaring. Your whole relationship and what it really was, laid out bare for you to see.

You obsessively raked over the details. His suggestion for you to date someone else. To try and have a normal life outside of him. But yet still see him in private.

That wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted to really be with Mr. Styles. Wanted to flaunt it to everyone, shout it from the rooftops, tell the whole world all about your man. But that was just a dream. A fantasy.

And what he wanted for you was his way of offering you something that resembled normalcy. Because what else could he do? Other than breaking it off with you. Which, if you were honest with yourself, breaking up with him would be the best way to go about things. If he broke up with you that would be the kindest thing for everyone involved. You’d be devasted but you’d get over him eventually as one does after enough time to heal a broken heart.

But you were thankful he wasn’t breaking up with you. He was just offering you an alternative to that. Because you did need something normal. Though you weren’t quite convinced dating someone else was the answer.

. . .

Harry had called you the following day to check-in. You were just getting out of the shower before you had to get ready for work. His words comforted you. His tone made you feel like you were still his. Like he still wanted you. You felt yourself smile for the first time in a whole day.

“When can I come see you?”

“I work this afternoon, and then tomorrow afternoon as well.”

“That’s okay. What about Thursday? You usually have Thursdays free right?”

You sighed and pulled your towel tighter around your chest as you sat on the edge of your bed, “Well… I was thinking of going out with Fae on Thursday night. I barely hang out with her anymore.”

“I miss you, puppy,” Harry spoke softly into the phone. And you understood that his quiet voice meant someone might have been close enough that they could hear him. And of course he wouldn’t want anyone to hear him saying that to someone he was speaking to on the phone. Especially if they knew he wasn’t speaking to his wife. Especially if it was his wife who was nearby.

And just that thought alone nettled at you. A dark cloak covered you again and the small smile you had when you answered the phone fell from your face. You were still feeling that jarring shock you felt the day before when he blindsided you with his offer.

But at least he wanted to see you still.

“I miss you too, Harry.” That was all you could say. You wouldn’t suggest another day to see him. Wouldn’t push for more. Or ask him what worked for him. You wanted to but you were tired. Not only were you emotionally worn thin, you’d barely slept the night before and so you were feeling very sensitive. The situation was delicate you didn’t know how to proceed.

“Are we okay, baby?” He sounded the way you felt.

“I don’t know, Harry.”

. . .

Harry gave you space. You only got a text from him while you were getting ready to go out with Fae Thursday night.

Have fun tonight. Please be safe.

Your reply was simple. You wanted to say more. Tell him to come over the next morning and help you with your hangover (you were positive you were going to have one). To kiss your headache away like you knew he could. But you kept it short.

Thank you.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Fae stood next to you as you sent the text to her dad. Quickly turning the phone as you nodded and smiled at her you lied, “I’m fine.”

The club was a spot you and Fae frequented in college. It was like walking into a time vault. Nothing looked different. Everyone was dressed to get attention from someone else. The strobing lights flickered and people crowded together in the sunken area of the dance floor. High-top tables lined against the walls filled with people nursing (or chugging) their drinks as servers ran from the bar to the tables and back again.

Fae leaned in to speak, “So… I didn’t tell you, but Evan is here with a few of his friends.”

You stopped in your tracks and looked at your best friend like she had horns, “What? Why wouldn’t you tell me first?! I really don’t want to deal with that tonight, Fae!”

She held on to your forearm, “I know. I’m sorry. But I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t come and I just want you to have some fun tonight. He promised he’d be on his best behavior.”

Evan was a super cocky asshole. But he was hot. He was loosely associated with your friend group. Had moved to the state to attend the university you went to and you hooked up with him a time or two. Three times actually. You remembered them vividly.

But after the third time you hooked up you learned he told some of your friends about it. Had bragged that he took your virginity (which was true) and made it clear that he’d been doing it just for the challenge of bagging a virgin.

So after that, you stopped talking to him. Blocked his number and every aspect of him on social media. And every time you saw him at a party or in passing you ignored him. Though he never seemed phased by your attitude toward him. He continued to flirt with you, compliment you, and tell you how pretty you were. He did apologize but he did it in a way that felt disingenuous.

It had been about a year since you’d seen him at all. And based on what Fae had just told you, he knew you’d be there. You just wish she’d told you. But she was probably right. You wouldn’t have come had you known.

. . .

“You okay, babe?” Harry’s wife asked him, popping her head into his study as he sat at his desk with a pout.

“Oh… yeah I’m fine. Was just deep in thought.”

She stepped in and walked toward him before leaning her hip against his oak desk, “You seem… well, just a little sad lately. Kind of like something is weighing heavy on you. For the past few days especially. Just want to make sure everything’s okay.”

Harry knew he was affected by you. Knew that what had happened between you two was his fault but he didn’t know what to do about it. Didn’t know how to make himself feel better. He hated that you were hurt by his suggestion. Hated himself. Hated that you were out at some club with Fae only a few days after he suggested you go out and date someone.

What if you met someone? What if you realized that meeting and dating and being with a man your age who you could go on dates with and hold hands with openly and who you could gush over with your best friend was actually way better than secretly dating a married man twice your age?

He felt his wife’s fingers run through his hair, “See? Like this. You seem so… distant, Harry.”

“Sorry. I don’t know. Maybe I’m coming down with something. I’ve been feeling off a little. Kind of tired and… probably not drinking enough water,” he watched his wife to gauge her reaction. Of course it wasn’t lack of water that had his heart crumbling and his gut twisted in knots. But he would never be able to admit the cause to his wife.

After forcing himself to get up and gulp down a glass of water at his wife’s behest, he noted the time, 11:56 pm. He wondered what you were up to. If you were dancing with someone. If you were okay.

“We should go to bed, Harry. It’s late.”

He didn’t want to go to bed. He wanted to drive to the club, go inside, and check on you. See with his own eyes what you were doing and who you were doing it with. But that was absolute nonsense. He needed to get a grip on himself.

. . .

Evan was nice. Really nice. And he looked even better than he had the last time you saw him. You could tell he’d been working out and his overgrown scruff made him look older (which reminded you a bit of Harry in a way and if you squinted he had the build of Harry too).

So when you and Fae finally decided to call it a night Evan hopped in the taxi with you two and he went back with you to your place. The whole time Fae kept giving you the, “I told you so,” look. Fae was dropped off at her apartment first.

You were right on the edge of drunk. But so was Evan. You couldn’t stop your brain from imagining he was Harry. You did try, but you had had just enough alcohol that he kind of looked like Harry. His voice wasn’t as sexy and his hands were a little smoother.

And when you tried flirting and teasing with him when you got him on your couch he didn’t give you that back-and-forth that you loved with Harry. He just dove right in. His hot mouth slobbered against yours and you allowed yourself to settle into it. Pulling your dress up over your thighs and letting him pull your panties down.

But instead of him placing himself between your legs and eating you out like you assumed he would do (Harry had really spoiled you) he began to pull his own pants down, nearly tripping because he wasn’t stable. His balance was off and you laughed at him.

You cupped him, his underwear covering whatever he had going on underneath, and realized he was not hard. Not at all.

He pushed your hand away and sat down next to you on your couch, his pants still at his ankles, and laughed in disbelief, “I’m fucking too drunk. I’m sorry, Y/n. Fuck.” He put his hands over his face and settled his head back into your couch.

This was the first time you’d ever experienced it. What they called whisky dick. You didn’t realize that Evan had had so much to drink that he couldn’t get it up.

Pulling your dress back down you looked at your thighs and at the floor where your dry panties were lying and realized, he hadn’t even gotten you anywhere near worked up. You weren’t climbing up the wall to have him fuck you (not that he could with a limp dick anyway) the way you did with Harry.

You squeezed your eyes closed and shook your head. You didn’t know what you were doing. It was too soon to jump into anything with anyone. Maybe a part of you felt like if you fucked someone else you’d feel better about it all because then you’d be serving a little bit of pain to Harry in the way he’d served it to you.

“It’s okay, Evan. Seriously. You can sleep here on the couch. I can take you home in the morning.”

He reached across the couch to pull at your hand, “I’m so sorry. This is so embarrassing. Maybe in the morning when we’re both sobered up, I can try again.”

You scoffed at the idea and looked at him as if he were joking, “Uh… we’ll see.”

You climbed into your bed feeling like you’d just hit a wall. Not just because you were so tired but because everything you did reminded you of Harry.

You missed him. You knew that even if Harry had had too much to drink to get hard he’d have held you and whispered soft words into your ear until you fell asleep. But you couldn’t imagine him drinking like that. Getting just drunk enough that he couldn’t get it up. That didn’t seem like something that would ever happen to him.

You texted him. You were sure it would be a bad idea. Something you’d regret in the morning but you just wanted to reach out. To give him something. To give yourself something.

Wish you were here.

You sighed and plugged your phone in and laid flat on your bed. You tried to fall asleep. Tried to push down your disappointment (in yourself, in the situation) but you just kept thinking of how you had really messed up big time. Falling for your best friend’s dad? Huge fuck up.

Your phone chimed and you sat up to see a text back from Harry.

Are you safe at home now, pup?

You grinned and felt your heart flutter at the term of endearment he had begun using for you.

I am. I brought someone back with me but he’s not you.

You weren’t sure why you told him that. You didn’t need to. But part of you wanted him to know. Wanted to be honest with him in every way. Felt he was owed the truth. More than likely, though, you told him because you hoped in a tiny tiny way that he’d be a little jealous. And of course there was the alcohol doing much of the thinking for you.

He read your message but as the seconds turned into minutes of being left on read you wondered if it was a mistake to tell him that. Wondered if maybe you should have only said that to him in person.

And so you quickly typed out another text at the five minute mark.

Nothing happened, though. I don’t want anyone else.

More minutes passed. You weren’t sure if he’d even see your follow-up text. Hoped he’d see it before he decided to turn his phone off and go back to sleep. It was late. Nearly 3 am. He had every right to ignore your texts at that hour.

You were startled awake by the sound of someone closing the bathroom door. You sat up quickly and looked at your phone. It was just past 8 am. Still no response from Harry. In fact, he hadn’t even read your last text to him yet. Which had you worried. Had he maybe blocked you?

Your heart sank as you climbed out of your bed. You had a headache and your mouth was dry. You filled up a glass of water for yourself and leaned against your kitchen counter just as Evan came into the kitchen with you.

He was still handsome. You weren’t sure if you were seeing things last night but his kind smile had the corners of your mouth turning upward.

“Morning,” he half yawned the word.

“Morning. Water? Coffee?” You lifted your glass upward.

“Both? If that’s okay?”

You and Evan sat at your little kitchen table and sipped hot coffee and he told you about what he was doing these days and you told him that you were waiting tables.

He couldn’t stay long. He had to go to work. But he did stay long enough that you got his number and made plans for Saturday night.

As much as you regretted it all the night before, the morning’s clarity and Harry’s lack of response to you had you feeling like you were making a good choice for yourself by seeing Evan again under different circumstances.

He kissed you goodbye at your door and grinned, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

. . .

Harry nearly lost it when he saw that you’d brought someone back with you. He sat his phone down in his office and went into his back yard and found a dark corner to sit and cry. He was pathetic. A pathetic man. A terrible husband. A man who pushed his lover away into the arms of another.

He wanted to rip his hair out and break his phone in half. Wanted to drive to your apartment, beat down your door, and end the life of a man he didn’t even know simply because you allowed him into your apartment.

He saw that you’d texted again but he couldn’t bear to look at it. He shut his phone down and tried to sleep on the leather couch in his study but his thoughts wouldn’t stop. He kept imagining you getting wet for someone else. Begging someone else to fuck you in your bed. Touching someone else with your soft fingers and kissing them with those lips he loved. He imagined your sweet moans and gasps as you called out the name of another.

Needless to say, he did not get any sleep.

He went to work, his phone was still powered off, and tried to push you out of his mind. Tried not to torture himself with all the images of you naked with another man. To no avail.

And then he made the mistake of checking on Fae’s Instagram stories from the night before from his work computer. You were there with Fae wearing something that would have any man on his knees. It would certainly have him on his knees for you.

Your big smile and shining eyes in the photo indicated you were having fun. But then a blurry photo of you dancing with a man had Harry pausing the reel and trying to scroll in. He wanted a look at this guy. No one was tagged in the post so he didn’t even get a name but now he was officially in the pits. His stomach felt like curdled milk was boiling and sloshing inside and his heart was pounding so hard in his chest that he had to place his palm over it to make sure he was still alive and that he wasn’t having some kind of heart attack or something.

He ran to the bathroom and unloaded whatever it was he ate that morning. He couldn’t even remember what he’d eaten he’d been so distraught by the idea of you being with anyone else.

“This was your idea you fucking idiot,” he scolded himself in a whisper as he wiped his mouth and then his tears.

It was his idea. And it was a terrible one. He thought he could handle it. But he was weak. How were you able to deal with the fact that he was married and yet he couldn’t even bear to look at a blurry photo of you dancing with someone else? You were far stronger than he was.

Back in his office, he decided to put himself out of his misery and power his phone back up. Read the text you sent and then insist on going to see you. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. He needed to see you.

But what he read was not what he expected at all. In fact, had he just read it when you first sent it, it would have saved him the amount of anguish he’d gone through. He’d tortured himself for no reason at all. But he figured he deserved it.

Nothing happened. You didn’t want anyone else.

He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes. You didn’t want anyone else. The relief that covered him was vast. Like the painkiller his doctor gave him when he tore his ACL. He had been in such pain after the surgery and the prescription painkillers were just there on his bedside as he recovered. He didn’t want to take them. Figured he could tough it out because he was tough. But then when he lost sleep and began to sweat and feel immense nausea from the severe pain he felt he was urged him to take the painkiller. And oh boy was that the right move. He’d wasted so much time trying to be tough and get through it without the aid. All he had to do was swallow the pill and wait twenty minutes and he’d feel better.

And now he felt better just reading your text. Why had he waited? Why had he allowed himself to get to the point of throwing up? Still, he knew he needed to see you. Needed to kiss you and hold you and apologize for suggesting such a thing to you. He hoped you’d forgive him and that you’d want things to go back to how they’d been before. To how they’d been before he’d been such a dumbass with what he thought was a bright idea.

. . .

I need to see you. Can I come over tomorrow night?

The text from Harry had you buzzing and spinning. He finally texted you back. You wanted so badly for him to come over. Instead of seeing Evan. In fact, you were panicking over your decision that morning to accept a date with him. You kept going back and forth. Was it a good idea? Should you call him and tell him that you’d changed your mind?

Staring down at your phone in the employee breakroom you didn’t know what to say to Harry. You were still feeling upset and anger over the situation. Maybe a date would be exactly what you needed somehow. Maybe it would also give perspective to Harry. Not that you were using Evan as a social experiment or to make Harry jealous. Were you? You didn’t know anymore.

Rather than text him back right away you got back to work and turned your phone off. You weren’t sure how you would respond to him quite yet. You needed time to decide if you were even going to go on the date with Evan after all.

And just like every time you finished a shift, your feet were sore and your brain was tired. But unlike every time you finished a shift, this time you were overthinking about every little detail with Harry and Evan. You pushed it down while you waited tables and finished up your night, but once you got home the floodgates of doubt, regret, anger, and hurt all came pouring out.

You had to text Harry back. Give him something. But you didn’t know what.

Hi. I’m not sure. I have plans. I do want to see you, though.

That was as much as you could give him. You didn’t know what you were doing. Nothing made any sense to you anymore.

Plans? Can I call you right now?

You sighed and sat down on your bed. The thing about hearing his voice was that it often had you all melty for him. You were worried that somehow just listening to him would make you want to immediately cancel your date with Evan. Which you still hadn’t decided what you were going to do.

But, despite all that, you dialed Harry’s number and put him on speaker. You didn’t want to have a video call with him this time. You weren’t feeling cute.

The phone rang a few times before you suddenly heard his voice break through the speaker, “Hello?”

“Hi, Harry.”

“Sweetheart, hi. How are you?”

You closed your eyes to compose yourself. Of course, just him calling you sweetheart in that deep tone was doing things to your resolve. “I’m okay. Just got off work a bit ago.”

“Yeah? And how was it? Did you keep yourself hydrated?”

He was always concerned about your state of hydration at work after one time you didn’t have a single sip of water all day and admitted it to him (you’d been too busy!).

You laughed, “I stayed hydrated. And it was okay. Got some pretty good tips tonight.”

You could hear Harry hum in acknowledgment, “Good. And what plans do you have tomorrow night, then?”

Gulping down your uncertainty you sat up straight on your bed for confidence, “Uh… a date. The guy I saw last night. But like I said, nothing happened with–“

“Yeah. I know. So you like the guy?”

You blinked your eyes and paused. Did you like Evan? You used to not. Not after the shithead move of spilling the details about what had happened to everyone. But that was years ago and yesterday when you saw him, it was like meeting a new person. He was kinder and gentler. More mature.

“Yeah. I think so. He’s someone that I’ve known. Went to college together.”

“Oh yeah? It’s not your ex is it?”

“No! No, of course not. His name is Evan. Haven’t seen him in a long time. He was at the club last night.”

The line was silent. You were sure Harry was considering your words. Part of you wanted him to tell you to cut the shit. That you weren’t allowed to see anyone else.

“Well, I guess I did suggest this didn’t I?” You heard him let out an incredulous laugh.

You faltered as you tucked your legs under your bum and looked down at the screen of your phone, “I mean. I don’t know still. I feel confused about everything. But maybe it’s good to just see. Like you said.”

In your mind, you were begging him to stop you. Wanted him to come over to your apartment and tell you that under no circumstances were you allowed to let anyone else touch you.

“Sure. Where– if you wanted to tell me, what are the plans for your date?”

You hummed and looked up at your ceiling, “Dinner somewhere. I’m not sure yet. Then we were thinking of taking a walk downtown. Just to see where the night takes us.” You didn’t like how that came out. How it might sound to him. But that was the truth. You hadn’t been against more happening with Evan that morning when you were making plans.

“Just be safe. I’ll have my phone on if you need me or anything. Okay?”

He sounded sad. You figured he was. Kind of like how you were feeling. It felt dirty and regretful. Telling your lover about plans you’d made with another man. Disgusting really.

When you ended the call you realized you did need to go on the date. Harry’s response to the news only made it clear that you should try and see what else was out there. He wasn’t budging on his end. He was a married man. He could have told you that he’d changed his mind and that he didn’t want you to see anyone else. That alone would have given you hope for something you’d been wishing for. But he didn’t try and stop you. He didn’t dare give you any false hope. Because he knew he couldn’t.

. . .

Harry locked the door to his study when he finished the call with you. He didn’t need his wife seeing him like that. Tears in his eyes and that sick nausea came back to cause him to feel broken all over again. He’d done this to himself. It’s what was fair. But so soon? He hadn’t expected you to plan a date so quickly.

He was going to absolutely be losing his mind while you were on your date. He needed to figure out a way to get out of the house so his wife didn’t question his sudden low mood.

“Fuck…” he whispered to himself as he sat down on the hardwood floor next to his desk. What was he doing? Why had his life come to this? It was his fault. He recognized it. He’d been weak and lusting after you long before he made any moves.

It was the night of Fae’s 22nd birthday. About two years ago. They threw a big party with all of Fae’s friends. You showed up early to their house, which wasn’t out of the norm for you, being Fae’s best friend. But Fae hadn’t arrived yet and Mrs. Styles was just on her way back with the cake. Harry was in the backyard setting the chairs and cups and fixing up loose ends. It was just the two of you.

“Mr. Styles!” You snuck up behind, startling him.

He turned quickly and was caught off guard by your outfit. You were dressed for a party. A pretty thin yellow dress with small white polka dots. The top part was well fitted around your breasts and tapered at your waist where the skirt was a little more flowy and knee length. It wasn’t inappropriate and didn’t show too much skin but there was something about the way you looked in it that had him taken aback. You looked so grown. Stunning.

“Hi, Y/n. How are you, dear?” He pulled you in for a hug and he didn’t know what it was about the hug either. You were warm and had pressed your body into his and it riled something inside of him.

When he pulled away from you he kept his eyes on yours and he noticed your lips and how soft your skin was on your cheeks. Your big round eyes took him in and it felt like you were both looking at one another in a different light for the first time.

“Uh… can I help you with anything?” You quickly spoke. Suddenly appearing nervous.

“Oh… no. That’s okay. We’re pretty much done here,” he looked around the backyard and back toward you.

You turned and looked toward the house and then to him, “Is anyone else here?”

“No. Just us.”

You smiled and looked down at the grass and then backed up slightly, planting your gaze back on his, “Well, I can go back inside. Don’t want to bother you or–“

And in some moment of clarity or insanity, he couldn’t be sure, he stepped forward and wrapped his hand around your wrist, “It’s okay. You’re never a bother, Y/n.”

You looked down at where he was touching you and back into his eyes. The moment felt so intimate. So real. He watched your lips part the slightest.

“Oh. Okay.” Was all you could muster to say.

You were clearly affected by his touch. But so was Harry. His hands on your wrist felt sizzling. He couldn’t explain it. Sure he’d always seen a pretty girl when he looked at you but there was something different about you on that day.

During the party, Harry noticed that his eyes kept meeting yours. It was unspoken but the continuous search for one another didn’t stop all night. He hoped no one else saw it. He was sure no one did. And it wasn’t as if anything had really happened anyway. It was innocent. Just frequent gazes from opposite sides of the yard.

Before you left for the night you helped clean up. You found Mr. Styles boxing up the string lights and he stood up when he saw you approach him. He wasn’t sure if you were seeking him out at that very moment on purpose or not, but no one else was around to witness what you did next.

You gently reached for his hand and then stepped in to give him a hug, “This was fun, Mr. Styles.”

Your words were innocent enough but the hug was even more intimate than the first one you shared when you originally arrived. You put your arms over his shoulders and he wrapped his around your back. You both stood pressed together for longer than would have been seen as appropriate. It was definitely a signal. A shift of something deeper.

Harry turned to put his face into your hair and responded, “I’m glad you were here tonight.”

It might have been two years ago, but it was what had begun everything. From then on, he noted your longing gazes, just as he was sure you saw his too. But you both had never acted on it. Not until that day at your apartment.

. . .

Good morning, puppy. I miss you.

You woke up to see Harry’s text. It made you smile. You really were head over heels for him. You couldn’t imagine that Evan could rival Harry in any way. Couldn’t imagine that you’d be gushing over anyone else the way you did over Harry.

Morning, Harry. I miss you too.

It was funny really… here you were, about to go on a date with someone while texting another. While longing for and imagining another. Was it fair to Evan? You couldn’t think clearly enough to figure that part out yet.

Evan showed up at 7 pm. On the dot. Which you found nice. He took you to a semi-fancy restaurant. Perfectly pleasant and you were happy it wasn’t too over-the-top nice.

Conversation was good. Evan was fine. He had a lot to say about things that sort of interested you. He told you about what he did at work the day before and talked about his mother, who was ill. He mentioned traveling to Italy next month, something he’d been planning on doing for over a year.

But then apologized to you about how things had ended with him all those years before.

“I’m really sorry for telling anyone about that. At the time I was just… dumb I guess. It’s one of those things in life I’ve come to regret a lot. I was glad I had the chance to see you again. And do this…” he reached for your hand across the table just before the desserts were placed down by the waiter, who luckily interrupted the cheesy moment. It gave you the ick. You didn’t like that gesture. The hand holding across the table. Maybe you just didn’t like it because it wasn’t Harry.

The restaurant was located downtown so you didn’t have to go back to his car to drive anywhere else. You left the spot with full bellies and strolled along the sidewalks and went toward the river walk area as the night sky began to take over any leftover sunlight.

It was… romantic. Truly. And Evan had been nothing but a gentleman the whole time. And he was handsome. If you weren’t so hung up on a married man you’d surely invite him into your apartment at the end of the night.

But instead, he walked you to your door and you had to let him down. You did let him kiss you, though, but you could tell he wanted more. Wanted to have a do-over from the night before. You just weren’t there yet. Weren’t sure if you’d ever be.

“I had fun,” you placed your hand on his chest and pushed at him slightly for a bit of distance.

He grinned and tried to lean down again for another kiss but you ducked from him, turning your head as your eye caught glimpse of movement to your right. It was Harry stomping toward you with a scowl on his face.

You quickly looked back up at Evan, “Sorry. I think that–“

“Y/n. You should go inside,” Harry’s deep rasp caught Evan’s attention and he immediately let you go.

You could barely understand what was happening as you looked from Harry to Evan. Harry spoke something short and abrupt to Evan who looked at you in confusion, “What’s going on, Y/n?”

You shook your head and dug your keys out from your purse, “It’s okay. I’ll call you. I had fun and uh…” you trailed off as you turned to unlock your door, looking over your shoulder at Harry.

“Yeah, but… Are we done right now–“

“She’s done right now. I’m sure she had fun but she told you she’d call you,” Harry put himself between Evan and you as you turned back toward both men.

“But… I mean… Who are you?” Evan looked at Harry and then at you as if seeking an explanation.

“A friend. And I need to talk to her right now,” he raised his brows and stepped toward Evan in an intimidating stance.

You placed your hand on Harry’s arm, “It’s fine. He’s just leaving. Go inside.” You gestured toward your now-opened door.

Harry hesitated before finally backing off and entering your apartment.

You frowned at Evan, “I’m sorry. I had a good time with you. I will call you, okay?” You reached up and gave him another hug quickly before backing away.

The poor guy nodded and looked past you into your apartment, where Harry stood only a few feet behind you possessively before backing away and giving you a weak wave.

You let out the breath you’d been holding and quickly shut the door behind you the moment you walked into your apartment.

Harry looked distraught. He began to pace as you put your purse down. It was nearly 10:30 pm. Quite early really. For a date especially.

“So you like him?” Harry stopped pacing and put his eyes on you.

You shrugged, “I… yeah I guess. Why are you here?”

Harry clenched his jaw and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed and he looked away from you again.

“I don’t know why I’m here. I wasn’t supposed to come here.”

You stepped in closer to him and tried to get him to look at you but his eyes were anywhere but on you, “Harry. Can we sit down and talk?”

He nodded and immediately walked toward your couch, plopping down with a heavy thud and leaned forward to put his face into his hands.

You sat next to him and kept your eyes on him. He was very obviously upset. You figured you knew why.

Putting your hand on his back you spoke softly, “I had fun with him. But it wasn’t what I wanted.”

You heard him sniff and felt the sharp inhale in his back where your hand was placed, “Are you okay, Harry?”

Harry scoffed and finally turned to look at you. His eyes were red. He appeared to have been crying, “I’m sorry, Y/n. I’m acting like a child. I don’t know what I’m doing. I swear I was just going to take a drive to get my mind off of you being out with someone else but then I wound up in your parking lot and I couldn’t make myself leave before I had the chance to see you. I’m sorry.”

You moved your hand from his back and placed it in your lap. You weren’t sure how to proceed. Or if you should try to soothe him at all. Part of you felt like he should be soothing you. You were happy he was apologetic but maybe he owed you more than just a couple of apologies.

You stood up from the couch and forced yourself to feel the anger and hurt you’d felt when he suggested you seeing someone else. Forced yourself to go back to that place in your mind.

“This is what you wanted. Isn’t it? How do you think I feel?” Now it was your turn to pace.

Harry watched you as your body language changed and your face was set in a frown.

“I fucked up. Everything. I’m an idiot is what I am, Y/n,” he stood up and you watched as he neared you in the room, standing a foot in front of you, “I can’t– I don’t want to lose you but I don’t know how to deal with you seeing anyone else. Letting anyone else touch you. Kiss you like that…”

You shook your head and laughed, “Then why did you suggest it?!”

Harry closed his eyes and brought his hands up into his hair, pulling at his roots, “I don’t fucking know. Because I wanted to be good to you. Because this relationship is… It’s damaged from the beginning. Because of what this is. I thought–“ he shook his head and lowered his hands, looking at you directly, “I don’t know. It was never supposed to be like this.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “What was never supposed to be like this? What does that mean Harry?”

Harry sighed heavily and moved forward an inch, bringing himself closer to you and causing you to tilt your neck back to look up at him, “Me and you. I never intended to feel this way. I thought it would just be some fun. But you know that’s not what happened. This has turned into something–“ he shook his head, keeping his eyes on yours, “I lost control. I’m not in control, Y/n.”

You dropped your arms to your sides. You knew what he meant. Understood him completely. But you wanted to hear him say it, “I know.”

Harry gently took your fingers into his, only slotting his into yours, but not grasping at them, “You do?”

Nodding your head you spoke, “Yes. I do.”

His soft eyes were making you weak. He always made you weak. “Tell me what to do. I don’t even know anymore.”

You shook your head, “I don’t– how can I tell you what to do? I don’t even know, Harry.”

He sniffled and nodded, “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I’m changed. Something in me has changed since you– and I never thought that anything like this would ever happen but I can’t stop it.”

You squeezed his fingers between yours and pulled at him gently, “You can’t stop what, Harry? Tell me. Please.”

He knew you must already be on to him. Knew how he felt for you. Because he knew you felt the same way. Could see it in your eyes and feel it the way you touched him. You showed him how you felt every time he was with you. But to say it? Well, that felt final. That would be it. There was no turning back and he never wanted you to feel like that. Like you couldn’t seek a real relationship with someone who deserved you. Because he certainly didn’t deserve you. And saying it? What would that mean? It wasn’t as if saying it would cause any more damage than there already was.

He pulled your hands up and pressed your palms to his chest, keeping his eyes on you, “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Even though you knew that was what he was feeling, to hear him say felt different. It made you feel like there was no one else in the world, just like your fantasy of being on an island with him while everything else was burned to ash. Nothing else mattered. No one else could ever mean more to you than he did. And that was scary. Because love, even if real and pure and with good intent, doesn’t fix everything. Love won’t make him yours. Love won’t have him forsaking his family for you. Love can’t make your affair okay.

But to hear it. To know it. You allowed his words to melt over you. To cover you in warmth and comfort. The idea that this man could find space for you in his big heart.

“Harry,” you felt your silly tears begin to break from your eyes. Felt his warm hands pressing yours into his chest. “I love you too.”

You heard him inhale sharply as he let go of your hands and pulled your body flush to his. He was practically crushing you and squeezing the air from your lungs but you couldn’t care. You held onto him tightly as he rocked you back and forth. He nudged his nose against your ear and you felt his warm mouth kiss the spot on your neck just under your earlobe.

You felt delirious. Maybe it was all a dream. Perhaps you’d ended your date with Evan and this was you dreaming of the only thing your mind felt comforted by.

He brought his hands up to cup your face, “I’m going to do everything I can to make it worth it for you. For as long as you can tolerate me.”

You smiled through your tears and laughed, “Will you say it again? I wasn’t dreaming?”

Harry closed the space between you and his mouth covered yours with heat and affection. Soft but carnal with tongue and a moan into your mouth. You couldn’t find your bearings in his arms with his mouth against yours and his heart in your hands.

But then he pulled his mouth away and rested his forehead against yours, “Y/n, I love you so much.”

A/N: I know there’s no smut in this one but if you guys know anything about me, you know I love writing smut. I promise I’ll deliver the goods with the next update.

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moongreenlight · 10 months ago

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Said my piece about stalker!soap but how could I forget stalker ex boyfriend!ghost????????????!

Cw: Creepy crawler behavior. Stalking. Breaking in.

Maybe you should stop listening to true crime podcasts at work.

It feels entirely silly. You’re surely working yourself up over nothing, but some mornings you wake up and have to explain-away the way that your toothbrush is in the wrong spot or that there’s a lunch packed in the fridge that you can’t remember putting together yourself. There’s pictures on your phone that look like your dark bedroom that you’re pretty sure you didn’t take yourself. Maybe you accidentally took it on the way to bed? While you were getting up to use the bathroom?

You talk yourself blue in the face explaining it away well enough that you convince yourself your flat must be haunted. It seems almost logical? Better than any of the alternatives you can come up with if nothing else.

You live with the infrequent tweaks and changes to your surroundings. Lights on you shut off. Doors open you left closed. Your laptop charger going missing when you were certain you left it on the desk.

You almost go so far as to get a motion-activated light to plug into the outlet by your bedroom door, but you convince yourself against it after wandering the aisles of a drugstore with it in your cart long enough for an employee to start following you around. You toss it back on the wrong shelf and buy a packet of sweets you won’t eat in an attempt to not look like you were casing the joint.

But then it picks up. Gets more serious. Windows being opened while you sleep. Strange creaking of floorboards that are too loud to be the building settling. Your bed being made when you get back from an outing you had to rush out the door for. Massive men’s sweaters showing up in your in-unit dryer. The trash being emptied while you were at work. It gets so bad that you stop staying at home because it’s simply too creepy.

It’s the kind of fear that settles in the craggy parts of your brain. Seems silly if you think about it too hard the same way being scared of the dark in your closet after watching a horror movie does. Being scared of a potentially haunted apartment doesn’t really convey the severity of the situation when you try and talk about it with people.

You stay with friends. Couch surf as long as you can until you cannot possibly force people to take you in any longer. And when you’ve exhausted all other options, you find yourself texting Ghost for the first time in months.

Hey.

It’s hours before he responds. Not unusual. And instead of him texting back, you see a phone call block out the video you’re watching on your phone from a very well-lit spot in the living room. Also not unusual.

You pick up, but it takes you a few seconds to choke out words around the sudden lump in your throat.

“Forget how to answer the phone?”

He sounds irritated -again- not unusual.

It’s quiet where he is. Sounds like maybe he’s in a smaller space. His bedroom or his car? Though you couldn’t imagine him out at this hour of the night.

“Sorry. No. I- sorry.”

Shifting from his end. The static of fabric brushing past the microphone. A hefty sigh.

“Sorry.”

“You said.”

“Uh- I don’t really know how to ask you this, it’s- silly. I don’t know. Are you- um- busy?”

“S’half one in the morning.”

“It was a better time when I texted.”

It’s hard not to snark at him.

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean no. I’m not busy.”

You’d love nothing more than to hang up on him, but you stayed up the entire two nights before because you couldn’t find anyone to come stay with you and you were getting desperate.

“Could you come over?”

#moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost

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sequence-trotter · 2 months ago

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With Sunday's drip marketing, one reaction I've seen is surprise that he's still on his same path toward the same goal of paradise.

But of course he is! HSR patch 2.2 Penacony is a long string of scenes where Sunday is like "debate me, please debate me, I feel a little bit like I'm going crazy here, how are none of you seeing what I'm seeing, someone please debate me." He sees a cold and uncaring logic to the world and desperately wants to be wrong about his conclusions.

And no one debated him. They overpowered him and broke his illusion via power rangers distress call and "severed [his] Path with their hands," as he put it, but no one really debated him in good faith on the terms he set. Of course he hasn't changed! No one was even faintly capable of articulating an alternate position!

unacceptably long-ass boring post incoming. if you click the read more you have only yourself to blame. i had to put in subheadings for navigability this post is a MESS

(authors note: in an absolutely embarrassing travesty i managed to hit the picture limit per post so this will be a post in multiple parts. this part covers Sunday's goals and Robin's initial response. A follow-up post will cover Firefly and the Astral Express's response, as well as the final confrontation and what this all means)

(double note: due to post length limitations this ended up being three reblogs long. completed version here.)

(A note before we set off: I do not think the HSR writers are very good, or more charitably, I think the constraints under which HSR is made pretty much preclude it having a thematically satisfying narrative. Not the least of these constraints is the obvious fear around having anyone playable be "too bad," which is why Blade was introduced as an implacable force of ancient vengeance for crimes unutterable, and now he's your 35-year-old coworker who jokes about killing himself. Everything I'm saying here is just interpretation, and it will certainly not be the game's take, since the game's moral reasoning doesn't seem to extend very far beyond "the Astral Express is good guys :)". Accordingly, please take this in an appropriate spirit, as someone looking for griminess and nuance in a game with a distinct deficit of either and an extreme unwillingness to treat its most interesting concepts as anything more than set dressing or very loosely-implied subtext.)

So to start you gotta ask, what is Sunday so mad about? Why does he demand that you debate him?

I. Sunday's Goals: "A Paradise Exclusive to Us Human Beings"

In his own words, what Sunday is fighting against is the fact that the world runs on predation and violence. Order is the enemy not of Chaos, but of Nature, and natural selection.

For Sunday, the problem is not merely that bad things happen in the world, or that the weak suffer. The problem is that the world is cruel in its design. The logic of survival is cruel. The extent of the problem is not just the dove dying to predators, though that is a huge part of it. It's the average worker, required to work at drudgery or worse, usually for the benefit of another, and always under possible threat of deprivation and death, because the nature of the world is that you must work or hurt or exploit or kill to survive. It's the man who sold his children into slavery for the chance at a better life, but more importantly it's those children, an afterthought in the end even to their father.

It's not just the suffering alone that he is responding to, either. In suffering and deprivation, Sunday sees a loss of control and choice. that necessarily entails a loss of dignity and meaning. Both the Astral Express and Firefly object that people should have the right to choose, but Sunday simply responds that they have no greater ability to choose under the status quo. To Sunday, a man who lives in a literal dream world, a life lived struggling for better things might be noble, but it is unequivocally not as dignified or happy as one lived in bliss.

This is part of why he's so fixated on the idea of weakness. Sunday perceives a distinct difference between people who believe their struggles give their lives meaning, and people who do not feel themselves to be free in the first place and thus find no greater meaning in their struggles. He clearly sees the second group as weak (a term he uses without judgment), and unable to fully express and experience their human dignity as a consequence of their position.

Sunday sees the history of Penacony as essentially recapitulating this struggle over and over. Hanunue frees the prisoners, but can neither secure Penacony's permanent freedom nor give the former prisoners full and dignified lives. Then Hanunue dies, and Sunday's sort of intriguingly ambivalent in how he portrays the Harmony taking over. It's actually kind of inspiring and humanist! This is a guy who's still deeply invested in Harmony's ideals.

But of course, we don't need a direct critique from Sunday to know how the Harmony has failed Penacony. We've seen it with our own eyes over and over. Do we need Sunday to tell it to us again when we've already spent our time with Chadwick, and Cocona, and Tizocic II? We have already seen over and over and over again in Penacony how systemic constraints and problems drive people who could have lived bright lives down dark paths, even in the Dreamscape.

Most intriguing is the third act, ostensibly the future, in which Ena arises and then is cast down because the people reject THEIR paradise in which THEY control and define all things. This could kind of be a jump to the past...except that Ena's previous "death" was due to absorption by Xipe during THEIR ascension, not because the people cast THEM down. The only event it appears to bear any resemblance to is...well, you beating Sunday in a few missions' time, because you reject his paradise since it's all in his control. Weird!

Back to the main matter, Sunday believes that true human dignity and flourishing requires not just freedom from outside control by otherss, but freedom from suffering and privation. He sees the weak (in his thinking, people spiritually unable to rise above suffering) as people unable to fully express themselves, who deserve the dignity of a life free of suffering or bitter choices. He spells this all out quite plainly in his opening lines to you when you arrive at the grand theater:

So we know what Sunday wants. And we know his answer to it: the Sweetdream Paradise (as I will be calling it here because I think it's funny and also because the sweet/bitter dichotomy is a huge part of Penacony thematically). He will use the power of Xipe's Emanator (Dominicus, the Harmonious Choir), and the remains of Ena (unclear if these are like, conceptual or metaphysical or what) to become something new (context implies possibly a new Aeon of Philosophy) that will enable everyone to sleep forever, entering a Penacony-esque dream in which nothing bad can truly happen, sustained by whatever new thing Sunday becomes. Everyone will be experiencing life through dreams while Sunday is the only thing awake in the real world, but that won't matter anyways because the dream will be basically the only thing that exists, without even Aeons interfering. It would be a truly human paradise. (One interesting little note here is that Sunday seems to quite clearly resent the Aeons for standing above humans and for offering no true solace to the suffering. No Aeons No Masters)

(I know I said above I think Sunday may have been becoming the Aeon of Philosophy and he says here his intent is not to become an Aeon. But the enemy description is pretty clear that Order and Harmony are forming the shell of an egg for a new god and the enemy is called "[Embryo of Philosophy] Sunday" I think it's pretty fitting both for his Icarian plan and the narrative role of Aeons that he was on the brink of accidentally becoming one, and probably having his original goal and his humanity subsumed into the nascent Aeon's Path. To me that seems an equally fitting ending for his hubris.)

What's really interesting to me about the Sweetdream Paradise is that the game goes out of its way, before it begins, to make it seem like a viable alternative path.

Such a dream could never be stable! Well, with a Stellaron and an Aeon (and idk, an Aeon's metaphysical corpse), all things are possible, so jot that down. You just want to set up a totalitarian regime under your dead God! No, LOL, I also hate God! Did you miss the whole dungeon before this about how much people hate God, and how much I in particular resent God for allowing suffering and human weakness? People will have no freedom of choice! People are free to make whatever choices they like in the Sweetdream Paradise, they just won't ever face bitter consequences as a result. Sorry I'm removing their freedom to [checks notes] sell their soul to the literal devil (hi Jade!) for short-term gain and guaranteed long-term suffering. I'd hate to lose that! People won't be real! Okay, well, Penacony seems to count as plenty real, and it's literally the same thing. Hell, Black Swan is literally a memetic entity who exists only in your perception! But she counts as real. So clearly we're just haggling along some kind of continuum of real-fake here, there's no hard line like people want to say there is.

The implicit purpose of all this setup is to force a true philosophical debate about the suffering of the "weak," the way the status quo demands and accepts this, and whether it can be justified or redeemed by freedom or choice. The other, more common approach would be to use practical limitations as a narrative eject button, e.g. "well, we've learned your Sweetdream will inevitably collapse anyways due to Stellaron Reasons, so even though your purpose was noble and our stance on it is still ambiguous, we have to stop you." I thought this was neat on HYV's part, because I think that other approach sucks. Call it the Legend of Korra approach, if you like: a plotline comes too close to criticizing the power fantasy underlying this particular type of genre narrative, so it's time to "fix" it by revealing the villain as comically evil and actually totally insincere.

So here's Sunday's position: suffering is not just bad but inimical to the truest possible human dignity, and if we can abolish it by means of totalitarian magic god ritual we ought to. How do our heroes respond?

II. Robin – "Which Aeon Can Make Our Dreams Come True?"

Well, first up is Robin, who responds so poorly I honestly felt like the writing was unsubtly overcorrecting for Sunday's position's inherent unpopularity (no one really likes totalitarian philosopher kings and gamers hate being controlled, Gamers Rise Up). She's like, "I get that people feel like they achieve some essential happiness or dignity here, but the big problem with Penacony is that it's FAKE and it's TOO TEMPORARY" and Sunday gets to just sit there and be like "yeah hmmm sure would be nice if someone could answer those problems easily by making the Dreamscape the literal only thing in the world and therefore the realest thing there is and also permanent."

Then Robin makes a hard left turn into completely wild arguments and is like "and that man suffering from a terrible illness who lost everything should have to be suffering in the real world because idk maybe they could have fixed his disease? I'm not like a doctor or anything but they say doctors are real good these days."

Completely deranged argument. Though honestly I kind of love this version of Robin and wish they'd go all the way with her. She's a girlboss bootstraps libertarian pop star let her live that truth.

Anyways here's where Sunday and Robin have their direct argument.

Humans deserve a chance to fly, says Robin. Okay, says Sunday, well we live here in the real world where vast billions of people never will. It's all great and cool for the anime protagonists and pop stars of the world to talk about self-determination and the human right to make your own meaning, but the rest of us live every day in a world where the powerful determine the future.

That last line of Robin's is so funny to me. "If that were true, then only the powerful would have the right to determine the future." BINGO, QUEEN! YOU GOT IT! That's the world you live in! Not one where everyone flies!

When you say "Birds belong in the sky, even if they can't fly," what you mean is "I see the death and suffering of others as acceptable and even necessary to give my life meaning." You can't have one without the other. This is what Sunday objects to.

What's interesting about this is both Sunday and Robin are actually slipping in their attachment to the Harmony. Robin credits her failure to sing to her own weakening faith in the Harmony, and Sunday later claims it was actually due to him and his attachment to Order (and also the whole Oak family's like psychic hive mind of evil under Gopher Wood). But here, Robin is like "Well, the Harmony says we should care for the weak." She doesn't exactly claim the statement for herself. And she shares Sunday's fears that the Harmony is incapable of creating the kind of paradise they both dream of.

So here we are right at the start of Sunday introducing his beliefs, and Robin's responses not only have been kind of weirdly un-nuanced in a way that makes her side look bad (I just can't get over her saying that dude who lost everything in war should have chosen expensive and painful rehabilitation as a moral matter. Robin what are you talking about), but she clearly is sympathetic to Sunday's concerns and is openly asking him what his conclusions mean they should do.

Of course, HSR 2.2 ignored Robin for no discernible reason, so we will be denied any further development of this discourse between the siblings. But Robin will return in the final battle, and when she does, she will both reveal that she is not thinking in the Harmony's terms, and that she has only practical objections to Sunday's course of action, rather than what he really wants: a different and more compelling logic to replace his own.

#sunday hsr

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couldsewyouastitch · 10 days ago

Text

The Spaces Between [Joel Miller]

pairings: no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

wordcount: 3.5K ish

cw: toxic relationship, implied sexual content, mentions of deceased spouse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mild profanity, themes of loneliness and emotional pain, brief mentions of blood and violence, alcohol consumption, allusions to financial hardship, alternate universe

a/n: it started as a blurb and ended up being 3K. wasn’t planning on posting this as i’m working on the secret santa story, but i changed my mind. hope you enjoy it, tell me what you think. reblog and heart, leave a comment or slide into my dms.

main blog: savedyounine | discord: saveyouanine

masterlist

Autumn arrives overnight, like someone flipped a switch and the whole world changed from green to gold while no one was looking.

Joel drives home with the windows down, breathing air that smells like wood smoke and wet leaves. The stop sign looms red and he slows, braking harder than strictly necessary, just to feel the truck respond to his hand; just to impose his will on something in this world.

His thoughts drift to you, as they always do in the in-between—those restless spaces caught between day and night, between the world and the small, stolen corners you’ve carved out together.

You’ll be clocking out right about now, peeling off that ugly brown polyester dress like it’s a second skin you’ve been dying to shed. He knows how much you hate it. He’s seen the way you claw at the collar when you think no one’s watching, like it’s some cruel, small thing choking the air out of you. You’ll then give Glenda that tired smile—thin, practiced, the kind that doesn’t even bother trying to touch your eyes—before slipping out the back door.

That door sticks, you told him once. You’d laughed when he asked why you always smelled faintly of coffee grounds and fryer grease. "Gotta shove it with my hip to get it loose," you’d said, and then you showed him—with that little twist of your body that nearly made him grab you right there in the parking lot.

There’s probably some kind of metaphor in that door, he thinks as he navigates these dark, empty streets. Something about how you’re always pushing, always forcing your way through things that don’t want to give. Always fighting against some invisible weight, something tethering you to this small, tired life you’re stuck living. It’s like you’ve been shoving at it so long, you don’t even remember what it feels like to walk through a door that opens without a fight.

What a pair you make, he thinks, almost bitterly. Him with his calloused hands and the bullet scar on his thigh, you with your night shifts and your secret cigarettes. His nightmares smell like blood and metal. Yours probably smell like scorched bacon grease and the sour stink of other people’s messes.

And Joel doesn’t know, not really, if this thing between you, if it’s just a habit or something more—two broken things that fit together because they don’t fit anywhere else. For love, for him, has always felt like a sharp edge—something to be gripped carefully, bled on quietly. He wonders if you feel it too, the way it cuts. Maybe that’s why you never ask him to stay. Maybe that’s why he never does.

And tonight, just like any other time, you’ll be waiting for him. But there's no rush. It's not like the early days, all frantic hands and panting breaths in the cab of his truck, trying to work a leg free of your jeans without concussing yourself on the steering wheel.

Now it’s a slower kind of hunger, deeper, heavier—an ache that settles in your chest, the way an old break throbs before the storm hits. And yet, he never stays over, even though he knows the curve of your spine better than his own heartbeat.

Old dog, new tricks, all that bullshit. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am. Like a goddamn cliché.

—

Winter hits like a gut punch. It always does. Joel wakes to the dull, gray light slipping through the crack in his blackout curtains and the distant grind of city plows against asphalt. From the bed, all he can see is white. The radiator clatters and hisses like it’s falling apart, but it’s warm, so he doesn’t bother kicking it. He didn’t dream last night. Small mercies.

It's a bad day for driving, road crews already behind on salting and sanding, but he goes anyway. Tells himself it's just to get out of the house. Not that he's got anyone to convince. It's been twelve years and he still puts on his ring every morning like a reflex. Dead woman's jewelry. He doesn't know why he bothers except that he always has.

The highway twists and coils under his tires, a snake waiting to strike, and his truck is just another poor, dumb creature trapped in its grip. Every overpass is a test, another betrayal waiting to happen, the rear tires threatening to slip, to skid, to send him spinning off the edge. His hands cramp, locked at ten and two like rigor mortis has already set in. Yet he keeps going, some animal part of his brain needing to see you, needing to reassure himself that you exist as more than a ghost of stale cigarette smoke and the memory of soft thighs.

You don’t look surprised to see him when he shows up on your doorstep, snowflakes clinging to his boots and his shoulders. It’s your day off. He can tell by the ratty bathrobe tied haphazardly around you, one slipper dangling from your foot, the other abandoned somewhere out of sight.

“Figured that rust bucket of yours wouldn’t make it this far,” you say. A smile flickers at the corner of your mouth before dying out like a struck match.

You look at him the way you always do, cutting through him like it’s easy, like you’ve been reading him since the day he was born. It should terrify him. Instead, he’s just too damn tired of flinching.

"Ain't nothing wrong with my truck that a little elbow grease can't fix." He goes to push past you into the narrow foyer but you just pull your robe tighter around yourself. “You gonna let me in, or are we doing this out in the snow?” It comes out rougher than he means it to, all sharp edges and too little patience, but you don’t call him on it.

Resigned, you step aside. “By all means.”

Your living room feels smaller every time he comes here. Not because of the space itself but because your life exists in the detritus of other people's cast offs. It hits him that he’s never asked you for the story behind the framed quote embroidery that reads "Bless this mess."

Thrift store chic and all that, he thinks. It fits, though.

You don’t offer him coffee. Don’t bother with small talk or pleasantries. You never do. You both know why he’s here.

An old dog after all.

—

The cold digs in and refuses to let go, clawing through March with frozen fingers. The snowbanks are shrinking, but not without a fight, revealing a winter's worth of garbage and dogshit and gray grass beaten flat.

It's a nothing season. An in-between. Something that’s caught halfway between dead and alive. Joel tries not to see himself in it, but the thought sticks anyway.

It’s been weeks since he’s seen you, and the ache of you has sunk into his bones, wedging itself into the spaces between his ribs. You still don’t talk about it, whatever this is. Whatever it isn’t. Labels are for the living and neither of you has qualified for years.

"You look like shit." That’s the first thing out of your mouth when you open the door. No hesitation, no soft landing. He doesn’t even blink, just pushes past you, shrugging off his coat and letting his boots fall wherever they want, like a trail of breadcrumbs leading nowhere good.

"Thanks," he mutters. His voice feels cracked and rusty, like something left out too long in the rain.

When was the last time he even said anything out loud? Nodded at the checkout girl maybe, grunted a thanks at the gas pump. But stringing a sentence together for someone else's ears is a lot fucking harder than he remembered.

You drag a hand down your face, fingers lingering at the corner of one tired eye. “You want a drink or something? Got beer. Or some expired orange juice if you’re feeling adventurous, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

It’s more kindness than he deserves. Hell, more than he knows what to do with. He doesn’t belong here, doesn’t belong in your space, cluttered and worn down by yard sale finds and third-hand paperbacks.

"Beer's good."

He sidesteps a laundry pile—clean, dirty, who the hell knows—and watches as you reach into the fridge, grabbing two bottles. The caps clatter into the sink, and you hand him one without looking, like this is just what you do.

He tips the bottle back and drains half of it in two long swallows. It’s warm, a little stale, but it scratches down his throat just fine. He lets it burn, lets it bubble up like something familiar.

Your eyes are on him, too steady to be anything but a challenge.

"So."

It hangs there, pointed and waiting.

"So."

He drains the rest of the bottle. He doesn't know how to do this, this living. Doesn't know how to carve out space for himself in a world that keeps spinning. All he's got are his hands and the sour ache in his gut.

With a rueful shake of his head, he sets the empty bottle on the counter with an anticlimactic clink.

And then he's reaching for you, fingers finding the belt of your robe, dragging you against him. Your beer sloshes, dribbling foam, but he's already got his mouth on your neck, your pulse rabbit quick under his tongue. You make a noise, halfway between a sigh and a curse, and your head falls back. Surrendering.

And fuck, he doesn't deserve this either, the easy way you give and give. The way you fold into him like it costs you nothing. Like there isn’t a price for this, for the way he takes and takes and takes.

All that’s left is the hard press of the countertop against his hip, your fingers threading through his hair, and the quiet way you let him ruin you.

This is how it goes. How it always goes.

Until there’s nothing left.

—

Spring creeps in slow, almost shy, before it barrels in all at once. The crocuses you planted last fall push up through the half-frozen muck of the flower bed, fragile purple petals reaching for a sun that doesn’t quite remember how to warm anything yet. You’re out on the back porch sitting with your hair curling into the damp air while he rummages through your cabinets, stiff and slow, looking for coffee filters.

He didn’t sleep well. He doesn’t even remember closing his eyes, but there’s a blanket tangled at his feet now that wasn’t there when the two of you collapsed on your bed last night. He doesn’t ask.

"You don't have to stay, you know." Your voice floats into the kitchen, carried by the whine of the screen door snapping shut behind you. "Wouldn’t want to keep you from anything important."

A handful of answers rise like bile but he swallows them down. The thing between you is too fragile for words, a soap bubble balanced on a fingertip and he is already so goddamn tired of being the one who always pops it.

"I'm good." It's a day for small honesties.

You appear in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, one hip tilted just so. The faded Metallica shirt you’re wearing as a nightgown barely reaches your thighs. He drags his eyes away from all that bare skin. Reaches for a mug instead.

Your eyebrows do something complicated. "Alright then."

You watch as he pours coffee for you both, the pot shaking slightly in his grip. If you notice, you don't comment. Just take the chipped mug emblazoned with "Carpe the fuck out of this diem" he offers. Your fingers don't touch and he tells himself he isn't disappointed.

"Milk’s in the fridge if you’re into that," you say, blowing softly across the surface of your coffee before taking a tentative sip. You wince. "Sugar in the—"

"I know where the sugar is." The words come out too fast, too sharp, cutting through the room like shrapnel. He didn’t mean it to sound like that. Hell, he doesn’t mean anything anymore, not the way it comes out.

The mug hits the counter harder than he intends, coffee sloshing up over the rim, spilling into the butter dish you forgot to put away after last night’s dinner. A droplet scalds his thumb.

You don’t flinch, don’t snap back. You just stand there, looking at him with that same maddening expression you always wear—half annoyed, half something softer. He doesn’t know what to do with it, that mix of exasperation and patience, like you know exactly who he is and still haven’t shoved him out of your life yet.

And this is it, he realizes. This is all the two of you will ever be. Two broken people, held together by duct tape and scar tissue, stuck in the same tired loop of half-measures and almosts. It’s almost funny. Almost.

Something heavy presses behind his eyes, an ache that rises fast and chokes him before he can think about it too hard. He needs to move. Needs to be anywhere but here.

He's dressed and out the door in under a minute, laces trailing, the screen door slamming behind him. You don't call out and he doesn't look back. That bubble between you, it's popped, shards of soap and air drifting in the pale morning.

He leaves his coffee on the counter, untouched. It’ll sit there, cooling to nothing. Just like everything else.

—

Summer settles heavy and dense, humidity pressing like a physical weight. The air hangs heavy, still, every breath a labor. Joel's shirt clings to his back, to the indent of his spine where sweat collects. He's got the windows down but the breeze brings no relief, heated air billowing useless and limp. A fly buzzes lazy loops around his ear and he smacks at it, palm colliding with his stubbled cheek. Three days’ growth. He keeps meaning to shave. Keeps meaning to do a lot of things.

The streetlights flicker on as he turns into your driveway, their dim yellow glow bleeding together in the thick twilight. The crunch of his tires on gravel feels deafening, like an intrusion, too loud for this quiet, empty hour. The porch is dark. The windows are dark. For a long moment, he doesn’t move. His hand stays on the gearshift, and his foot hovers over the pedal.

He could leave. He could put this rusted out hunk of metal in reverse and pretend he was never here. You would understand. You always do. It's what you’re good at, understanding and accepting and never pushing for more. And maybe that's why he keeps coming back, keeps sinking into your softness. Because he's a selfish fuck. And isn't that the worst truth.

He cuts the engine.

The porch creaks under his boots, a floorboard whining a warning, and he pauses with his fist poised to knock. When was the last time he even knocked? When had he decided that your space, your life, was just his to walk into? The thought sours in his stomach, but he doesn’t let himself step back. He raps once. Twice. The sound echoes dully in the muggy stillness.

For a moment, there’s nothing. Just silence and the weight of the heat pressing down on him. And he thinks wildly, fearfully, that maybe he waited too long. Maybe this is it. Maybe the universe is fresh out of second chances.

But then there’s the click of the lock turning, the soft creak of hinges, and there you are.

The light spilling out from the kitchen frames you in a weak halo, more shadow than glow. You’re barefoot, wearing cut-off sweatpants and a stretched-out t-shirt with a hole in the shoulder. Your hair is sticking to your damp temples, to the curve of your neck, and there’s a faint crease from your pillow etched into your cheek.

"Joel?" you say, voice scratchy from sleep. There’s something else in it, though—something sharper, something awake and alive. "What are you doing here?"

And there it is, a million dollar question. Why is he here? Why does he keep coming back to you, to this place, to the fragile thread of a connection that feels too thin to hold either of you? What is he hoping to find in the spaces between your heartbeats?

He swallows and it hurts.

"I don’t know," he says finally, his voice scraping out of him raw. "I just…"

His hand lifts, drops. He can’t finish the sentence, doesn’t even know how to start it.

You step forward, slow and deliberate, closing the distance between you until you’re right there in front of him. He can smell the sleep still clinging to you, the faint metallic tang of the diner that never quite washes off. He braces himself for what’s coming—for the slap, the curse, the moment when you finally shove him back and tell him to stay gone. He deserves all of it. He deserves worse.

But you don’t shove him. Your hand comes up, and it’s gentle as it rests against his jaw, your fingers tracing the line of bone like it’s something worth touching.

"You’re allowed to want something. You know that, right?"

His throat burns. His whole body feels like it’s cracking open under the weight of your words, like they’re carving through the hollow places inside him, the ones he’s spent so long trying to ignore. You make it sound so simple, like breathing, like wanting something—someone—isn’t the hardest goddamn thing in the world.

His voice shakes when it finally comes out, barely more than a rasp. "I want you."

And for a moment, he’s sure he’s ruined it. That he’s ruined you. This person who has already cracked themselves open for him a hundred times in a hundred quiet ways. But then you smile, just barely, just at the corners of your mouth.

"Okay," you say. "Okay."

You step back, your fingers catching briefly at the fabric of his shirt, tugging him into the dark of the house. The door clicks shut behind him, sealing the two of you inside this strange, fragile thing you keep building together. His hands find you—your waist, your hair, the damp curve of your neck—and you come easily, rising onto your toes as your mouth meets his.

It’s slow. Careful. He kisses you like he’s afraid to break you, like he’s afraid of breaking himself. Like maybe this moment could last forever if he just holds it still long enough. You taste like sleep and sweat and something familiar he doesn’t have a name for, something that feels like home even though he’s never believed in such a thing.

Tomorrow, the leaves will start to change. The world will keep turning, and the mess between you won’t magically fix itself. It never does. But tonight, it’s enough.

You’re enough.

Even if he never quite finds the words to tell you.

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedrostories #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller angst

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barrenclan · 5 months ago

Note

I don't want to overly challenge the anon who criticized the decision to blind Ranger and damage Hacksaws wing, but I think reading it has me wondering: What would the alternatives be?

Before I go super into this, I want to acknowledge that while I am disabled, my disabilities aren't connected to visual impairment or losing a limb, so I want to make it clear that I'm not trying to speak on behalf of that experience. That's not really my place, yeah?

But I think something about Warrior Cats, especially when extended to something like this, is also a story about exploring pain. Death and disability are as synonymous with this story as they are with most warrior cats fiction, for the better or worse, because the themes of the story revolve around what it means to suffer. The main distinction between the living and dead of this story is that the living get to see another day, as physically or emotionally damaged as they are. Barrenclan and the Defiance are ruled by this concept, even though the defiance perverts the idea into something grander than it actually is. Hacksaw and Rangers fate is kind of just an inevitably of the lives of all defiance members: They fight, and they either die or live to suffer another day. I don't really see it as a moral to their lives so much as just a consequence. The defiance can hurt and kill and maim, but it can't escape the fact these things can and will happen to them. The defiance is just a way for characters to trick themselves into thinking they're above that fate.

As for a writing perspective... If you have things you want to do with the characters after this, then yeah, I understand the decision. Otherwise they kinda have to die, since they wouldn't leave Barrenclan alone. It's always good to keep in mind things to avoid for the future, but it's also okay to tell complicated stories that leave messages that are hard to digest. Art isn't going to resonate with people all the time, and it shouldn't. I respect that you've responded to the criticism with humility and openness though!

I'm not gonna post any more about this after now, but I wanted to share this ask both because it's very well written and I think it does bring up some big themes in the story that I didn't mention but think are important!

And a general thank you to everyone for keeping a Warriors fancomic about incredibly intense topics on Tumblr so vastly chill and normal. My inbox and my brain appreciates it.

#ask #anon #analysis #ranger #hacksaw

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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 2 years ago

Text

Between the pages

AN: Shoutout to Indigo for violently thrusting me back into my Namjoon feelings. This has been a long time in the making.

Synopsis: If anyone asks, Professor Kim is definitely not crushing on the pretty librarian he spends all of his free time with on campus.

Heads up: Kim Namjoon x Fem! Reader, friends to lovers, so much pining, Non-Idol AU, University professor! Namjoon, Librarian! Reader, Reader wears glasses and Namjoon thinks it's hot, alcohol and alcohol consumption, Reader kisses Namjoon without his explicit consent at first, dirty talk, fingering (f. receiving), Reader sucks on Namjoon's fingers post fingering, praise kink (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex and creampie.

Word count: 4535

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Namjoon tries to convince himself that the reason a smile immediately graces his face when he enters his department's library is because of his love for knowledge. That's it. That's all.

It definitely has nothing to do with getting the opportunity to see and talk to the very attractive head librarian. Nope. Nothing of the sort.

"What's got you all smiley? Found a new favourite philosophy journal?"

Namjoon studiously ignores the way his heart stutters in his chest. He turns around to face you directly and is once again caught off-guard at how ridiculously attractive you manage to look in a simple pencil skirt and flowy blouse. Your glasses framing your warm eyes, and your glossed lips quirked upwards in amusement.

God, he had it so bad.

"Am I not allowed to simply smile for the sake of smiling?" He asks with a grin of his own, the two of you seamlessly falling into step as you make your way to your office where he was initially headed.

"Answering a question with a question is deflection, Professor Kim," you respond with a good-natured poke to his arm. He jokingly rubs the spot, "Violence and referring to me as Professor Kim? Y/n I thought we were friends. I'm hurt."

He doesn't miss the way you roll your eyes with that unfairly pretty smile on your face as you hold your office door open for him, "I never took you to be one for dramatics, Namjoon."

Namjoon feels little better than a schoolboy with his first crush. Warmth flooding his face at the way you say his name. He just hopes his body wouldn't hate him enough to make his blush obvious or, you'd give him the curtsey of not mentioning it.

"Clearly you don't know me all that well then, Miss y/l/n. Seems like all this hiding out in each others' offices might've been for nothing," he retorts, making himself comfortable on the lounge chair by the window you'd both unofficially agreed upon was his. He tries not to think too deeply about that.

Typically you'd join him by the window, but you opt to prop yourself up on your desk, and Namjoon's tongue turns to sand in his mouth. Your already figure-hugging skirt sits tighter on your hips and thighs somehow, even riding up enough for Namjoon to feel the need to take a generous sip from his trusted water bottle.

"Wow really? My surname? Now you're being petty, Joon," you say before taking your first bite of your lunch.

It had become a habit for the two of you to meet for lunch whenever possible. Usually alternating between offices or whoever was closer to the other's side of the campus on a particular day. Namjoon thinks it's partly during these lunch sessions that the seeds of his feelings for you were planted. Though he hasn't quite decided how to unpack that can of worms yet, he wouldn't trade these moments with you for the world.

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Namjoon can't stand these end of year functions, but he attends because he knows it'd be a terrible look if he didn't. He does have other people in the department he's friendly with, but they definitely don't outweigh how tedious these functions can be.

He's standing somewhat awkwardly in the back of the room nursing a glass of juice (because of fucking course they wouldn't be serving any alcohol) when he first spots you. Namjoon knows you're beautiful. It's a fact that he's violently reminded of every time he sees you. However, he's never seen you like this. He thought your pencil skirts were form-fitting, but the way the red dress you're wearing now cups your ass and hugs your hips has the blood rushing to his dick at record-breaking speed. He's never seen so much of you at once, a hint of cleavage peaking out and the dress coming to a stop mid-thigh. To make it all worse (or better, depending on one's perspective), you're still wearing your glasses.

Namjoon is just happy he hasn't spontaneously combusted yet, honestly.

The bright smile that spreads across your face when you spot him and make your way over to him makes him feel more nervous than he has in ages. Which is saying something considering how tongue-tied he gets around you in general.

"Joon, thank god. I'm so happy you're here. These functions are always so boring," you say as you pull him into a hug. Instinctively, he wraps an arm around you, his body moving before his brain can fully process you pressed against him and your perfume invading his senses. God, you smell delicious.

"I'm glad to see you too. Yeah, I've been entertaining myself with a glass of juice for the past 30ish minutes. Having the time of my life," he responds sarcastically but makes sure he's not loud enough for anyone to hear him other than you. These functions may suck, but Namjoon has no desire to sour his relationships with his colleagues.

The mischievous smile that graces your face makes his palms sweat, "Want to get out of here? I have a bottle of wine I've been saving in my office."

"Wine in your office? That's pretty unprofessional of you, Miss Librarian," he responds with a grin.

"Well, I've been keeping it for a time like this. Unless you're content to sip on juice all night and make small talk about semester plans," you retort, mirth twinkling in your eyes.

"It has been almost 2 hours, so it wouldn't be a bad look if we excused ourselves now..." he reasons, and honestly he could use a drink right now.

"Glad to see you're on board. You're always so serious and responsible, I'm a little surprised you agreed," you say with a small snort, grabbing his arm and steering him towards the door.

You two say goodnight to everyone who crosses your path, and Namjoon resists the urge to roll his eyes at the grins and thumbs ups that Hoseok and Seokjin give him.

"I'm not that uptight," he argues a little defensively when you two are finally by yourselves.

"There's nothing wrong with being responsible. It's a big reason why I think you're such a loved and respected professor. I just think you could stand to let go sometimes," you say and, Namjoon's heart is trying its best to beat out of his chest.

You think he's loved and respected? You think he's a good professor?

He knows he doesn't need your validation, but it means the world to him all the same. The genuine sincerity and concern in your voice making it challenging for him to find his words.

"I plan to let go a little tonight. I think you're a bad influence," he jokes, playfully shoving you with his arm.

"I'm a fantastic influence. That's why you spend so much time with me," you retort with another one of those cute, amused snorts. Unlocking the door to the library when you two arrive quicker than Namjoon expected.

"I spend so much time with you because Hoseok's unending optimism and positivity drains my energy," he fires back, closing the door behind him once you enter the library before him.

"Hoseok's a sweetheart. You're just grumpy and overly jaded," you respond, leading the way to your office.

He tries not to feel too jealous hearing you refer to Hoseok as a sweetheart. You're not wrong. It's fair to refer to him as such, but it's still not exactly pleasant to hear.

"Me? Grumpy? Overly jaded? I'm delightful!" He says in mock offence, settling himself in his chair and watching you pull out the bottle of wine and two coffee mugs. Biting back a groan when he takes in how amazingly your dress hugs your ass.

"I never said you weren't delightful. I wouldn't be offering my treasured wine stash to you if I didn't at the bare minimum like you," you argue with a light laugh as you fill up your respective mugs.

"You just used the wine to bribe me to sneak out with you. I'm flattered nonetheless," he says with a laugh of his own, graciously accepting the generously filled mug you offer. He's severely unprepared for you to take a seat on the arm of his chair, your thigh brushing against him as you get comfortable.

Namjoon is starting to think this isn't a smart idea after all.

"Have you spending time with Seokjin? Is that why you've been so theatrical lately?" You ask with a smile before taking a generous sip from your mug, your pleased hum affecting him more than it had any right to.

"I'm just seeing this for what it is," he says, taking a swing from his own mug. Sweet. Seems like you enjoy your rosé. He makes a note of that for any future gifts.

"Sure, Joon," you respond, patting his shoulder. Taking another sip from your glass, licking your lips to chase the remnants of the wine. The wine is only worsening the hazy sensation he feels seeing the action and the slight smudging of your lipstick.

"Your lipstick looks nice," he spits out and immediately cringes at himself. Resisting the urge to rest his face in his hands as warmth floods his face. What the fuck was wrong with him? Surely it wasn't the singular sip of wine he took.

"Oh," you say, sounding surprised, "Thank you. You know I'm not one for make-up, but I thought why not since it's a special occasion. I'm glad you like it. I didn't take you for one to notice," you finish, playfully nudging his arm with your thigh.

Namjoon takes a generous sip of his wine before responding.

"I always notice these kinds of things when it comes to you and, you look pretty," he says before panicking at the implications of his words, "Not that you don't look pretty without the lipstick. You look pretty all the time. It's just-"

"I got it, Joon," you laugh, taking a drink from your own mug, and Namjoon definitely doesn't notice how appealing your neck looks. He needs to get his shit together. He's too old to be this flustered talking to a pretty woman. Well, you're more than just that, but that's besides the point.

"I'm flattered that you think I'm pretty. I didn't know you thought of me that way," you say so quietly that Namjoon has to strain to hear you. You look almost...shy? Completely unlike the sarcastic, confident woman he's become familiar with. It's cute. You're cute.

"I think you're beautiful honestly but, it's not exactly like I can just drop it in casual conversation," he says, surprised by his own confidence but, he's already called you pretty. What more does he have to lose?

"Kim Namjoon, are you flirting with me?" You ask with a smile behind your mug, but he can still see what he thinks is shyness in your expression.

"Is it so bad to flirt with the prettiest librarian on campus?" He asks, taking satisfaction in the stunned look on your face, your lips parting as you sit there just staring at him.

He watches you flounder with your words, a very private part of him enjoying being the one to fluster you for once.

"You think I'm the prettiest librarian on campus?" You ask quietly, as if you can't quite believe what's he saying to you right now. In your defence, he can't quite believe what he's saying to you right now either. He has the feeling that he's reached a crossroads now. Whatever he says to you now might change the nature of your relationship entirely, and Namjoon is tired of being a coward.

"I think you're the prettiest librarian I've ever met," he says with so much seriousness that there's no possible way you could misunderstand his words for lighthearted bantering. His heart bouncing off the walls of his chest as he waits for you to say something. Anything.

"Namjoon," is all you seem to muster at the moment, wide eyes still locked on him.

"You don't have to reciprocate my feelings, y/n. I've liked you for some time now, but I'd never put my feelings before yours and before this friendship. You mean too much for me to do that. I'm so sorry if I made you uncomfortable -" you promptly shut Namjoon up by cupping his face and pressing a searing kiss to his lips.

Well, it seems like it's his turn to be stunned.

His eyes widen as you seemingly pour everything you have into his kiss, your hold on his face tightening momentarily before you pull away. All Namjoon can do is stare at you. Looking unfairly attractive as you struggle to catch your breath and your glasses look slightly askew.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just kissed you. I just-I couldn't find the words to tell you that I like you too in the moment. I'm sorry," you say in a single breath, and Namjoon has to strain to catch all of your words. However, panic hits him when your words do finally register.

"No, hey, it's okay. I was just surprised, is all. It's not every day the woman of your dreams kisses you. Give a guy a minute to recover," he jokes, reaching for your smaller hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Your hand squeezes his back, and frankly, Namjoon is just impressed that he's managed to remain conscious through this all.

"Woman of your dreams? Namjoon, please," you whine somewhat embarrassed, and that just endears you to him more.

"It's true," he says and means ever word of it.

"If you keep looking at me like that and speaking like that, I might just have to kiss you again," you respond playfully, resting your mug on the small coffee table.

"Is that a promise?" He fires back with a grin of his own, following suit.

"You're so annoying," you retort with an affectionate eye roll before you press your lips against his once more. This time, he's better prepared and more than ready to reciprocate. One of his hands tentatively resting on your thigh as angle yourself better to deepen the kiss. The feeling of your tongue against his own sending sparks down his spine. Arousal pooling in his gut, fed by all the little moans and whimpers you let out.

"Is this okay?" You ask breathlessly when you straddle him, your chair barely big enough to fit the two of you, but Namjoon isn't going to complain any time soon. Your soft thighs press against his and he's almost completely certain that your panty covered pussy is pressing against him.

"Yeah," his brain pulls itself together enough to spit out before weaving his fingers into your hair and, tugging you down for another earth-shattering kiss. Months' worth of desire and frustration pouring out of him. His other hand tentatively holding your hip in place all while he hopes his erection isn't too obvious to you.

He can tell the moment you feel it because you still against him momentarily. "Shit, I'm sorry. We don't have to do anything you don't want. It's just a natural reaction-"

"Joon, breathe. It's okay," you giggle, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I want this. I'm just as excited as you are," you breathe, taking his much bigger hand in yours and guiding it up your ridiculously soft thighs. A quiet moan falling from your lips when his fingertips make contact with your wet panties.

Namjoon wonders what heroic acts he committed in his past lives to find himself here.

"You're already so wet," he breathes, fingers lightly running along your slit. Lidded eyes taking in the way your lips part to let out moans and your hips buck into his touch. Your fingernails digging into his shoulder when he's certain he's found your clit and uses that information to his advantage.

"You don't have to ah say that out loud, y'know," you respond, but any sarcasm that would typically be present in your voice is replaced by breathy whimpers. Namjoon thinks he much prefers them. As much as your quick-wit is one of his favourite aspects of your personality, he's finding that he immensely enjoys rendering you speechless.

"Why not, baby? You are so wet for me already, though. I could always stop," he trails off, stopping the movement of his fingers and keeping them pressed against you. A smirk spreading across his face when you whine and squirm in his lap.

"You're being mean," and fuck if the desperate edge to your voice doesn't shoot straight to his dick. Deciding to be merciful this time around, his fingers continue rubbing over your wet slit over your panties. Kissing along your jaw and neck as you whimper and grind against him in search of friction.

"Joon, please. Touch me di-directly," you hiccup, pressing yourself firmly against his fingers. Your nails digging into his shoulders. He had no idea you'd be so needy and desperate. He briefly wonders if you're always like this or if this is all because of him. His self-esteem certainly hopes it's the latter.

"You're so cute when you're needy," he rumbles against your throat, canines brushing the skin there while his fingers push your panties to the side. He thinks he'll remember the strangled gasp that flies from your lips when his fingers make contact with your clit as long as he lives.

He knew you were wet before, but he's severely unprepared for the effect feeling said wetness for himself has on him. His cock already leaking pre-cum where it rests untouched underneath you. Teasing you is a double-edged sword. You're not the only one becoming desperate here.

"Namjoon," you whine, "Please, please let me feel your fingers. It hurts. Please-" your begging is cut off by a sharp moan when he finally concedes and pushes two fingers inside of you. How can he say no when you sound so beautiful for him? He's just a man.

He tugs you into another messy kiss while he fucks you on his fingers to distract himself. He feels like he'll lose his mind soon if he doesn't feel you around his cock soon. Groaning into your mouth at how harshly your velvety walls grip his fingers as he familiarises himself with the spots that make you moan louder and hold onto him tighter.

The whimper you press against his lips when his thumb finds your clit and rubs slow circles against it is immaculate. In the dead of night when he'd fantasised about having you like this, he hadn't considered how sensitive and pliant you are. Reality is significantly better than any of his dreams.

"Joo-Joon, I- ah I'm," you whine out, your glasses slightly skewed and foggy on your face while you ride his fingers and chase your release. Namjoon doesn't think he's seen anything more erotic in his entire life.

"Are you going to cum for me?" The gruff edge to his voice or perhaps the question seems to do it for you because before he knows it you're holding onto to him for dear life and he has to slot his mouth over yours to silence your suddenly sharp cries. His cock pulsing as he feels your walls hold onto his fingers so tightly that he can barely move them anymore and, your wetness drips down his palm.

"That's a good girl. You did so well for me," he says, kissing your neck and shoulder softly as he waits for you to come back to him. He takes notice of the way your walls momentarily clench from what he assumes is the praise. Well. He'd happily give you all the praise you wanted.

"You're ridiculously good with your fingers," you mutter, cupping his face and kissing him as though you have all the time in the world. Something dangerously close to love for you swells in him from the affection you pour into the kiss. You rest your forehead against his when you pull away, a small smile playing on your bruised lips.

"Thank you," is all his brain can come with right now with his fingers still nestled inside of you and being harder than he ever has been in his entire life.

"Would it be okay if I sucked you off?"

You're trying to kill him. This is what this is. An elaborate plot to end his life in an instant.

His cock very much likes the sound of that, however.

"You don't have to do that,"

"I know. I want to,"

He closes his eyes and tries to gain his bearings for a few seconds.

"Maybe next time. I don't want to cum in your mouth right now,"

The pout on your lips is surprising and unfairly attractive, "Why not?"

You really were going to make him spell it out for you, aren't you?

"I'd rather cum while I'm inside of you,"

His jaw clenches when he feels your walls clamp down on his fingers once more, a barely there whimper falling from your lips, "Kim Namjoon, you're going to be the death of me."

Funny you should say that because the feeling is mutual.

He does laugh at that. Pressing a kiss against your cheek, "And you think I'm dramatic. We can just stop here if you don't want to. Plus, I don't have any condoms on hand. I wasn't exactly...anticipating all of this."

"What in the world would make you think I'd want to stop now?" You ask, sounding genuinely baffled, "And on the topic of birth control, I'm on the pill."

His eyes close then, and he can't bite back a groan. You would really let him fuck you raw? He's not sure if you're insane for suggesting it or if he's insane for seriously considering it.

"If you're not comfortable with that we can just stop here. I'm not in a rush," you reassure him, pressing a soft kiss to his temple and it's then that Namjoon thinks he may lose his mind if he doesn't have you right now.

Without a word, he pulls you into another earth titling kiss, grinning against your mouth when you grip his fingers like a vice when he tugs on your hair and nips your lip. "You really don't know what you do to me," he breathes, easing his fingers out of you and chuckling darkly at the way you whimper from the loss. He might be pushing his luck here, but "Open."

He watches through lidded eyes as you eagerly suck on his fingers coated in your wetness. Your lashes fluttering behind your glasses and, your soaked slit grinding down on him in search of some sort of friction. "Such a good girl," he praises, kissing you while his hands fumble with his belt and the buttons of his pants. Relief coursing through him when manages to finally free himself. His cock slapping against his shirt covered stomach unceremoniously.

Your reaction to seeing him does fantastic things for his ego.

"You're...bigger than I anticipated," you breathe out, your eyes laser focused on his dick while your hands absentmindedly tug on his hair. "You thought about my dick? I'm flattered," he says with a smirk likely a touch too smug but, he can't help it. It's not every day the woman of your dreams casually mentions that she's fantasised about you and you have her spread out across your lap.

"I've thought about more than your dick but, it's featured in a fantasy or two," you laugh breathlessly, squirming in his lap.

"Well, I shouldn't keep you waiting any longer then,"

When you slowly start to sink down on him, Namjoon knows he's a goner. His hands grip your soft hips for dear life as your warm, wet walls gradually accommodate him inch by inch. He's not sure where he wants to look more. Your pretty pussy stretching around him or the blissed out look on your beautiful face right now.

His hand impatiently tugs your dress down and he takes a hard nipple in his mouth both to distract you from the discomfort and, for the simple want to. His head spins when your pussy clenches around him at the contact. Needy hands tugging on his hair while you moan from the sensations.

"Nam-Namjoon," you moan out so brokenly and, he's pretty sure he's never heard a more beautiful sound. He might be inlove with you actually but, he shoves that thought aside as soon as it arises.

He grits his teeth when you slowly rise up and sink back down on him again, your nails biting into him as you try your best to establish a steady rhythm. "You're so beautiful," he groans as he watches you bounce on his cock. He didn't intend for that thought to slip out but, he doesn't regret in the slightest when he watches your eyelids flutter and your pussy tightens around him.

You can't even coherently respond to him. Too lost in your own pleasure and the feeling of his cock to string together a sentence at the moment. Not that Namjoon can really blame you. Your walls are like a vice around him, and he feels his release approaching dangerously quickly. There's no way he's going to cum without atleast getting you to cum for him one more time.

One of his hands tugs on your hair to pull you down for another heated kiss. All teeth and tongue and spit. While the other reaches between your thighs, the corners of his mouth ticking up when you gasp against him as his fingers draw quick circles on your clit. Thankfully, he's a fast learner.

He nearly bites down on your lip when you cum. Velvety walls clenching and spasming around him while you cling onto him for purchase. I mean, is it really a shock that it doesn't take much more than that for him to follow suit?

Groans and stuttered curses leaving his lips when pulses inside of you. The symphony of your sounds of pleasure and heavy breathing all that can be heard as he fills you. Holding you to him while he rides out his intense release. He doesn't think he's ever cum this hard in his entire life. Guess that's what happens when you cum inside the love of your life.

Pushing that insane thought aside once more, he loosens his hold on you when he regains feeling in his body. The sticky combination of your releases dribbling out of you and down his groin but, he can't bring himself to care at the moment.

"Usually, people go on dates first, no?" You ask still sounding breathlessly but, he can hear the smile in your tone.

"Mmm yeah, usually they do but, I don't think there's anything wrong with doing things a little out of order,"

"You're not wrong. I hope you know this is my roundabout way of asking you out,"

The laugh that forces itself out of him is hearty and more carefree than he's felt in a concerningly long time.

"I'd love to go out with you, y/n."

#kim namjoon smut #namjoon smut #rm smut #bts smut

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acknowledge-reigns · 9 months ago

Text

Worst To Me (Roman Reigns x Black!fem oc SMUT! 18+!!!)

Description: After Roman loses his title he knows the perfect way to blow off some steam.

Warnings: Dom/sub dynamic, masochist sub!oc, sadist Dom!Roman but obviously ssc, nipple play, spanking, rough sex, dirty talk, name calling (slut/slutty, toy.), petnames (babygirl, sweetness), edging, hair pulling/tugging, begging, marking/love bites, creampie, Honorifics (My tribal Chief. Daddy).

Song: Worst To Me by Noah Davis.

Other stories featuring Roman x Lilah include: Jealous, 34+35, There Goes My Baby and Nonsense.

My entire Masterlist can be found here.

Face claim: Jaylon Barron

Again, MDNI!!! THIS IS AN 18+ FAN FICTION. As always my stories are about Roman Reigns NOT Joe Anoa'i. Mostly smut with sprinkles of Angst and Fluff.

As Roman walked backstage, frustration and anger coursed through his veins. How fucking dare they. Seth, Jey, Sami. Every person who he ever loved that had stabbed him in the back had to just cost him the title. He lost to Cody fucking Rhodes of all people. He knew he needed to release some tension.

Lilah was always there to provide him with what he needed - she craved that pain and pleasure in equal measure as much as he craved giving it to her. A perfect little canvas for him to mark up. To make her scream and writhe, whimper and moan. Bring back his sense of control.

Tonight, she would be the one who helped him forget about everything else. She was waiting for him in his private locker room, wearing nothing but red and black lingerie that hugged her curves perfectly just as he'd instructed her to before he went out for his match.

Without a single word he grabbed her roughly by the waist and pinned her against the wall, his strong arms holding her in place as he pressed his lips against hers with a force that left no room for questioning who's in charge here. She moaned softly into the kiss and arched her back towards him, eager to feel more of his touch but he paused.

"Safeword, babygirl?" Roman questioned.

"Pickles, My Tribal Chief." Lilah responded.

"Good. Remember it, Sweetness because I'm not gon' go easy on you tonight." He stated as he began exploring every inch of her body with rough hands having made quick work of undoing her bra.

"Do your worst." Lilah teased.

With a smirk he began squeezing and pinching her hardened little nipples, taking his time enjoying her reactions as he twisted them. She squirmed beneath him, begging for mercy through whimpers and gasps.

Roman ignored her pleas, since none of them were their agreed upon safe word and continued to unleash his pent-up frustration on her body. He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked it back, exposing the delicate curve of her neck where he sank his teeth into the tender flesh without hesitation. She let out a cry of pain that quickly turned into moans of utter bliss as he sucked hard enough to leave marks all over her.

Fuck. He was marking his territory. As if he were saying 'They can take my title, they can take everything else but can't nobody take my woman'.

Roman smirked, he knew she was enjoying every second of it, even though she pretended otherwise. He let go of her hair and spun her around so that she was facing away from him, giving him access to that plump juicy ass he loved so much. With a low growl, he pulled down her panties and spanked her hard enough to make her gasp and illicit a nice appealing jiggle.

He spanked her repeatedly, alternating between left and right sides with each blow. The sound of his palm meeting her flesh echoed through the room, mingling with their heavy breathing. She could feel herself getting wetter by the second.

"You forgetting to thank your Tribal Chief huh? I know my little toy knows better than that." Roman spat oozing dominance from his very core that left her breathless as he slapped her ass harder.

"Fuck! Thank you, My Tribal Chief." Lilah cried out.

He felt his anger and frustration slowly dissipating as he lost himself in the sensation of punishing Lilah. He grabbed her by the hips and lifted her up, carrying her towards a nearby bench where he bent her over with ease. He could manhandle her like a little rag doll, in truth he could probably manhandle most anyone that way if he wanted to. He's Roman Reigns.

Roman positioned himself behind her. Lilah felt his hot breath against her skin and then the unmistakable sensation of him entering her from behind. He started thrusting hard and fast, using all his strength to claim every inch of her body as his own. His. Something Cody can't take. Something Seth can't take. Something Jey can't take.

Lilah let out a moan as Roman pounded into her relentlessly. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to the edge with each passing second, but she knew better than to beg for release before he was ready to give it. Not when he was like this. He needed to feel completely in control.

His hands gripped her hips tightly, keeping her in place as he felt his own pleasure building up inside him as he continued to ravage Lilah's body. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "I love those pretty little noises you make you hear me? You gon' let the whole locker room hear you fucking acknowledge me." Roman said.

She was unable to form coherent words with the way he was making her feel. With a wicked grin on his face, Roman increased the pace of his thrusts. "I own this fucking pussy. I will always own this fucking pussy." Roman growled, "Say it!" he demanded.

"You own this fucking pussy" Lilah repeated barely between moans.

"Say it again. Say it again. Louder." Roman ordered.

"You own this fucking pussy, daddy." She stated as loud and clear as she could.

"That's what I thought. This slutty little pussy acknowledges me." Roman let out that smug little chuckle he does.

Roman could feel himself getting closer to the edge but He slowed down his pace and focused on hitting all the right spots inside Lilah, causing her body to shudder with pleasure. She let out a series of high-pitched moans that filled the room with an intoxicating energy. This is control. This is power.

He continued to tease Lilah, bringing her right to the brink of orgasm before pulling away just in time. He enjoyed seeing her squirm beneath him, desperate for release but unable to do anything about it without his permission. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of denial and torture, he let go completely and allowed himself to be consumed by the pleasure. Lilah let out a scream of ecstasy as she reached her peak, her body convulsing with waves of pleasure that seemed to go on forever and ever. Roman followed suit soon after, his own release hitting him like a tidal wave as he buried himself deep inside her one final time filling her with his seed.

After cleaning up and catching their breath, Roman led Lilah over to the locker room couch where they could relax in each other's arms. He wrapped his muscular arms around her and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head gently. "Are you okay?" he asked softly as he stroked her hair back from her face. "That was... intense."

"I should be asking you that. I know what that title meant to you." Lilah said.

Roman sighed and pulled her even closer, his expression growing serious. "It did mean a lot to me," he admitted quietly. "But at the end of the day, it's just a belt. It doesn't define who I am. I'll always be Roman Reigns." He paused for a moment before continuing. "What matters most is that we stay together through thick and thin, no matter what happens. Belt or no belt."

"Wait, is that what all this was about? you were worried I'd leave you if you aren't champion?" Lilah asked softly.

Roman looked away for a moment, embarrassed that he'd let his insecurities get the best of him. "Maybe," he admitted reluctantly. "I know it sounds stupid now, but I guess deep down I was afraid you'd stop loving me if I wasn't on top anymore."

There it was. That trauma rearing it's ugly head. People leave. Seth left. Jey left. Sami left. Hell, Dean left. That same trauma that cost him his damn title tonight.

Lilah smiled softly and reached up to caress Roman's cheek. "Hey, listen to me," she said gently. "You don't need a title to be worthy of my love. You are an incredible person with so much talent and potential that it takes my breath away sometimes. I will always love and acknowledge you." She paused for a moment before adding, "No matter what".

Roman felt a lump form in his throat as he listened to Lilah's words. He knew she was being sincere and that her love for him ran deep, but it still didn't completely erase the doubts that had been nagging at him ever since he lost the title. "I appreciate everything you just said," he finally managed to choke out after a few moments of silence. "But I can't help feeling like I let everyone down when I lost my title.. The family.. I was supposed to keep us at the top of the mountain."

Lilah nodded in understanding and wrapped her arms around Roman's neck, pulling him close. "I know how much it means to you," she said softly. "But the truth is, no one can keep us at the top forever. Sometimes we have to take a step back and rebuild before we can come out stronger than ever. You did it for four years, Roman. That's special." She said

Roman smiled at Lilah's words and kissed her gently on the forehead. "You always know just what to say," he said softly. "I don't know where I would be without you." He pulled her closer and held her tightly, feeling grateful for her love and support. Roman and Lilah stayed cuddled up on the locker room couch for a while longer, enjoying each other's company and trying to forget about the stresses of their professional lives. Eventually, though, they knew that it was time to get back out there and face whatever challenges lay ahead. Just not right now.

#roman reigns x oc #roman reigns smut #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x black oc #roman reigns #the tribal chief #wwe roman reigns #head of the table #the head of the table #the only one #the bloodline #Spotify

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botanicadrabbles · 8 months ago

Text

Hydrangeas'

Lucifer X Reader

Warning: Hanahaki, Blood mention.

Part 1 , Part 2

Word count: 1,027

Keeping it a secret was the hard part, sure you’re used to keeping things to yourself but avoiding Lucifer. The way he’d look at you with those soft eyes almost lost in desperation and longing, he wanted to talk to you multiple times but you’d turn the other way.

Now a days you barely left your room, when you did all you could hear was Charlie talking about her mother. She has every right you tell yourself, it’s not your fault you’re in this predicament.

It wasn’t her fault Lucifer refused to share what was your relationship to her. It wasn’t her fault Lucifer refused to acknowledge what you where or share measly little kisses and notions that where important to a relationship.

Over the last month you’d come to realise it wasn’t his fault either, you desperately wanted it to be. But you knew better.

Emotions where difficult, hell you barely knew how to control your own emotions. You couldn’t blame him for not knowing how to really understand emotions, you even knew why he was so distant..

The first time he loved someone it cost him everything and in the end she left. You felt stupid, guilt for thinking he didn’t want to love you.. Clearly you where paying the price.

More blood spilt from your lips, you spent most days in your bathroom now. Vomiting and becoming increasingly more pale. What used to use be small amount of petals and blood had turned into a small blossiming flower and harsher amounts of blood spilt.

You where so tired. Looking over to the alarm clock sitting where your body soap was ment to be you saw the time 3:00am. You had made a make shift bed in your bathroom, too tired to move much.

Hearing hushed whispers at your door you slowly collected yourself and dragged your heavy body across your room, it felt like you where dragging chained balls across the floor. You eyes wanting to shut.

Blanket wrapped loosely around you, you opened the door.

Angeldust…Husk… Huh…

“Hello?” you asked your voice voming out quieter and weaker than you had expected, Angel looked at you seemingly as if he had seen a ghost and for the first time you swear you can see Husk looking worried.

“Are you pregnant?” Angel asks, your eyes go wide in shock and take a moment to respond, seeing Husk look perplexed Angel had so confidently and shamelessly ask. “I don’t think so?” you asked raising an eyebrow confused. “Oh thank the heavens-...-Can you say that here?” Angel would say looking around to see if he got any confirmation.

Seeing no one else down the darkened and honestly terrifying hallway in the night you where grateful not wanting people to see you in such a condition.

“Why do you look so awful than?” Once again Angel asked so confidently as if shame just bounced off of him like a bouncy ball. You didn’t know what to really say about it all so you just shrugged, “Maybe a flu? Not to sure- could be contagious though-” you said trying to close the door.

You should have known better when Husk just pushed the door open, both of the two men walking in “Welcome in then” you said wanting to sink into the floor and allow it swallow you whole. You had no strength left to fight them as they investigated your room before finally finding their way into the bathroom where they found your secret out.

“Oh y/n/n…” Angel said pitying you, you hated that. Please anything but pity. You stomach turned more when you saw even Husk was looking at you with the same expression.

“Please just…Don’t tell anyone” You said closing your eyes, desperately wanting to just rest. They agreed, but over the course of the next few days Angel and Husk would alternate getting you food, drinks, medicine to help with the pain (in Angel’s case drugs) and any form of entertainment they could.

They didn’t want to force you to say who it was but could safely assume it wasn’t either of the because while they where there and distracting you, your symptoms seemed to lessen. They put all their free time into making sure your mind was too busy to think about who ever it was that was causing that pain.

You could here people talking outside your door a lot as if they knew something was wrong now but could always hear Husk and Angel telling them you just need some space and just going through a tough time.

It wasn’t really a bad thing.

You just wish they’d lay off on telling you about how Lucifer was bugging them for information on you. You where also surprised how they hadn’t quite figured out who it was. The one time Angel ever asked who it was, was a joke and more with the hope it wasn’t Alastor as there was no hope for that.

Angel was fixated on trying to play cupid while Husk would constantly tell him to lay off, you appreciated them and became better and better friends as this situation continued.

Another month passed and he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to see you.. You where asleep.. He was okay with that. His hand came to brush hair away from your face as he looked over you.

He admired you, to him you where art. Something to look at from a distance and not touch, he was terrified of what it could mean, the way you make him feel. He desired you so desperately but was afraid of corrupting you, changing you..Making you leave.

He didn’t notice anything, he was there one moment and gone before you could wake up. You could swear you felt him there but took it as a symptom of the Hanahaki. It was a horrible disorder it was…

That night you couldn’t go back to sleep, eventually sneaking off to Angel and Husk’s room and sleeping between the two as if they where your parents and you had, had a nightmare.

You couldn’t face Lucifer.. Not yet.

Maybe tomorrow.

#lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer magne #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #x reader #angst #hanahaki

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thebibliosphere · 1 year ago

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Hey, so this isn't meant as advice for you, this is me asking if you have experience with trying a bit of advice I heard, and what your experience was with it? Basically I was told that two things that can help with migraines is soaking your feet in hot/warm water (possibly with ginger?) and to do breathing exercises where you exhale more than you inhale. Have you heard this advice before? Did you try it and if so, did it work for you? I get migraines pretty rarely but it's always so debilitating when they do happen and "go somewhere quiet and dark for 2 days" isn't always viable but is the only reliable method Ive had so far, but Id be down to try something like this if it has any validity to it?

I have tried them, and they have never worked for me. Alternating ice and heat directly over the pain helps me more (especially heat over my "trigger" eye), but usually, just so I can try to sleep through the pain, otherwise I'm going to be awake the whole 20+ hours, and that's never fun.

Your mileage may vary, and tbh, it's worth trying as they are fairly easy to do -- and who knows, you might get lucky and have "easy*" migraines that respond to deep breathing and soaking your feet.

For what it's worth, I've heard some people get more out of the foot-soaking thing by also putting a cold cloth/ice pack on the back of their neck. It helps aid with vasodilation and vasoconstriction, which can sometimes be a factor in migraines.

Aside from correcting my atypical binocular vision disorder with vision therapy and corrective tinted prisms, the biggest help I've had for my migraines has been from taking B2 supplements as recommended by my neurologist.

There's some evidence to show that taking 400mg of b2 for 3+ months can help lessen migraine intensity and perhaps even prevent them. Supposedly it works better if you also take magnesium.

I used to just take magnesium which is a common migraine "hack," but it never did much for me. Adding in the high dose of B2 was what finally made a difference. My migraines are still 20+ hours, but they're less painful, and I can be somewhat functional with them.

Obligatory: Talk to your doctor before starting any new medications, including supplements.

Good luck. I hope you find a solution that works for you.

---

*No migraines are easy, but some of us have harder-to-treat migraines that don't respond to "easy" solutions. Whenever someone asks me if I've tried deep breathing and Excedrin because it always works for them, I am both happy for them but also want to throttle them, lol.

#chronic health tag #migraines #not a doctor #just a sick bitch

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jasmineoolongtea · 5 months ago

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Hiiii how ya doing? I'd like to req a Megumi X Reader plsss. Smth where the reader is super shy and antisocial (could be due to trauma or their own experience whatever works for you) so they're mostly by themselves because they choose to and avoid people unless it's training and even so they're just alone (or with a mentor IDK). Still, everyone tries to get close to them and Megumi seems like he doesn't care but he does little gestures to make sure reader is comfortable and reader appreciates that a lot. IDRK how to describe this anymore but this is the big picture for me. The rest is up to you. I'M SRY IF THIS LOOKS CONFUSING BUT THXXXXX

a/n: hii anon, i'm doing alright !!! (just kinda busy this week ;-; so sorry for the delay in responding to this) hope you're doing well too !! don't worry i totally get what you mean so i hope that this lives up to your vision 🫡🫡🫡

if most people had to describe you, the word 'loner' or a more polite 'shy' would probably be thrown around a lot with other vague descriptors that only scratched the surface of who you were as a person, but to you, that was the least of your worries.

it was better this way. honestly, was it so wrong to want to keep people at arm's length? contrary to popular belief, there's merit to be found in being alone and you just wish that others had the same understanding that you did.

a 'how are you doing' here and 'wow, the weather's pretty cloudy today' there and you can already feel your energy being sucked away like there was some sort of energy vampire following you around. getting invited to places as a part of a large group was even worse as you were forced to spit out a pathetic excuse that you were sure would leave them wincing from just how bad and thinly veiled it was.

in a better-case scenario, they would pass on an apologetic smile your way before clumsily making their escape away from you and that would be the last you'd hear of them for a while. in worse cases, and unfortunately the more common one from your own personal experiences, their previously friendly faces would quickly morph into a snarl with all of their old pleasantries going out the window as they scurry away from you, though not before throwing some... colourful words and jabs in your direction before they disappear out of your earshot.

you once heard a phrase that sums up conversations like this perfectly; 'water cooler conversations', conversations that are only born out of the belief that silence between people is bad and that superficial, surface-level talk is the better alternative which is a notion you strongly disagree with.

albeit, you know deep down it would be wrong to fault them as after all, they only had nothing but good intentions. however, good intentions can only carry you so far when the recipient isn't necessarily the most willing participant.

at times, some people would just try to strong-arm you into a friendship with them, whether it be figuratively or literally, and those were almost always the most intense and ironically, short-lived ones. there were some who would just flail the moment you stopped responding to them. sure it was awkward, but at least you had the benefit of silence. with others, it felt like looking into the sun and the longer you stared at them, the more likely you're going to end up with a sunburn and the more you missed the comfort of the darkness that you've become so accustomed to.

but with megumi, it was different, in a good way.

with megumi, things felt... easy, for lack of a better word. you didn't feel like you had to force on a polite grin or shallow laugh for appearance's sake. every word, expression and reaction with megumi was raw, genuine and natural and suffice to say, you craved this more than you were willing to admit.

exchanges with megumi were largely wordless most of the time with more being said in between the silence that the two of you frequently shared with one another. it was like you two had your own secret language which was spoken through brief touches and lingering glances and that if you blinked, you would have missed it.

after a particularly rough training session (no thanks to the boiling heat of the midday sun), you find yourself more exhausted than usual to the point where you simply collapse on the nearby bench in a boneless pile.

when you look up, you're met with the sight of an outstretched hand holding a drink, your favourite drink no less, in your direction. the sun's shining right in your eyes so you have to squint slightly to get a better look at the good samaritan that has managed to stumble on you in this state and are surprised to find out that it's someone you're more than well acquainted with.

turns out, it's megumi who's offering you salvation in the form of a bottled drink and you eagerly accept his offer (albeit a bit more eager, which almost veers on the side of desperation, than you were hoping to come off as). for a brief moment, your fingers brush against his as you reach forward to grab it and maybe it's a trick of the light, but you swear you catch a glimpse of the tips of his ears turning bashfully red.

you take a sip of your drink and a grateful sigh escapes your lips. he's not looking in your direction, seemingly more interested in something far off in the distance, however, his shoulders visibly relax and his whole posture loses its once-tensed-up stance once the sigh leaves your lips. his hand hangs awkwardly by his side and for some reason, you're met with the sudden urge to grab it and you wonder what it would be like to hold it - would it be calloused and rough from years of training or would it be surprisingly soft and relatively scar-free despite your lifestyles - but you quickly shake those thoughts away in an attempt to fight the butterflies that flap around in your stomach.

instead, you settle for a tap on his arm which gets him to turn towards you, a curious expression painted on his face as you pat the spot beside you. a silent invitation for him to join you there. he pauses for a moment, as if weighing the decision in his mind before relenting and taking you up on your offer. you don't say it but this is your silent thank you to him and you know he understands you because that's just who he is.

once seated, you're suddenly met with the burning heat of the sun again and you realise that megumi was purposefully standing in the way of the sun for you and was using himself as your own personal source of shade. another little gesture from him to you.

there he goes again, you think to yourself. you're not sure how he does it but it's like he has an uncanny ability to anticipate your needs, sometimes even before you realise it yourself. furthermore, megumi never asks anything from you, not even a verbal thank you, seemingly just content with being able to be near you.

it's a bit confusing if you're going to be honest. to someone who's so used to being perceived as either a social pariah or as someone who can be used for the benefit of others, you're not sure why he keeps on doing all these things for you and why you find yourself being so drawn to him despite everything but you choose not to push it.

deep down, you know that you're scared that if you question it, then it'll just be nothing more than a nice dream that the universe has allowed you to indulge in for a bit but that's a topic for another day.

seeing that the sun is deciding to be very stubborn today and is not easing up on the strength of its rays, you search around the largely abandoned training field by now for a more shaded place and spot a small clearing underneath a tree on the opposite side. you stand up, startling megumi slightly as he jolts upright, and open your hand towards him. he looks at your hand and at you, his gaze drifting up and down before gingerly reaching out and taking your hand in his.

you're right, his hand is softer than you were somewhat expecting though it's a pleasant surprise nonetheless, and make your way towards the shaded area as he trails behind you with your hands connecting you two together like paper dolls. now under the cool canopy of the leaves above you, the heat is much more bearable and you take a seat with your back against the tree trunk.

you let go of his hand as you do this and he quickly follows suit, though this time, instead of allowing there to be a small space between you, he sits right next to you to the point where if you allow yourself to lean right ever so slightly, your shoulders are going to brush against his. even more shockingly, you feel a warm presence on top of your hand and when you look down, you see that it's megumi's hand resting on top of yours. you both don't look at each other, perhaps in an attempt to hide the pale dusting of pink that surely adorns your cheeks.

maybe one day, you'll get the courage to break the silence you've grown so comfortable with but for now, this is all you could ask for and more.

#dividers by cafekitsune #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #jjk drabbles #jjk headcanons #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #megumi x reader #megumi x you #fushiguro megumi x you #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #‧₊˚ ⋅ 🍵 writes #*ੈ✩‧₊🍵 asks #hope you enjoy this anon !!!

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